Is this her morning face? Ann Coulter, someone throw her remington, she's scowling.   ¶ 4:31:00 PM 0 Comments

  Pacman hat, next big wave in demeaning your pet. In the tradition of dressing your pets in ridiculous garbs like a hot dog outfit and putting eye glasses on your dog's tail, comes this. The Pacman hat. It will only work if you have a pug. Otherwise you're trying too hard.   ¶ 1:54:00 PM 1 Comments

  Walmart or Ricardo?   ¶ 1:31:00 PM 0 Comments

  Bums of New York This is a piece I wrote for my Writing for Magazines class at NYU. I'm hoping to submit this to the New Yorker. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The Bums of Fifth Avenue Fifth Avenue. The gilded avenue. The street that the Rockefellers, the Trumps, Harry Winston, and Brooks Brothers all call home. But right in the middle of New York’s most exclusive addresses and the spotless windows of fashionably tressed mannequins and gold plated signage of a number of jewelry stores, sits “George” the bum. He’s in the middle of reading today’s Financial Times of London newspaper. He sits in front of the gated stoop of the un-leased property adjacent to my office; relaxing with a cup of coffee, his leg sprawled out from under the unmistakable pink papering reviewing headlines. The VERY same one that gets delivered to my office front. One block over at the 53rd and 5th street E/V train station is “Karl”. Karl gets the times too, but not as regularly as George. He doesn’t have a stoop to swipe from; instead he grabs the papers left on the station platform from hurried commuters. Karl always has something to say on marriage, divorce, abortion, and relationships. He stands on the top of the long escalator and staircase – his booming voice extrapolating on the “real” reasons women want to get married: “Marriage is a woman’s way of deceiving the man.” These fellows, and occassionally ladies, are the true residents of Fifth avenue. Rudy Giuliani may have done a phenomenal job clearing Times Square of the prostitutes, pimps, drug dealers and peep shows, but he still hasn't manage to shake New York of the truly characteristic New York bums. According to sources, there didn't appear to be a migration from the areas that have been "cleaned" up. Squatters are simply more mobile nowadays. The panhandlers that inhabit the Fifth were the same ones 15 years ago. New faces tend to pick a spot near Fifth avenue, usually by the subway station or in front of the church, and simply stay. But, from my one year working on Fifth, I've idealized the notion of Fifth Avenue's "income challenged occupants". In my own head, it is my hope was that Fifth Avenue's underclass is somehow different. I imagined that in a past life they were high achievers -- knocked down by the challenges of life and an unfortunate turn of events. A View from the Top I talked to "Coney", the security guard usually on duty across the street my office. He works the rear entrance to the MoMA. Coney is an older bispectacled black man in his 50's that reminds me of a shorter, thinner, but similarly jocular Al Roker. Coney has been working at the MoMA for 20 years keeping watch on the row of townhouses adjacent to the posh gargoyled University Club on the corner of 5th and 54th. I usually see him relaxing on the shift on a lawn chair joking with fellow security guards and occassionaly the odd German tourist. He knows all the characters that inhabit the avenue. "I've been working here for 15 years and I've seen them all. I've seen daughters who had been thrown out by their fathers who worked on Fifth avenue just pick a corner to show their daddy what's up," exclaims Coney. He tells me of several other squatters who I hadn't seen before. One in particular, named "Firefly" who got his nickname because he would light up small fires right on Fifth Avenue for fun. Another was a millionaire who kept all his money in his many various squatholes. I'm more intrigued with, Karl the thunder voiced sharp tongued inhabitant (or irritant) of the 53rd and 5th E/V subway station. Karl is usually unshaven, his hair suprisingly well maintained. He wears brown leather workboots, dirty dark pants, a trench coat. But his eyes give away his nature as a jokster while his voice has a professorial quality -- if he had something cogent to say he certainly would belong on a lecturn instead of pontificating at the top of the subway escalators. Most mornings, commuters are greeted by a tirade from Karl on his favorite subject: women. "Never trust a woman. A woman bleeds for a whole month but doesn't die, would you trust that?.." was what Karl bellowed at the top of his lungs one morning. Usually his comments get a couple chuckles and head shaking from busy commuters. "Karl is from Long Island," Coney says, "He was an undergrad at NYU, but he never finished his fourth year. He was real educated. When he dropped out of school, his momma made him leave the house and find a job. He got a job for a while as a electrician. He'd install the electronics for water heating systems for buildings...made good money. One day, he came back home because he didn't care for the work, just didn't like it. His momma called the police on him, you know, just to scare him into going back out. But the police beat him, from then on he never trusted another woman. A couple years ago he got hit by a car, after that he was never the same." "Bob" also had problems with his mother and his inlaws. He sits on the steps of St. Thomas Church flanked by a Duane Reade bag filled with papers, a manila folder, and some small articles of clothing. He's a wiry albino African American man, decked out in a ragged pair of Chuck D sneakers, stained black denim jeans, a blue t-shirt covered in brown and yellow stains, and a leather jacket. At first I was offput by his tendency to look past me when he talked to me, but I later discovered he was actually crossed eyed, they literally looked in opposite directions. His mouth was lined with two rows of gapped crevaces of yellow teeth. Somehow in that motley assortment of random clothing he managed to top his fashion medley with a trendy green Von Dutch trucker hat. As I talked to him, spittle dribble down his his unshaven chin uncontrollably, collected on the front of his shirt and on his rather nice leather jacket. While we talked on the steps passerbies periodically dropped one dollar and five dollar bills into his hat. I think I was attracting some good business. "I'm from North Plainfield, NJ, where my mom's house is. I had an apartment in the Bronx when I got married. Worked as an electrician for NBC, before I got sick. My wife and I had a joint account and when I was sick she and my in-laws took everything. I was out in street within a year and now I'm just trying to live day to day." When I asked him if he had any relatives, he responded, "My brother used to live in the Bronx, but he got shot last February. So that's it." Despite everyone having their own set of "problems", the community of squatters appears to be tight. Bob, George, and Karl all had Easter dinner last year at the Presbyterian church on 50th and 7th. There Karl actually got on the podium and told his story to a crowd of ministers, church volunteers, and fellow "residents" of Fifth avenue. When asked why didn't he simply go to a shelter, he said, "Its dangerous! I've had my locker broken into. They took my walkmen, my watch, all my clothes...some money taken right out of my locker. You leave your things out, someone will take it, most definitely." Regular Guys They're not fallen millionaires, lawyers, or professors as I had imagined, but it intrigued me in the same way that "Taxi Cab Confessions" made me wonder. But Fifth Avenue wasn't a part of their descent into the underclass. Rather it was marriage, work, family -- normal aspects of everyday human life that broke them. I promised Bob I'd buy him a couple hot dogs for his troubles. As I walked up to his set of steps I noticed the sight of my speaking to him had attracted confused tourists. I saw a young tourist making conversation with him. In the seconds I had taken to run to the corner ofthe hot dog stand, Bob had become an instant celebrity. "You know who you remind me of, " his eyes lit up in epiphany as I handed him the goods, " Norm Chow!" "Why's that," I said not knowing who Norm Chow is. "You know, the head coach at USC! You can see now at UCLA! Hey good luck and I'll see you on television!" Norm Chow? He was in line to be head coach of UCLA's football team a couple weeks ago. He must have gotten the job. It had completely skipped my mind. See, these guys may not being making six figures, but they definitely don't let anything slip by ion the news. Fifth Avenue is occcupied by the upper crust, its true. They might not be blue bloods, but the bums of Fifth Avenue are surely the upper crust of the squatter class. (Something on how life have dealt them a wrong hand, COME UP WITH SOMETHING THAT IS A TAKEAWAY) (Explore, wife or mothers that drive them into poor) Make a point that if I had talked to a woman bum, it'd be different.  ¶ 12:10:00 AM 1 Comments

