Showing posts with label Fun City. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Fun City. Show all posts

Friday, April 30, 2010

Jury Gets It (Half) Right

WELL, THIS IS ONE of those rare cases where we'd much rather have been wrong than right. But as we hinted might happen, after a two-week trial, the jury acquitted the ex-cop of reckless assault charges against the bicyclist stemming from a critical mass ride two years ago. Patrick Pogan was found guilty of making false statements to an ADA -- but that charge does not carry a mandatory jail sentence. His June 23rd sentencing hearing will determine whether Pogan goes to prison for any or all of the maximum four years he can be given.

The split decision came late yesterday afternoon, with the jury evidently choosing not to believe its own eyes when presented with clear video evidence of rookie cop Pogan body-slamming cyclist Christopher Long to the pavement. We had a sneaking suspicion that the jury might go all weak at the knees at the sight of an authority figure on the stand -- even an incompetent bully like Pogan. Then when we heard news of an alternate juror being rushed to the courthouse to replace someone who became too ill to serve, I thought a mistrial was imminent. In a nutshell, as the New York Post story put it: "The shove, they forgave. The framing was another story."This is a story we thoughtfully followed for you all week long here at Warden's World, but due to recent staff cutbacks we were unable to send anyone to physically cover the trial itself. Instead we've had to make do with reportage from the local papers, the all-news radio stations and of course The Internets.

It took the jury three days of deliberations to reach its decision, but according to John Eligon of the Times, none of them was available for comment following the trial. Pogan also left without commenting, wearing a "blank stare" following the verdict. And Long declared himself satisfied with the jury's verdict, in part because it would prevent Pogan from joining the police force again -- but curiously went on to say, "I don’t think he ever really intended to assault me.”

But even that bit of double-talk was not the most bizarre statement following the outcome. Predictably, that honor went to defense attorney Stuart London, who showed he would have fit right in with the Bush Justice Department -- if not Soviet Russia -- with his Orwellian declaration that even though his client made false statements,
"The important part to remember is, regardless of what’s on these documents, if at the time you filled them out you believe you’re being truthful, then that’s really all that should matter."
What a load of crap! That's what law schools are teaching these days? That the facts of a case or the truth about what happened do not matter as much as what the arresting officer "believes" he saw?

No, the important part to remember here, despite the testimony of what a born liar and coward like Pogan and the opinion of a paid, professional prevaricator like London, is that before multiple videos surfaced, it was the 150-pound cyclist charged with attempted assault, resisting arrest and disorderly conduct stemming from what the 260-pound police officer apparently believed happened during a critical mass protest on the evening of July 25, 2008.

In conclusion, we submit that Exhibit A of why lawyers are almost universally detested is serial bad cop enabler Stuart London. All remains to be seen is whether the sentencing judge sees fit to set his own precedent against cops who have a problem with telling the truth despite being under oath.

FROM PEOPLE V. CHRISTOPHER LONG:













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Wednesday, April 28, 2010

Justice Delayed

THE JURY IN THE CASE of the ex-cop charged with knocking a cyclist down in Times Square two years ago is apparently still deliberating -- with the fate of Patrick Pogan's next four years resting in its hands. Pogan's very freedom depends on whether the jurors believe the minute-long video of the event in question, or instead feel cyclist Chris Long somehow deserved to be violently body-blocked off his bike for not heeding the cop's order to pull over.

I know how I'd vote, but since I'm not on the jury, the real question is whether enough citizens see it as the abuse of power that it is -- or do they feel this specific "agitator" deserved to be made an example of in some way? Few arrests have more of a visual record than this one, but does it still come down to which lawyer spins the character question better?

Got the all-news station on, but nothing about the case. The News had a short piece in yesterday's paper, the Times nothing since last Friday. The cop's already off the force, having resigned once the video reared its blessed little head, and now faces the additional falsifying evidence charge after trying to cover up what actually happened leading up to Long's arrest.

Just when I was about to sign off, I check the good old New York Post website and sure enough there's news as of 11:46am. Big News. Seems a juror got sick, putting the brakes on deliberations as the tabloid's headline cleverly puns. Now the trial's on hold while Juror No. 9 gets her act together. Why is it always Number Nine, Number Nine, Number Nine? Now an alternate is en route to the courthouse, while the rest of the jury sits around and waits, and Pogan does the same thing not too far away but far more nervously.

Yet why do I have a sinking feeling he gets off with no jail time, if not scot-free? Experience, perhaps...

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Monday, April 26, 2010

Candid Karma



WHEN LAST WE LEFT ex-cop Patrick Pogan in Manhattan Supreme Court on Friday, he was taking the witness stand in his own defense, testifying about what happened on July 25, 2008 that ultimately cost him his job, the day of his confrontation with a cyclist in Times Square. Today he's scheduled for cross-examination by the prosecution.

What makes this such an interesting legal case is that, before footage of the incident emerged, it was the cyclist charged with assaulting a policeman; afterward, it was the cop on the defensive, the undeniable visual record leading to Pogan facing charges of assault against the cyclist Christopher Long, as well as falsifying the arrest record -- charges that carry up to a 4-year prison sentence.

The one-minute Youtube video of the knockdown taken by a tourist has been viewed well over 2 million times. Without the video, it's "troublemaker" Long looking at jail time, with his word against a fresh-faced rookie cop in just his 11th day on the force.

The video clearly shows the cyclist trying to swerve around the stationary cop in the middle of the street, but in his testimony, Pogan would have jurors believe that, "At that point, I know he’s going to try and use that shoulder against me. He’s going to try and come through me using the force of the bicycle." Nice try. But he went on to claim that his blatantly offensive move was “to protect myself from possible injury."

Pogan, who lives in Long Island, is a walking poster boy for why all big cities should have residency laws for police and fire departments. Without this video, he'd still be on the job and bullying or even framing who knows how many otherwise innocent people. Which isn't to say the cyclist in question is an angel; Long was discharged from the Army for marijuana possession, and earlier in the trial according to the Times, he testified "that he had struck and killed an elderly pedestrian with his car in North Carolina."

But Long -- who sued the City for over a million dollars but settled for $65,000 -- isn't the one on trial here, it's Pogan, who resigned from the force when the video surfaced. On Friday he defended his admittedly "very extreme" action as necessary to stop what he called the "professional agitators" on wheels -- but his sergeant is on record saying that his instructions to Pogan were to watch, not to interfere with the demonstrators.

MY ONLY PARTICIPATION in anything resembling a critical mass ride was quite different. In the mid-1990s I would commute to work 2-3 days a week on my bike, going from Astoria, through Brooklyn via the Pulaski Bridge, then take either the Williamsburg or Brooklyn Bridge into lower Manhattan. Along the way I'd sometimes meet a mountain bike chick named Bridget who lived in Greenpoint and also worked in the City, and she told me about a ride called "Time's Up!" that started in the Village and went to Central Park to protest the presence of cars there. So being equal parts a fan of Bridget and an opponent of urban pollution, I couldn't resist, and after work one afternoon I shot down to Washington Square and met up with Bridget and a few -- emphasis on few -- other like-minded souls.

