Why I Gave Hillary a Pass on Tuzla: My "Marty" Story

My friend Marty Stahursky was a popular Freeport HS basketball star, some years ahead of my time there. My father was a teacher at FHS, so I had heard about him years before I actually met him. I used to tell a story about seeing his name on papers that my father was grading. There was one problem: Marty never had my dad as a teacher. I learned this after getting to know Marty in the '80's. Here's the most embarassing part: I continued telling this story, on occasion. It only happened a few times, inevitably in a bar, after a few too many adult beverages. Marty is a bartender, and I probably had a few too many the first time he "set me straight" about the story, as well. Still, as recently as 2002, I told this story right in front of him, and got publicly embarassed for it. Everyone laughed, as I tried to play it off as an example of a "false memory," which I had believed for so long, it was hard to distinguish from the truth. This only made my friends laugh harder. I haven't seen Marty since then, though there are no hard feelings, other than my embarassment.

While I realize that my "Marty" story pretty much happened in bars, I got to thinking about it recently because of Hillary's "Tuzla" flap. Maybe it's just because I can identify with her embarassment, but I've decided to "give her a pass" from criticism on Tuzla. I'll let others speculate on how a person creates a story in their mind, and it becomes "true" to them. Me, I've been there.

Now, I just hope Hillary's not having too many "adult beverages."

SUPERBOWL XLII MEDIA KICKOFF: Belichick, Brady, and Bundchen Invade NY; Romo Breaks Up With Simpson

The chessgame begins. Tom Brady visited Giselle Bundchen in NYC, wearing some kind of cast on his foot. He ditched it later, but still made the cover of the NY Post and Daily Snooze, wearing it, on Tuesday. Welcome to the psychological side of football. It seems conspiratorial, but I have no doubt that this was scripted by Bill Belichick and Brady, with Bundchen serving as the NY hostess. The meme is that Brady walked into the heart of "enemy territory," while "wounded." Both Belichick and Brady have been through this media dance more than once, so they know how to do it. Luckily, NY is such a hugely skeptical media town that even the Snooze caught this as a scam by Wednesday. I'm sure the Giants' players knew it from first glance at the sports page cover photos.

In other Giants-related news, Dallas Cowboys' quarterback Tony Romo has broken up with Jessica Simpson. Will a loss to the Giants break up Brady and Bundchen? Only time will tell. This much is clear: Belichick is exploiting Brady's relationship with Bundchen for media exposure. I think he is trying to counter the media problems that Romo and Simpson had with the media, with this pre-emptive strike in NYC. Whether it will work is another matter.

PS:Don't forget they're the Cheatriots. For those who think I'm off the deep end, remember this: these guys get paid millions of dollars to WIN. How they do it is secondary. I wouldn't put it past a team that was caught cheating in the first game of the season to publicly falsify an injury to a player to the media, running up to the Superbowl. He might have a "high ankle sprain," or not. The footgear he wore in NYC was a publicity stunt.

Previous GIANTS '07-'08 posts:


CHRISTMAS PRESENTS: I WISH I GOT THESE WHEN I WAS 12!

The GIANTS vs. the "GREATRIOTS": The NFL Network Caved, and Showed a Great Game!

GIANTS VS. "GREATRIOTS" II: SUPER BOWL! (PS, I'm Back!)

The GIANTS vs. the "GREATRIOTS": The NFL Network Caved, and Showed a Great Game

As a Giants fan, living on Long Island, I was going to see "the Game" on a local broadcast station (My9), anyway. This was a game that had no impact on the playoff standing of either team, and the sports media were questioning how long each team would keep their "first string" players in the game. The NFL Network, which is not available to a majority of cable customers nationwide, had exclusive rights to show this game.

The game was not meaningless, however. The Patriots were on the road to a perfect season, and the Giants were their final opponent. Giants "season ticket-holders" were selling their tickets to Patriot fans at exorbitant prices, and the NFL Network felt the pressure of this demand, as well.

If the Pats won, it would be a historic game, and the NFL Network would go down in history as "hoarding" the broadcast from the majority of football fans. This was a bigger problem than they bargained for, when they chose this as their final week's game.

I don't know what this portends for the NFL Network's future, but they caved to the public demand to see this game, and allowed it to be simulcast on NBC and CBS, two of the networks that have broadcast contracts with the NFL. They deserve a backhanded compliment for this decision, because the public was treated to one of the best games of the season.

Personally, I have a reason to laugh about this. My darling Anna was at my apartment, where I don't have cable, and the game was on 3 of the 7 broadcast channels I receive. She is not a football fan, but tolerates my fanatic analysis of the games every week, during football season.

I get to watch TV at work, when I'm not dealing with customers, so I watched most of the game. Imagine my surprise, when I got a phone call from Anna, less than a minute into the halftime break, with her saying "the Giants are winning!" Pigs were flying, and it was a cold day in Hell, and not just because the Giants were winning. ANNA WAS WATCHING A GIANTS GAME ON HER OWN ACCORD! My honey was enjoying a football game, and knew enough about it to tell me the highlights she noticed, which included plays I missed while at work. Did I mention how much I love this woman, and how much more it grows every minute, day, and year?

Unfortunately, I had to catch up on my paperwork at halftime, and couldn't listen to her express her new found jubilation for football for more than a few minutes. Still, I have to thank the NFL Network, for showing (or in Anna's case, practically FORCING) this game to a wider public audience.

An anecdote:

I watched the first Giants game of the year at Anna's place, and they
lost miserably, to the Cowboys. The Jets lost the later game that day, to the
Patriots. Anna was in "football denial," sometimes flinching when I yelled at
the TV. However, I remember her telling her daughter "that's the first fumble of
this season," after one particular "shout." I explained that if she watched the
game along with me, she wouldn't be "shocked" out of her shoes by my yelling;
she would be able to anticipate it, in fact.

It took most of the season, but by the time we watched the
Giants/Buffalo Bills game on Christmas Eve, she was with me. This brings me back
to the Giants vs. the "Greatriots."

The Pats got caught cheating * in the game against the Jets, in the first week (or second?). It does not change the fact that they are the best team in the league. They have proved it against some of the best contenders from both conferences, while playing some of the worst teams twice, as divisional foes.

The Giants are the team that couldn't "do it," until they could. They are a better team this year than they were last year, which should be credited to Tom Coughlin's "new" coaching approach this year. Though they lost "the game" to the Patriots, they scored more points against them than any other team had all year. I had a smile on my face as the clock ran out.

This game was a win for both teams, as well as the fans of football everywhere. While the outcome of the game didn't really matter in this season, this game gave the Pats several records, besides the perfect season. It also gave the Giants a kick in the ass, just when they needed it, as well as giving all of us a great game to watch on a Saturday night.

Another thing I am pleased to report is that almost all of the starters played throughout the game, refuting the rampant media speculation about "coasting" through the game. Both teams played to win, as if they were being paid millions of dollars to do so (oh, that's right, they are). I was proud of the Giants, even in losing.

At one point, I had to laugh out loud, yelling "it wouldn't be a Giant game, if Manning doesn't fumble a snap!" to the TV. At least he fell right on it. I was lucky enough to be able to bury myself in paperwork, as they completed their self-destruction. They have played much worse this year, but they are minimizing that "self-destruct" factor every week, lately.

The Patriots have an impressive receiving cadre, with Wes Welker and Randy Moss at the top of the list. They made the Giants' coverage look inept (which it was, at times). The Giants faced them without Jeremy Shockey, who is out for the year. Brandon Jacobs is the next best thing that the Giants have in their offensive arsenal, and I predict a long, and great career for this rather large young running back. Remember his name, because you're going to hear it alot in the future.

