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Much like a vile Santa Claus doppelganger(my computer doesn’t know how to attach the little german dots above the ‘a’), midtown hoaxer Bernie Madoff( yes, pronounced made.off ) has simply managed to make $50 billion of investor cash disappear. Even more unfathomable is how, according to authorities, Madoff was able to helm his ship of treacherous treasury without aid. This claim of autonomy amid one of the largest snake oil schemes of its time is certain to raise a lot of eyebrows and subsequently dislodge more than a few monocles, but what will the end result ultimately mean for the little guy? What will become of the absconded money and/or the complicit parties. In todays climate of enigmatic headlines it’s easy to imagine that the lost securities and accomplices will simply go the way of the solar eclipse or the STD of the mouth, relegated to shroud in the history books, never to be understood by common man.
Now short of doing a moderate amount of research this periodical has exhausted it’s resources and come up stymied on all fronts, save one culmination.
The Securities and Exchange Commission operates as a protector with the blind faith of less than savvy investors whose trust is comparative in stride with worshippers of Jesus, condoms or any number of metaphors used to pad an anemic publication. This monumental breakdown of Madoff regulations leaves many wide-eyed social care recipients and well intentioned stragglers calling for blood, but whose blue blood? A quick visit to the SEC or Madoff websites will result in utter confusion to the lay person.
Lay people like the boxers who trained at the Riverdale Academy in the Bronx. Their gym’s mortgage fund had been invested and they will now need a new punching bag. Not people like baseball team owning Fred Wilpon who lost an undisclosed amount, but people like baseball bat owning couple Roger and Diane Peskin, who lost their life savings. These people will likely see little satisfaction unless they were to go to Mr. Madoff’s residence in person in search of answers. His residence at 133 East 64th street in Manhattan, where he is confined every night under court order.
Perhaps some sort of grief closure might at least be found through a support group of victims. A possible meeting place would be the SEC New York Regional Office between the hours of 9-5.
This guy below might be of help.
Mark Schonfeld, Regional Director
3 World Financial Center, Suite 400
New York, NY 10281-1022
(212) 336-1100
e-mail: newyork@sec.gov …eh, I’m bored with this one now.
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In keeping with the reputation of uncompromising journalistic integrity that this outfit has displayed from day one, we feel it necessary to once again shine the light of impartiality upon New York’s slighted. In a case of malfeasance that threatens to be swept under the rug or simply missed by the unread and the otherwise busy, it seems that Governor Paterson has again turned a blind eye to what could amount to the deliverance of many preventable health issues plaguing our city’s residents. That’s right! you guessed it! all over the city the tiny LED(Light Emitting Diodes)lit men that grace traffic posts and inform pedestrians of safe street crossing times are being amputated by electrical short circuits, in other words, failing us. All over town these sentinels of the intersections are popping up minus hands, shoulders, frontal lobes and feet.
Despite the New York times report that these minor deficiencies will in no way compromise the functionality of the system we must examine the “broken window” theory. This tried hypothesis, which was wholly ignored by me until I read the awesome book The Tipping Point by awesome writer Malcolm Gladwell, contends that even the most fractional imperfection in a milieu can become a flood of chaos if left unanswered.
At this juncture I must ask for a brief intermission to address what I’m sure is nagging my more observant readers. Some of you might be saying that this is clearly a matter of concern on a city level and not the state. Allow me to answer by saying that I just could not pass on the opportunity to say that Paterson had turned a ‘blind Eye’ to something. And yes, I could have saved that childish bit of humor for a more apropos entry but that is not how this publication is run.
Back to the task at hand. At $100 a pop these little agents of well-being are hardly bank breakers so why is it that an average of 62 percent of the contraptions are missing definable parts of their anatomy? The answer is frantically being patched together now so before I deliver the shocking truth we’ll take some time to debunk a couple of the imminent spin conspiracies. Here comes the list format that return users are undoubtedly growing accustomed to/tired of.
1. Overtly sensitive policies are pandering to the disabled set and the growing number of returning amputee veterans.
2. The collapsed LEDs speak to the image, albeit crudely illustrated, of a mulatto foot commuter in order to further stoke the flames of tolerance in the increasingly diverse (whites buying up Harlem, Bed-Stuy etc.) neighborhoods.
