Storm in a Teacup

Here's the Scoop

2006-04-21T22:31:00.000+04:00

I'd like to extend an apology to my legion of formerly loyal readers for my remissness in attending to this blog. This is easily accomplished since the legion is constituted entirely of my brother and mother.

For everyone else:

I have, since the wedding, moved to Dubai, UAE. I continue to work for the man, although he now sends his orders from London instead of Lexington Avenue.

Foxy is an apprentice Lunching Lady, and indicates that she wishes to remain so for her tenure in the Gulf.

The Urinator, sadly, is no longer with us. Not dead, just pissing on someone else's carpets (sofas, chairs, bed, etc). She is dearly missed. Her piss is not.

We are delighted and charmed by this desert principality, and will be reporting about it in due time. There are many fun and fascinating chronicles forthecoming, so bear with me.

Ma'a salāma!

Modern Design Theory

2005-08-24T04:43:00.000+04:00

Right now, in America, the Cretin Army is fast taking back ground in our educational system lost in a battle that occurred nearly a century ago. I know this because everyday lately I happen upon a story in a newspaper, or on a television show, telling me so.

Maybe you've read or heard something too.

Intelligent Design: the complexities of the natural world are, well, just too damned complex to have been achieved through the mechanisms of evolution. Therefore, these intricacies must have been, simply, designed.

By what? By whom? That's up to the individual to ponder. Nobody is trying to sell god in our public schools.

Invariably, though, most Americans arrive at god. But proponents of the theory (theory?) don't push the matter either way. After a wink and a nudge, they rely twice on the stupidity of certain people: the first time, when they sell the theory; the second time, when you conclude that god plopped everything down on Earth basically as it is, tossing to the wayside one of the most compelling disciplines of modern science.

Our President believes that Intelligent Design should be taught, without mention of god, alongside evolution in public schools, just as an alternative. He's not up to anything nefarious, he just believes that the theory of evolution doesn't hold water.

Perhaps we are able to find some basic examples of flora and fauna altering themselves over long periods of time, but it's all very superficial according these ersatz scientists. Science and evolution just cannot explain the most intricate and subtle workings of most organisms or, at least, how they came to possess certain complex functionalities.

The state of Kansas, well-known for its sunflowers and tornadoes, is spearheading the fight by introducing legislation in its own government to have Intelligent Design taught along side Darwinism. God - I mean, Intelligent Designer, help us!

It's fascinating, because I don't believe in some of these wild ideas propounded by so-called meteorologists. I don't believe in "high" and "low" pressure "systems," or in any of the various kinds of "fronts" they claim hover in our "atmosphere."

I believe that tornados in Kansas occur when the Intelligent Designer flushes his toilet. I also believe that sunflowers are actually made of sun.

Is that wrong?

Positively Penurious

2005-08-17T03:48:00.000+04:00

About two weeks ago, I opened a new account for a parsimonious, but extraordinarily wealthy old battle-axe from New Jersey. The fiery and ancient fishwife, whose net worth is between five and ten-million dollars, purchased ten-thousand dollars worth of a new-issue bond from me.

The next day, after I had already opened the account and processed the trade, she called back and told me she required another one-thousand dollars worth of that exact same bond. I told her that it was no longer available, as it was a new issue and had sold quickly, but that I'd be happy to put the other thousand into another new issue that had become available.

The decrepit old ogress told me - actually, she was snarling and yelling - that it didn't make sense for her to have such a small amount of the second bond, and that I was to cancel the first trade immediately and close the account.

What warranted such extreme measures, you ask?

Well, if she had two bonds being held by our brokerage firm, her end-of-year report (a '1099,' which is prepared for tax purposes) would contain an additional line showing the interest earned from the second, smaller bond position. As a result, her accountant would charge her an additional fee for the extra labor, which would cut into the overall yield of the bond over the seven years until its maturity.

I cancelled, or "busted" the trade, sold the bond at a loss on the open market to cover her debit, and had to absorb the difference myself.

One, don't ever renege on a good-faith transaction. Two, don't ever be so miserly that it causes you to act like an asshole.

Caught!

2005-08-10T06:27:00.000+04:00

It seems like I haven't had a minute to myself these past few weeks. The wedding looms large, and there are loads of minutiae that we've either neglected or screwed up. This is becoming a fulltime job! My surreptitious scheme to ‘just stay the hell out of it’ has been detected and thwarted by Foxy and her band of cronies.

I just licked and stamped 120 invitations. I’m not kidding. It feels like I have marshmallows and plaster in my mouth, and my tongue has somehow become glued to the outside of my cheek. We forgot to buy an envelope moistener, and Foxy would have none of the licking. So I was saddled with the gooey task.

Hopefully, life will be moving at a more normal clip again within the next week or so.

The Isle of Wight – or, IoW to those of us in the know - was wonderful! The scenery is extremely dramatic, with its jutting, chalky promontories, lush green hills and valleys, violent Channel-upsurges, and roving bipedal lobsters from sundry locales around the United Kingdom.

It was Cowes Week on the IoW, an international regatta and festival which is centered in and around the town of Cowes. Apparently, this is the world's largest regatta. Bigger than the America's Cup? I don't know, I didn't ask. It was very impressive nonetheless.

I also caught the Sandown Airshow, which is also another ‘biggest’ in the UK. I found that hard to believe, as it was actually quite small. Anyway, the program featured the holy trinity of the Battle of Britain: The Hurricane, The Spitfire, and The P-51 Mustang. It was absolutely incredible to watch these planes scream by within a hundred yards at full throttle, and something I’ll not soon forget.

Hot!

2005-07-27T04:38:00.000+04:00

It is as hot as Hades today in New York City! This record-shattering scorcher made my finely crafted suit feel as though it were made of burlap and sewing needles. Actually, I don't think today shattered any records, but it may as well have. I'm relieved to be in my apartment which, as I write this, is having its air gradually conditioned to resemble a meat locker.