The amazing thing was that, due to trouble on previous so-called critical mass rides, we had a full-fledged police escort in the form of 3-4 scooters and 2-3 cop cars. So we had clear sailing up 6th Avenue all the way to the Park, despite having no more than 20 participants on our end, and more like 17 if I remember correctly. It gave me a chance to chat up Bridget, who looked real good on her bike, especially the way her thick brown pony tail bobbed along under her helmet.

But when we got to Central Park, the whole mood of the thing quickly changed. Some of the cyclists were getting real confrontational with drivers, who according to the cyclists were supposed to be out of the Park by 7:00 pm. The bikers were banging on the side of the cars, ordering them to leave and yelling BREATHE IN, CARS OUT! BREATHE IN, CARS OUT! I was immediately turned off by the childish behavior, because while I sympathized with what the bikers were trying to accomplish, the methods they were using to get their point across would obviously prove counter-productive; these drivers would remember being insulted, and who knows they might take it out on the next person they see riding a bicycle, perhaps running him or her off the road just for spite.

So that left a bad taste in my mouth, and I peeled off from the group shortly with Bridget as we took the Queensboro Bridge "home" -- me to Astoria, she back over the Pulaski Bridge into Brooklyn. I ran into her a few more times and asked her out again, but nothing became of it. I definitely never went on another protest ride, but somehow the New York critical mass movement would take off without me. And if it never reached the epic tide of the San Francisco ridership, judging by the numbers seen riding alongside Long on the Youtube video, it certainly took off from the very early stages 15 years ago when "we" could barely scrape 20 riders together in one place.

Also, according to a new survey by the group Transportation Alternatives, New York City now boasts more cycling commuters than any other city, with its 236,000 daily riders a 28 percent jump from last year -- an increase partly attributable to the 200 miles of bike lanes installed over the last three years. Ride on!

Friday, April 02, 2010

Holy Fool

IN WHAT MIGHT INITIALLY SEEM an odd subject for a blog entry, nevertheless today I submit for your approval the case study of one garden variety New York City subway nut, a street crazy, a ranting raving rambling spewer of random nonsense. Or was there a meaning to the seeming madness...? Stay tuned or, better yet, scroll down.

Here it is a day later and I still can't quite get over the encounter with this April Fool. I was coming home on the W-train early yesterday afternoon when he got on at Queensboro Plaza and got off at Astoria Blvd. just 5 stations later -- yet in between he carried on a nonstop soliloquy that entertained and/or bewildered half the train car depending on your tolerance for this sort of behavior. The thing is, this guy wasn't rambling at all, but extremely focused and obsessed, loud but not threatening. After a few minutes of his monologue it dawned on me that he was in all earnestness carrying on a conversation with Christopher Columbus in the form of his statue located on a small traffic island outside the Astoria Blvd. station, at turns imploring and exhorting the legendary explorer to:

"GUIDE ME HOME, CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS, YOU GREAT EXPLORER OF THE SEAS, WHICH SIDE WILL YOU BE ON, CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS, HOW WILL I FIND YOU ON THIS HOLY THURSDAY, O GREAT ONE, CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS WHO WITH THREE SHIPS FOUND THE NEW WORLD, CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS, WHO KNEW THE WORLD WAS ROUND WHEN EVERYONE THOUGHT IT WAS FLAT, THEY ALL DOUBTED YOU. GUIDE ME CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS TO YOUR SIDE, TAKE ME HOME. HOW WILL I FIND YOU, IT'S SUCH A LONG WAY, CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS, WHO WAS A NICE GUY, WHICH SIDE WILL YOU BE ON, HOW WILL I FIND YOU..."

This went on the entire time, with absolutely no break in the "conversation" as he faced the doors of the train, looking out, I would guess hoping for a glimpse of his hero at the earliest possible moment. Kids were moving closer just to hear what this guy was talking about. I used my cell phone to surreptitiously film three 15-second videos of this guy, but even though he was only about five feet away, it was still too far to pick up anything more than a low rumble with a few distinctly audible CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUSes, from a grand total of at least 100 mentions of his name during the short ride.

He was a tall white guy about 50, his clothes slightly disheveled but clean so not homeless. From behind I could see his glasses: huge square frames last popular circa 1979, and dirty lenses so enormous they should have come with a pair of venetian blinds or even windshield wipers. When he got on the train he was already carrying on a conversation so at first I thought he might be talking into one of those pitiful Bluetooth earpieces. But it became obvious after a minute that this guy had no need for a cell phone, the Internet, cable TV or for that matter friends.

Sure enough he got off at Astoria Blvd., mere steps away from his destination. Not to get all Oliver Sacks on you here, but I think some of his behavior might stem from somebody close to him, his mom maybe, insulting him recently; patronizingly or condescendingly asking him if he could manage to find the Columbus statue off the train stop as if were an imbecile, and now he was lashing out at that person publicly via his strange, sarcastic imprecations to old Chris. I think that's what his monologue was really all about. Or maybe he was just off his meds. Either way, if he gets this worked up about tiny Columbus Square, I hope he never finds out about the Monument in Columbus Circle or all hell might break loose.

Saturday, March 20, 2010

Ducks Out Of Water










"I was the goddam manager of the fencing team. Very big deal. We'd gone in to New York that morning for the fencing me
et with McBurney School. Only, we didn't make the meet. I left all the foils and equipment and stuff on the goddam subway." Catcher in the Rye


THE BIG, OFFICIAL
McBurney event isn't for another month (if I decide to attend), but with a day off yesterday and a Knicks-76ers game in the hopper for the evening, nostalgia was the order of the day as my fellow "Highlander" Johnny Starr and I decided to hold our own mini reunion-slash-J.D. Salinger tribute a little ahead of time. So with that in mind, we met in front of the old landmark facade (all that's left of the grounds) on West 63rd Street at 2:30 and hit Central Park with plenty o' time to take in the sights and sounds on a summer-like pre-spring afternoon.

If you really want to know the truth of it, the school itself closed shop in 1988 -- a piece of New York history gone forever after 72 years. Ten years later they announced plans for a condo tower to be built over the original five-floor building, and sure enough in 2000 there she rose 40 floors up. There's your progress in action, yes sir.

The old YMCA is still next door, where we had our locker rooms and shared the pool, gym, etc., with everyone else. We couldn't remember if the pool was on the 3rd or 4th floor, but we did manage to walk right past the front desk and wander about, trying unsuccessfully to find the cafeteria, the barbershop where me and 3 other members of the wrestling team shaved our heads one fateful morning, the cramped stairwell all the teams ran up and down as a punishment drill for whatever infraction or shortcoming the coaches came up with...

Right across the park wall is the rock where all the heads in high school would congregate and do their thing. Beyond was the rough patch of green between softball fields where we held football practice every day. The whole field was fenced off on this day, probably being resodded, and as we later discovered, so was the entire Sheeps Meadow.

The ducks were indeed alive and well and seemingly content in the Duck Pond, perhaps distant relatives to the ones the real Holden Caulfield would have ruminated about while spending 9th and 10th grade at McBurney in the '30s. Much later in the day we stumbled on the Carousel, still a New York bargain at only 2 bucks a ride, where Catcher's pivotal scene plays out: Holden for once totally in the moment, at peace with himself, watching his sister Phoebe on the Merry Go Round.

