Why isn’t more of America reading Tom Teepen’s stuff?

It’s hard to square an official portrait of the guy – he’s made to look something like Colonel Sanders suspiciously interviewing a bad actor in a chicken suit – with the young reporter I remember from 1961.

At the time, Tom Teepen’s beat was Greene County, an outlying circulation district of the Dayton (Ohio) Daily News. He had a wife, a tract house, a cheap car and if I recall correctly a couple of young kids, and made his living running from Xenia to Goes to Yellow Springs to Fairborn covering police stories and miscellaneous newsworthy whatnots.

These days, at the age of – I’m guessing here – 70-something, I gather he’s living somewhere in the Atlanta area, an eminence grise of punditry for the Cox newspaper chain.

As such, he’s probably quite well known wherever a Cox newspaper circulates. That’s great news – whether they like him there or not – for places like Lufkin, Texas and Palm Beach, Florida among others, to which he brings a voice of sane and reasoned liberalism via their respective Cox publications.

But it’s a damn shame Teepen’s name rarely elicits more than a puzzled shrug here in New York among us so-called informed liberals. Same goes for other major news markets, such as Chicago and Washington, DC.

Teepen’s trademark is commonsense liberalism, as opposed to the doctrinaire kind. For example, when the right wing decries Jimmy Carter as an ineffective fool, a good many of the underinformed liberal establishment simply mumble something unintelligible and try to change the subject. We’re too busy gnashing our teeth at the Bush administration to know or care. Too often, we buy the conservative opinion that Carter must have been something between a wet noodle and a hibernating sloth. Teepen, however, offers a spirited defense of Carter, in part, this:

In addition to the Camp David Accords, Carter negotiated the SALT II arms treaty with the Soviets. He initiated diplomatic relations with China, consolidating Richard Nixon’s breakthrough. His emphasis on human rights brought a literally refreshing purpose to U.S. foreign policy, especially effective in democratizing Latin American politics.

More successful at federal deregulation than any other president—in energy, communications, and transportation—his very success put him athwart his party’s liberal wing. Ted Kennedy became a particular pain in the neck because of Carter’s apostasies.

To which I happily add a point that Teepen also raises: Carter managed to get an American embassy-full of hostages out of Teheran without igniting a war. Imagine the conflagration if the same embassy takeover had occurred during George W. Bush’s watch. How many Americans would have died if someone the likes of Boy George had taken another “bring ‘em on” stance?

Or consider Teepen’s point-of-view on “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell.”

An OK transitional policy, "don't ask" is becoming an anachronism, and more counterproductive as well, almost by the minute. Some 11,000 gays and lesbians have been discharged under it, typically for an inadvertence rather than for flagrant defiance of the policy. And it is outright lunacy that since we started the Iraq war, 50 experts in Arabic and Farsi have been thrown out. Didn't President Bush say he wanted to win this thing?

We are increasingly out of step with the rest of the world, at least with the parts we generally identify with. Most of our NATO allies, for instance, allow gays to serve openly in their militaries. The armed forces of Iran, Egypt, North Korea, Saudi Arabia and Yemen do not. We're all but in bed — excuse me, all but in league — with the Axis of Evil and a lot of its gear train.

Yet in the same piece in which he expressed reasoned outraged at the policy, he refused to take a gratuitous whack at Marine General Peter Pace, who espoused Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell because he believes homosexuality is immoral. Teepen declares,

From what I read, even mere spear carriers like me in the "liberal elite" are expected to be dutifully scandalized and demand at least his rehab if not the head of Marine Gen. Peter Pace…

Sorry. I can't quite work up enough steam to blow any off. Left-right, up-down, whatever, we really do need to stop being so quick off the mark to go baying after every public figure who rolls a verbal gutter ball.

http://www.azstarnet.com/allheadlines/173583

Go Tom, go!

A New York steampipe explosion causes a slight frisson of fear

Shortly before six o’clock last night, an underground steam pipe in Manhattan exploded.

A geyser of asbestos-laden steam, taller than the 77-floor, 1,046 feet tall Chrysler building a block away, jetted into the air and continued roaring out of the ground for more than two hours before it was brought under control. The east side 4, 5 and 6 subways, formerly known as the Lexington Avenue Line, came to a complete stop from lower Manhattan to 86th Street, a bit more than two miles to the north of the midtown mishap.

Some of the news coverage would lead you to believe there was instant panic. Judging from news station footage of people running away from the steam, and shoes left in the street, it’s hard to argue that there wasn’t some panic.

And people most certainly were wise to run out of geyser range. Two people were brought to a local hospital, one with third degree burns over 90 percent of his body, the other with 60 percent burns. There also has been one death reported so far, evidently someone who suffered a heart attack fleeing the scene.

But all the panic seems to have been confined to the area immediately adjacent to the steam geyser. I was on a Madison Avenue bus. I became aware that something unusual was afoot at approximately 6:15 PM, as the bus passed 41st Street, the cross street on which the explosion occurred, two blocks to the east.