It's very sad about the bombings in Sharm el Sheikh. Foxy and I were planning to visit the Red Sea arcadia during the second half of our honeymoon, but I'm not sure that's still a good idea. It might actually be safer, though, due to heightened security - Egyptian style. I'm told they're both expert and brutal in their dealing with these types of situations. Also, if we alter our plans, then we're sort of stepping into the psychological snare that these psychopathic malcontents have set.

We'll see what happens.

I'm leaving on Thursday for the Isle of Wight, off the south coast of England in the Channel. I've never been there, and I confess to knowing absolutely nothing about it. It is intended solely as a getaway so that my parents and I can spend some time together in a relaxed environment. London is very nervous at the moment, and I'm feeling smothered here in New York. I need to decompress like an Englishman: with lots of good beer and a parasol. Well, maybe not a parasol.

Cheers!

Halt!

2005-07-23T01:23:00.000+04:00

Today, on the front page of our city's most infamous rag, the New York Post, the headline read, "HALT! Cops ordered to search subway bags." Accompanying the banner was a rather unfortunate photograph of a brown-skinned, probably South Asian young man having his black rucksack searched by a New York City police officer.

Two thoughts arose in my mind when I saw this: Either this gentleman was the only passenger having his bag searched within range of the camera's lens, or the Post chose to publish this picture only.

Being the sleaze engine that the Post is, I'll wager that a disreputable editor for this toilet roll carefully chose the image that he thought would resonate most with its reactionary readership. A photograph of somebody's grandmother having her handbag rifled through would not have stirred the desired emotions in its patrons.

Incidents of hate-crimes in the city usually jump after any well-publicized act of terrorism, regardless of where it occurred. That's why I believe it's irresponsible to subtly sow seeds like the one carelessly flung out into the ether today by the Post.

In a sad twist, the Indian Sikh community will shoulder the brunt of the hostilities of a fanatical few. They are the most visible of immigrants in America, and are often mistaken by roving vigilantes for Al Qaeda operatives. Last fall, the owner of one of Manhattan's most famous bars dragged a Sikh out of a taxi and commenced brutalizing him right in the middle of the street. All the while letting loose a barrage of slurs pertaining to Muslims. Figure that one out.

This is what happens when utter dolts begin racially and ethnically profiling members of our community, at the subtle and continuous prompting of media outlets.

The Post should take care not to incite or feed animosity as loosely as they did today.

Dancing With the Devil

2005-07-20T03:18:00.000+04:00

I am dismayed to report that the Floating Nuptial Roadshow will not be pitching its magnificent tent in Cairo, as Foxy and I had not only hoped for, but actually anticipated. We were informed by the female Elders in Foxy's clan that, if held in Egypt, the wedding would be an utter bore and a complete disaster. There was nary a dissenting voice in this resolution, and my ears are still ringing with their conviction.

Egypt, boring?

Let me explain: On Monday, at the ladies' daily teatime telephone conference, presided over by Foxy's mother, the idea was roundtabled, and it was concluded that conservative Egyptian sensibilities would preclude them from any kind of dancing at the wedding. You see, when Arab women dance at these events, it tends to be less like its high-impact, aerobic Western counterpart, and more like something meant to showcase the beauty and sensuality of the female form.

From what I'm told, traditional Arabic dance, when done by wives and mothers, would be looked upon as promiscuous and immoral in Egypt. So it was agreed: no dancing, no wedding.

By the way, anybody who has any insight into this may feel free to comment. I'm sure that there are a variety of points of view on this matter.

I'm going to delve into the latest Harry Potter installment for now. Hopefully, his latest madcap adventure will take my mind off the disappointment. Truthfully though, Harry's been a bit of a wet towel in the last few books. But that's a matter for another post.

Egypt, anyone?

2005-07-16T20:37:00.000+04:00

Foxy Cleopatra and I have been up to our eyeballs in various minutiae that need to be sorted out for the wedding in September. Lately, she's vacillates between yelling and crying, while I have stuck mainly to just yelling. It's more stressful than you can imagine, unless you've been run through this emotional and fiscal gauntlet yourself.

It does not appear that everything will be done in time for the wedding, for which we accept full responsibility. Foxy and I failed to properly arrange our priorities from the beginning. That aside, it seems that every time one of us so much as sneezes, another thousand dollars is added to the bottom-line cost for the affair. It's really gotten out of hand. We may now be forced to abort the pancake breakfast, raffle, and Fantastical Zoological Garden we planned for the cocktail hour. (The gentleman who runs the Albino Liger exhibit will be crushed by the news, as interest in all things liger just isn't where it used to be.)

As a hasty and exasperated solution to this fiasco, Foxy and I are visiting the idea of moving the gala to Cairo, Egypt. We have contacted the Oberoi Mena House, located in the shadows of the Pyramids, and they have promised us twice the opulence at half the price. And if the Encylcopaedia Britannica is anything to go by, Cairo is much more interesting than West Orange, New Jersey.

Here's the catch: Not a lot of our friends and family will be able or even willing to attend. It's either too expensive, or their minds are too narrow for a camel to pass through. More than a few Americans are afraid of all things Arabic at the moment. Many of our invitees, after having the concept informally proposed to them, informed us of their sincere concern that they will become the object of an insidious terror plot the moment they set foot on Egyptian soil. Wagging a finger and declaring, to their faces, how ridiculous they are has not had the soothing effect we'd hoped for.

So a lot of people wouldn't be there to partake in the blessed good time being had in the backyard of the Cheops residence. Who cares, right? Foxy does. Like most young American women I know, she dreams of having a big, elegant, and perfectly-executed wedding where she can play Princess-For-a-Day. Or for five hours at least.

So that's what we've been attempting to give her. But if you take a step back and look at the enormous hassle and appalling cost, it starts to appear a bit silly. Even to Foxy.

So we find ourselves in quite a quandry.