While both of these teams were already locked into their respective playoff spots, this game showed us something. The Giants are playing at a higher level than they have been through most of the season, and the Pats are fighting the odds, if they want to extend their streak to 19-0. I don't know if either of them are up to the challenge, but I think that the Giants can beat them, if they have a rematch in the Superbowl.

Thanks to the NFL Network for sharing with the broadcast networks, so that more of the people reading this may have actually seen the game! And kudos to Ty Phoon and Robert F., who wrote about the game on Gather already! Call 'em the "Hatriots," or the "Greatriots," the New England Patriots have made history, with a perfect season! *

PS: I stated in my last post (on Christmas day) that the Giants won't make it to the Superbowl this year. After watching them lose to the Pats last night, I have to recant that statement. It sounds crazy, but I sensed a continuation of the "change of momentum" I felt during the game against the Bills. I think it's growing, and they are going to get better each week of the playoffs. Even if that's wishful thinking, Tom Coughlin has done an excellent job at developing a winning team this year.

*(Google "Patriots spygate")

I'm Popular "On The Street," Apparently

I don't often write about my job, because of privacy concerns. However, I want to share a funny tidbit, that happened at work tonight. A customer came in, and said "I've seen you here for like ten years!" I replied that this month is indeed my 10th anniversary at this job. He continued, "but you don't know, man, how many people know you! I mean, people out on the street be talkin' about the white dude with blond hair and the glasses at the motel desk-for years!" Now, I'm thinking "how many of them want to kill me, for calling the cops on them." I try to say this, but he's going on: "I have to get you a Christmas present, man. What do you drink?" I'm still programming his room key, as I hear myself saying "vodka." Now, if I was honest, I would have said beer, but that doesn't make a good Christmas present. If I wasn't in "work mode," I might have thought of a more fancy liquor that I like, but vodka is something I drink, maybe once or twice a year.

I have to say, I vaguely recognized this guy, but I've obviously been fair to him, over the years. There are customers that I remember well, but I check in 20 to 50 people on any given night. It is always strange to be known, or remembered by people that you don't know, or remember well. This is not new to me, because I was a nightclub owner, in the past. The part that is interesting to me is that now, as a desk clerk, I still have the respect of my customers, even though I don't "own the store," so to speak. It's a funny thing, when people praise you for treating them the only way you know how.

As I said, I've had run-ins with customers in the past. I've been called every name in the book, but some of these episodes ended with a better understanding, and relationship, between myself and the customer. Sometimes, they get banned from the motel, for a time. More often, it is customers like the one I mention here, who never gave me a problem, and as such, don't stick out in my memory, that remind me that I'm successful at my job. It's also why I'm the company's MVP, which I know because I've seen the other desk clerks at work. I am appreciated by my bosses.

Here's the secret: Be professional (use "sir," "ma'am," or "miss," when addressing customers), and treat everyone the same, under similar circumstances. I have a very multicultural background, and should not be surprised with my popularity on the streets of Brooklyn, Queens, and Long Island, within the small segment of the population that are my customers. Still, it's always flattering to hear that any group of people finds me worth talking about, as long as they're not plotting to kill me (JUST KIDDING!)

This is just a teaser. Someday, I will write more specifically about these years, because the things I've seen and learned at this job have been very valuable to me, on an intangible scale. I look forward to sharing them. Maybe, when I drink the Christmas present, I'll tell you about my encounters with Mark and Lisa Gastineau, of "Gastineau Girls" fame. Probably not, if I want to keep my job.

Until they "ship me back off to Ireland" (to quote another customer), that's all for now!

Oct. 19th, 1987: Black Monday, Nervous Breakdown

Twenty years ago today, I had a nervous breakdown. I was crying into the telephone to my mother. It's not too complicated a story, actually. I had invested 65,000 dollars in mutual funds a month or so before, and they were in the process of losing 15,000 dollars of that value. Mom, having great experience in the "nervous breakdown" field, talked me through that afternoon. The hardest part was trying not to sell my funds when they were "falling uncontrollably." I knew, in my head, that this couldn't destroy the whole US capitalist system, but the media was comparing it to the '29 crash, and wondering if we were going into another Great Depression. I was only 25, but my mother was born in the mid 20's, and wasn't afraid at all of the "crash" in '87, and she was right. She had money invested as well, from our inheritance.

The point of this story is "don't get too emotionally twisted over money." It's one of the biggest challenges a person can face, and I say that from experience.

Retail Hell: Buying a Bike

I just had an interesting experience, trying to buy a bicycle from "Toys R Us." Anna insisted on getting me a new bicycle for the 5th anniversary of our first date, and we started browsing on the internet. We found a nice bike, a Chrysler PT Cruiser, and wrote down the model number, SKU, etc. Next, we called the local Toys R Us store, to see if they had it in stock. I was hung up on 3 times before I found out that "no, we don't have it."

I had bought a cheap bike from them years ago, which fell apart 6 months after I bought it. The bike I was trying to buy now was more expensive, and made by Chrysler. I was told by a manager candidly that the bike I bought was junk, but they had better bikes, after the fact, of course. So, I gave Toys R Us another try, 6 years later.

Anna and I were already planning to go to the Green Acres mall, not far from that Toys R Us, and I suggested we go there, and ask if they could order the bike for us. As we walked into the bicycle area, the bicycle department employee was briskly walking away. Anna said "he saw us coming, and got the hell out, instead of helping us," and she was right. We looked for a rain tarp to put over the bike, but they didn't have any. In fact, they didn't have many bikes, either.

None of the bikes on their rack had fenders or chain guards, which are my two major requirements. There was a workstation with a PC, and I joked that I should use it to order the bike, because there was no one around to help us. We decided to head toward the customer service desk, or find an employee who could help us.

Crossing the front area, I asked a young male employee for help. I asked him "can you order this bike for me?" He said "no," and started walking away as fast as he could. I called to him, getting progressively louder until I hit the lower end of USMC volume. At that point, all the cashiers could hear me saying "Sir, who can I talk to?" He stopped, and pointed to the customer service desk, "with a look of exasperation on his face," according to Anna.

We were lucky enough to encounter the manager at the customer service desk, who informed us that the bike was only available online. He said I could get it shipped to my house, and then bring it to the store to be assembled, for 15 dollars (plus tax). We ended up going this route. I ordered it online, and it arrived on my doorstep from UPS, without me signing anything (a clear violation of UPS' rules, I might add).

I called Toys R Us to make sure that I could get my bike assembled there. I asked "can I get it done today?" The lady said "yes," and nothing more. It cost 16 bucks plus a tip for the cab over there, with the box, but I figured I'd ride the bike home, allowing 3 or 4 hours to assemble the bike. NOT.

The first thing they said at the customer service desk, after I brought the box in, was "tomorrow, after 5 PM." I work from 4 PM -midnight, so this meant 2 days. At this point, I was in no mood to argue. I thanked them all for their help, got a 9 dollar (plus tip) cab home, and took a nap before work.

I went to pick up my new bicycle today. It has a dent in the front fender, and some of the plastic nuts have been replaced by metal ones. I didn't bother making an issue of it, because it rides like a new bike, and it looks cool. Interestingly enough, though it's a Chrysler PT Cruiser model bicycle, it's made in China. Anna and I were both disappointed to find this out.

I have to raise the seat, as all the Toys R Us mechanics were off duty when I picked it up, but other than that, it was a fun 2 1/2 mile ride home. Let's see how well it holds up, because I am a notorious bike-beater. I ride alot, when I have a bike. I'm going to try to take good care of this one, because it's new, and a gift from Anna. Still, it was made in China, so I'm worried about the quality.

I thought the service at the store was atrocious.Toys R Us might also think of delivering online merchandise to a store, to be assembled and picked up by the customer. The culture I saw in the store was one of running away from the responsibilty of doing one's job, so they may not be up to the task. This is no way to run a business, and I know how NOT to run a business, from personal experience!