WHAT I SAW – AND WHAT
WE ALL DIDN’T SAY

I happened to be on the left side of the bus, looking out the window toward Fifth Avenue. I saw all of 41st Street between Madison and Fifth Avenue jammed literally wall-to-wall with people, all of them looking eastward. So I looked east as well, expecting to discover a street fair of some kind. Instead, I saw a wall of grayish brown smoke so close by and so opaque that I thought whatever had happened must have happened only a few dozen feet away, not two blocks.

Now I became more aware of the sirens of fire engines, police cars and ambulances – a background cacophony so commonplace in New York that must of us unconsciously tune it out.

Around me, people were picking up cell phones. And they began quietly asking questions. “Do you know what it is?” “What happened?”

The words you didn’t hear spoken were “9-11” and “Al Quaida,” although they were most assuredly as top-of-mind for my fellow passengers as they were for me. There was no screaming. No panic on the bus. Nor did I see any on the street outside. People were either standing together and watching, or walking away with deliberate but not extraordinary speed.

One passenger announced loudly, “I’m getting off at the next stop,” and did so. This may have been a mistake. As the TV news announced later, there was asbestos from the steam pipe in the air nearby. (Note: Even more recent reports now say the air is clean. Whether it was at the time is uncertain.)

I tried to call home. It took several attempts. Evidently the cell phone towers were jammed by thousands of callers simultaneously trying to assure people at home that they were okay.

The bus suddenly seemed to be creeping at a snail’s pace, even for a New York City bus at rush hour. Eventually I reached the voice mail at home and left word that there had been an explosion of some sort in midtown but that I was okay, on a bus stuck in traffic that would probably make me quite late for dinner. I also asked, “When you get this, would you please turn on the TV and see if there’s any word on what’s going on? Then call me.”

JAMMED AND GRIDLOCKED,
WITH NO COPS DIRECTING TRAFFIC

It turned out that the cell phone towers were still sporadically jammed. After several attempts, my caller reached me some 20 minutes later. By then the bus was at a gridlocked standstill at Madison Avenue at 57th Street, less than a mile further north.

Police cars – I counted 11 of them in a row although there may have been more – were standing still on West 57th Street, lights flashing, sirens howling, unable to get through. I realized that nowhere in this immense traffic jam had I seen a police or traffic officer trying to direct the chaos and keep things moving. Nor did I see any police officer get out of his patrol car to do so.

“The TV news says it was a transformer that exploded on Second Avenue,” I was told.

That was misinformation as it turned out, misinformation both about the cause and the precise location of the explosion – which occurred on 41st and Lexington Avenue. But at least it brought relief that terrorists had not blown up Grand Central Station or the subways and commuter rail lines below it, the first thought that occurred to me. I passed along the word to my fellow passengers. Most also seemed relieved.

LUXURY LIMOS
CONTRIBUTE TO THE CHAOS

Given that nothing was moving, I began to wonder how many private cars were contributing to the gridlock. So between 42nd Street and 60th Street I spent a considerable part of the time staring out the window.

I saw almost none of what you might call commuter automobiles. Taxis were the kind of vehicle I saw most often. The next most common variety of car was chauffeur driven, black, and tended to have one passenger in the back seat. Most were either either standard limos of the Town Car variety, or black Cadillac Escalades. Busses were the next most frequently occurring kind of vehicle, followed by emergency vehicles of all kinds.

PUBLIC TRANSPORT IN NEW YORK
STILL KAPUT. BUT PHOENIX AZ GETS MORE
HOMELAND SECURITY BUCKS

As of rush hour this morning, the Lexington Avenue subway lines were still out of service south of 86th Street. Lexington Avenue in the immediate area was still blocked off, pending an investigation into how badly the asbestos had been spread around.

I turned on television while I was getting dressed to discover that the city of Phoenix, Arizona was rejoicing. They’ve gotten more money from the Department of Homeland Security this year.

And by the way, I’ve heard not so much as one word of concern about New York so far from either Homeland Security Secretary Michael Chertoff or the Deciderer-In-Chief. Well, from the window of my bus I did see an Escalade with its own flashing lights and siren trying to get away from the center of the action. So maybe you guys or one of your political appointees was aware of the situation after all and distancing yourselves from it as fast as you could.

FAQS FOR NON-NEW YORKERS
AND SOME OF MY FELLOW CITIZENS

Q: Why are there steam pipes under New York’s Streets?

A: Consolidated Edison, the local power company, uses steam to drive the turbines that drive its electric generators. Over eighty years ago, somebody at Con Ed, as we call it here, got the bright idea to sell the steam for use in heating buildings. Those underground pipes conduct the steam from the power plant in Queens to offices in Manhattan.

Q: But it’s summer. Who’d want to heat a building when you’ve been having 80 and 90-degree temperatures?

A: Nobody. But the steam also can be used to cool the buildings. I’m not sure how. Ask your local physicist or heat exchange engineer.

Q: When I visited New York last winter, I saw steam coming out of chimneys protruding from the asphalt. Did that have something to do with Con Ed steam?

A: Yeah.

Q: Where did the asbestos come from?

A: It was the insulating material in common use over 80 years ago, when those pipes were first installed.

Q: But you just said that was over eighty years ago! How come there isn’t a pipe replacement or asbestos abatement program in News York that could have fixed the problem?