Security Blanket

2005-07-13T03:30:00.000+04:00

As a result of last week's bombings in the London Underground, New York City Police Commissioner Raymond Kelly has stepped-up security in Manhattan, with special attention being paid to the Subway system. He has promised that there will be at least one NYPD officer - uniformed or plainclothes - on every train operating in what is the world's largest rapid transit system. There are roughly 6500 individual subway cars in the MTA's fleet, operating on a little over 650 miles of mainline track- so it's an enterprising and costly undertaking.

Today was the first day that I really noticed the elevated NYPD presence. On the ride home from Grand Central Station to the Wall Street station, there was a uniformed officer in our car. At the Wall Street station, there was a group of four or five officers standing on the platform, looking rather serious. Finally, as I emerged from the station, I noticed a new group of officers on Broadway making their presence very much known: having a pleasant time with each other, helping tourists, and smiling at passers-by.

It's actually really nice to see so many officers in uniform patrolling the city. In the early 1990's, there was hardly any police presence to speak of in New York, which Mayor Rudolph Giuliani quickly remedied. He did this by not only swelling the NYPD's ranks exponentially, but by ordering that they put themselves out in plain sight, in a coordinated and efficient manner.

The only problem I see is that, prior to the bombings in London, the number of officers on the street and in the subways appeared to be at its usual level. In a few weeks, the presence will surely begin regressing back to the norm. So I'm not really sure what all this actually accomplishes at the end of the day.

It's just a fast-acting tonic for our strained and ailing psyches. But it's a good one, and Ray Kelly knows it well.

Fulton Fish Market

2005-07-10T01:16:00.000+04:00

On the Lower East Side of Manhattan, on a small stretch of South Street just next to Pier 17, and in the long shadow of the elevated FDR Drive, resides the singular Fulton Fish Market.

For 170 years this stinking citadel has stood guard over the venerable and timeworn South Street Seaport, devastating many an unsuspecting olfactory, and driving away all but the most determined visitors. Year round, surly men with iron hooks and Wellington boots yell in unintelligible fishmonger patter, while wholesale buyers for restaurants and supermarkets huddle around frosty bins and boxes, picking the best of each catch.

On summer days, the stench is absolutely intolerable, and the pavement around the market continually slicked with water and putrefying fish offal.

And we love it - because it's there, it's always been there, and it's memorable. It's something you take away with you as a visitor to New York, or something you comment on with a smile as you pass if you're a resident. It's a glimpse into the city's past; the epicenter of an antiquated culture and process that goes back to the very foundations of the island.

I once bobbed up at a raucous happy hour at a fisherman's pub down by the market. What's remarkable is that the happy hour started at 6 o'clock in the morning, just when the nighttime fishing crews come ashore, cold and looking for something to improve their circulation. Don't ask me how we wound up in that particular spot at that time of the morning - I wouldn't be able to recall.

The market has it's own tales to tell, with its own regular characters. It has gone through political upheavals, booms and depressions, urban exodus and influx, and has even defended itself against the likes of the New York Mafia. City Council, drooling over the potential revenue to be had from the real estate upon which it sits, has tried frequently over the last hundred years to close it's doors. And for a hundred years it has been unsuccessful. The market has grown up with Manhattan, and many believed it would die with it.

On Monday, however, this New York institution is closing up shop in Manhattan and moving to a new, 21st-century facility in the Hunts Point section of the Bronx. Hunts Point is infamous for its drugs and gangs, but especially for the notable accomplishments of its vast and rampant prostitution enterprise. I can only assume that the city transacted this move at rock-bottom prices.

We'll be sad to see it go, and sincerly hope that the developer who bought the spot will build within the spirit of the historic district.

London, UK

2005-07-08T04:05:00.000+04:00

My deepest sympathies go out to the people of the United Kingdom, and especially to the citizens of London.

There is not a lot that can be said that hasn't been said already today.

It's atrocious, and appalling, and I know exactly how it feels to live through it. Even the most trivial elements of that morning in New York City four years ago are etched in the most vivid detail in my memory. And life goes on.

My parents reside in London, and love the United Kingdom as they do their own country. This morning's events have gutted them in the most profound way, as I'm certain it has all residents, both native and adoptive.

I received a warm call from my mother this afternoon. She wanted to share with me her observations about the British people in the wake of the day's terror: It's extraordinary how, no matter what happens, the British people always just keep their chin up. They have carried themselves through the day with the most perfect dignity.

What more needs to be said.

The Decline of Civilization

2005-07-06T06:11:00.000+04:00

Every new television season in America brings with it a new reality show. Every year I am absolutely flabbergasted by the increasing stupidity of what producers have green-lighted. And I always ask myself - and everyone around me, now that I think of it - the same exasperated question: How much worse can it get?

And so I really am morbidly curious about what twisted scenario Hollywood will dream up next. How, next season, are they going to top this year's smash hit I Want to Be a Hilton.

I just sat transfixed for an hour by this circus, where ten or so contestants are stripped of all dignity as they jockey to become hotel heiress Kathy Hilton's protégé. It has all the elements of success that were fine-tuned in Donald Trump's The Apprentice: The dregs of humanity, a task, a reward, and finally someone - or two - is ejected.

Kathy Hilton's catchphrase is not, however, You're fired, it's a painfully awkward Sorry, you're not on the list. The list alluding, of course, to the sort of list you might not be on if you're a nobody trying to get into an event attended by somebodies.

It's really kind of nauseating, yet I couldn't look away. How much worse can it get?

Here are some ideas:

I Want to Be an Actuary
Homeless, Like Me
The Bachelor: Prison Edition
Apprentice to an Undertaker

Are you reading, Hollywood? We'll watch anything, I promise.

Gone Crabbin'

2005-07-04T01:40:00.000+04:00

So far, the weather has been perfect! It's hot and sunny, and there's a nice breeze that's been blowing off the ocean in perfectly-timed intervals. I'm getting as red as a lobster and, coincidentally, tonight I shall be eating a lobster. Interesting.