I'll take a photo as soon as I get the seat at the right height, and angle, but I like the bike, even with the low seat. I look like I'm a "low rider" with my arms fully extended as I stretch toward the back part of the "comfort" seat. I thought I broke some of the springs on the ride home, but it was a false alarm. Cross your fingers.

LEAV IN CALIFORNIA

Cheers to the state flag of California! From LEAV!

CRAIG'S MONTE SS and ME

I always wanted this car, and was lucky enough to take my first road test in it. It's my friend Craig's Monte Carlo SS, from the mid-late '80's. I had sweatpants that matched it, which look really cool in this photo. I really loved this car, even though it was never mine.

PACIFIC COAST LEAV!

On a low cliff, overlooking the Pacific shoreline. I'm all like "Hey, what a background!"

LEAV: "BUGGIN" LA JOLLA!

LEAV, on the passenger side of Mark's souped-up VW Bug, in La Jolla! What a vacation, in '87! I was PHAT! That was in fashion, in NY, at the time! I still had toned legs, though they're barely visible in this photo.

OFF TO THE BEACH!

Taking my friend's little sister, and her friend, to Jones beach. I was 25, and they were 10 years younger than me. A fun time was had by all! The summer of '87!

Hangin' Out By The Pool!

Hangin' Out By The Pool, 1990!

Dad and Me, in Central Park, around 1965...

Dad, riding me around Central Park, NYC. I was suspicious of strangers at a young age, as is apparent in the last photo. In the second photo, dad looks the most like I do today, though I'm older than he was in these photos, and have much longer hair!

Man, I miss him.

HOT SUMMER VACATION, 1987!

20 years ago, I was in California, on vacation. I stayed with my friend, and his wife. He took these pics, and kindly shared them with me. These were great friends, and great hosts, when I visited them. Great memories!

PORTRAIT

The artist that painted this removed my red chest hair, with good reason: it looks awful! I swear, I didn't shave it for this painting. I like the face; she captured my expression very well. I was in my '30's when I posed for this. I'm grateful that this artist gave me this photo, but I have to thank Mrs. Brannigan, my friend's mom, who was also a member of that painting class. She got me the job, and gave me her painting, which I gave to my mom. My modeling career was short, because I couldn't keep my mouth shut.

No surprise there! Enjoy a great painting!

GOOD MORNING!

NICE SUNRISE, AFTER A LONG NIGHT OUT!

My First Car: Goin' to the Beach!

My first car, a Chevy Impala. I drove to Jones Beach alot in it, including the day of this photo. Around 1987, I'd guess.

NEW YEARS TOAST

New Year's Eve, '84-'85. Champagne, good friends, "the Good Times." Is my smile too "snarky?" I knew this picture would look good, which made me smirk a little more. It was a fun night! "La" looks beautiful as ever, of course! I'm glad to count her, and her family, among my best friends in the world.

FRIENDS AND FAMILY: FERRET, HARPO, MICKEY ROONEY, AND THE "ORIGINAL" LEAV!

This is a special post, put together for my friend Joe Higgins! The top photo is of Ed "the Ferret" Loftus, doing a phony punch to Tony "Harpo" Montano, with Mickey "Rooney" Montano, Tony's younger brother, throwing in his own "love tap."

The second photo is of Mickey "Rooney," getting out of his stock race car. I had the privelege of painting the designs on this car, including the tag, right below Mickey's legs, that says "SMOKIN' JOE HIGGS!" That refers to the above-mentioned Mr. Higgins.

The third photo is of my brother Bill, who these guys called "Lev" years before I adopted that appellation, though I always spelled it correctly, as "LEAV." In this crowd, I was known as "Howdy Doody," which Harpo later changed to Howard J. Doolittle, or "Howard," for conversational purposes.

All of these photos are from the early '80's, when all of us were much younger. Too bad I don't have any pics of "Higgs" from this era, but I'll publish them, if I get my hands on them. I have more photos of my brother, which I'll publish eventually.

Enjoy the trip to "back in the day!

The MAIN ST. CAFE: Rick Derringer and Dave Mason

These are backstage photos from two of our biggest nights at the MAIN ST. CAFE, in Farmingdale, NY. RICK DERRINGER is drinking in the top one, as I shake his wife's hand. I'm in the back of the second photo, behind Dave Mason, and a group of people. (L-R): My partner John, wearing a "staff" shirt; the promoter (I think); Christine, our favorite bartender; me; DAVE MASON, who gave an excellent performance; and the reporter from the local "club" newspaper, on the right.

Notice that the reporter is the only one NOT looking into the camera. In his paper, the photo they published had him looking into the camera, with Mr. Mason and the rest of us looking away from his photographer, who was standing to the side. I got the better photo, hands down.

These are two photos with long stories behind them, and I intend to tell them. The Main St. Cafe was a HUGE chapter of my life, though it only lasted a year and a half. Since I've found an archive of photos in a friend's basement, I think it's time to tell some of these stories.

STAY TUNED.

JO HURT: The Star Wagon, 1966

Ten tears after she died, my mom has arrived! She has a page on the Internet Movie Database.This is signifigant to me for several reasons, chief among them being recognition of her lifelong passion, which was acting.

Another signifigant point is that she was in The Star Wagon with Dustin Hoffman. She always told me that I met him, as a child, but I didn't remember it. According to IMDb, the film was released in 1966, when I was 4 yrs. old. According to mom, Hoffman was amused by my "talkativeness," until I had to be put in the corner because I wouldn't shut up.

I have to be honest. I only half-believed her. Mom knew alot of famous people (Elaine Stritch is my God-mother, and I really remember her!), but I wondered about some of her stories. She told me about Paul Lynde cornering my father at a party, but dad denied it ever happened. At least I have some objective corroboration that mom and Hoffman knew each other at the time.

The third thing is that it gives me more links, to expand the tribute page on my blog. So far, I only have a 1953 painting, a 1945 sketch of her, and an audio link to her Broadway performance of "Zip," from Pal Joey, in 1950. (check it out here)

Let me say this, in addition. For all her faults, she was a great mom, and was a big influence on the man I am today. I love her, and am proud of her accomplishments. I hope to keep her memory alive, and this is another step towards that goal.

FREEDOM, DISCIPLINE, AND 10 MINUTES IN THE BOY SCOUTS: A TALE FROM THE VENDOME

My best freind Starsky was a Boy Scout, and couldn't hang out with us on "Scout" night. One week, he talked me, and another freind into attending a Scout meeeting. The meeting was in the basement of Starsky's school, Blessed Sacrement, on 71st St, by Amsterdam ave, in Manhattan.

He got us down there, but neither of us were serious about joining the Boy Scouts. We just wanted to see what kind of crap he had to put up with, to be part of this group, and why it was more fun than hanging out on the street with us.

Years later, I understand the good that the Boy Scouts' discipline instills in young men, but I, and our other freind would have none of it that day. The two of us lasted less than the first ten minutes in formation. Snickering, we saluted the Scoutmaster, and snickered while he talked, as well, which compounded our offense.

He yelled at us, and Starsky stood at attention the whole time. We embarassed him thoroughly, in front of his Scoutmaster and Troop. I finally got tired of it and said "F--- you, motherf---er, I'm outta here! Stick the Boy Scouts up your a--!" My other freind yelled "yeah!" and we ran from the room, breaking ranks in the neat Boy Scout formation.

Man, it felt good as we got outside, expecting Starsky to follow us. He didn't, though. He stayed in the Boy Scouts for another year, at least. I found out later that Boy Scout training was an advantage in USMC bootcamp, and Eagle Scouts really had a leg up on the rest of us, at least in my Drill Instructors' eyes.