A: The abiding philosophy here seems to be, “If it ain’t busted, don’t fix it.” I’m strongly in favor of that philosophy when it comes to invading other countries. I’m not sure how I feel about it in relation to New York’s infrastructure. Mayor Bloomberg’s too busy thinking about running for President and trying to ram through congestion pricing to bother a whole lot with everyday matters like steam pipes.

Look, it’s not entirely clear whether Michael Bloomberg thinks that focusing on keeping the city from crumbling to ashes is boring. And Con Ed won’t budge until somebody grabs its chairman by his privates and twists real hard, because capital expenditures for pipe replacement and asbestos abatement produce no additional revenue and suck money out of the bottom line.

Of course, now Con Ed is going to have to replace at least one piece of pipe anyway, and they’re facing massive law suits from the dead and injured victims of the explosion. New York juries don’t take kindly to utilities that scald passers-by over 90 percent over their bodies. So now Con Edison faces a double whammy of unexpected costs. Disclosure: I happen to own a few hundred shares of Con Ed, and the stock had been going down even before this happened. Looks like now I’m really screwed.

Q: Okay Crank, what lessons have we learned from this?

A: Several:

1.New York’s emergency planning doesn’t seem to be all bad, but some bozo seems to have forgotten that people like to get away fast from smoke, steam and, say, radiation from dirty bombs. The city, from what I saw yesterday, has made no provisions to unclog gridlocks during these emergencies to speed people away from danger. It doesn’t take much technology. A tough-looking cop at each strategic intersection making “go” and “stop” hand signals would probably do it. This might also help emergency vehicles get through to emergencies quicker. Many of those vehicles were gridlocked with the rest of us yesterday.

2.Congestion pricing isn’t going to do diddley-squat to stop New York limo jams. Anyone who can afford commute with his own Escalade and driver, or who can afford to rent a commercial limo to take him to and from work at roughly $50 a pop isn’t going to be the least bit fazed by an $8 congestion pricing plan. That’s chump change to the people who are really crowding the streets. If anything, congestion pricing will simply make commuting a tad faster for limo passengers who place their own comfort over the environment.

3.If Mayor Bloomberg really wants to do something about congestion, he should impound all of his friends’ limousines.

4.I know this is slightly off the subject, but the real way to lessen traffic congestion is to make public transportation more attractive. When electronic metrocards made lower fare programs available some years ago and service improved, so did ridership on the subways. Instead of giving New Yorkers and out-of-towners a carrot for riding the subways instead of driving, Michael Bloomberg is trying to club them over the head with an $8 stick.

5.Based on my personal experience, the local transit authority did a hideously bad job of communicating with its riders. Busses are connected to a transit radio system that regularly broadcast route instructions to drivers. And drivers have PA system. Do you think somebody would contact the drivers and ask them to explain – while we were all frozen in traffic and suffering our frissons of fear – that it was only a steam pipe? Nah! “Keep ‘em sweating.”

FOR MORE INFO, GO HERE:

http://www.nytimes.com/2007/07/19/nyregion/19cnd-explode.html?_r=1&hp&oref=slogin

Good pix and wildly hyperbolic Murdoch-style reporting here:

http://www.nypost.com/seven/07192007/news/regionalnews/steam_blast_a_deadly_hell_regionalnews_brigitte_williams_james__dan_kadison_and_leela_de_krester.htm

Still not convinced America needs an excess wealth tax on multi-multi-millionaires and billionaires? Check out this hair-curling super-rich dude.

Oh, thank you, thank you, Los Angeles Times, for your report on what’s up with Henry T. Nicholas III, a billionaire computer chip mogul who made his megabucks selling some of his Broadcom stock.

So what did super-rich Hank do with his humongous stash of cash? Well, to be fair, he did give millions to education and to a local performing arts center. But that still left him a staggering bundle of bucks for other kinds of “good” works.

According to papers filed in Orange County Superior Court and reported by the Los Angeles Times, Hot-To-Trot Hank….

• Added hidden doors, secret levers, an underground grotto, strange tunnels (see photograph, above) and planned a “secret and convenient lair” with hidden entries “to help him indulge in a manic obsession with prostitutes” and an “addiction to cocaine and Ecstasy.”

• “Nicholas had his private jet pick up prostitutes in New Orleans, Chicago, Las Vegas and Los Angeles ‘and bring them back...for his rock star friends,’ the draft complaint said. ‘He provided his guests with transportation and cocaine, Ecstasy, methamphetamines, marijuana, mushrooms, and nitrous oxide [laughing gas]’ — and even arranged for his private helicopter to land at a nearby hospital helipad, it said.”

Okay, so boys will be boys. But wait, there’s more!

•According to a lawsuit, Nicholas stiffed his assistant, Kenji Kato, for $150,000 in back wages.

•Nicholas also tried to stiff the construction team for his secret sex hideaway for “millions of dollars” for work performed between 1998 and 2002, according to a different law suit that was confidentially settled out-of-court.

•“Nicholas was said to have used ‘manipulation, lies, intimidation and even death threats’ to pressure ‘nearly every contractor and vendor’ on the project to perform extra work without pay ‘at warp speed,’’ says the Los Angeles Times.