Foxy and I are planning a seafood festival with our friends tonight which, in addition to lobster, will include blue-claw crab, shrimp, and scallops. Blue-claw crabs are frequently referred to as Maryland blue-claw crabs and have - you guessed it - blue claws. They are ubiquitous in this part of the country in the summer, and can be caught just about anywhere where there is salt water.

When I was younger, it was quite a big deal for us to go crabbing. We would trek over to the wetlands in the bay, or take out a small fishing boat, and begin our hunting expedition. This can be done using the most rudimentary of equipment, and usually yields enough for an entire family to eat, in a relatively short amount of time.

The crabbing line itself is just a simple piece of wire - coat-hangar guage - bent into a triangular shape, with a fishing weight attached to it. A string is tied to the metal wire so that it can be maneuvered into the water, into an unsuspecting crab's lair. The bait, which is skewered on the wire, can be almost anything. Crabs are not discriminating in what they'll sink their pincers into. However, bits of an oily fish, such as mackerel, work best.

The line must be lowered gingerly, with the utmost care and skill, into the dark water. Too quickly and you'll scare the crabs away. Too slowly, and you'll bore yourself to death. A perfect balance must be struck. It is really key that the triangular meat-hook contraption go all the way to the bottom to rest; it must not dangle midway between the surface and the bottom. Crabs walk along the bottom, and can't swim upwards with any kind of control - I don't think.

Then the waiting begins. At this point, older and more seasoned crabbers usually begin drinking beer; usually Budweiser, and usually from a can. I don't know why, that's just how I remember it.

The line will begin vibrating and dancing when some poor, naive crab has commenced nibbling on whatever crabby treat you've delivered to the bottom. Then it'll begin moving away as the crab tries to abscond with the aforementioned treat.

It is at this point that the trickiest phase is initiated. Remember how carefully the line was lowered into the water? Well, now it must be pulled up with even more care, and even more skill. If you pull it up to quickly, the crab will become aware of his own unexpected elevation and let go without another thought. If you pull up too slowly, again, you risk boring yourself to tears or death.

As the triangular meat-hook contraption approaches the surface of the water, the crab's silhouette becomes visible. It is at this point that a member of your all-star crabbing team deftly scoops the mark from underneath with a net, ripping him from his watery world. The crab is then put into a bucket with the other crabs. There is always water in this bucket. Real crabbers don't torture crabs to death by drying them out, nor do they cook dead crabs.

Here's how they are cooked, which is peculiar to the New Jersey-Maryland region:

They are steamed in an enormous pot, sometimes measuring about 2.5 feet or more in height if you have a large quantity. As they steam slowly, beer is generously poured over them. I'm told this is for anesthetic purposes. They are then made dirty, as it is called, by having can upon can of Old Bay seasoning dumped upon them.

Note: I don't always eat them this way, I just enthusiastically recommend it.

Each crab takes quite a while to break apart properly and eat, but the reward is substantial. So if you're ever in the area, have some crabs, and get them dirty.

Terrorist Plot Thwarted in Arizona!

2005-07-02T04:00:00.000+04:00

In the last month, two helicopters have fallen out of the sky and into the murky waters surrounding Manhattan. Yesterday, a light plane did the same. It appears that a miniature Bermuda Triangle has begun to align itself around the lower half of the island. I think this warrants a scientific investigation immediately.

Again, be careful if you're visiting.

In the BBC today: Al-Jazeera shelves US border film

Al-Jazeera, the Arabic language media outlet, had been planning to film a report "about economic and security issues" along the US-Mexico border. However, the kibosh was put on the project by the Minutemen Civil Defense Corps, a gang of anti-immigration hillbillies who have appointed themselves to patrol the Arizona-Mexico border.

This group opposes immigration into America in general, but especially from our neighbor to the south. Apparently Mexicans come here to steal dishwashing and other jobs from hard-working Americans who, frankly, wouldn't take the jobs if they were available. Which they are. What the Minutemen do is patrol the borders with rifles (just in case) and call in "reports" of infiltration to the actual US Border Patrol - just like the WWII-era Civil Defense Corps, but with a flaming red neck.

Similar groups are rearing their ugly, five-gallon-hat-wearing heads along nearly all the other border states as well. From what I've seen, the standard-issue uniform appears to be a medley of flannel and denim, flamboyant cowboy boots (is there any other kind?), and a cowboy hat. They are basically uber-patriotic, racist organizations who, if unchecked soon, will eventually begin executing Mexicans at the border.

The Minutemen publicly resolved to confront any al-Jazeera journalists who made their way to the US-Mexico border. They even had the audacity to file a formal complaint with the Department of Homeland Security (you know, the red alert!, orange alert! guys). But what's really scary is that they have local popular support, and their cause has even been furthered by a US Congressman:

"It is insane policy to allow al-Jazeera to film Arizona's unsecured border with Mexico and then broadcast it to the very people who perpetrated 9/11," said Trent Franks, a Republican Congressman for Arizona.

How is it that a Congressman can say such a thing! It's absolutely ludicrous.

In the end, though, the group succeeded in staving off an imminent attack from the dangerous journalists and cameramen from al-Jazeera. And we're all safer for it. Just take a look at this little gem:

"The world's most prolific terrorism television network has cancelled its recon operation at the Arizona/Mexico border," the group said in a statement.

Most prolific? Recon? Nonsense.

In other news, Sandra Day O'Conner has retired from United States Supreme Court. Americans can now finally get what they really want: to overturn Roe v. Wade. Sandra Day O'Conner was the swing-vote on the issue, and a breath of fresh air on a lot of other issues. God help us all.

This weekend I'm going to Avalon, New Jersey for the long 4th of July holiday weekend. Avalon is in the far southern tip of New Jersey, quite near to Delaware, and has some lovely beaches and other beachy stuff. I'm not looking forward to the unavoidable five hours of snarled traffic on the New Jersey Turnpike, but I am looking forward to cooking like a french fry in the sun.