3. These increasingly dire times call for less money to be squandered on public safety and image programs when the funds are clearly required for vital needs like bridge re-naming and more traffic cops, not regular cops but traffic cops, foot traffic cops to be specific. The ones who walk in pairs followed by another pair 2 blocks behind them, all on payroll.
Now as both the chief reporter and a simple man who learns best by plainly drawn examples I will now provide the reasoning behind the break down of our guardians of walking. Everyday the number of people who come to live here and are birthed here exceeds the amount of people who leave. With each new resident the city’s revenue increases. With the flux of new money to the city, more must be paid to Albany. In return a disproportionate amount of funds are funneled to Manhattan. So…in the spirit of invoking true democracy and empowering each and every voice I invite you all to dig deep into the vast banks of poorly kept records and find the answers you seek. Sink your teeth into the bones of your government and return to me like so many messenger pigeons. The multitude of conclusions will be reviewed and a winner will be selected to have their response plagiarized by me!
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As any listener of day time radio can tell you, the airwaves are frequented with pitches of career salvation thrown at the unemployed, the underpaid or simply the unhappy worker looking for change. Options abound in the form of technical institutes, culinary schools, get rich quick programs, internet scams and so on. However the ads with the most rotation( I swear this assertion is true, no need to fact check the blog, keep reading…go on) are the ones enticing young men and women toward an exciting position with the NYPD. Among the benefits being provided are job security, steady pay, chances for promotion and excitement. Now amid these economically uncertain times these carrots should not have to be dangled for long before the hungry, young prospects start lining up. Why then, I wonder, is recruitment at such a low? Of course low starting pay is the obvious culprit. Why put your neck on the line in the city of cities for 25 g’s when you could make double that in the safety of the suburbs. This leads me to believe that the real problem and the real solution is simply a Instinct or Genre* magazine ad away. In this age of hyper tolerance and identity banner waving why does the bush of this issue need to be beat around? It’s simple; Join the NYPD and work out your latent tendencies!
As poster boys Richard Kern and Justin Volpe can surely attest, a job on the force could offer the answers that a lifetime of closeted masturbation simply could not. Why resign yourself to shameful and worry ridden trips to the seedy booths of animal rape when you can work out your kinks while earning some meager dough. If you ask me, Ray Kelly is barking up the wrong tree. A strong recruitment surge focused squarely on the toned, waxed streets of Chelsea would net him more than enough applicants to fill those 300 plus empty patrol cruiser seats. Perhaps just a slight tweaking of the radio campaign is needed. Ready, here we go with some ideas.
1. Join the force and go down in the anals of New York history.
2. Sodomize to the occasion!
3. To protect and perv (i know that one was weak but I need filler, perhaps ’slurp’ would have been better
I could probably come up with more but I’m a little disgusted by myself. At any rate you get the idea. The voids need to be filled(yes, please read into that one)(sorry about all the parenthesis, I’m self taught.) So all experimenters, down-lowers, unsatisfied middle-aged husbands with no passports and just outright angry, racist, rapists step on up and kill two birds and/or unfulfilled desires with one stone. But for Christ’s, Mineo’s, Luima’s and others sakes, just make sure that stone is lubricated.
*I swear I’m not gay, I just did a google search. Seriously, I’m not gay, understand! Shit! You better not tell people I’m gay or I’ll rap…er…give you an unfavorable Yelp rating. Damn, that was just lazy editing on my part.
P.s. I’m a coward so let me add this. I like the NYPD for the most part, they are really much more decent than cops in other parts of this country and they have made this city pretty damn safe. Perhaps so safe that a couple of bad apples are getting bored and needing to abuse their power. Maybe some busy work is needed for these few.