GOT TO THE GARDEN at about 7:00, then hung out at the Play by Play watching the start of the game on the bar's big screen until John's friends showed up, which was well into the first half. We didn't actually get to our seats until well into the second half. Which was just as well, because my pathetic 76ers, clad on this night in their eyesore all-red uni's, couldn't get it done yet again, losing 92-88 -- even with the Knicks missing their two best players in David Lee and Wilson Chandler.

Saturday, March 13, 2010

Desperate Measure

I SOMEHOW MISSED THIS STORY when it came out, but a blog I follow, LIQCity, had a post about it. Seems a 38-year-old Greek guy, distraught over his very sick mom, over losing his job from taking time off to be with her, over his house being foreclosed -- you know, little things like that -- leaped to his death from a Long Island City condo tower last Saturday. Anastasi Calatzis evidently posed as a prospective buyer, then, while the real estate agent was showing him an apartment on the 25th floor, he texted his brother, asking him to take care of mom, waited for the agent to turn her back, and calmly jumped from the balcony as if he had planned the whole thing out. Another overwhelmed soul overcome by unforgiving circumstances in a city that can seem heartless even in the best of times.

The LIQCity post included a link to the hideous New York Post, where, in typical nutzoid fashion, some sick fuck in the newsroom made the appalling editorial decision to accompany their story with a photo of the condo tower and a big red arrow pointing down from the 25th-floor terrace to the street below where the poor guy landed. What is the purpose of this? In case you didn't have the mental capacity to figure out which direction a person falls from 25 stories up, the Post is there to help with its asinine diagram. Anyone who buys this dying tabloid needs to have his head examined. If it was free I wouldn't use it to wipe my butt if I ran out of toilet tissue.

In a not-so-unrelated matter, I happen to detest the very idea of these Astoria high-rises and the selfish yuppie scum that dwell therein, but hey that's just me; I'm only born and raised here. I'm not breaking any new ground here, but Astoria has become inundated with these self-absorbed hipsters who think they've discovered some authentic urban landscape, who come here from their small towns trying to "make it" and within 5 minutes consider themselves native New Yorkers. I've had it with these oh-so-interesting-in-their-own-minds "indie rocker" types who live four to five to an apartment and go out in packs frequenting all their favorite new sushi joints and fusion bistros and organic health food emporiums in the neighborhood, probably looking down on all the uncultured locals. They haven't earned that right yet. If anyone's gonna look down on Astoria dumbasses, it's me. But I really don't need to see Astoria or Long Island City turning into the new Williamsburg or Park Slope. Doesn't do a damn thing for me but drive the cost of everything up.

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Friday, February 26, 2010

Snow Excuses

AS ANYONE WHO MADE IT outside yesterday knows, getting anywhere was a messy adventure. But even with all the snow and rain and nasty sleet, I'm still an hour early to take the Census exam, and that's after spacing out on the 7 Train and going an extra stop into Manhattan -- past Vernon-Jackson station and into Grand Central, where I cross the platform and get the 7 coming back the other way to Queens. And even though I already had a bagel and tea before getting on the train, I felt I'd earned another set of breakfast, and so I was looking forward to the second almost as much as the first, and that's saying something for a teaholic like me. I spot the Irish Center right across Jackson Avenue from where I got off the train, so I take a little walk, past a dreaded Starbucks, when I stumble on a small coffee shop tucked into a sharp corner and duck in out of the wintry goop.

I ask for my trademark English Breakfast and the hipster type behind the counter in the black beret tells me all they have is organic, which is cool by me, but then I ask how much in case it's something like 4 bucks, in which case I'd have to shoot the whole thing down. But it's 2 bucks for what turns out to be a damn fine cup of hand-brewed tea, I think that's the term she used.

The little shop was like a smaller version of my friend Kathryn's place in Greenpoint, a little cafe called Ashbox when she owned it that is itself just off the ramp of the other, Brooklyn side of the Pulaski Bridge that I could just make out across the avenue through the driving snow, which seemed to be coming down in wet sheets. I helped myself to a few free samples of a chocolate croissant on the counter, right next to a plate of Spinach and feta croissants marked $3.75 that had my name on it -- but it was way too early for lunch at 9:15 or so. I made a note to come back here for lunch, because it looked like a cool place to hang out, what with first a Marvin Gaye record playing from a CD player and then Superfly by Curtis Mayfield -- the latter especially an album I've known and loved ever since my older brother bought it when it first came out in 1972. I told Black Beret how great a choice this was, and mentioned how even more than the great Freddie's Dead and the title track, the stirring Little Child Runnin' Wild was the song that made that soundtrack album an absolute masterpiece. Something to that effect. As luck would have it she agreed, and so I thought she might throw it on for me before I had to run and take the test and then I could take that as a sign. That's what music can do for you, get your hopes up. Well, she didn't, and in between her taking care of customers we talked some more about blaxploitation movies before I had to split.

On my way out I heard her tell the other guy behind the counter who was also wearing a black beret that she was working till 1:00 today, so I made a mental note to come back after the test and partake of that Spinach Pie and hold court on a wide range of pop culture arcana. But when we finally finished, it was like 12:30 already, and the weather was just so brutal I decided to head right for the trains. But it's a great destination point for my first bike ride this spring when this crapulous accumulation evaporates under the first rays of the new season.

The test itself took longer than I thought when you include filling out all the paperwork and waiting around for the room to fill up. The exam was more difficult than I expected. You've only got a half-hour for 28 questions, and when the woman giving the test announced 15 minutes to go, I was just filling in the answer for Question 10. So I had to find another gear, and then I had 5 minutes left to answer 5 questions, and so the last 2 answers I was not all comfortable with.

They graded the tests right after we finished, which I was surprised by. I heard the guy tell someone, You got a 97, Call for the Supervisor test. Another guy got a 90, some girl an 80, then he told some poor dude to call for another test, meaning he done failed. I was called last or close to it: You got a 90, Call for the Supervisor test. That shocked me, because I was really unsure on a few early ones, and as I said not at all sure about #27 and #28. But I must have got all the others right, and now at least I'm in the system and I'm waiting for a callback when they give another Supervisors test. That's right, I'm already executive material. We had 'em all the way.

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Tuesday, January 26, 2010

Death Comes To Ditmars

NOT THAT ANYONE in the Greater Blogosphere is likely to care or shed a tear, but let it be noted that at 7:30 this very morning a City sanitation worker was struck and killed by a truck just a few short blocks from where I live. When I met my brother at around 8 this morning for coffee at the Bagel Shoppe, he told me that the area around 35th Street and Ditmars Blvd. was blocked off with cop cars. He thought a sanitation truck had hit someone, but later I found out that a 41-year-old garbageman was hit and then pinned between two trucks, and was pronounced D.O.A. at Mt. Sinai, the local hospital, leaving behind as they say a wife and two young kids. Just another death by motor vehicle in a City quite inured to and even tolerant of them.