Subway Savage

2005-06-29T03:19:00.000+04:00

What a horrific ride home this evening on the NYC subway. As per usual, there were too many straphangers squeezing and elbowing their way into the car, which is fine when one expects it. However, I hadn't prepared myself emotionally for the utter jackass who positioned himself directly next to me.

He wasn't young (maybe 15 or so) or mentally deficient, so I was surprised by his complete lack of awareness of his immediate surroundings. The reckless monster spent the whole ride in conversation with his mother, all the while dangling himelf languidly from the bar on the ceiling.

Dangling, yes.

When the car swayed, he swayed. When the car sped up, he would plow into me with the full weight of his contorted adolescent body. Again, and again.

Until finally I barked, "Can you please stop that!" He stared at me for an astonished second with his beady, lifeless orbs, then returned to the vacuous conversation with his guardian. He also immediately resumed his gymnastic assault.

What really astonished me was not that he was acting that way, but that his mother made no attempt to stop the asinine activity. It almost makes it difficult to blame the obtuse little bastard when he clearly was never taught any manners to begin with.

Anyway, this went on for the entirety of the twenty-minute trip. It seemed like an hour.

On the television: President Bush is addressing the nation.

He's trying to explain his way out of having no clear strategy in Iraq. And smirking at the conclusion of every sentence. Does that bother anybody else?

This speech is just a repetition of the same tired, old nonsense that he's been spouting for four years now. The formula calls for using the word terrorist in every third sentense, while using the word freedom at least once in each of the other two. It works though. I just caught myself unconsciously tying a yellow ribbon around the coffee table leg.

Amazing.

Facha!

2005-06-25T04:33:00.000+04:00

Have you ever seen the Walt Stillman movie Barcelona?

This got me thinking about it today: "Italian Judge Orders Arrest of 13 CIA Operatives for Kidnapping"

It was the headline on the front page of the New York Times today. I'm certain that every major newspaper in the world had a variation of this headline on their front page as well. In brief, an Italian judge issued warrants for the arrest of not one or two, but thirteen CIA operatives accused of involvement in the kidnapping of a radical Muslim imam, Osama Mustafa Hassan.

The imam in question was under suspicion for some variety of terrorist activity, and was already being investigated by the Italian authorities.

On February 17th, 2003, however, the CIA took matters into their own hands without, I presume, the consent of the Italians. In broad daylight, a van pulled up next to Hassan as he walked to his mosque, and two men masquerading as Italian police officers grabbed him and thrusted him to an unmarked van.

He was not heard from again until sometime in 2004.

The United States calls this "extraordinary rendition." This tactic in the government's fight against terrorism involves plucking people from their homes, places of employment, the street, or anywhere else they wish, and shipping them to sovereign countries whose policies they publicly criticize.

Why? So they can be properly tortured, without having to nod to any kind of convention regarding the ethical treatment of suspects and detainees. Hassan claims to have been repeatedly electrocuted by his Egyptian interrogators.

Scary stuff, don't you agree?

People have become afraid of the U.S. government, and it's 400 different and conflicting national security and intelligence agencies. They should be, it's out very much out of control. And it's humiliating to [at least some of] its citizens that our leaders are sanctioning this kind of behavior in its agencies.

Is the world safer for it?

Anyway, in Barcelona, which is set during the Cold War, one of subplots deals with the younger Spanish generation's preoccupation with things they perceive as fascist (everything is facha), naked American aggression, and the fear that agents of the CIA are skulking around them - plotting, subverting, and assassinating.

It's funny because they were mostly misinformed. What's not funny is that, despite all the silly misinformation, they were absolutely correct about the plotting, subverting, and assassinating.

It's alarming that we've stepped back into a state of affairs in which our government agencies are operating in the same roundly-criticized manner as they did from the 1950's to the 1980's. I'm sure that history will condemn this as well. What's sad is that nothing's being done about it presently.

It's all very facha!

On a lighter note, I'll be attending a real barbeque (not a hibachi on the fire-escape) tomorrow in Nyack, NY, high on the banks of the Hudson River. It's really beautiful there. It's a little bit rustic, and has a small-town feel. It'll be nice.

Then, on Sunday, I'll be going to the beach on Long Island. Yes, I do live the life of Riley.

Philadelphia: Part I

2005-06-22T02:51:00.000+04:00

For want of anything interesting about my life to relay to you today, I thought I'd tell you just a bit about Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, as promised two posts ago.

If you've been paying attention to the news these last two weeks, you might have heard something about a Ku Klux Klan member standing trial for crimes committed forty years ago in Mississippi. The backwater waste of life in question, Edgar Ray Killen, was convicted today of having organized the disturbing crimes which were subsequently portrayed in the movie Mississippi Burning.

However, he was only convicted on the lesser charge of manslaughter, from what I presume was a very sympathetic jury. It's unthinkable that, in this day and age in the United States, a jury of this man's peers could rescue him from a well-deserved murder conviction, thereby robbing the victims' families of a full victory. Or is it? Not in Philadelphia, Mississippi.

So, please don't confuse that last bastion of Antebellum America and antediluvian ideologies with Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, my beloved home town.

Philadelphia, or Philly, has about five million residents, which is about half that of New York City. It is situated on the western banks of the useful (that's all, just useful) Delaware River, which separates Pennsylvania from New Jersey. British readers might remember it as the axis of agitation within those damned rogue colonies.

The Declaration of Independence was written in Philadelphia and adopted in 1776, and the Constitution of the United States followed shortly thereafter in 1789. Thus, it is "the Birthplace of America."

In the 19th century, Philadelphia was the glad recipient of wave upon wave of European immigration, most notably from Ireland, Germany, and Italy. South Philadelphia was historically Italian, and is still very much so today. Or, at least, in the collective imagination of it's residents: forgeddabadit. Southwest Philadelphia was where all the Irish went, and were usually engaged in fisticuffs with their jaunty neighbors to the east. Germans, being very German, founded Germantown: fabelhaft! Interesting that if you had asked any one of these groups of people to describe any of the others, they would have most likely accused them of laziness, alcoholism, or spousal abuse.