But wait, there’s even still more!

• Nicholas hired a bunch of armed thugs "to block access to community horse trails near the project [which] prompted neighbors to complain to Laguna Hills authorities, who discovered the work was being performed without a permit and shut it down…”

•“The location, referred to as the Pond or the Ponderosa, ‘was infamous for its excessive extravagance, its sex rooms and its million-dollar sound equipment,’ the [court-filed] document alleged,” says the LA Times.

Oh yes, and one more thing:

• Federal authorities are probing Nicholas' role in the manipulation of stock options at Broadcom,the LA Times said it had learned.

Nicholas has denied all the allegations against him and any wrongdoing. But his wife – who may have gotten wind of hooker hinjinks in the hidden grotto – has left him.

Now I ask you, if Nicholas only had, say, a mere $5,000,000 plus change to his name, would any of this have happened? And would he still be able to live reasonably comfortably? And might the billion or more that got taxed away from him keep a few more endangered schools open, or contibute at least a wee bit to help resolve the Medicare deficit? Or help just a smidge to support universal healthcare in this country?

That’s why America needs an excess wealth tax.

The full story here:
http://www.latimes.com/business/la-fi-nicholas18jul18,0,7022711.story?coll=la-home-center

Reprieved – for now

Hours before he was scheduled to die for a murder he almost certainly did not commit, Troy Anthony Davis received a 90 day stay of execution.

The Georgia State Board of Pardons and Paroles will now review new evidence. Which means Davis may be "pardoned" for a crime of which is is innocent. Or paroled on his conviction. In either case he'll go through life bearing the stigma of a murder conviction even if he didn't commit the murder.

Or perhaps he'll go to his death after the whole 90 day process is over.

"Review" by a parole board isn't nearly enough. Davis deserves a fair trial -- with competent attorneys able to give this trial their full attention, unlike the overwhelmed public defense attorneys who said they had to practice "triage" during his capital murder trial.

Moreover, given the resistance of the district attorney's office and testimony that cops evidently pressured witnesses to the crime into testifying to something other than the truth, justice won't be served until heads roll in the Savannah, GA police department and district attorney's office.

Ironically, the Chatham County, GA, DA's office offers a "Witness Assistance Program" to protect people who have seen a crime. http://www.chathamcounty.org/vwap.html

But will they protect the witnesses who were bullied into testifying falsely? Especially since the bullying was done by police supplying their "evidence" to the DA?

Don't count on it.

Final note: Along with Davis himself and his family, a tragic figure in this case is Joan McPhail, wife of the slain police officer for whose murder Davis was sentenced to death.

“I believe they are setting a precedent for all criminals that it is perfectly fine to kill a cop and get away with it,” the New York Times quoted her as saying. hhttp://www.nytimes.com/2007/07/17/us/17execute.html?_r=1&oref=slogin

How will she feel if Davis is executed and then, later, another person is convicted of the crime?

She will be a victim all over again.

Finally, we need a repeal of the so-called Antiterrorism and Effective Death Penalty Act, which prevents exculpatory evidence from getting falsely convicted prisoners a deserved appeal. Please do write your Senators and Congressional representatives.

Anyway, we'll check back in October to see where this fiasco stands.

Apology: For some reason my links don't seem to be linking today. They should, however, work if you copy and paste them into your browser. Sorry -- and ah, the mysteries of technology!

When they execute an innocent man for murder on Tuesday, the real murderers will be the cops, prosecutor and appeals courts from Georgia to Washington

Barring a legal miracle, the state of George is about to stick a needle into an innocent man, paralyze his nervous system so that he cannot breathe, and then stop his heart.

His name is Troy Davis. That's him at left. When he was put on trial, there were witnesses against him, but most of those witnesses now say they were bullied by the police into falsely testifying against Davis.

The truly horrifying part of the story is that thanks to something bizarrely named the Antiterrorism and Effective Death Penalty Act, the courts have refused to review this new evidence and grant Davis a new trial.

This act of Congress prevents the courts from reviewing fresh evidence even when a state is about to execute an innocent person. Of course, the Supreme Court could declare that the law is unconstitutional, but don’t expect it from the cast of right-wing characters sitting on the Roberts court today. (We also ought to brand as murderers every member of Congress who voted to prevent reviews of fresh evidence that could prevent an innocent person from going to his death -- or spending more time in prison for a crime he did not commit.)

Oh, did I mention that George Bush could grant the guy clemency, too? Whoops sorry, President Bush uses that only for political operatives like Scooter Libbey facing five years for a crime they really did commit, not for innocent men about to be put to death.

You can read a summary of “legalized” murder by the state here: http://www.thecarpetbaggerreport.com/archives/11470.html

Somehow, this all brought to mind a little ditty I wrote in a cranky moment well over a decade ago. It had to do with the electric chair, but it works just as well for any form of capital punishment.

It was meant to be sung, to an upbeat banjo twang. Just in case you like to twang one.

Enjoy, while you think of the murderers in Washington positions of power – and the innocent guy they’re going to kill to keep the death penalty “effective.”