I always said that if mob hit men were smart (a stretch, granted, but play along), their best bet would be just running over the intended victim. As long as you're not intoxicated, let's face it, no one does hard time in this city for killing a pedestrian or cyclist. In any case, the odds are against it. Last year, according to Streetsblog, "Of the 66 pedestrians, seven cyclists and one wheelchair user known to have died since January, in only 12 cases was the driver reportedly charged for taking a life." Why the hell would you go through the elaborate ritual of stalking a guy and pumping a few bullets into him. And of course if you use an SUV as the "weapon" of choice, the chances of anyone surviving a collision are few and far between. Just get behind the wheel like you usually do, tune everything out, pump up the tunes, crank it up to 70 and BAM! the guy's history. Shoot, you can probably even be texting or sexting or carrying on a cell conversation while you do the deed; most you'll get is a meager fine. The police don't seem to prioritize moving violations for the most part in the City under the all-important guise of keeping the precious traffic rolling along; after all, there'll be plenty of chances to fill the city coffers later when you're caught double-parking.

I have my own rather
draconian yet I think fair and indeed necessary solutions when it comes to assholes caught talking on cell phones while driving that involve not only a 90-day suspended license right on the spot but also more far more fitting penance for such selfish behavior -- i.e., violators being forced to pull rickshaws full of obese tourists around the Theater District for a like duration. Because from what I've heard, your conversations suck anyway, so put the damn phone down or pull over and, for chrissakes (as my father used to say), if it's not too much trouble, pay some attention while operating your 2-ton metallic monstrosity. I mean, is it too much for you to live in the moment, to interact with what's in front of you for a change?











Fill 'er up, Draco!
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Wednesday, October 14, 2009

Sam, My Man


I WAS WAITING for the Lincoln Center library to open up this morning, a few minutes before 11--trying to fill the hours of yet another unemployed day with some bare modicum of social interaction--when who should I see but Sam Waterston, the excellent actor who plays the District Attorney on one of the 47 or so incarnations of Law & Order, walking right past me. For some odd reason, I found myself saying "Good Show" to the guy as he walked by dressed in a suit and a beige trench coat. He said "Thanks" and as he walked away, I felt the need to throw out another line, asking him if he was the narrator of the latest Ken Burns PBS documentary on America's national parks. I mean, I watched about 3-4 hours of the series, so I already knew he was, but I guess I wanted some verification to that effect, and he admitted that it indeed was him doing the voice-over. I further surprised / embarrassed myself by complimenting him on a job well done. This time there was no "Thanks" in return; old Sam just kept right on walking. And here I thought we were really hitting it off, just two New Yorkers shooting the breeze of a morning. Of course, looking back, can't really blame him: I probably looked like a stalker type in my shades, or just another street crazy or nosy nutjob to the esteemed thespian, whose best movie role was undoubtedly the journalist in The Killing Fields. I too would have walked away from myself had I been in his shoes. Lord knows I've tried, and we all know how painful that can be.

As Sam left the scene, I remembered that there was a terrific bordering on riveting Law & Order episode about three weeks ago dealing with the prosecution of a John Yoo-type scumbag for his depraved legal brief endorsing the use of harsh, okay-as-long-as-it's-not-fatal interrogation techniques by the last administration. Old Sam really made an impassioned stand against the use of torture in that show, and I would have loved to pick his brain on how close his own views were to those of the character he played. Oh well, now I have some material for next time, including some choice personal info I picked up on Wikipedia. Can you say Rupert Pupkin ??!!

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Monday, May 11, 2009

Just Plane Dumb


DEMONSTRATING ONCE AGAIN
why "military intelligence" is an oxymoron for a very good reason, someone fairly high up the old chain of command thought it would make for a sweet sendoff to allow a retiring fighter pilot from a Naval base in Maine to fly a P-3 patrol plane over New York City today at low altitudes -- 2 weeks to the day parts of the city were "terrorized" back to 9/11 by a low flying plane. This morning's flyover was ultimately canceled, but it's distressing to contemplate that plans for it ever got off the ground, if you will, in the first place. The ill-advised stunt was only abandoned once New York City officials got wind of it and reported it to FAA officials in Washington.

But the fact that it was even initially approved by the FAA is more than mind-boggling, it's bad acid trip, CIA thought control experiment mind-blowing.

Is it out of line to ask: Where the hell were the Navy fighter jets when we needed them 8 years ago? Don't remember them coming anywhere near the City when we needed it most -- you know, at any point along the route those two hijacked jumbo jets took from Boston to Lower Manhattan on that fateful day they managed to crash into the Twin Towers. Remember that little event. We sorta do here in New York. THAT was the time we could have used a military flyover! Yesterday? No so much really.

Instead, coming on the wings of the Air Force One fiasco just two weeks ago, I couldn't believe my ears when I heard the announcement on the radio that another flyover was scheduled in a half-hour, this one over the Hudson, as part of an emergency defense drill. Okay, I reasoned, perhaps there's a good reason for a show of force at this exact time in such a crowded area. Then to learn it would have been little more than a PR stunt... if I'm the Mayor I go nuts, but all Billionayor Bloomberg could muster was a lame:
"It was some Navy guy, I gather, who was retiring after many years of service and they wanted one last flyby from up in Maine down and back, and that's fine. That's their issue."
That's "their issue"?! No, Mike, it's your responsibility to ensure something like this never ever happens again -- to demand to be included in the loop in the future. I guess if you weren't humiliated last time -- allowing your subjects, er New Yorkers, to be scared senseless by an unnecessary stunt, what's another big middle finger to the City on your watch just two weeks later?

Tell Washington that your city is more than a fucking backdrop for someone's retirement. That citizens should count as more than fucking extras in a military ceremony. I know it's all about Manhattan real estate and the tourism industry to you, just as it was to Rudy Giuliani before you, but this is fucking ridiculous.

Well, I see that I've used up my self-imposed quota of 3 uses of the word fuck in the course of a post, so I'll save some precious outrage for another post. Thanks for coming and, as always, Heads up!

Wednesday, April 29, 2009

Hog Wild

MAN, I WAS REALLY HOPING this whole swine flu thing would pass and I wouldn't have to pay a lot of attention to it. I tend to avoid stories about national or natural disasters like this, such as the West Nile Virus scare a few years back or, more recently, the dreaded Miley Cyrus Virus. But here in NYC we're getting bombarded regularly with increasingly dire updates, at last count 51 confirmed cases of the virus and 5 school closings, including a few here in Queens. With a possible vaccine at least 4 months away, I have a bad feeling that it could spiral out of control and reach dangerous, pandemic levels, like coverage of the Jonas Brothers or the revival of the musical Hair.

The latest drastic responses to the Flu are almost Biblical in proportion, which is rarely a good thing for Man and/or other living things. In Egypt, the panic led to the slaughter of all 300,000 of its pigs, despite zero cases of swine flu in the country and no evidence that pigs even spread the disease. I too wondered what the hell a Muslim nation is doing with all those pigs anyway; the pork is consumed by the 10% or so of the country that is still Christian and who presumably enjoy a good ham & egg sandwich now and then. For the rest of Egypt, they'll miss the bacon about as much as we'd have trouble giving up hummus. (Talk about plagues visited upon the land: Just read Egypt is already in the midst of an unrelated bird flu outbreak which is responsible for the recent deaths of 26 people!)

