ARCHIVES

As temperatures soared into the surreal realm of the high sixties last week, some wishful thinking seemed in order.

Was it any coincidence that three days after Martin Scorsese finally took home his Academy Award for Best Director, Wall Street’s Raging Bull suddenly stumbled? Probably, but then Scorsesesque plot twists abounded this week.

It was a week of unbridled revelry with Obama, Cheney, Spitzer, and more.

With the arrival (at last) of a light frosting of snow (that turned quickly into a Slushee), New York indulged its sweet tooth.

As Valentine’s Day approached, an otherwise frigid week steamed with passion. Unlike her waffling-on-’08 sweetie, Judi Giuliani had no problem declaring�her affection for her snuggle bug, that is.

In the days following the synchronized New Year’s drops of the Times Square glitter ball and Britney Spears onto the floor of a dance club, everyone seemed to be feeling gravity’s pull.

For VII days, all roads seemed to lead to Rome.

In a pre-election week punctuated by acts of contrition, none was sorrier than John Kerry’s mea culpa for seeming to instruct a group of college students to do their homework lest they �end up in Iraq.�

Dualities abounded last week in the town so nice they named it twice.

It was a week filled with the supernatural: Representative Mark Foley’s putatively tipsy instant-messaging flirtations with teen pages came back to haunt him, causing him to give up the ghost on his political career and conjure up tales of his own childhood sexual abuse.