  Raining Box Cutters on Fifth Ave Well, working in midtown has its perks, one of them being convenience to just about anything I damn well please. I happen to work across the street from the MoMA for instance. Anyways, walking back from a strenuous workout at the NYSC Rock (255lb squat, 345lb deadlift boohyaH!), I notice some guys doing some work at the top of the MoMA. I just remember thinking, "Nothing better fall on me". Then I think better of the situation and notice they're eating lunch, no harm potentiay right? Wrong. I cross the street and I notice two old ladies. One inching along on a wheeled support crutch and another old lady assisting her; pretty feeble looking old lady too. I briskly walk past them, but not seconds later I hear a sharp metallic and plastic crash behind me. I turn around an notice a bright orange and metal object on the floor - A FRIGGING BOX CUTTER FELL 3 STORIES! Some of the idiots at the top of the scaffolding unconcsciously dropped it likely while making a deft grab for the last greasy french fry. Not a foot behind the ballen sharp object was the old lady going, "Oh my god, what was that?" The foreman comes bounding down the street to see what the matter was exclaiming, "Hey you Mario, what's going on up there?" Hopefully those two monkeys got a good berating because if that old lady was just a little bit healthier or fitter, she'd be in bad shape. Anyways lesson learned, if there's construction, watch out because the guys working on that stuff up there aren't rock scientists. They'd sooner chow down the last fry that keep the sky free of falling box cutters.  ¶ 1:56:00 PM 2 Comments