This is why my grandparents had to elope: She was from Italy, he was from old Irish stock, and both were shunned by the elders of their families for falling in love. It turned out that the Irish were indeed lazy, alcoholic wife-beaters after all, but at the time the suspicion was mostly unfounded. Just kidding, Grandpop.

Philadelphians have the German immigrants to thank for the ubiquitous breakfast treat scrapple which, as suggested by the name, is made of the scraps leftover after everything actually edible has been carved off a pig. It comes in bricks, and is served sliced and fried. It's worth a try if you're in the area but, for the love of god, consider what it's made of and don't do it twice.

Have a cheesesteak instead. Philly is also known as "the Birthplace of Cheesesteaks," and is honestly the only place in the country where one can have a good one. Many other restaurants in many other cities purport to have perfected them as well, but it's all lies and distortions, I assure you. A cheesesteak is made of thinly sliced beef, cooked fresh on a hot griddle, and shredded in the process by a grizzled, spatula-wielding man. It's served on a long, soft roll and topped with cheese and fried onions. They were "invented" at Pat's Steaks in South Philadelphia in the 1930's but, soon after, the ingenious Gino hung his shingle across the street, claiming his were better than Pat's. A messy war has raged since. I prefer Jim's Steaks, though, on South Street in Center City. Jim really refined and perfected the process, bless him.

So, we've gotten the really important facts out of the way. I'll write more about Philly on another occasion. Please, try not to die of anticipatory stress in the meantime.

The Wedding Shower II

2005-06-21T02:37:00.000+04:00

What a nice weekend! My family held a second surprise wedding shower for Foxy in Philly this weekend. I'm from Philly, Foxy's from New York, and our families felt that it was asking a lot of the invitees to trek long distances in either direction. We also considered seriously the strain it might have put on the ancient and revered patriarchs and matriarchs of our families. It's always shrewd to avoid exacerbating the extraordinary crankiness of these people whenever possible.

We got a lot of gifts, which is really nice. But we have nowhere to put them, which is really frustrating. The idea is that you get married, buy a place which is presumably larger than the one you currently live in, and then move all this stuff in. So now we're packed floor-to-ceiling with the finest tchotchkes that money can buy at Bed Bath & Beyond. Foxy had to tie a tether to me when I went to the kitchen so I could find my way back.

As I sit here reading the news in my cluttered living room, having finally achieved the level of pagan opulence I've so long sought, I have to applaud the people of Sweden for their ingenious use of Biogas in their public transportation infrastructure. If you're like me, then you might not know what Biogas is. Simply, Biogas is composed of fumes harvested from rotting organic waste, which burns more cleanly than fossil fuel, and invites us all merrily to a flatulent joke or two. Good for them for finally demonstrating that the process can be efficient and effective.

Today, the Biogas Train was unveiled, which will begin running between Linkoeping and Vaestervik in September. God bless the Swedes, they've given us so many things: Ikea, the Temporpedic Sleep System, and lingonberries, to name just a few. I think the rest of the of the world should follow suit immediately, and do away with fossil fuel altogether. For the children, of course.

Also in the news: The CIA knows where Osama Bin Laden is hiding.

"The head of the US Central Intelligence Agency has said he has an "excellent idea" where Osama Bin Laden is hiding."

Really? The U.S. government has to say things like this every now and again to make us secure in the knowledge that our tax dollars are not being pissed away on a wild goose chase in the hinterlands of Afghanistan and Pakistan. In reality, the only thing the CIA can tell us about Osama Bin Laden with any certainty is that he's not operating a barbeque stand in Birmingham, Alabama. So, good people of Birmingham, rest easily.

The Wedding Shower

2005-06-18T21:26:00.000+04:00

Foxy Cleopatra has left me home alone on a Saturday once again!

She's attending a wedding shower being held in her honor in a posh suburb of New Jersey. It's women-only, although more and more frequently these days wedding showers are mixed gatherings. I assure you, this is not a complaint.

For some reason, men don't seem to do as well at these types of functions as women and metrosexuals do, so I'm actually very pleased with the format. Perhaps it has something to do with a general lack of interest in all things relating to the announcement, preparation, and execution of nuptials. The lone regret that I have is that I won't be able to sample the mélange of gourmet Arabic creations prepared by the gushing attendees.

I'll just have a cheeseburger here instead.

Update on the Chienne de Sade: she's sleeping the sleep of the just; exhausted after having her overtures rebuffed by the blanket, the coffee table leg, and what is now a sad-looking decorative plant. I suspected, by the look on her face when she spotted it from across the room, that she might attempt some unnatural alliance with it. Ah well, poor thing.

Tonight, Foxy and I are going out with her best friend and Best Friend's boyfriend. We're going to start here in the apartment, then go to some bars in lower Manhattan. It should be a nice time. We'll most likely be staying in a part of Manhattan called TriBeCa, an acronym for Triangle Below Canal.

This neighborhood was revitalized in the last fifteen years by actor Robert De Niro, most notably, and is home to the annual Tribeca Film Festival. It is delineated by Canal Street to the north, Broadway to the east, Vesey Street to the south, and by the mighty Hudson River to the west. In bygone days, Tribeca was the the meat-packing and textile center of New York City. This is still evidenced by the imposing romanesque facades of old factories and the wrought-iron overhangs of former meat-packing facilities. It's a wonderful place to explore.

Tomorrow I leave for Philadelphia, Pennsylvania to visit family. It's about an hour and forty-five minutes away from New York to the south, and quite a nice ride. More on Philadelphia, or Philly to those of us in the know, tomorrow.