They are bolting down the death chair
To the concrete prison floor
And they're checking all the wires out
A dozen times or more
And they're testing out the switches
And they're trying out the fuse
They are gonna fry a kid tonight --
The story's in the news.

Yes, it's good to deep fry people
The Supreme Court says, Well hey,
If we do not cook all the Accused
They'll just get in the way.
Too damn bad they had bad lawyers
And let's cut out those appeals
For we're busy and it's lunchtime
And it's torture missing meals.


Meanwhile, just outside the prison gates
They're starting to drink beer
They've got noisemakers and banners
And they're full of vengeful cheer
Some are here to mourn and others toast
The final muffled cry
Of a guy the prosecutor framed
And justice says must die.

Yes, it's good to deep fry people
The Supreme Court says, Well hey,
'If we do not cook all the Accused
They'll just get in the way.
Too damn bad they had bad lawyers
And let's cut out those appeals
For we're busy and it's lunchtime
And it's torture missing meals.

Watch them drag him down the hallway
Weak and trembling, full of fright
Just a kid without his mother
In the middle of the night
See him cuddled in the rough embrace
Of leather, wood and steel
Now they jam a gag into his mouth --
It's all part of the deal.

Yes, it's good to deep fry people
The Supreme Court says, Well hey,
'If we do not cook all the Accused
They'll just get in the way.
Too damn bad they had bad lawyers
And let's cut out those appeals
For we're busy and it's lunchtime
And it's torture missing meals.

Then the warden reads the sentence
And the priest he reads a prayer
Next the whining of a generator
Fills the stagnant air --
Then upon the stroke of midnight
All the power of the state
Flows through shiny copper cables
With a final surge of hate.

Yes, it's good to deep fry people
The Supreme Court says, Well hey,
'If we do not cook all the Accused
They'll just get in the way.
Too damn bad they had bad lawyers
And let's cut out those appeals
For we're busy and it's lunchtime
And it's torture missing meals.
.
Now the young kid lurches forward
'Neath the straps his body strains
While his blood and liver boil
And smoke gushes from his brains
See the writhing torso twitching
Muscles fracture every bone
Underneath the flaming leather mask
There comes a final groan.

Yes, it's good to deep fry people
The Supreme Court says, Well hey,
'If we do not cook all the Accused
They'll just get in the way.
Too damn bad they had bad lawyers
And let's cut out those appeals
For we're busy and it's lunchtime
And it's torture missing meals.

Smell the room fill with the stink of
Urine, vomit, burning skin
Hear the clamor in the prison
As the inmates raise a din
And a hearse's purring engine
As it carts off the remains
Of another hapless victim
Of the justice system's games

Yes, it's good to deep fry people
The Supreme Court says, Well hey,
'If we do not cook all the Accused
They'll just get in the way.
Too damn bad they had bad lawyers
And let's cut out those appeals
For we're busy and it's lunchtime
And it's torture missing meals.

Now the mob outside the prison
Breaks into a joyful shout
And the guileful prosecutor prays
No one will find him out
And the justices in black robes
Cooly dine and sleep quite well
But if there's really any justice
They will surely fry in hell.

Yes, it's good to deep fry people
The Supreme Court says, Well hey,
'If we do not cook all the Accused
They'll just get in the way.
Too damn bad they had bad lawyers
And let's cut out those appeals
For we're busy and it's lunchtime
And it's torture missing meals.

Just a kid, you high court buzzards
Couldn't vote or take a wife
But in our kinder, gentler nation
Young folks have no right to life
In the death room with ammonia
Now a trusty mops the floor
But who'll clean up the piece of filth
You've handed down as law?

Yes, it's good to deep fry people
The Supreme Court says, Well hey,
'If we do not cook all the Accused
They'll just get in the way.
Too damn bad they had bad lawyers
And let's cut out those appeals
For we're busy and it's lunchtime
And it's torture missing meals.

You can fry 'em you can hang 'em
Or squirt poison up their veins
You can gas 'em you can even
Shoot a bullet through their brains.
Can't afford no fancy lawyers
So they must deserve to die
Execution's as American
As Mom and Apple Pie.

Yes, it's good to deep fry people
The Supreme Court says, Well hey,
'If we do not cook all the Accused
They'll just get in the way.
Too damn bad they had bad lawyers
And let's cut out those appeals
For we're busy and it's lunchtime
And it's torture missing meals.

C) The New York Crank

Warning: Reading this post may cause you to suffer a heart attack

The following appeared at Livescience.com. I make no claims, cranky or otherwise, as to its veracity. So don’t blame me if you die reading it. Got that?

Anger really can trigger a heart attack. But then, so can getting sick, being too hot, being too cold, air pollution, lack of sleep, grief, overeating, natural disasters, exercise and sex. 

In fact, simply waking up is the worst thing you can do if you're trying to avoid a heart attack.

For the rest of the heart attack-inducing news, go here and try not to drop dead before you finish.
http://www.livescience.com/health/070713_heart_triggers.html

Lesbians with pink pistols: Murdoch media empire weirdos air their perv sex fantasies to the world

Some while ago, a psychiatrist in New York got sued by a patient because he had an affair with her.