  Tom DeLay - In need of a nice kick in the ass KH: So it seems like the repub's have taken the sad circumstance surrounding Terry Shiavo's condition and death to whip out the pitchforks and torches against judges who uphold rulings he doesn't agree with. As someone posted in the "Carpet Bagger Report" comment section, "Let them go after the judges, more rope to hang themselves with." Lets hope this happens. ----------------- From "The Carpet Bagger Report" It’s a nice judiciary you have here; it’d be a shame if something happened to it Posted By Carpetbagger On 1st April 2005 @ 09:31 By now, probably everyone has heard that House Majority Leader Tom DeLay took his attacks on the judiciary to a new level yesterday, making an implicit threat against the judges who upheld the law. Mrs. Schiavo’s death is a moral poverty and a legal tragedy. This loss happened because our legal system did not protect the people who need protection most, and that will change. The time will come for the men responsible for this to answer for their behavior, but not today. Note that this was a written statement, not an off-the-cuff remark made during a press conference. DeLay, in other words, had to think about exactly what kind of deliberate message he wanted to share — and decided to offer a veiled threat against state and federal judges. But while this remark received wide-spread attention yesterday, I’d also like to note that DeLay’s attacks on the judiciary didn’t end with his written statement. In fact, he was just getting started. For example, after warning judges that they’ll “answer for their behavior,” DeLay told the AP he hasn’t ruled out impeachment for judges who heard the Schiavo case. [DeLay] said the courts’ refusal to do just that was a “perfect example of an out of control judiciary.” … “Congress for many years has shirked its responsibility to hold the judiciary accountable. No longer,” DeLay said. The House Majority Leader was even less guarded in talking to the ultra-conservative Washington Times. “We will look at an arrogant, out-of-control, unaccountable judiciary that thumbed their nose at Congress and the president,” said House Majority Leader Tom DeLay, Texas Republican. “We will look into that.” This kind of talk is not only wildly reckless for someone in DeLay’s position, it’s also part of a disturbing pattern. For far too long, DeLay has used irresponsible rhetoric to undermine the courts. In 2003, DeLay told the Washington Times, “Congress, for so long, has been lax in standing up for the Constitution. There are ways to express ourselves — for instance, we could limit the jurisdiction of the judicial branch.” A year later, DeLay embraced court-stripping (also known as “jurisdiction stripping”) with even more enthusiasm, saying that conservatives should no longer look at the Supreme Court as the “Taj Mahal [that] everybody should stay away from.” In 1997, before reaching the House leadership, DeLay made his approach abundantly clear: “Many of these judges begin to grow drunk on their own power. Why shouldn’t the people have a right to impeach these out-of-control judges?” It’s reassuring, I suppose, that DeLay has been attacking the judiciary with this nonsense for years, but no drastic crises have arisen and cooler heads have prevailed. This may even lead some to believe that The Hammer is more bark than bite. But I’m genuinely concerned that as the Republican caucus has moved further to the right, and DeLay’s rhetoric has grown increasingly pathological, the likelihood of a real legal challenge to the courts’ independence and authority may be close at hand. DeLay’s threat yesterday was a shot across the bow; the next one may be more direct.  ¶ 3:43:00 PM 0 Comments

  Confucius say.... A 23 year old finance student at San Jose State is writing the nation's supply of fortune cookie nuggets of wisdom. That explains everything! "Her mission: to infuse dessert with her upbeat brand of fortunetelling while eradicating those stilted old-school proclamations ("Your dog will be king") that often owe their oddball nature to being bad translations or misinterpretations of ancient Chinese proverbs." (Read on at USAtoday)  ¶ 10:09:00 AM 1 Comments

  Bill Gates does his intellectual heavy lifting on "Diet Orange Crush" There is something deeply off-putting about Microsoft's Bill Gates' annual Think Week. As chronicled in Monday's Wall Street Journal, it is a week that he supposedly spends alone while reading, you know, smart stuff about the future of technology. But the idea of Gates padding around some cottage in Washington state while drinking Diet Orange Crush and reading internal Microsoft papers on life, the universe, and computers is like something out of a cross between "Joe versus the Volcano" and a lost Coen brothers film: What had he read of interest this week? "Actually, let's go upstairs real quick and I'll show you, because that's where I spend all my time," he responded, as he popped out of his chair and bounded up the stairs two steps at a time, landing in his upstairs study. Facing the windows with a water view stood a desk with two Dell personal-computer monitors. To the side was a bookshelf lined with "The Great Books" series of literature classics. A portrait of Victor Hugo hung on the wall. A bathroom and a small refrigerator, stocked with Diet Orange Crush and Diet Coke, were added to the office in recent years, Mr. Gates said, so he could maximize his reading time by not having to go downstairs. Papers in bright orange covers littered the floor, their pages stamped "Microsoft Confidential." First, you can sense Gates chafes a little at his inability to simply say that he likes something anymore. As he points out, if he reads an internal paper and responds "Cool", then "They'll assign 20 people to it". Second, in all the chatter about what Gates is reading and so on there is very little to indicate we are in 2005 versus, say, 1997. It's all security, languages, storage, education, and office productivity. There is nary a glimmer about Internet 2.0, nor a hint that the Microsoft chief software architect is spending any time thinking about open source, Ajax, etc.  ¶ 12:53:00 AM 0 Comments