Sunny, With A Chance of Helicopters

2005-06-18T03:41:00.000+04:00

Another beautiful day in New York! Right now it's 72 degrees outside, and slightly breezy. When the weather is like this, there is no better place in the world to be. Except anywhere with the same weather, and a beach.

I need to mention that this can also be a very unsettling time of year. You see, the Uninator is in estrus, and not afraid to let the world know it. As I write this, she's attempting to ravage her blanket. Now she's growling at the blanket and biting it. I'm going into the other room.

In the news:

A helicopter fell out of the sky and into the East River, thankfully resulting in nothing other than a mangled million-dollar piece of equipment. This is the second time in as many weeks that this has happened, so be careful if you're taking a helicopter tour of Manhattan. It appears that you should also be careful if you're taking a tour on the East River these days.

The East river is one of two rivers that flank the island of Manhattan. The other is the Hudson River, which is remarkably wider than the East river, and goes all the way to Canada and the Great Lakes. The Brooklyn Bridge, Manhattan Bridge, Williamsburg Bridge, 59th Street Bridge (of Simon and Garfunkel fame!), and the Triborough Bridge all span the East River. All told, there are seven bridges and four tunnels that feed Manhattan. And it's still not enough, which you'll quickly discover if you ever try to enter or leave the island in a car.

I just finished eating the world's greatest flame-broiled chicken, or jaaj mishwi, as it's called in Arabic. It's even better than the one Foxy makes. Sorry, Foxy. We got this chicken from a Syrian restaurant in Paterson, New Jersey, which is home to hundreds of thousands of Middle Eastern and North African immigrants (the city, not the restaurant). Many newly-arrived immigrants from these parts of the world are now opting to live in Paterson rather than the Atlantic Avenue area of Brooklyn, which has been their traditional terminus. Sadly, I think immigrants are quickly getting priced out of a lot of parts of Brooklyn. Still, the best Arabic food in the entire country may be gotten in either place.

Well, I'm going to go sit at the waterfront outside and take in some of this day before it's gone. I had better put a chastity belt on the Urinator, lest she lose her maidenhood when I turn my back.

Closer

2005-06-16T05:09:00.000+04:00

I just watched Closer, a film by Mike Nichols starring Jude Law, Natalie Portman, Julia Roberts, and Clive Owen, a very talented Englishman. A New York Times film critic poses this question: Why can't all movies be made like this?

The simple answer is this: If all films were like Closer, nobody would have eyeballs because we all would have scratched them out long ago in protest.

See it, but only so you can mock it.

We get our movies from NetFlix, an unassuming little enterprise which is slowly suffocating Blockbuster. Blockbuster has had a stranglehold on the video rental industry for so long they got complacent. Now their kingdom is falling. Falling, I say.

It occurs to me that NetFlix, or some similar service, probably does not exist elsewhere in the world. Let me explain.

NetFlix is an Internet service whereby one creates a movie queue online, from a database of tens of thousands of titles. The top three movies in the queue are then delivered posthaste to your residence.

Oddly, these movies seem to arrive from, and return to the NetFlix hive more expeditiously than regular mail. I'm suspicious that NetFlix has funded a very powerful lobby to assure that postal workers handle their packages twice as quickly as they do anything else.

You are provided with a return envelope, and may keep up to three movies for as long as you wish. When you've finished one, you simply drop it in the mailbox, and in about four days the next movie in your queue arrives. And all for $21 per month! But if you underutilize the service, you're just pissing away cash. So tread carefully.

New York was hot today. Very, very hot. Worst of all, it was humid. This is typical of the Northeast from June to August, and takes some getting used to. Still, I'd rather be hot than cold and sneazy.

Thankfully, the sky just opened and washed away the heat. And the party on the roof deck outside our window as well. The well-heeled attendees did not look as relieved as Foxy and I felt. Oh well.

Your Color Guide to Wedding Flowers

2005-06-15T02:10:00.000+04:00

That's the cover feature of Bride's Magazine, Special Edition, Summer 2004. The magazine is 450 glossy pages long and costs $7.00. Did the editors actually consider that there might be somebody, somewhere in America who would glance at it and pass it over if they had left out the word color?

"But what if the pictures aren't in color?! I just can't take that risk again; I'm going with Weddingbells Magazine instead."

What's even more interesting is the lead-in, which reads: 20-Page Exclusive. Exclusive? Has Bride's Magazine really cornered the market on color guides to wedding flowers? I suppose it's possible. I've been really out of touch with the state of the industry for a long time now.

On a more somber note, the front page of the New York Times has this headline: Suicide Attack Kills at Least 22 in Kirkuk. I have this nagging suspicion that things aren't going as well in Iraq as our leaders would have us believe. It seems like almost everyday that the world is slapped in the face by some variation of this headline.

Donald Rumsfeld, ever the optimist, stated unequivocally that "the insurgency would be defeated." The only encouraging part of that statement is that he didn't call the insurgency "the evil-doers." So I guess there's some progress being made after all.

In America, if you're a real patriot, you get a 20-inch yellow-ribbon sticker with the words "Support Our Troops," which you're apparently supposed to put on your car, in as close proximity as possible to your wind-tattered nylon American flag. By the way, almost nothing screams Patriot at the Wheel! better than an exhaust-blackened nub of a flag that's been shredded by the elements.

Nothing, that is, except a giant sticker of an eagle carrying an apple pie that reads "PATRIOT AT THE WHEEL!" This hasn't been done yet, so I might be onto something...

Honestly, though, this is getting out of hand. Nobody is for their countrymen dying, but if you question the morality or legality of the war you are branded unpatriotic. I think it's patriotic to be unpatriotic right now, because if there wasn't dissent there'd be even more yellow ribbons everywhere, making us more intolerable in proportion.

So, the real question is which would you rather read about: Michael Jackson, or failure in Iraq? I think I'll stick to color guides to wedding flowers for the time-being.