If true, what he did was most certainly a grave violation of medical ethics. What it most certainly was not was an act of perversion. This had to do with plain vanilla sexual intercourse between two consulting adults. And no, I’m not going to offer you the URL – the poor guy has been identified and hounded enough – although you can tease it out of a search engine if you’re that sick.

Anyway, whether it was newsworthy or not that a patient was suing her doctor, the New York Post splashed it all over their front page, labeling him in giant type a “Perv Doc.”

Iraq was going to hell in a handbasket, New Orleans was a mess, the healthcare system was a disaster, the White House was firing prosecutors who refused to act as police state character assassins – and Murdoch’s New York Post had nothing better to investigate and put on its front page than a doctor who had an affair? And then to label him a “Perv?”

Yup.

That’s why I’m so amazed – totally, astoundingly amazed – that the New York Post – a member of the same Murdoch publishing family as the Fox News Network – hasn’t bothered to expose and expunge the perv broadcasters in their own ranks.

I’m talking about those disgusting pervs Bill O’Reilly and his perv-o “Fox News crime analyst" Rod Wheeler. Yes folks, he calls himself Rod.

You’ll find a full report of the story and a clip of the pervy Fox broadcast that got it all going here:

http://dneiwert.blogspot.com/2007/07/oreilly-and-pistol-packin-mamas.html

But what it boils down to is that O’Reilly and his Rod seem to be having wild sex fantasies about imaginary gangs of Lesbians with pink Glock pistols, roaming the streets all over America’s great cities, committing violence, mayhem and rape.

It also turned out, in an interview, that Wheeler couldn’t document any of these claims, couldn’t point out a source, couldn’t do squat except insist that it was all true – wherever the “information” about this so-called national trend he was reporting on came from.

In other words he – or perhaps he and his perv enabler Bill O’Reilly - made it all up. Or to put it plainly, it’s their perv sex fantasy.

Look, if those two guys simply went into the garage, dropped their pants, and jerked off together to imaginary images of lesbians with pink Glocks in rapacious street sex orgies, it wouldn’t yank my own crank one iota.

But when the anti-perv news organization start airing their own perverted fantasies on the air, it’s time to take them off the air.

And to make them register as sex offenders. Never mind truth offenders.

Inventor of the Psychic Ding gives two Supreme Court justices a super ding and demands their impeachment

Remember Mme. Galzogorist, the spelling-challenged fortune teller on the gritty Manhattan block where The New York Crank is headquartered? Remember her invention of the “Psychic ding” – a sort of mental curse that brings down psychic pain on less-than-loveable public figures?

Well, lately she’s been going a little bit overboard. It’s so bad that I tried to call the white-coated people from the hospital. I wanted to get her thrown in a locked ward and pumped full of Thorazine until she calms down. But as you’ll learn if you read on, my efforts were thwarted.

This all started when I interviewed Mme. Galzogorist about who might be the winner in the next Presidential race. Unfortunately, the subject matter quickly changed and my control over the situation deteriorated, as you’ll learn from the following transcript:

CRANK: Mme. Galzogorist, who will win the next Presidential election?

MME. G: I see a Democrat in the future. Unless that idiot lunatic Bloomberg rides in on Ralph Nader’s horse and screws up the election results. A thousand psychic dings on his head! May he wake up thinking bugs are crawling around under his skin. No, actually I think he already thinks that. May he wake up thinking toads and cockroaches…

CRANK: Please excuse me for interrupting, but let’s get back on the subject. You mentioned a Democrat. Which one? Hillary? Barak Obama? John Edwards?

MME. G: It doesn’t matter. The Supreme Court will decide that any Democrat who gets elected will be unconstitutional.

CRANK: On what grounds?

MME. G: They don’t need grounds. They’re making it up as they go along. May the brains of Alito and Roberts turn to mush. I’d wish that on Clarence Thomas, too, but he doesn’t seem to have a brain.

CRANK: What are you talking about?

MME. G: Impeachment. Chief Justice John G. Roberts, Jr. and Samuel A. Alito, Jr. ought to be impeached for lying under oath. Until then, may an especially tough strain of cooties appear in their dreams to be inhabiting their scalps.

CRANK: What are you talking about?

MME. G: I’m talking stare decicis, the doctrine that you don’t change settled law. Both Roberts and Alito said under oath that they would abide by stare decicis in deciding cases. So far, they’ve overturned every settled cased they’ve considered. Their real abiding principal seems to be stare decicis my bigis behindis.

CRANK: But…

MME. G: Will you shut up and let me finish? We had an almost century-old ruling about prohibiting pricing fixing. They’ve overturned that. So much for free markets. Now manufacturers have another tool for screwing the consumer, thanks to Roberts and Alito, may Alito become increasingly aware that he is getting bald, and Roberts begin to believe that he is turning into Clarence Thomas.

We had a decades-old ruling that “separate-but-equal” segregated schools are not equal. Alito and Roberts overturned that. Welcome back, school segregation! What’s next, the legalization of lynch mobs? May Alito and Roberts have nightmares that they are getting hanged from trees! And may Thomas dream he is getting hanged from a high tech shoe tree.