Did I mention how much I hated Paaris Island? No, that's in a later chapter.

Back to the point: As a kid, I liked freedom, and fought against all authority. There was nothing better than being 12 years old, and running freely around the upper west side of Manhattan: climbing up buildings, throwing fluorescent light bulbs like spears down alleys, and getting chased by security guards in Lincoln Center, strip clubs on 42nd St, the annual Boat Show at the old Colisseum (where the Time-Warner complex is now), or anywhere else.

There will never be another decade like the 1970's, and I intend to document all of my experiences from that decade. These are the early years, in my TALES FROM THE VENDOME .

WINDOW PANES ON THE SUBWAY

In 1980, I took alot of acid (See PERMANENT WAVES post). One time, I ate five hits of window pane acid at a freind's house on E. 89th St. in Manhattan, then had to commute to Long Island. I started "peaking" on the subway to Penn station, while still on the east side subway line.

I had this feeling as if my brain was on fire, or exploding, and wondered why I didn't look like my "Solaris" character, with flames for hair. I'm sure I looked scary, but probably not in a good way. I still weighed 120 pounds at 18 years old, and was doing my best to look "cool" in the reflection from the subway's window pane.

I got off at 42nd St, to catch the west side shuttle, but couldn't find it. I saw the 7 train, but wasn't sure if it was an alternative (it is). Hey, I was trippin', and starting to have a "bad" trip, in the subway system I had been travelling most of my young life. I finally decided that I would go ask a cop for directions. Did I mention I was trippin'?

Just as I found a cop to ask for directions, the sign appeared like magic above his head: "Shuttle to Times Square." Once safely on my West Side, I finished my trip to Penn Station, and back out to Freeport without incident... unless this was the same night I got on the LIRR train that made Seaford it's first stop. Naah. I was trippin' that night, too, but I'll tell it in another post.

The point here is to try to recall as much of this jumbled year (1980) as I can. Eventually, I will find some way to put this part of my story in order. These are mostly "small" anecdotes, but they are bricks in a huge wall.

STREET PHOTOGRAPHER on Park Ave. 1980

From the PERMANENT WAVES:1980 Collection of Stories.

I was sitting on the premises of a building across from my job, smoking a joint, when a guy with a bunch of photography equipment came up to me, and said "can I take your picture?" I said "sure," and hid the joint behind my back, while trying to pose. He said "why are you hiding the joint?" I said " because I don't want evidence of me doing this, or to get busted."

This guy whips out a bunch of photos of himself, some as a clown, some as a cop. He gives me the total lecture about "who he is," and asks me "who I am," of course. I got bedazzled with his line of thinking, because I was taking too much LSD, mostly on weekends. The "street photographer"'s lecture led me to the point where weed became as bad as taking acid (which I was taking like candy), and I had to quit it as well, for a time.

This was one weird event that happened 27 years ago, in 1980, across from 2 Park Avenue.

Today, I could be the guy with the camera, taking photos of the young "screw ups." Plenty of idiots still smoke weed on the street, with all the private surveillance cameras out there, as well as the public ones! To tell the truth, I'd be scared to try to photograph people I don't know, or even ask them for permission, these days!

1980: PERMANENT WAVES!

In 1980, I had just dropped out of Nassau County Community College for a job in the mail room of the Beneficial National Life Insurance Company, located at 2 Park Av, between 31st and 32nd St. My buddy Starsky worked there during the summer, because his mom was one of their executives, and she got me the job there, as well.

I went in to interview, and they gave me a test, with over a thousand questions, and told me I had to answer as many correctly as I could in 15 minutes. I answered alot of them (the number 141 seems to jump out as I write this), and then they hired me on the spot. They also told me that I would be smarter than my boss; kind of "off the record." I was clueless, of course.

I knew nothing about the insurance business, and even less about the mail service it required. I was a fast learner, however. I found the mail room to be full of characters: Linguini, the former gay whore, but an all-around fun guy to hang out with; T from the Bronx, a Black Italian; Brooklyn Pete, a typical guido; Periscope, who tried to be the old man among the group at 23, a recent departee from the US Navy, with full mustache, beard, and '70's hairstyle. We had also two Joe's, both from Brooklyn, though one was Italian, and one was from Haiti. There were many other people still to be mentioned, but no women worked in the male-room.

I haven't written much about this part of my life before, so hold on to your seats. Though I'm nowhere near finished with the "Tales From The Vendome" stories, I decided that I have to start telling some of the later stories, and 1980 came right after the 1970's.

During my year at Beneficial, they got sued by Beneficial (toot, toot! -you're good for more) Household Finance, and had to change their name to National Benefit Life Ins. Co. The president of the company was Gerald Tsai, who is still mentioned on Page Six occasionally (not that I ever met him, I just know old company gossip).

You will read funny anecdotes about these people, this company, and most of all, about me. I ate over 500 hits of LSD during 1979 - 80, and everything changed in my life that year. It lead to a breakdown, of course, and a recovery, of sorts. I joined the USMC in June of 1981. You will want to read about 1980, in NYC, as seen through my eyes.

PS: The Canadian rock supergroup Rush came out with the "Permanent Waves" album that year, which is where I took this title from. Rush Limbaugh is now the "spirit of the radio," to quote one of the songs from that album. Take some acid (or not), and think about that. "Take off...to the Great White North!"

Stories About the Permanent Waves:

STREET PHOTOGRAPHER ON PARK AV.

FIVE WINDOW PANES ON THE SUBWAY

TURNING DOWN THE GRAFFITI GANGS- A Tale From the Vendome

As a kid growing up in Manhattan, I wrote graffiti. As a smart kid growing up in Manhattan, I quit writing on walls, after being busted on the subway. However, there was one night I was tempted to rejoin the "graffiti" gang community.

I was at a local church hall, that was rented as a place for the kids from the "projects" to gather. I had a social life in my own neighborhood, but was at war with Starsky, my best freind, at the time. This place was full of older kids, and they were selling joints out front, and inside. I was way out of my element, but struggled to "look cool." My classmate who brought me there led me over to a chalkboard, where people were writing their graffiti tags. If they sucked, they got erased immediately. The best ones were still up, and updated by their authors as challengers came along.

My buddy gave me a piece of chalk, and said "tag on the board, Chris-to-fuh." I tagged my bang 137, with the new style I had picked up from one of the guys at summer camp, who hung out with the REBELS, a local G-gang. I've posted previously about them jumping me, and stealing my spray snow on Christmas eve, the year before. As I said, I had quit writing on walls, but I was quite as happy to tag on the chalkboard.

Well, my style was considered good with the crowd, I think. Before long, a kid came up to me, offering membership in TMB, one of the local Amsterdam G-gangs. I forget what the initials stood for, but the last word was "Boys." I remember this because after I declined to join their group, a kid from TMW came up, and asked me to join his gang. I said "aren't you with that other guy?" He said no, the "W" was for "writers," but the other two words were the same. Apparently, they had been one gang once, and had some differences that split them in two.

Again, I declined to join this gang. I saw both of their gang names attached to tens of different individuals' tags, but I had quit writing, and really wasn't interested. I think the first two letters stood for "The Mad..."

Finally, a third kid comes up, and says "I'm not from one of these 'toy' groups. I'm asking you to join the Masters Of Graffiti."

MOG. They were almost as big as the Rebels, maybe bigger in other areas, or more widespread. Plus, this being the '70's, MOG sounded SO cool to my ears. I saw it attached to some of the BEST graffiti of that day, and I am qualified to judge. I pictured myself writing bang137...MOG. Then I remembered the Rebels, and what jerks they were. These kids may not have been the same color, or from the same background, but they were still criminals first, artists second. I sensed the predatory instinct, and politely declined again.

