Alex Gallo-Brown is a Seattleite living in Brooklyn.
Opening NightBy Alex Gallo-Brown
“You all here for the _fifth floor?_” says a black man in a pinstriped suit and Oxford shoes, one of three dressed in nearly-identical fashion.
Calling Pokers BluffBy Alex Gallo-Brown
In the spring of 2000, still three years shy of Chris Moneymakers World Series win and the subsequent commencement of the poker boom, Harpers assigned novelist James McManus to Las Vegas to report on the increasing presence of women in that traditionally macho competition.
Call Me Naive: A Love LetterBy Alex Gallo-Brown
I know Im supposed to be cynical about Barack Obama. The political process is broken, the cynics say, crushed by three decades of Republican rule, undermined by a stupefiedor stupid-friedelectorate, and sabotaged by a media industrial complex the likes of which Dwight Eisenhower could never have imagined.
Inside the InboxBy Alex Gallo-Brown
There seems to be a common, if unexamined, perception among Internet users that their virtual activity can be divided into two camps. In the first resides e-mail and other types of electronic correspondencelegitimate forms of communication all and enablers of human productivity, progress, and sociability