The nation of Lebanon took a less severe preventative step but was proactive in its own way: wisely prohibiting the traditional male greeting of 3 kisses on the cheek, like something out of Gay Paree or gay...anywhere. But anything that even for a short while restricts men from kissing each other in public can't be all bad. Now all we need here in NYC is a nice fungal outbreak that keeps men from wearing flip-flops in public.

Update (4/30/09@3:00pm)
The World Health Organization just announced it will stop using the term "swine flu" to avoid confusion over the danger posed by pigs and will instead begin referring to the disease by its catchy scientific name
H1N1 influenza Z. -- a policy change which came a day too late to help 300,000 pigs in Egypt from meeting an unnecessarily premature end.

Saturday, November 29, 2008

My Favorite Jackson

JUST WHEN IT LOOKED like this was gonna be one of those weekends when money would be too tight to mention, I found a 20-dollar bill in the alley I cut through every day. It was amazing because at the very moment I espied the bill in question, I was engaged in bemoaning my sad state of financial affairs as I trudged along on my way to meeting my brother for a cup of coffee, tea in my case. At first I thought I was just imagining it, but no, it was real all right, the bill sort of folded in quarters so that I wasn't sure of the denomination until I picked it up. I was never so glad to see Andrew Jackson's stern face as I stuffed the 20 in my pocket. Of course, it would have been sweeter to see big Ben Franklin or my homeboy U.S. Grant staring back at me. But at least a man can do something with a 20 spot! Needless to say, the hot caffeinated beverages were on me this morning. I hope the person who lost it didn't miss it as much as I needed it. Either way, you're never too rich or poor not to appreciate finding money.

As I told my brother, we probably all lose or find about 100 dollars over the course of a lifetime. As of right now, I think I'm way ahead, because I don't remember losing nearly as much as I've found so far, which if my theory is correct means I'm due to lose about 60 bucks worth of currency before my final ledger is balanced. Just last year, for instance, I found 15 bucks in the bagel shop I go to all the time. (Oh, that was yours? Sorry, too late.) Suffice to say, this is now my favorite alleyway, just a little shortcut between 35th and 36th Streets if you're wondering. But just think of the timing needed between the loser and the finder of the money and you know why I feel blessed indeed that some higher power is looking out for me. Of course it's probably the same higher power that got me into this mess in the first place. So on second thought...

Then again, things could always be worse, as my dear mother used to say. How about the poor soul who was stomped to death at a Valley Stream, Long Island, shopping mall on Black Friday, run over by a stampede of crazed shoppers hell bent on holiday sales at a Wal-Mart.
"A police statement said shortly after 5 a.m., a throng of shoppers "physically broke down the doors, knocking (the worker) to the ground." Police also said a 28-year-old pregnant woman was taken to a hospital for observation and three other shoppers suffered minor injuries and were also taken to hospitals."
Not one of Capitalism's finest moments, to be sure, or Humanity in general for that matter, but get used to it as money gets even scarcer and people get still meaner:

"Some shoppers who had seen the stampede said they were shocked. One of them, Kimberly Cribbs of Queens, said the crowd had acted like “savages.” Shoppers behaved badly even as the store was being cleared, she recalled. “When they were saying they had to leave, that an employee got killed, people were yelling, ‘I’ve been on line since yesterday morning,’ ” Ms. Cribbs told The Associated Press. “They kept shopping.”

If there's a worse, more meaningless way to die, I hope I never discover it...

Friday, November 28, 2008

Face To Face

JUST GOT BACK from meeting my nephew and his girlfriend on the West Side. We walked up Amsterdam from 66th Street, up to about 80th, then I left them back down near 63rd Street. About 5 minutes after leaving them, around 2:00 pm, I had my first post-Thanksgiving celebrity spotting, if indeed that so-called Jungle Lady with the real bad plastic surgery qualifies as one. I was walking near 57th Street and 8th when I spotted her walking in my direction. The word that came to mind was "Sad!" She had a hood on and was understandably in the process of drawing it closer around her infamous visage. I know there are probably hundreds of rich women in that area walking around wearing the results of grotesque plastic surgery disasters, but trust me: this was the face that launched a thousand tabloid covers just a few years ago.

I just Wikipedia'd her case. Her name is apparently Jocelyn Wildenstein, she had the work done so her husband wouldn't leave her, which he did anyway, and the result is a Twilight Zone episode come to life. She spent like 4 mil on her new mug, then got tens of millions of dollars, give or take a buck, in the divorce proceedings, and then pawned another 10 mil in jewelry for some shopping money. Wikipedia confirmed that she still lives in New York. So that was her. Damn, maybe I should have chatted her up. It's not like I'm doing any better with the so-called normal, non-Lion Woman-looking female population in this kooky town.

Thursday, January 10, 2008

Caper From Hell

BEST NEW YORK CITY CRIME STORY in quite a while involves an incredibly clueless plot hatched the other day in Hell's Kitchen. Two jokers thought it would be a good idea to cash their recently deceased friend's Social Security check, so they plopped the dead guy in a wheelchair and rolled on down to the nearest check cashing center, where their ill-conceived plan met its inevitable end:

They went inside to present the check, but a clerk said Mr. Cintron would have to cash it himself, and asked where he was, the police said.

“He is outside,” Mr. O’Hare said, indicating the body in the chair, according to Mr. Browne. The two men started to bring the chair inside, but it was too late.

Their sidewalk procession had already attracted the stares of passers-by who were startled by the sight of the body flopping from side to side as the two men tried to prop it up, the police said. The late Mr. Cintron was dressed in a faded black T-shirt and blue-and-white sneakers. His pants were pulled up part of the way, and his midsection was covered by a jacket, the police said. While the two men were inside the check-cashing office, a small crowd had gathered around the chair. A detective, Travis Rapp, eating a late lunch at a nearby Empanada Mama saw the crowd and notified the Midtown North station house.
(FROM: Corpse Wheeled to Check-Cashing Store Leads to 2 Arrests By BRUCE LAMBERT and CHRISTINE HAUSER)

Hell's Kitchen is where you'd expect this kind of desperate scheme to unfold if you know anything about the neighborhood. It still has pockets that give off that hopeless, unseemly vibe -- with methadone junkies, winos and other shady characters stumbling about in higher numbers than are usually found in your more gentrified sections of the City.

And so these two clowns look almost exactly as you would expect them to look -- shifty, seedy, down on their luck. It didn't take long for The Times to weigh in on the episode, with a piece entitled In Corpse Episode, Echoes of a Grittier Time, by Christine Hauser, that strikes a nerve, hits a chord ... choose a metaphor and let's get on with it:

Jimmy, James O’Hare, lived with Fox, Virgilio Cintron, in a second-story apartment on West 52nd Street. Both men were in their 60s and Mr. Cintron was ailing, so Mr. O’Hare often took care of laundry and grocery errands. He shopped for soda and sweets at Adam Altareb’s 99-cent discount store on 10th Avenue, counting out change or small bills at the counter. They regularly lined up for a free meal around the corner at the Sacred Heart rectory.