I bragged about this to Starsky, after we made up, and started hanging together again. Every time we saw a tag with MOG attached to it, I said, "I turned those a$$#0/es down!" I only write graffiti on the PC these days, though my last "tag" on a public space was on my 30th birthday. That's another story, from a later chapter.

This was a Tale From The Vendome.

MY FIRST BOUT WITH ANTI-SEMITISM: WHY I BEAT UP MY JEWISH FREIND

I went to a Catholic school, as did most of my freinds. We had a Jewish freind, who I'll call Lenny. Starsky and I got around to talking about religion with Lenny one day, on a rock in Central Park. He explained that the Jews didn't believe that Jesus was the messiah. We were really into the story about us worshiping the same God, and had him show us the Hebrew writing he was learning.

Well, he was writing Hebrew words in the dirt with a stick for us, when we asked him if he had a word for Jesus. He scrawled something in the dirt, and then spat on it, and said someting like "I spit on Jesus, he means nothing to Jews," before rubbing it out with his foot. Well, we proceeded to KICK HIS ASS, which was DEFINITELY NOT very Christian behavior. We stayed freinds, after the usual "cooling off" period, but I had my first personal taste of "Jew-hating." I am still shamed by this behavior, because I am sure that Jesus doesn't mind his name being spit on, especially by a Jewish 12 year-old. "Turn the other cheek" would be the right choice, but I was 12 as well.

Lenny was a good freind, and I learned much about Judaism from him, and other close freinds in later years. I embrace Judaism, as the roots of Christianity. This was just an incident where I showed a typical pre-teen aggression in the face of opposition to my beliefs.

Many Christians have gotten past this difference in belief; how long until the Muslims will? And what of the secular anti-semitism so prevalent in Europe these days? Why was I able to get beyond this difference, and so many others aren't? That's for another post.

PS: The friend I call "Lenny" in this story is actually Andy Kessler, who died on Mon. Aug. 11th, 2009, after an allergic reaction to a wasp sting. Though I haven't seen him in over 20 years, I'm deeply shocked and saddened. Read more about him in his New York Magazine obituary:
http://nymag.com/daily/intel/2009/08/legendary_skateboarder_andy_ke.html

This story takes place before he started skateboarding. In future Tales From the Vendome posts, I will name him accurately. After seeing how he lived his life, I don't think he'd mind me identifying him. My condolences go out to his sister Jodi, and all his friends and family. He'll be missed.

KOOL AND THE GANG!

My older brother Bill and I turned our Long Island freinds on to KOOL & THE GANG in the early-mid '70's. One of my favorite songs was from the album WILD & PEACEFUL. Here are some lyrics from this (unnamed) song...


Cryin' babies on the doorstep,
Helpless as can be,
Lady of the evening,
Set your mind free.
Grown up in the ghetto,
Never seen a tree, oh...


If you don't understand
The words to this song,
It's on you,
It's on me, yeah.


If you don't understand,
don't get me wrong,
It's on you,
It's on me, yeah.


You try to make it better,
You try to pull it in. (not sure of that line)
You take it from your pocket,
You take it from within.
You take it from your pride, y'all,
You're right back where you been, yeah.


If you don't understand
The words to this song,
It's on you,
It's on me, yeah.

If you don't understand,
don't get me wrong,
It's all about you,
It's all about me, yeah.

Is it any wonder that I was a liberal, growing up "Wild and Peaceful?"

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STATIC AND BANG137 IN FREEPORT: WERE WE A BAD INFLUENCE? YES!

I've mentioned the transition to living in Freeport in an earlier post, where I described it as culture shock. That was only the beginning of my Freeport experiences. I turned on to pot, and other drugs there, though I don't blame the village of Freeport for that. It would have been worse if I had stayed in NYC, I'm sure.

I actually may have had a bad influence on Freeport. I was on the cutting edge of NYC graffiti artists that were spreading into the suburbs at that time. When I arrived in Freeport, the tags on every wall were things like "Frank Loves Mary," written very plainly. All of my new freinds were fascinated by my graffiti writing style.

This led me back to "tagging" walls, which I had quit doing in NYC. It seemed like a new world, where the lessons learned in NYC didn't apply. My brother hated this, even throwing my expensive "midi-wide" markers down the sewer! -All to no avail.

Before long, I was doing the masterpieces that I never got the chance to do in NYC subways on the back wall of the A&P supermarket in Freeport. The suburban onslaught of graffiti would have happened without "bang 137," but I happened to be a graffiti artist at that time.

I teamed up with another ex-NYC graffiti artist, the late Danny Briscoe, to produce this awesome vandalism. I use his real name here, because he figures prominently in my Freeport experience, and to remember him as a good freind. He tagged "STATIC," and we shared "SHOCK!" -as a joint graffiti name.

Freeport was a treacherous ground for us outsiders, though I had the good fortune of my father teaching at Freeport high since 1962, the year I was born. I also had an older brother who immediately established himself as one of the "bad asses" in the school, which was both a boon and a handicap, for different reasons.

Anyway, more about my Freeport adventures in future posts. This is merely a teaser, meant to ease the transition from my unfinished Vendome tales to this next chapter. The second story is "FREEPORT WILD TIMES: VANDALIZING THE GROVE ST. THEATER." see it here (link).

I'll gather the Freeport stories into one page, but it may be more than I wanted to chew. For now, this will be the page I post new Freepoet links to.

LOSING MY VIRGINITY IN A PET SHOP ON COLUMBUS AVE: WE WERE THE ORIGINAL "PET SHOP BOYS"! THANK YOU AL GOLDSTIEN!

I was 14, and Starsky and our friendly neighborhood victim (Vic, for short) were 13. In short, we were adolescents who wanted to get laid. Well, vic worked in a pet store on Columbus Ave, between 71st and 72nd St. The pet store also had an apartment in the building above, where they used to keep dogs, like an illegal pet motel. Vic had the key to this apt.

We got ahold of a copy of AL GOLDSTIEN'S "SCREW" magazine, which wasn't too dificult, and found the ads for hookers. We arranged to meet the girl on the corner of 72nd and Columbus Ave. in a half-hour, and went upstairs. The apartment had various dogs in cages, but none that seemed mistreated. Vic's job was to take care of them, and he loved animals. After checking that the dogs all had food and water, we started jumping up and down on the bed (yes, it was supposed to be someone's apartment) screaming "we're going to get laid!"

Before long, and while Vic was out meeting the hooker, the Superintendant came and threw us out of the apartment for making noise. Now we had a hooker, and three horny adolescents, with nowhere to go. However, Vic also had the keys to the pet shop itself, which was closed on Sundays. Let's just say that it wasn't closed that Sunday. We had all been arguing about who would go first. Vic had the money; I was the oldest; Starsky just said "I'm badder than either of you."

So Vic shows up at the pet shop with the girl, who tells us she's 20 years old. She wants 90 dollars to do all three of us, and asks if it's all of us at once. We're like, "hell, no!" -at the same time, we realize that Vic only has 80 dollars. Starsky and I steal five dollars each out of the pet shop's cash register (but not a dollar more). As Vic walks by me to get the extra money "we" need, he whispers "you can go first."

We put down several huge bags of dog food as a mattress, and covered it with actual dog mattresses, still in the wrapping, in the back room of the pet shop.

The girl talked about how she'll never forget breaking three cherries in one hour. I'll save the explicit parts for my book, but will say that I have seniority over both Starsky and Vic by at least 20 minutes, in relation to losing one's virginity. She said that I was hogging their time (watching the clock), and I said "F#%* them!", as they laughed at my blue underwear (hey, it was the '70's, and my mom was "progressive"!-LOL!) through the diamond-shaped window to the back room.

Talk about a screwed-up introduction to sexual intercourse!

