Big Nick’s was a burger spot on Broadway between 76th and 77th streets. Been there forever. It closed recently and is apparently moving uptown. My stepmother used to live a block-and-a-half away and I’ve known about the place since the mid-’80s. It served overpriced but fabulously greasy burgers. The atmosphere was cramped and humid, like being jammed into a fogged-out fishbowl. Terrific New York characters worked the grill and waited tables. It was a neighborhood fixture, for sure.

I walked by a few days ago and was sorry to see it, like so many other joints, was no more.

Wonderful post about NYC record stores over at Flaming Pablum.

Found over at Kottke, this map of midtown Manhattan circa 1890.

Alan Taylor’s In Focus is a great site–bookmark it, folks.

Here’s a gallery of the Rotten Apple back in the Seventies.

Check out what I found over at Jeremiah’s Vanishing New York–man, this is so dope–Roy Colmer’s photo collection of New York City doors. Three thousand pictures taken in 1976.

Here’s the front of my grandparents apartment building:

Man, this brings back memories. I was five when this picture was taken. Sometimes, the Internet is cool in unexpected ways.

[Photo Credit: Martha Cooper]

North Brother, the abandoned island in the middle of New York City.

From our pal Diane Firstman comes This Technology Has Been Disconnected:

Questions: Taken literally, what’s incorrect in the final scene of Annie Hall (shot from inside O’Neal’s Balloon)?

After that it got pretty late, and, we both had to go, but it was great seeing Annie again. I realized what a terrific person she was and how much fun it was just knowing her, and I thought of that old joke. You know, this guy goes to his psychiatrist and says, “Doc, my brother’s crazy. He thinks he’s a chicken.” And the doctor says, “Well why don’t you turn him in?” The guy says, “I would, but I need the eggs.” Well, I guess that’s pretty much now how I feel about relationships– you know, they’re totally irrational and crazy and absurd, but, I guess we keep going through it because most of us need the eggs.

Answer: It wasn’t late at all. If you notice the light, it’s coming from the east, which means this scene was shot early in the morning.

Not that it makes any difference…unless you are an anal New Yorker.

“That’s a polite word for what you are.”

From 1939…

Oh, man, the St. Mark’s Playhouse. Cue: Memories.

Over at Jeremiah’s Vanishing New York check out this interview with East Village photographer, Ann Sanfedele.

Museumuseum gives us a huge treat:

Sixth Avenue between 43rd and 44th street

by Todd Webb (April 23, 1948)

Playing around. Picture by Leonard Freed, 1978.

Street Photography by Matt Weber.

A real New York story by Corey Kilgannon in the Times:

Eli Miller, 79, New York City’s senior seltzer man, hoisted crate after crate of seltzer — weighing 70 pounds apiece — into his van and then draped himself over them.

“I’m running on fumes — the reason I work is, I just can’t stay home,” said Mr. Miller, who has been delivering seltzer in Brooklyn for more than a half-century.

He can afford to retire, but that would mean his customers, many of whom have been with him for decades, might have to resort to store-bought seltzer.

“I don’t want them to have to drink that dreck you buy in the supermarket,” he said, using the Yiddish term for dirt. “So I guess I’ll retire when Gabriel blows his horn.”

Gothamist salutes the Woolworth Building.

I love this. I wonder how much spaghetti you got for a quarter? A bowl, a plate? And how much for seconds?

[Photograph by Ida Wyman]

Stupefaction celebrates the end of an era as Bleecker Bob’s closes for good.

I want to be a part of it.

Thanks to Kottke for pointing out the dope Tumblr site: NYC Past.