They were tolerated, even treated with affection, although they could be trouble: Each had been arrested numerous times since the 1960s on charges including robbery, drug possession and burglary. Their neighborhood was slowly improving, and in some ways, it was leaving them behind. “They are a throwback to the old Hell’s Kitchen,” said Paul J. Browne, a police spokesman.

In some nebulous way, for all its comic potential, it speaks to something more significant: reflective of a different time in NYC's distant history: one more sordid, yes, and even more chaotic -- but somehow an era that, at least looking through our rose colored rear-view mirrors, seemed also more genuine, more human, more real perhaps than the present age, which gives off a fin de siecle vibe that permeates the streets that in some ways is more offensive than the stench of an old alkie's breath.

Tuesday, September 04, 2007

Living Inner City

















WE HIT THE BEACH
, Rockaway Beach, on Sunday -- a day after the Great Shark Sighting of '07. Actually, it was a 6-foot Thresher Shark that washed ashore Saturday on Beach 109th Street, just a few short blocks away from where we usually plop our towels down on a weekly basis. Unfortunately, it turned up dead less than a day later with a large open gash on its underbelly, the apparent victim of a float-by mauling.

But on Sunday we had our own scare right on Beach 102nd Street: the reported drowning of a young girl. Around 30 lifeguards came running from all up and down the Beach to search for the missing youngster, while a police helicopter swooped low, very low, overhead. Turns out the girl was on the boardwalk all along. According to a lifeguard I chatted up, the girl's parents panicked; she told me that the dad had lost a brother from drowning years ago and immediately freaked out when he didn't see his daughter. Long story short, we went back to tossing the football around after a short interlude of feigned concern.

But the shark was hardly the only victim of violence in the City on the long Laborious Day Weekend. As if channeling the notoriously deadly Summer of '77, New Yorkers seemed to revert to form, confirming the worst urban stereotypes. But if rumors of a dangerously out of control city keep even one family of fat annoying tourists away, somehow it will all have been worth it.

Now, I hope you're sitting down when you read this next item, because shockingly violence broke out at the 40th annual West Indian Day Parade. I know, I know, hard to believe, but a "reveler" was shot twice in the leg. The news reports all stuck to the same tone: a beautiful day was marred by a few bad apples. On one broadcast, an overhead shot focused in on what looked like a giant mosh pit, with literally thousands of young men pushing each other in what looked like an orgasmic orgy of coordinated violence. Funny, but for whatever reason, cultural or otherwise, it's the kind of thing that rarely happens at, say, the Salute to Israel parade, or even the drunken spectacle that is St. Patrick's Day. Just saying.

On Staten Island, violence also marred a Labor Day block party, with a 4-year-old girl the victim this time of a stray gunshot. The disgusting part is that despite plenty of witnesses to this barbarous act, not one person has thus far come forward to aid the investigation so that police can nab the shooter. The likely reason, of course, is the fear of repercussion should word get out that some concerned citizen is cooperating with the police. Don't worry, though: Al Sharpton will somehow find a way to blame centuries of racial prejudice and white oppression for this outrage, instead of putting the blame where it belongs. Again, just saying.

But the worst act of violence this weekend occurred just a few blocks from where I sit a-typin' this entry. A hard-working 19-year-old Mexican dishwasher named Jose Sierra was shot and killed in Astoria early Sunday morning inside a subway station. Five people, now considered suspects, were seen running away from the Broadway N/W train station after shots rang out at 1:00 AM. Not that everything is all about me, but this is my blog, and that was my "home" stop when I lived in the neighborhood about 20 years ago. Now I live a grand total of 3 subway stops away, in the beautiful Ditmars Blvd. area. The consensus of those residents interviewed by on-location network newspeople is that the "neighborhood is very good," "this is a peaceful neighborhood," it's "unbelievable," etc. Trust me, it's not all that wonderful, unless the area changed a whole lot from when I was a resident in the pre-gentrified '80s. Then, it was overwhelmingly dirty, noisy, malodorous, crowded & rundown -- and I loved it, because my rent was a mere $235.40 when I first moved into rent-controlled apartment B4 at 29-08 31st Avenue, in a building incongruously called Windsor Garden.

Now, my theory is that the name "Windsor Garden" was chosen by savvy real estate honchos to suggest the lush, verdant acres and sprawling hills one might encounter while strolling outside an English country manor. Not only was there no greenery or garden to speak of, but the soulless, dilapidated edifice resembled an embattled fortress more than a royal castle. (Of course, people have a funny way of upgrading their own neighborhood when they describe it to outsiders, except for those posers who like to brazenly "romanticize" their neighborhood as more dangerous than it really is in a pathetically transparent attempt to garner street cred.)


Again, call me cynical, call me disturbed, just don't call me late to dinner, but if this prevents even one set of spoiled, annoying, three- or four-to-an-apartment-sharing yuppies from moving into my nabe, driving rents & food prices up, maybe some good will come from this after all. The other day I saw that a Greek deli had closed, and a sign on the boarded up storefront informed passers-by that a new sushi place was coming -- soon to join the ranks of overpriced coffee joints, boutiques and cafes. Great. Now, I've eaten sushi maybe 10 times in my life, while I used to cop spinach pies from this place on a semi-regular basis. So I've done the math, people, and I'm here to tell you it ain't pretty!

Thursday, July 12, 2007

Last Best Chance

An occasionally lucid, sometimes rambling discourse arguing in favor of traffic congestion pricing for New York City, as well as other (hopefully even more onerous) anti-automobile measures designed to save the city, nation and planet from ourselves... now in the hands of a notoriously dysfunctional governing body known as the New York State Legislature, as Mayor Bloomberg continues stumping for his plan.

AT THIS WATERSHED MOMENT in New York City history, it is my contention that without passage and implementation of Bloomberg's plan (and soon) or one equally ambitious in scope, this is the City we're gonna be stuck with, a city overrun by cars and gridlocked by traffic, where the pedestrian is a second class citizen on his own streets. While other major urban centers around the globe are undertaking programs to improve their traffic problems, New York continues to do nothing to address the situation. Now New York is competing with eight other cities for its share of over $1.1 billion in federal mass transit funding. Only catch is, each city has to present a traffic reduction initiative based on congestion pricing to qualify for the funds. And of course the New York State Assembly can't agree on a plan, specifically Sheldon Silver, the speaker of that august body representing Lower Manhattan who is doing all he can to scuttle Bloomberg's pet project, much as he did just over two years ago. Difference being, we loved him when he blocked that stadium plan, and now ... not so much. Silver is just not a big Bloomie guy, as this quote makes pretty clear:

"The mayor … insists that he is the city, and he wants the authority to impose fees, he wants the authority to set a zone, and he wants the authority to purchase the equipment that’s necessary to implement his plan. He does not want anybody else’s view considered on the entire issue."

Whatever the real reason for Silver's refusal to get on board, it's more than a damn shame, because essentially the very same plan was implemented in London four years ago and, guess what, it's worked: cutting traffic by 15 percent the first year, with at most a negligible impact on retail business centers. But an organized opposition to Mayor Bloomberg traffic congestion tax on drivers entering Manhattan below 86th Street -- $8 for cars, $22 for trucks -- has stopped passage of the measure, which in turn would have immediately triggered some half-a-billion dollars in federal mass transit aid.