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I was bitching about this ridiculous expense when I heard it was costing taxpayers to the tune of 100 thousand dollars. Today I learn that changing the name of the Triboro Bridge to the RFK Bridge has an official price tag of 4 MILLION dollars! One hundred plus signs that direct people toward the thoroughfare must all be replaced I’m told. Now I’m just a malcontent and not a sign maker but I feel certain that some abridged (pun intended, feverishly hunted for and gleefully found at the cost of great time to the author) compromise can be reached in answer to these archaic and over abundant road indicators. Here’s a few suggestions.
1.)Get rid of some of these damn things. 139 signs!? Is it really necessary in this age of GPS, MapQuest and general eyeball competency. It’s a giant, crowded bridge that can be seen with the naked eye if you’re anywhere near it and most of the users of said bridge use it so frequently that they could find it with a face full of pepper spray. Just follow the 24 hour flow of traffic
2.)Get some workers out on the existing signs with box cutters and follow this simple procedure. Slice away the ‘T’ in Triboro, then do the same to the ‘i’ the ‘o’s and the curvy part of the ‘b’ ,then a couple of strategic sharpie marker marks and voila, you got The r F k Bridge. Problem solved.
3.) Leave them the way they are!
I’m a pretty fair illustration of the common New Yorker and I agree that Robert Kennedy was great. The same way that gas siphoning and glory holes and the uppercut are great. They all enriched American life and continue to do so with their resonance. But when their image or symbolism is used to stroke a few of us while financially hurting a lot of us it is fuuuuuuuuuucked up!
What is really happening? Do the surviving Kennedy’s have some leverage against Paterson or Bloomberg? Photos maybe? The mayor’s real i.d. that reveals him as being 5′5″ and not 5′10″? Maybe the local politicians are just not reading enough blogs. I keep hearing Albany and Manhattan’s mantra of “We’ll all have to kick in and sacrifice, times are tough.”
Obviously the mayor and the governor have different ideas than I do when it comes to what ‘tough times’ really are.
Here are my criteria for tough times in NY; a daily threat of overzealous, unregulated traffic cops with itchy ticket writing fingers. Possible fare hikes and East River toll implementation. Skyrocketing rent. Plummeting economy. And I’m a white male! Notice how driving over the same boring ol’ Triboro Bridge with it’s same dull name is NOT one of my criteria.
What is their idea of tough times and sacrifice? Being snubbed by a Kennedy at a wine mixer? Having to take the short limo due to touriot* clogged streets? (Despite the claims I have never…never,never,never seen Bloomberg on the train. This town’s not that big.)
While traversing the r F k today I saw no less than 2 enormous, movie ad style billboards featuring the man in question and a paraphrase of one of his famous quotes; “Dream of things that never were, and ask why not.” I guess the budget planners thought that this extra cajoling was needed in order to influence travelers to not turn their backs in horror and flee from the newly titled crossing. Thankfully these signs were paid for by the RFK Center and not by me and you but the quote made me think. I tried grasping for an applicable metaphor for the entire issue that I could involve the quote in. I found none. I just think that Robert Kennedy probably would not have cared about such a trumpeted namesake, he had bigger fish to fry. And at least for this contemporary generation, the deceased’s good name may have negative associations due to this irresponsible expenditure.
By this point, like you, I’m getting bored so I’ll leave it like this. The bridge name change is an unjustifiable expense loaded on the backs of struggling New Yorkers. It’s a tough town to make it in, just look at all the songs made about it(see glossary below), but we want to be here. So much so that we take punishment and make sacrifices. I only want those concessions to be repaid in a practical form.
*Touriot: It’s a word I just made up by combining Tourist and, wait for it… Riot! Its good right?
Songs.1. New York by Sinatra. Is that the name of that song? 2. Shattered by the Rolling Stones 3. NYC by Interpol 4. Rock you like a hurricane by the Scorpions 5. Rap songs by rappers… and many more!
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This being the inaugural entry, I will keep it short and intriguing. Like many people that I don’t pay attention to, I also write and blog and build a little brand around myself in order to incubate my entitled individualism. These endeavors are so encompassing that I often lose sight of the larger picture. There is a great big world! and a great big city that cares not for me at all! So enough of trying to discover a new dimension of hip narrative (oh fuck, I just did what I said I wouldn’t), this one is just pure NYC coverage from the ground up…to the area directly above the ground.
