IT'S come to my attention lately that there are two Tribune hacks filing New York diaries; one, a much-loved bestselling author (Joe O'Connor) the other a slap-headed, sub-literate gouger from Walkinstown (me).
Joe and myself share much in common: We both have the same surname.
We both have young children.
We both wear glasses. He may have fame, fortune and a better handle on words with more than one syllable, but I'm the better dancer.
To generate a bit of cheap publicity, I'm calling him outf You heard me, O'Connor. Sunday afternoon, under the arch in Washington Square Park at 2pm. Let's have a buggy race.
Winner takes all . . . loser has to go write for the Sunday Business Post.
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