Stanley is exhausted from looking for Emily Brill all weekend, and he has lost a lot of weight. As a result, he needs food. Normally he loves to eat pig ears, however, you can easily nourish his soul by sending in tips. Have something Stanley should know? Share with him by emailing stanley [at] guestofaguest.com, and give a dog a bone. Ruff!

I heart Lockhart Steele. I have from the moment I laid eyes on him (on YouTube of course!) over a year ago. (I also thought his name was ridic). This love is, of course, strictly from an editorial standpoint (he already has his lovely girlfriend), but it is a strong one no less. From day one, Lockhart has been an encouraging mentor in this journey of mine, from positive words of wisdom in the basement of Chinatown Brassiere; in the weeks before I gave my final notice at my "real job", to the support the whole Curbed team shows gofg...this guy's the real deal...also, word on the street is that he LOVES Balthazar, a favorite of mine STILL (those decadent oyster platters just don't get old, come on!)

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[Sidney Falco and J.J. Hunsecker from "Sweet Smell of Success" 1957]

Note from Guestofaguest: These days, the media network has evolved into a beastly machine. It's a world where our celebrities have lost their class, and we have lost our minds...getting caught up in blogging about everything from Dr. Phil's advice to Britney, to what we had for lunch. We often long for the days of clean and poignant journalism, the stuff that films were made on. Which is why, we are thrilled to introduce the newest member of our team who is set on reclaiming a lost art, in keeping with the thriving spirit of this town, J.J. Hunsecker:

"I love this dirty town."

...such was the sentiment of J.J. Hunsecker, the Walter Winchellesque columnist, who could make you or break you with the ink of his typewriter, in the film noir retro-classic, Sweet Smell of Success, 1957. This film, starring Burt Lancaster as the ruthless J.J. Hunsecker, alongside the spineless publicist Sidney Falco (Tony Curtis), captured the grit and murky underworld of New York entertainment like no other. With it's stylized dialogue and monochrome production quality, Sweet Smell of Success has become a favorite of film buffs and critics alike. While much has changed in our little town, such as its literal and figurative cleanliness (thanks to Rudy Giulliani's "Broken Windows" crime-fighting strategy), and the paradigm shit of consolidated columnist power in favor of populist bloggers (i.e. Gawker, etc.), one thing hasn't changed; how much I love it.

[A night out at El Morocco]

Plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose - The more things change, the more they stay the same.

The 1940's and 50's saw the heyday of Manhattan nightspots both in terms of "cafe society" and importance. Back then, Midtown was Downtown, the tony boites of the day were the Stork Club (3 East 53rd Street), El Morocco (2nd Avenue and 54 street), and the 21 Club, (21 West 52nd), all within walking distance of each other. Manhattan debs with surnames of Astor and Windsor, along with the likes of Errol Flynn, Joe DiMaggio, Frank Sinatra frequented these haute monde establishments, which without the globalizing tools of the digital age, were the confluence points of the columnists and their subjects. The finite media real-estate made every sentence that much more coveted and the sentence writer that much more powerful. A night out would include the mendicant press agent, embodied by Tony Curtis, siddling up to the indelible image of columnists sitting at round tables riddled with rotary phones at the Algonquin, upstarts trying to dazzle with tasteful or tasteless peacockery, a star spawning the headline "splitsville," or the decolletage of an heiress spelling "scandalous." At one time, Walter Winchell, the grandfather of gossip, was the highest paid man in America. Alas, the pen was mightier than the wallet. Journalists begot patrons, and not vice versa.

Long gone are the days where the nightspot was the crossroads of so many walks of life and the provider of tangible utility. No longer is media the cruel zero-sum game it once was, making and breaking those that graced its pages. Ink and paper are plentiful and so are its artisans. The circularity of nightlife has gone counter-clockwise with the patron or star breeding the paparazzi. The game has evolved, spread out, power structures have shifted, but the elements and end goals are still the same. The pulse of our town is throbbing, the spirit has never waned, and New York and its New Yorkers are still exemplars for the world. I love this town, dirty or not, and I love this game. So, as I enter modernity and embrace the blogosphere, I say, "Match me, Guest of a Guest."

[All Posts by J.J. Hunsecker]

I love New York City for so many reasons. What's not to love about a place where a person can move to from anywhere and literally transform themselves? Sure there's dirt and grime, and hipsters popping up from behind you on every corner, but there's also so much fabulousness contained in such a small area that for many, it's too overwhelming. Every single day has the potential for containing more excitement than my friend's from home may see in a year. Today it's the tents at Bryant Park, a stroll down 5th avenue, and a pastry from Bouchon Bakery. Tonight, the options will be limitless...and it's only a Wednesday.

Living here has definitely changed me. I remember the first time I ordered take out from a non-pizza establishment at 1 am and thought it was the most magical thing I had ever experienced. I thought Duane Reade was a person, had no idea how to hail a taxi, or how "Houston Street" or "Greenwich" were pronounced. My first time in Midtown surrounded by the tall buildings made me feel like I was disconnected from reality.

Jeff Bridges once stated that "There's a certain power to naiveté. You don't know what can be done and can't be done. You just go for it."

It was years ago, but I remember my first months here like a fond dream. I didn't get the streets down for weeks because I was too busy being swept away by every corner bodega selling fresh flowers, every new smell that changed with each block, the people all so unique, and the fashion choices they picked to distinguish themselves.

Having been here now for 3 years, I am nostalgic for that period of childlike fascination and naiveness, but content on where I've come.

Now I know these things and so much more. Things like which floors at Barney's are "mine", where the best ravioli is located, (Barolo in Soho), how much money it costs to get to Tribeca from my apartment, where the best book stores are located, who Matt Drudge is, and how much the china costs at Bergdorf’s. I’ve learned that not everyone is fascinating to talk to just because they are successful in this city (as I did when I first moved here), that people are a lot of times feeding you bullshit, and even more times disinterested in you unless you have money, come from money, or are attractive (discounting the up and coming struggling artists and writers because they’re ‘hip’). I’ve also learned that in spite of all of this, there is more good than bad here, more engaging minds and open dialogues than anything I could have ever imagined. Preconceived opinions are thrown out daily as the people here continually surprise me.

When I moved to NYC I didn’t know anything outside of what I had read in books, seen in films, or absorbed via the multitude of other media outlets that people get bombarded with around the world that play a part in creating what New York means to them. For most, it comes off as sounding like an uninhibited, scum-infested, left of center, scary, lonely, curt, money-driven, romantically witty, encompassing, and captivating city all in one. Most people from home tell me that they can’t wait to “visit”, then later on throw in that they don’t know how I do it “out there” or that they couldn’t imagine living “there” for long. They honest to god make it sound like I’m living in Disney World or something-a place to visit but never stay for too long.

I find myself luckier than some, coming here from the "outside" means that I have been able to truly appreciate things about this city that natives may never get. I hope that no matter how long I'm here for, I will continue to be impressed walking into the new hip restaurant or driving across the Queensboro bridge, that I will still get excited from the sound of Cristal champagne being popped at Cipriani's, and continue to think of my possibilities as endless-truly endless not seemingly. This may be seen as a weakness to some, but like Jeff Bridges, I think it is a tool for me. If I only KNEW about half the things I was doing, maybe I would be too scared to try them in the first place. Being naive to me means that I don't know what "can't be done" and so maybe I will take more risks- risks that may turn out unrewarding, but taken nonetheless....nothing good ever comes without taking risks.

So, here I am living "out there." But to me it feels more like a "here," and there's no turning back...

[All Posts by Holly Golightly]