PS: The "PET SHOP BOYS" are also a new-wave band from the 1980's, for those who might not know. I am a big fan of theirs, even though they are totally GAY. I'm still an original "pet shop boy," but this, my first experience, was hetero. No hard feelings, to (or for) my homosexual freinds! LOL!

PPS: I ALSO WAS ABLE TO WATCH AL GOLSTIEN'S CABLE SHOW, CALLED "MIDNIGHT BLUE," WHERE HE FLIPPED OFF MAYOR KOCH, TELLING HIM THAT SCREW AND MIDNIGHT BLUE WOULD BE AROUND MUCH LONGER THAN ED WOULD BE MAYOR! HE WAS RIGHT.

ADOLESCENT PERVERTS! GRABBING ASSES ON THE STREET

Please bear with me when I reveal these anecdotes, because they are all building blocks of the overall story that I am telling here. This one sounds really bad.


I was hangin' with Starsky and another kid from the crowd. Our little hormones must have all been out of control at the same time, because we went on an ass-grabbing spree on W. 72nd St. Two memories stand out; one shameful, one funny. After doing the "goose-and-run" thing for a while, we saw a couple of gorgeous Japanese girls. They were at least several years older than us (I was 11 or 12), but still very young and vulnerable. After we goosed them and ran, we came back, and did it again. They were definitely putting up with this better than any other girls (or women) that we had done this to earlier, so we tried to talk to them, but I ended up goosing one of them from the front side. I couldn't help it, and she finally did take a swing at me after that. I think she ended up hitting Starsky, who was totally innocent, of course.


After laying low for a while after that, we talked our other freind into humping a woman's butt at a pay phone on 72nd and Central Park West. Well, this lady was not one to be screwed around with, in the early '70's. She cornered him in the subway station, by running across the street to the other exit when he tried to escape, and he didn't have the balls to jump the turnstile. She called the cops from the pay phone, while Starsky and I laughed at his misfortune! I think that we eventually gave him lookout assistance before the cops arrived, but this was the '70's, so we had alot of time to help her in that respect as well, prolonging the hilarity! Yes, we actually helped her to capture him, before helping him escape.


When I was a kid, we didn't think about victimization. We did what we thought we could get away with, as children always do.We were victimized as well, but we got over it. I eventually learned how to treat women properly, but it took some time. More on that in future chapters.

(This one was posted in reaction to the 10 year-old who rubbed his groin on a school staffer, and got handcuffed by the NYPD for an hour. His behavior, like mine, deserves the harshest punishment appropriate for his age. I think he deserves worse punishment for trying that kind of behavior in school. Remember, I didn't even get caught! I punished myself later in life.)

Christmas Graffiti 5

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This blog is graffiti.

GETTING ROBBED ON HALLOWEEN, AND CHASING THE CULPRITS TO A PROJECT ROOFTOP

I was in 6th grade, so I guess I was eleven when this happened. It was halloween, and I brought a couple of freinds over, to paint our faces for trick-or-treating. One freind unexpectedly "invited" two 14 year old girls, as well. I had no idea that I was being set up.

One of my two freinds kept me busy painting monster faces on each other in the bathroom, while the other helped these girls steal everything of value they could find in our apartment. When we got out of the bathroom with the monster makeup on, the girls were halfway out the door. I didn't notice the bulge in one of the girl's snorkel coat at all.

As we talked about where we were going to trick or treat, one of the guys asked me to play the radio. This was unusual in itself, because we didn't usually listen to the radio when we were hanging out. I said "OK," only to find the radio missing. I ran to the drawer that held my brother's cassette recorder. Gone! I started crying like a baby, thinking about how much trouble I was in. Everything was gone, even my brother's penny collection!

I almost came to blows with my freinds after realizing that they set this up. It ended up with us trailing the girls to McDonalds, where they spent the pennies, and further downtown to the Amsterdam projects, behind Lincoln Center, where most of my classmates lived (These two idiots among them!)

Somehow, we found which building they were in, and enlisted the help of the Toyloy family in that building. I name them because Ricky was in my older brother's class, and his sister Yvette went to the roof with me to get the goods back from the theiving girls. I had the pleasure of reminiscing about this incident with both of them last year at the one and only St. Paul the Apostle School reunion.

Unfortunately, the two "friends" who set me up back in the day weren't at the reunion, and I never knew what happened to the girls. We had them arrested, and their families kept coming to our house to plead with us not to press charges. I had a fantasy about getting sex from one of them to keep them out of jail, which was a pretty bad thing to think at such a young age. Of course, I was 12 years old by that time, so I had an excuse for thinking that way. We ended up not pressing charges, my childish fantasy remaining just that.

At the reunion, I heard that the old freind that showed the girls where all the valuables were in my family's apt. was now in jail. Big surprise. He, and the other kid had starting stealing cars by eighth grade, just two years later. I always hoped that my better nature would rub off on freinds like these. I should count myself lucky that more of their malicious nature didn't rub off on me.

JUST ANOTHER HALLOWEEN TALE FROM THE VENDOME! DON'T MISS MUG-OR-TREAT, from the next year!

GERALDO REPORTS ON A FIRE AT THE VENDOME

I was called down to the Principal's office again. What the hell did I do this time? I saw my brother was also summoned, so it wasn't likely anything we did. We didn't socialize at school. It turned out that there was a "little fire" at our building, as the Principal described it.

I remember worrying about Baggy, our cat, all afternoon. Mom was at work until 5 PM, just a few blocks away from my school, and Dad was in Freeport, teaching HS English.

As it turned out, there was a 4 alarm fire at the Vendome (48 W. 73rd St), started by a grease fire from the bar/restaurant on the ground floor. All but 5 apartments of the seven-floor building (6 apts. per floor.) were uninhabitable. All of the B apartments were spared, as in 3B (our apt.), 4B, etc. Baggy was fine, too.

When I finally got home, the walls of both adjoining apartments were totally ripped out, and you could see into the living rooms. Pink insulation littered the hallway. It was surreal. When we got to our apt, at the end of the hall, it was amazing to see so little smoke damage inside.

Around 4 or 5 PM, a channel 7 Eyewitless news crew came around to film a report. The guy they sent had long hair, and was a rising star of local news at the time, none other than GERALDO RIVERA! He made the report from our upstairs neighbor's apartment, 5 or 7B.

This is one of my earlier Vendome stories, so I was pretty young. GERALDO did his report, and when they put the camera on me and my brother, I was smiling and laughing, so I looked down. We saw it rebroadcasted on the late news, at 11. He didn't ask us any questions, someone just said "get a shot of the kids!"

I still laugh at that memory, but this was a great tragedy, though no lives were lost. At that age, I was just happy that my cat was OK, and that we still had a place to live.

REBUFFING ANOTHER GAY ADVANCE; WHAT, WAS THERE SOMETHING IN THE WATER?

I had an older friend, a kid who lived in the Mayfair towers, next to the Dakota. He was 14, I was 12. He was rich, I wasn't. He was pretty slick about things, too. First, he talked me into trusting him to carry me across a shallow part of the boat lake in Central Park, instead of getting muddy feet walking around it's edges. I was a naieve child, when it came to friendships. Of course I ended up swimming in the filthy water, and got beaten with the scrub-brush when I got home. Yes, beaten on the butt, and screaming on the floor.

This was Mom's message to me, telling me that something was wrong with this.

I was leery of hanging out with this kid again, but I went over to his apartment to play with GI Joes. Yeah, well it got kind of weird. He started undressing, saying we were going to play with GI Joes in the bathtub. Ever the diplomat, I said I didn't want to do that. He ended up rolling around on his thick shag carpet naked, as I hastily excused myself.