High Highs, Low Lows

2005-06-14T02:11:00.000+04:00

Michael Jackson was found innocent today of all charges of impairing the morals of diseased children and giving them Jesus Juice! This is great news because I don't think there is anybody left in America who can bear one more second of news coverage on this case.

In other news:

Today was a great day! I closed an account that I've been working on for a while, and believe that it will blossom into a very good relationship. It was actually the last of a series of happy (work-related) events that have peppered the last two weeks. I gained four new clients, all of whom are ideal in a lot of ways.

You see, there are two kinds of clients that a stockbroker can have: order-givers, and those who sincerely want and need advice. The latter are dramatically better.

For example, I have a few hot-shot, hyperactive, stock-trading clients who call up and yell at me what to buy or sell. These people will typically, and quite shamelessly, "chisel" me on the commission, then yell about something new altogether. They have no long-term plan to speak of, and never fill me in on what they're doing with their other brokers. This is infuriating, and often they are told to take their business elsewhere.

The other type of client will typically hand over all their investable assets to the firm, sit down with me to hammer out a disciplined plan for investing, then pay an annual fee to have their money managed. These people usually become dear acquaintances and are always very loyal.

Business has picked up dramatically for me this Spring, and is getting better. I always find that Spring and Summer are the best times of year to be working on Wall Street, because people have finally roused from Winter hibernation and allow themselves to become reengaged in their finances. They want to have meetings, give referrals, and add more money to their portfolios.

Interestingly, I think you'll find that many New Yorkers are assholes for at least five months of the year. Now that I think about it, this is typical of the entire Northeast corridor of the United States. With regard to New Yorkers, one may perceive this as a year-round affliction - but that has nothing to do with the weather. It's all relative when you live here.

Anyway, that's the nature of my business: It ebbs and flows with seasons and market cycles. When you have more business coming in than you can handle, you feel like you're on top of the world. But when it's slow, you can feel kind of useless. But I guess that's true of any business really.

It's just a matter of keeping things in perspective at all times, which I'm pretty good at.

Learning As I Go

2005-06-12T19:26:00.000+04:00

Setting this blog up, in its basic form, was made very easy by the good people at Blogger.com.

Customizing it, however, has not been so easy. I wasn't aware that one had to have at least a rudimentary knowledge of HTML code to play around with the format. I thought it was going to be a click-and-drag type thing. Luckily, I was able to figure out the basic layout of the page by looking at the patterns in the code. I felt like John Nash, which is nice, because I usually never do.

When you're done laughing at me, feel free to offer me some help...

I welcome ANY advice or criticism about the layout or content of this blog.

So, I'm all alone on this Sunday morning. My fiancé, who instructed me that she would like to be known henceforth as Foxy Cleopatra, has gone out with her best friend. They're going to the beach on Long Island, New York. Then they're going to look for dresses for Foxy's bridesmaids. We're getting married in September!

A bit about Long Island:

Long Island is, as suggested by the name, a long island just east of Manhattan. The eastern quarter of the island, closest to Manhattan, is comprised of the boroughs of Queens and Brooklyn. The remaining three-quarters are part of New York State, and are made up of numerous counties.

Long Island is a strange place, and people who live there enjoy saying that it's like its own country. It goes from very wealthy to very poor, and its residents from very clean-cut in their presentation to outrageously trendy. In any case, it is usually the first to absorb and affect the urban culture emanating from the boroughs of New York City. These styles are immediately transformed by the teens of the Island, and made very much they're own. Usually to bad effect.

For American readers outside of New York, you might know these people by their not-quite-right gangsta’ style - where something appears slightly off, but you can't quite put your finger on what it is. Or maybe you can, and it's characterized by an excess of ersatz urban machismo. In England and Scotland, I think these people would be known as chavs.

The Island is really beautiful though, the further out you go. Go far enough and you'll hit the Hamptons: Summer Playground for the Rich & Famous.

Anyway, I have to go eat lunch, straighten up the apartment, get some sunshine, and feed the dog. The dog, by the way, shall be known as the Urinator, due to her proclivity for pissing all over the place, but never where she should.

She keeps us on our toes.

Bye.

Post #1

2005-06-12T08:17:00.000+04:00

Well...

This is far more nerve-wracking than I ever expected it to be. All of the sudden, I feel this enormous pressure to write something interesting or exciting - something appealing to the masses.

However, I just realized that most of the blogs I read are not interesting or exciting in any conventional way. They're interesting to me.

So, if you're interested in hearing about what it's like to live in New York, working on Wall Street, or about my new life with my bride-to-be, please stay tuned.

Here's the story:

I live in Manhattan, New York. For those of you who don't know, Manhattan is one of five boroughs that constitute New York City, along with The Bronx, Queens, Brooklyn and Staten Island. It is, by far, the finest borough, although Brooklyn is quickly gaining ground!

I work as a stockbroker on Wall Street. Wall Street simply refers to the general financial services of brokerage and investment banking. Only a lucky few people actually work on Wall Street the street. I say lucky because there are many venerable old buildings down there that hark back to Manhattan as the most powerful center of commerce and trade in the world, and it would be wonderful to work in one of them. If you're ever in New York, it's well worth exploring the Financial District.

I live right next to the Wall Street district in an area of Manhattan called Battery Park City. BPC is a nice area to live in, but it's completely artificial. BPC was created in the 60's with the dirt and rock and whatever else came out of the ground when the foundations were dug for the World Trade Center towers. Prior to that, it was just a long row of dilapidated piers. A retaining wall was created around the general area, and everything was dumped in there. As such, it is the newest section of Manhattan, with the majority of the buildings having been built in the 80's. There are five restaurants: Two are "english-style" pubs owned by one restaurant group, and the other three are Chinese restaurants owned by a second restaurant group. It's not good for quality when there's no competition, you can be sure.

So these are the basics of my life in New York. I'll keep you posted if anything interesting happens, although I suspect this is going to be a show about nothing, as Jerry and George put it.

Anyway, I have to run. Thanks for reading!