Then there’s the First Amendment. If school kids express an opinion outside of class that their school principal doesn’t like, the Supreme Court has decided the First Amendment granting freedom of speech is invalid. May Roberts and Alito continually have nightmares that a fuzzy white fungus is growing in their throats and giving them laryngitis. And may the ghosts of their fathers regularly appear to them in dreams, reminding them that their names end in “Junior.” And may the public begin referring to them as, “the two juniors.”

CRANK: But what does this have to do with…?

MME. G: Oh shut your trap, Crank! Frankly, I don’t give Roe v. Wade another six months. May the two juniors both dream they’re in especially difficult labor, and wake up with murderous gas pains.

CRANK: Madame Galzogorist, you’re foaming at the mouth!

MME. G: Damn right I am! These guys are a menace. They don’t even support capitalism! They’ve reigned in the rights of stockholders to control corporate officers and boards that are robbing investors blind of their capital! May Junior and Junior grow to have such fear of pickpockets they will develop severe agoraphobia.

CRANK: So what you’re saying is…

MME. G: What I’m saying is, if you think the last Supreme Court invalidation of an election in which Gore won but lost was an abortion of democracy, wait until you see what these guys do even if the Democrats win by 70 percent! Impeach those liars now. Roberts and Alito. Junior and Junior. Impeach them for swearing falsely under oath to something their behavior almost immediately after appointment indicates was a total fabrication. They perjured themselves, Junior and Junior did. Perjury! Perjury! Perjury!

CRANK: Are you sure you…

MME. G: Of course, they’ll probably declare the impeachment proceedings unconstitutional, plunging the nation into civil unrest. Come to think of it, they probably want to bring back the Civil War, too.

NOTE: The New York Crank did what any alarmed citizen would do. I whipped out my cell phone and called 911. The paramedics arrived and trucked Mme. Galzogorist away to an under-funded city hospital. There she was declared normal and released after a lengthy rant to the staff psychiatrists concerning her fears that the court will declare health insurance unconstitutional. Oh and of course, they found she had no health insurance and billed her MasterCard $250,000 for the hospital visit. Since Mme. Galzorist cannot pay off the bill, she is being charged 25% interest a month. I hear that usury is again constitutional.

No comments needed, but I'll give you a few anyway

This poster was borrowed -- well, okay, stolen -- from Billionaires for Bush (link in the links column at right.) I highly recommend that you check out their website.

There would be no further commentary necessary concerning Paris Hilton, if not for the interview she gave Larry King recently.

It was the kind of interview that made you want to dance around and chant, "Liar, liar, yer pants on fire!" I'm not a big Paris Hilton follower, but something about the interview rang as false as a three dollar bill. Perhaps it was Larry King's steadfast failure to ask followup questions.

For example, Paris said she goes into her office every day and does hard work. King might have followed up by asking what she does while she's working hard. Does she make phone calls? Does she doodle? Does she have to lug heavy packages? Sweep out the office? Is she at her desk at 8 AM until the wee hours of the night? Does some boss drop into her office on an hourly basis and holler, "Paris, are you going to finish that damn assignment today or am I going to have to give it to the new kid in the mail room?"

What exactly constitute hard work in the separate universe of a rich woman who drives drunk and violates court orders with a shrug?

She should have been asked, but nah! Not Softball Larry, the interviewer with a national audience who's notorious for turning every interview into free celebrity advertising. So when she said she doesn't do drugs, it wasn't surprising he didn't raise an eyebrow, much less a penetrating question about her claim.

Fortunately, somebody at The Smoking Gun raise not only an eyebrow, but some telling documentary films that show Paris was lying through her teeth. Check it out here:
http:
//www.thesmokinggun.com/archive/years/2007/0628071parishilton1.html

What was I saying about an excess wealth tax earlier this week?

Rich people behaving badly, or why America may need an “excess personal wealth” tax. Read these tales and retch.

In our last cranky post, New York’s Mayor Michael Bloomberg was held up as an example of how one individual with too much personal wealth may be using his megabucks to skew an election.

If he either runs as an independent or plays “kingmaker” the will of America's voters is down the toilet. It won’t be whom you want – or what programs you want – that are decided in the Presidential election. It’ll be what Michaeal Bloomberg wants. Worst case scenario? Can you spell s-p-o-i-l-e-r?

Now from reports coming in from suburban Philadelphia and sunny Santa Barbara, some stories that show how a single overly wealthy individual or two can intrude directly, personally and – if some lawsuits hold up in court – damagingly into your own life.

RICH BULLIES NASTILY THREW THEIR
WEIGHT AROUND IN BRYN MAWR, PA,
ANGRY COURT COMPLAINT SAYS

The Philly Main Line case first. It has just begun to play out in the courts. I love it because this is no mere case of the rich picking on the poor. Nope, all this happens at a suburban private school where tuition currently goes to $23,000, according to the Philadelphia Inquirer. As described in court papers, it seems like a case of filthy rich bullying that impacts the middle class and the moderately wealthy.