I took it in stride. I had other friends that I knew were gay, even before they admitted it, when I was 12 years old. We were still kids; I thought of this as an embarassing invitation that I rejected. Only today do I realize that this kid was probably molested at an early age, which made him so open about what he wanted to do at 14 years old.

I was lucky for my upbringing. I was exposed to NYC in the '70's, and it wasn't a pretty sight, except to me. I thought I lived in a great world, even with all of the crap my family went through. I am a product of my times, and I'm proud of it.

HOW I AVOIDED CHILD PORNOGRAPHY AT THE VENDOME: I WAS GIVEN A CHOICE

As a child, even before I moved into the Vendome, I had been photographed more times than I can remember, though there is that one with me lifting my shirt with no diaper on, at about 2, that I'll never forget... LOL! My father was an amateur photographer, and my mother had a freind who was a professional photographer. Between them, we had a ton of family photos by the time I was 8 years old.

Around this time, this friend of mom's asked her if I would pose for nude pictures, and she asked me if I wanted to pose nude for his "artistic" photography. I was pre-pubescent, but still realized the sexual aspect of this. I knew he was gay, wanting to look at me in a sexual way, not an "artistic" one. I liked girls, even before I reached puberty, and knew this wasn't for me.


I told mom that I wasn't comfortable posing nude, and that was the end of that story. As much as I might fault my mom for even asking me if I wanted to pose nude for a probable pedophile, I'm proud that she never let that happen against my wishes, and protected me from worse predators. She was a consummate liberal, open to all ideas. I was exposed to more in my childhood than many adults have seen in their whole life.


There's a flip side to this coin: I wanted to see one of my babysitters nude, and she never babysat me again. That's for another post, but she was also a freind of mom's; one with morals.

LEAV IN THE USMC: I WAS CALLED "LITTLE HITLER" IN THE NDRC

A teaser from a future chapter: LEAV IN THE USMC


Shortly after I was admitted to the Naval Drug Rehab Center (NDRC), I was made Unit Leader, under the premise of putting low-ranking (I was an E-3) people in charge of the rest of the druggies. I soon earned the nickname "Little Hitler," for enforcing the rules strictly. It was strictly for show: I used to let most of the people I assigned extra duty off, telling them to do some "light dusting" in the back of the squad bay (In other words, just disappear for an hour). I did make some senior people scrub shower drains with toothbrushes, though. This appeased the staff at the rehab, and helped me keep discipline as well. "Friends" who thought that they could flaunt the rules were occasionally made to pay with shit duty as well, keeping the worst people in line. Yes, we were a bunch of screw-ups, but they were MY screw-ups, and I marched them around with the pride that any leader would take in his people.

There is more to tell about my stay at NDRC Miramar, which also is the base where the movie "Top Gun" was filmed. This is just a teaser, of course.

Update: This one's funny, "MY FAVORITE GUNNY."

BRUCE'S PLEASURE CHEST: A VENDOME TALE

When I lived at the Vendome, a sex store opened up in the neighborhood, called Bruce's Pleasure Chest. We actually went into this store, and held the wax tit-candles and penis water guns. At that age, it wasn't long before we got banned from the store for our antics in that environment.


This made them our enemies. Bruce's became a target of ours, much like the old Irish bar, which we smokebombed just for kicks. With Bruce's, we threw a bunch of empty airline liquor bottles at his window. Whoever was working there threw a huge empty vodka bottle back at us, that night.


Another time - I can't remember exactly what we did, but we ended up on my friend Rich's fire escape, directly above the store, with the fag from the store yelling "if I ever catch you kids, I'm going to MOLEST you!" -as we taunted him back!


I often wonder if Bruce's PC was tied in with the gay drug dealing ring that took over the area, as cited in my other posts. I think that he owned one of the weed spots that I went to years later, a few blocks away, under the cover of a similar sex shop. It's pretty much a no-brainer,

--BECAUSE...

He remembered us as the kids who caused him so many problems at his first store, which I didn't know to be a weed spot, being too young. Years later, we ended up copping from his new store, as well as the bookstore, which I think was another of his front businesses. We never had a good relationship with any of these guys; they were always pushing the limits of acceptable behavior, even when we were buying pot from them.


I don't want to associate all sex shops with Bruce's, or slander all gays as drug dealers and/or child molesters. I do want to relate my past experiences, which happen to include all of these elements, to one degree or another. These events all happened from the mid - 1970's to early '80's, and are merely anecdotes from my days living at the Vendome.

Bush Fails To Prevent East Coast Blizzard

This was forwarded to me in an email from ÅG:


Bush Fails To Prevent East Coast Blizzard


Minorities Hit Hardest by Brian Williams NBC


As President Bush and his staff cowered in the White House, snow continued to pile up on the many poor and minority victims who could not afford to get out of town, or to safety in Florida. Crucial supplies of blankets, hot cocoa, popcorn and dark rum - so essential to surviving the stress of any major snowstorm - lay in stores undelivered.


"Where is the government? I need my sidewalk shoveled so I can get out to buy my damn lottery tickets!" said one D.C. resident from his living room. "Why are we wasting money in Iraq when we could be spending it here?"


Progressive blogs blasted the President for his inaction. "We find the timing terribly suspicious - just as the Domestic Spying hearings kick into high gear, what happens? A major northeast Blizzard. Why now?" wrote blogger FUAmericaNBush2.


Hearings into the Blizzards' effect on hearings are almost a certainty.


Howard Dean has suggested he will call for an investigation once his new medications kick in. John Kerry took a break from the sporting activities of the glamorous super-rich in some exotic locale (random choice: Ice Sailing in Finland) to call for new legislation outlawing snowstorms. "The Republican Congress has dropped the ball once again. I have always been a staunch supporter of anti-snow legislation, except for certain locations where I ski. Snow has no business on our roads and the President and Congress know that."


Calls for impeachment over "SnowGate", as some are calling it, already are mounting as deeply as the snow itself. What will be discovered underneath will prove to have a truly chilling effect on the Republicans, as the inevitable thaw proceeds.


More breaking news......


Al Sharpton demands an investigation as to why snow is ALWAYS white.


Cheney has stock in Tru-Value Hardware, which sold an unprecedented number of SNOW SHOVELS today. Calls for Cheney's impeachment are mounting.


The gracious junior senator from N.Y. has opened the doors of her home to all of the heatless poor of her neighborhood. She is busy baking cookies for them, while her husband applies body heat to the nearly frozen teen-aged girls.

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TALES FROM THE VENDOME: INCIDENT AT 72ND & COLUMBUS

It all started with Starsky. He had to throw the gum into this other guy's hair, as we were walking away. He ducked around the corner before the guy turned around, and I was standing there. This guy was a 17-year old who had been trying to find out if we were gay, which we weren't Anyway, he charged at me, and I charged right back at him. As we scuffled, Starsky came around the corner to assist me against this older, bigger opponent.

Walking down the block was the president of the 71st St. Block Association, and his boyfriend. As he broke up the fight, he held Starsky up against a wall by his throat. Starsky and I were scrawny kids of 13-14 at that time, and this seemed excessive force to me. The 17-year old and I had stopped fighting as soon as the adults intervened, and Starsky wasn't really doing that much, but told the guy "get away from me," or something. I can only guess what provoked this crazy bastard into this rage. I screamed "I'm calling the cops on you, man!"-to which he replied "go ahead, I'm the head of the Block Association!"

I ran over to the bodega on the SW corner of 71st and Columbus to call the cops. The men that hung out in front of the bodega asked us what was wrong. We told them what happened, and they tracked down the two guys at 72nd and Colunbus Ave. This one guy from the bodega came right up to the guy who choked Starsky and said "you hurt that kid," and punched him straight across the jaw!