MEANWHILE, the city's nightmarish traffic situation has become all but unmanageable, with some or perhaps most residents throwing up their hands in despair and all but giving up. And maybe people believe modern urban traffic is one of those intractable problems that HAS no solution, like immigration and racial tensions. However, other large cities have actually tackled the problem head on with congestion relief and traffic calming initiatives that have gone a long way toward making the areas in question less stressful, where pedestrians and vehicles coexist and interact in more humane, civilized ways.

New York is one of the few major U.S. cities where you can still function without owning a car, one of the only metropolitan areas where the car has not entirely taken over every aspect of life, as is the case in suburb after exurb, with their office parks, malls, shopping centers in place of sidewalks, stores, shops. That's why obesity rates among children have risen steadily since more people now live in suburban areas than in cities nationwide. I'm just saying.

Who would oppose alleviating Manhattan's congested streets, and on what grounds? On the nightly news programs we saw drivers being interviewed, but not walkers; commuters but not residents; we constantly heard the viewpoint of car owners, but not lowly pedestrians. Most respondents were challenged by the facts, and usually resorted to rumors and half-truths to make their case. Others hid more blatantly behind lies, such as the cowardly Richard Brodsky, whose opposition rests on what he describes as an unfair burden the plan would place on lower- and middle-income drivers. What Brodsky and, indeed, most news reports fail to disclose when covering his study is that the Westchester Assemblyman is the recipient of the second highest amount of campaign contributions (of course some would call such donations bribes) from the parking garage industry. Brodsky had the gall to claim he is acting purely (nobly?) on behalf of the greater good, telling the New York Times, "We don't have any competing interests. We're interested only in the public interest, and the first thing the public interest requires is someone to actually look at the mayor's plan, fairly and thoroughly." But the parking industry's biggest beneficiary is (surprise, surprise!) another leading opponent of the Mayor's congestion easing plan: City Councilman David Weprin, who has received more than $40,000 in political contributions from garage and parking lot owners.

In fact, fewer than 5 percent of NYC residents drive to work, and lower-income, working class residents of course rely on mass transit to reach their jobs on a daily basis. But why let the facts get in the way when you can hide behind a phony populism? Brodsky represents New York's most prosperous county (Westchester), where per capita income of those who commute into the City by car is $176,000 (overall per capita in Westchester is over $66,000), but a large portion of Westchester residents also commute to the City via Metro North and other forms of mass transit.

The price of off-street Manhattan parking spaces precludes all but the upper middle class and above from being able to afford them on a regular basis. So let's stop this nonsense about the congestion plan being some kind of onerous tax on the poor and working class schmoes; they're not the ones coming into Manhattan to either work or shop at the status label boutiques or dine at 4-star restaurants. Besides, it's not a ban but a restriction; it's still free to come into overpriced, overcrowded Manhattan on weekends. At least for now.

But why do what's best for the actual residents of the City, who face the disastrous effects of traffic on a daily basis, including serious health problems related to automobile pollution and pedestrian deaths directly caused by vehicles. It would take the efforts of a thousand Al-Qaeda's to replicate the carnage & destruction that can rightly be "credited" to the automobile industry on a national basis. The difference is that we bemoan the existence of one while foolishly embracing the other through propagandistic ad campaigns that do their best to celebrate the myth of the open road as uniquely American, with the driver cunningly celebrated in countless cultural messages as master of his own destiny.

A recent study called Traffic's Human Toll conducted by Transportation Alternatives showed how constant auto traffic took a major negative toll on residents in four City neighborhoods, including Astoria, Brooklyn Heights and Chinatown. According to study respondents, New Yorkers "living on streets with high volumes of traffic spend less time outside and are more likely to restrict their children's outdoor play compared to people who live on medium and low traffic streets." The TA Report report also found that "residents on high traffic streets are twice as likely to be disrupted by traffic while they are walking, talking, eating, playing with kids and sleeping."

THE SADDEST THING is how many people have given up. Too many have come to terms with being helpless to change such an important quality of life situation. One Brooklynite offered this resigned perspective: "Compared to where I lived ... in Manattan, here we have nothing to complain about. Sure, the kids can't play ball in the street, but compared to the heart of Manhattan, this is downright pasture land."

Indeed, the days when NYC kids could play anything on a city street without being interrupted by a constant flow of cars is a thing of the long lost past, a distant rumor, a dying murmur. Just another long-dead ghost of New York yesteryear.

I remember growing up how this city was a walker's paradise, where your own two legs could carry you from one interesting neighborhood to another without being subject to wave after wave of cars, trucks, buses, taxis and, most deleterious of all, and modern bane of pedestrians the world over, the Sport Utility Vehicle blocking the way, making navigating the streets a living hell for all concerned.


It's not just that certain busy Manhattan streets and avenues at certain times are clogged, like during rush hour. Rather, it's EVERY street, EVERY day, EVERY time of day, ALL day, with literally no relief or respite. A year ago, the EPA reported that NYC's air quality is among the the worst in the nation; and cars, trucks and buses are responsible for at least 80% of the harmful pollutants we all breath in. Yet there are those who remain on the wrong side of change. In one news story, a small businessman expressed his opposition to Mayor Bloomberg's congestion pricing plan. "There are a lot of uncertainties," said Luis Nunez of the Latino Restaurant Association. "I live on 96th Street, and I get claustrophobic in the subway," he said. "If I need to travel ten blocks from where I already pay high taxes, am I expected to pay $8. It's unjust." It's all about Mr. Nunez, the claustrophobic, overtaxed Latino restaurateur, representing a subset if there ever was one. Hey, Luis, take a bus or walk, there's an idea. Okay, big shot, now it's $10 if you wanna come into the city! We'll come up with a special traffic plan just to accomodate Luis Nunez's special needs. Give me a fucking break, Luis!

Now, the Bloomberg plan is far from perfect but it's a good start. I was dead set against Bloomie when he tried to shove his West Side Stadium project down the city's throat. But this is different, this is progressive, it's enlightened, and it proposes the greater good for the most people in the City he was twice elected to represent. Not the parking garage owners who are spending upward of $150,000 in a concerted effort to defeat pricing congestion. Not the pols like Richard Brodsky and David Weprin who are in the cushy pocket of the parking industry.

HOPEFULLY THE NEXT STEP is completely banning automobiles from sections of Manhattan. A plan is already under way to do just that, with Times Square being proposed as the first model project. According to the Daily News, Bloomberg is trying to convince the City DOT to hire Jan Gehl as a consultant, who previously designed similar traffic-free zones for London and Copenhagen, to great success. If by success you mean an urban oasis that takes back the streets from cars and gives top priority to pedestrians, cyclists, walkers, perambulators, skaters, joggers, skateboarders and other natural forms of human-powered motion.

According to the July 10th Daily News,

Gehl spoke about Times Square and his vision for the city last winter when Sadik-Khan interviewed him for the New York Transportation Journal, a think-tank publication affiliated with New York University. Times Square is "beyond the brink" with too many cars and pedestrians cramming into an inadequate amount of space, Gehl said.