Within minutes, a larger crowd had gathered. The police pulled up, and the block ass. president told the officers that "this guy hit me!" -The cops immediately handcuffed the guy from the bodega, as Starsky and I, along with the crowd, screamed out against this injustice. The cops wouldn't listen to us, two crying little boys in a sea of outraged people. We tried to show them the bruises on Starsky's neck, but this was the '70's, so we had to accept it.

Meanwhile, in the Vendome, my older brother noticed a commotion out the window; a huge crowd of people gathering around a police car, blocking the intersection of 72nd & Columbus. He got out the monocular (made by our grandfather - Robert K. Leavitt Sr.), and looked across the street. He called our mom to the window, and she saw the entire scene. Starsky and Hutch, in the middle of a big public fiasco again. At the center of the mob, there we were, crying our eyes out to the cops, to no avail.

The only moral I can find here is "don't throw gum in people's hair, and don't assault suspected criminals, unless you want to get screwed." -just another installment in my Tales from the Vendome.

"THE THEME" FROM LEAV! -YA DAMN RIGHT!

Who's the crazy bloggin' man
That's spreadin' sense across the land?
LEAV!
Ya damn right!

Who is the man that would risk his neck
For his brother man?
LEAV!
Can you dig it?

Who's the cat that won't cop out
When there's danger all about?
LEAV!
Right On!

They say this cat LEAV is a bad mother...
SHUT YOUR MOUTH!
-But I'm talkin' 'bout LEAV!
THEN WE CAN DIG IT!

He's a complicated man
And no one understands him but his woman
ANNA LEAV! she's a liberal...


An homage to one of my many inspirational influences, Mr. Isaac Hayes. For those who don't know, these lyrics are an altered version of the theme from SHAFT, a popular movie character in the 1970's. Yeah, Samuel Jackson updated the character in 2000, but he's not Richard Roundtree, the guy who I thought played the BIGGEST and BADDEST hero of that era.

Update 03/15/06: Isaac Hayes has quit south Park over a spoof of Scientology.

Gordon Parks, who created Shaft, has died.

Sad news all around.

PETA KILLS KITTIES!

PLEASE STOP THIS HATEFUL GROUP!

THEY KILL KITTIES!

PARTISAN SEASON'S GREETINGS

For My Democratic Friends:

"Please accept with no obligation, implied or implicit, my best wishes for an environmentally conscious, socially responsible, low-stress, non-addictive, gender-neutral celebration of the winter solstice holiday, practiced within the most enjoyable traditions of the religious persuasion of your choice, or secular practices of your choice, with respect for the religious/secular persuasion and/or traditions of others, or their choice not to practice religious or secular traditions at all. I also wish you a fiscally successful, personally fulfilling and medically uncomplicated recognition of the onset of the generally accepted calendar year 2006, but not without due respect for the calendars of choice of other cultures whose contributions to society have helped make America great. Not to imply that America is necessarily greater than any other country nor the only America in the Western Hemisphere. And without regard to the race, creed, color, age, physical ability, religious faith or sexual preference of the wishee. By accepting these greetings you are accepting these terms. This greeting is subject to clarification or withdrawal. It is freely transferable with no alteration to the original greeting. It implies no promise by the wisher to actually implement any of the wishes for herself or himself or others, and is void where prohibited by law and is revocable at the sole discretion of the wisher. This wish is warranted to perform as expected within the usual application of good tidings for a period of one year or until the issuance of a subsequent holiday greeting, whichever comes first, and warranty is limited to replacement of this wish or issuance of a new wish at the sole discretion of the wisher."

For My Republican Friends:

Here's wishing all of you a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year

Hat tip to AG, an old school buddy.

ON RACE: ARE BAD WORDS REALLY HATEFUL? 06/26/03

I've been thinking about "hate" crimes and "hate" speech lately, and I'm reminded of two episodes from my childhood.

The first one was when I was in sixth grade at St. Paul the Apostle school in Manhattan. Most of my friends lived in the Amsterdam housing projects, right behind Lincoln Center. Most days, after school, we would go to the Lincoln Center Library and do childish things, like sliding down the escalators, or scratch up the great Motown records (after listening to them, of course). Across the street was the Julliard school, where we would sneak in and try to get a peek at the aspiring ballerinas practicing. They were like creatures from another planet, all of them so pale and skinny, with their hair pulled up in a little bun on top of their heads.

One day we stayed outside, and taunted them as they left the school, saying "HON-KEY, HON-KEY, HON-KEY!" This was great fun for an hour or so, after which we went back over to Lincoln Center to hang out. I finally got around to asking one of my friends what a "honky" was. After he told me, I said "but wait, I'M WHITE!". One of my friends said "You're not Puerto Rican?", to which I replied "I've got blond hair and freckles!". He replied, "Chris, YOU A HONKY!". We all laughed, and no friendships were ended that day, though we didn't "honky-bait" the Julliard girls again.

The second episode was maybe a year or so later, when I was spending weekends in Freeport with my father. I met a whole new bunch of kids from south Freeport (all white), and quite a different culture. I was talking with a girl from this crowd, when I said to her "nigga, you're crazy".

OH BOY.

The resulting commotion could be called "culture shock", but I was lucky the whole crowd didn't kick my ass! I tried to explain that where I was from, that expression was no more offensive than saying "Man, you're crazy" or "Dude, you're crazy". I can still remember her screaming "He called me a nigger!", over and over as my brother helped smooth things out with the crowd.

I still wonder if she would've had as bad a reaction if I had said "Bitch, you're crazy". However, I'm proud to say that I watched many people from that crowd overcome their racism in the following years, especially during high school.

The point of these stories is that you can't judge what's in a person's heart or mind just by what they say on one occasion. You also can't guess at what another person might be over-sensitive to, or what they actually hear when you speak. I realize that I'm citing childhood anecdotes, showing me to be quite a naive child. As adults, more is expected of us. Therein lies my problem with "hate crime" laws. If I get into a fight with a black guy, and I call him "nigger" during the fight, is that a "hate crime"? Considering my above stories, couldn't I make a case that, in my formative years, I learned that word as being no more offensive than "man" or "dude"? Would a jury buy it?

-Or how about a customer at the motel I work for, an old black man who said to me "they should ship you back to Ireland"? (I swear it's true, Anna was on the phone listening to the whole thing!) Should I have denied him a room, and sued him for "hate speech", or just laughed it off? I laughed it off, of course.

However, I don't see a need to apologize for using "bad" words in my everyday speech (or my emails). I don't use racially polarizing words nearly as often as I use plain old profanity, which is supposed to be offensive to everyone.

While society is getting more permissive of general profanity, more and more words are deemed "politically incorrect" due to racial over-sensitivity. Well, I'm not buying it. The only person I have to worry about offending is the man who looks back at me in the mirror; he's the most honest judge of my character.

We're all human, and quite fallible. Once we accept this, maybe we can work around all of our individual "quirks" and "biases". I may hate what someone else has to say, but I will defend their right to say it, unless it actually incites others to break the law.

CHRISTOPHER K. LEAVITT

PLASTIC KARMA

I overdrew my debit card for the first time ever, the same week that I lost it, along with my wallet, on my way to my fiance's Christmas party. While it was bad karma to lose my wallet, and all of my ID, I'm sure whoever found it thought they hit the jackpot after seeing my Republican National Committee ID. Not all Republicans are rich, even in NY. They will be as sorely dissapointed as I was about the loss of my ID.

I CALL THAT PLASTIC KARMA

PS: I see the bright side; that I had no money in the wallet when I lost it, and that the card was useless to anyone who found it. I was able to correct both my arrears and get a new card at the same time, and the nice lady at the bank suggested a passport as a back-up ID.

NEXT: Reclaiming my ID before a potential ID theft! (Another bad move by the scammers, if they try)

UPDATE: Found my wallet at the bottom of my closet! Take that, imagined ID thieves!