"We could take all of the pedestrians out of Times Square or we could take some or most of the traffic out - whatever," Gehl said. "I think that should be the strategy for reducing the vehicular traffic in this dense city." Bloomberg has proposed an $8 fee to enter Manhattan below 86th St. to raise funds to reduce pollution, improve mass transit and prepare for population growth.

"Another thing we can do is to reduce the number of parking spots," Gehl said. "I would raise the price for parking right away." The city also should consider taking parking off some avenues to transform them into tree-lined boulevards with wider sidewalks and outdoor cafes, he said.
"I question whether it is smart to have all this parking on the avenues which could instead be used for trees, benches and cafes," he said.

I really love this guy Gehl already.

Bloomberg's plan has been compared most often and for obvious reasons to the London traffic congestion solution orchestrated by Ken Livingstone, the visionary Mayor of London. Before he could implement his plan, which would make London the largest city to adopt a major congestion easing model, he had to overcome ingrained resistance to the idea that a large urban area could do anything to alleviate a decades if not centuries old problem. Livingstone was also vilified as a communist and socialist by business organizations and their minions in the press, and by various other special interest groups orchestrating opposition to a tax on commuting, as well as to the need for thousands of security cameras needed to help enforce the traffic ban at various strategic locations. And as Bloomberg can relate to, sizable numbers of the citizenry were also quite skeptical of Livingstone's plan, to say nothing of the criticism loudly voiced by the drivers and commuters themselves.

The London traffic congestion tax has had its share of critics, who argue the mass transport system is ill prepared to take on additional capacity; that small business is hurt by the decrease in traffic; that it hits the poor sections of society. But it's done what it was designed to do: significantly reduce car traffic, successfully lowering not only congestion but overall pollution levels (nitrous oxide and carbon dioxide by over 13 percent according to one report).













SPEAKING OF STUDIES, there has been a ton of market focus group research looking into the mindset of consumers who purchase SUVs and Hum-Vees. Despite a track record demonstrating that SUVs made drivers less safe on many quantifiable metrics, SUV buyers consistently relate that they feel safer behind the wheel, and similar gut feelings related to security and safety continue driving the stratospheric sales of 4-wheel drive vehicles more than any other factor -- trumping negatives like rising gas prices every time in consumer surveys.

So what kind of people buy and drive these kinds of vehicles? According to industry data, it's about what you would expect. (We'll leave drivers of Hum-Vees out of the discussion for now, because they wear a whole different brand of asshat, exhibiting a whole other strata of delusional behavior that goes far beyond the parameters of acceptable taste, social interaction, etc.) Extensive market research data shows that there are certain shared specific personality traits behind it all. According to internal industry reports, "SUV's tend to be bought be people who are insecure, vain, self-centered and self-absorbed, who are frequently nervous about their marriages, and who lack confidence in their driving skills."

Another key element contributing to the SUV boom, and why SUVs have become the most profitable vehicles for carmakers, is the perception of safety as opposed to the actual safety statistics and, even more crucially, "passive safety" versus "active safety." As Malcolm Gladwell brilliantly captures it in an article for the New Yorker called "Big and Bad": "Bringing five thousand pounds of rubber and steel to a sudden stop involves lots of lurching, screeching and protesting ... The benefits of being nimble -- of being in an automobile that's capable of staying out of trouble -- are in many cases greater than the benefits of being big."

As cultural anthropologist G.C. Rapaille puts it: "People who buy these SUV's know at the cortex level that if you are higher there is more chance of a rollover. But at the reptilian level they think that if I am bigger and taller I'm safer. That you can look down is psychologically a very powerful notion." According to Gladwell, another thing Rapaille discovered while conducting research paid for by the auto industry is that "car buyers feel unsafe when they thought an outsider could easily see inside their vehicles. So Chrysler made the back window of the PT Cruiser smaller. Of course, making windows smaller -- and thereby reducing visibility -- makes driving more dangerous, not less so. But that's the puzzle of what has happened to the automobile world: feeling safe has become more important than actually being safe."

I know most people don't think of themselves as selfish nuisances; they don't climb into their oversize vehicles and think of how annoying and harmful they're being, instead we all see ourselves as just going about our daily business and just trying to make a living. But you know what? That's no excuse. And since SUV owners purchase these vehicles based on non-rational, or Reptilian, impulses, appealing to them based on reason or logic in an attempt to discourage their injudicious purchasing decisions is bound to fail. Instead, I suggest mounting an anti-SUV campaign based on unrelenting derision. So all you SUV owners, whose ranks include members of my immediate family tree as well as close friends and even confidantes, consider yourself appropriately derided. Sternly so, you self-centered reptiles you.

100, 150 years ago, I'm sure there were critics decrying the amount of horse-drawn carriages running rampant on the same NYC streets or lamenting the number of people maimed or killed by runaway horses. Well, driving an unnecessarily large (5,000 pounds of mostly metal) and powerful (the engine provides thrust to all four wheels) sport utility vehicle on city streets in 2007 is like riding an elephant into town in 1897: it's stupid, senseless, selfish, and should be discouraged by any and all means necessary -- including the government providing financial disincentives to do so.

This issue speaks loudly to the necessity of New York City controlling more of its own destiny politically versus being controlled by forces hundreds of miles away in Albany. The blocking of the statewide minimum wage increase on the specious grounds that it will be harmful to the state's farm owners is another striking example of incompatibility between what's best for the City and what's good for the state overall. We are left with the unseemly spectacle of politicians representing areas well outside the city limits having an undue, even unfair influence on the lives of NYC residents. If government not only stops serving the greater good of its citizens, and in some cases works to their disadvantage, the whole system needs to be reexamined. But until and unless the outcry builds to an angry crescendo on this issue, it looks like the unacceptable status quo will prevail and what once was a city the whole world looked to for enlightenment will remain stuck in its own dark age to the detriment of its more civilized instincts.

A COUPLE OF WEEKS AGO I saw a prone man bleeding profusely near the 59th Street & 5th Avenue entrance to Central Park. He was lying on the street, motionless, obviously the very recent victim of a vehicle that had struck him at what had to be a high speed. His black shoe, knocked off by the force of the impact, lay balefully on its side a few feet away. This seriously injured man -- mid-50s or so, heavy set, standard business attire -- didn't wake up that morning thinking he'd become a statistic, but it looked like he was all too close to being yet another New York City traffic fatality.

All around the unfortunate soul, cars continued speeding by, the angry faces of drivers contorted in grim masks of determination, all the while seemingly oblivious to their surroundings, pounding on their car horns when all else fails, progress marked solely by making the next light. If these drivers had to inconvenience or intimidate everything in their path, well, that's just the way it is.

The sight of the bleeding man really shook me up that day, and I had trouble getting the image out of my mind as I walked to work. It was a perfect yet sobering metaphor for a city that is fast becoming an irreversible bastion of alternating rage and sorrow for its inhabitants.
The great H.G. Wells once said, "When I see an adult on a bicycle, I do not despair for the future of the human race." I'm afraid I feel the polar opposite when I see a young dumb-looking fat-ass driving a 2 1/2-ton hunk of metal while chatting mindlessly away on a cellphone.

Maybe I was just born a couple hundred years too late. It happens, you know.