Let’s begin when a group of second grade parents at The Balwin School in Bryn Mawr tried to take out an ad in the school’s annual program honoring their kids’ teacher. It read, "We love you, Mrs. Tollin. Thank you for a wonderful year. Your second-grade class."

The ad was rejected by the school administration. But why?

Turns out, a rich land developer of resort properties, and his divorcing wife had been behaving like boors, the wife charging into school during classroom hours, according to the court complaint – screaming, shouting foul language, interrupting classes, and acting in such a frightening manner that one terrified little kid who had nothing to do with any of this ran and hid in a closet.

But again, why? Well, it all started when the land developer Michael Pouls, and his wife, Sheryl, demanded that the teacher become a diet monitor for their daughter, whom they said had been teased as being fat.

It escalated to the point where, according to the complaint, Mrs. Pouls “allegedly visited Tollin's classroom to ask her to intervene in the Poulses' marital problems and Tollin declined,” as the Philadelphia Inquirer tells it.

Next thing you know, Michael Pouls “complained that Tollin was singling out his daughter by focusing on what she ate at lunch. He told Tollin that he was the child's main caregiver, the suit says, and that she should take orders about her only from him,” according to the Inquirer story. Orders? Do your go to school and order your own kids’ teachers around? And was this teacher damned if she did and damned if she didn’t?

As the newspaper story goes on to tell, the daughter was moved into another class, something the lawsuit says was against the history and policy of the school. But Ms. Tollins could at least say “good riddance,’ right?

Wrong.

AS THE OLD ADAGE GOES,
“FOLLOW THE MONEY”

Some time later, “Sheryl Pouls allegedly stormed into a homeroom parents' meeting in Tollin's room and berated her for not saying hello to her daughter the day before.
“According to the suit, Tollin feared she was going to be assaulted and tried to move away. Sheryl Pouls followed, screaming epithets and shouting: ‘I want you fired or I'm taking my girls and my money out of this school!’ the complaint says. Other parents, it says, pulled the woman out of the room.”

Ah hah! Now we’re getting somewhere! What kind of money did the Pouls’ have “in the school?”

It appears according to the complaint to be a donation several million dollars, which would buy the school an athletic center with the Pouls’ name on it – one of many allegations the Pouls’ deny.

The Pouls, as you’ll read in the Philly Inquirer article, deny all of this, and claim they have evidence that in fact that Ms. Tollin is a bad teacher. But somehow, every time I read this my built-in bullshit detector begins to redline. If the teacher is the horror show that the Pouls say she is, why did the others parents take out an advertisement in praise of the teacher? And why did the school go to lengths to nix the ad?

If you read the full complaint, which I recommend that you do by cutting and pasting the URL below into your browser, I think you’ll find that it rings remarkably credible. http://inquirer.philly.com/rss/news/tollincomplaint.pdf

One might rationally come to the conclusion that the school’s headmistress has been kowtowing to wealthy donors who’ve been behaving like schoolyard bullies – at the expense of the school’s program, other students and reputation of the institution she heads. We don’t know that for a fact, however, because she’s not, uh, available for comment, according to the Philadelphia Bulletin. Why? Because she’s in Europe and unreachable. Yeah, right.

Start searching the caves, boys. She’s got to be there somewhere.


THE FAMILY OVERWEIGHT PROBLEM

The whole issue raises other questions. For example, were the Pouls’ ¬attempting to draw their child’s teacher into their own divorce dispute? And were they blaming the teacher for their child’s weight problem when there clearly is either a dietary problem at home, or possibly a genetic disposition toward overweight?

I ask because my own research reveals that Michael Pouls has allowed himself to be a poster boy for the Pritikin Diet. You can check that out at this URL: www.pritikin.com/eperspective/ 0511/trimFat.shtm

There you’ll learn how Pritikin helped him “lose 78 pounds,” reduce his waist size by quite a few notches, and confess, "I can recall being on Atkins and craving fruit — I needed fruit, but you can't have any fruit on Atkins."

Oh, the poor baby!

If you read nothing else, read the Philadelphia Inquirer article that seems to provide an executive summary of this tale of bullying, bad behavior, and the outrageous power of gross wealth.
http://www.philly.com/inquirer/education/20070610_High_stakes_in_teacher-parent_clash.html


AND MEANWHILE OUT ON THE
WEST COAST – A SANTA BARBARIAN?

In Santa Barbara, CA, Wendy McCaw, divorced from a celluar communications magnate, decided to use some of her 10-figure settlement money to buy a newspaper. Not a copy of a newspaper. The whole kit and kaboodle, from newsroom to printing press.

Reportedly she had no previous journalism experience but what the hay, what’s a billion bucks for if you can’t buy the stuff you want?

Shortly thereafter, all hell started breaking loose at her new toy, the Santa Barbara News Press.

The story of what publishing newcomer McCaw did with her billion or so bucks – from newspaper management to multiple law suits, to labor warfare, to going after beach lovers – is the best argument I’ve ever seen for higher tax rates on huge incomes and wealth accumulations. These should start with taxes on staggeringly high divorce settlements. Not to mention higher – not lower – inheritance tax rates on really, really big sums. And yes, as I just crankily mentioned, high taxes on huge incomes and private wealth accumulations. Enough so that wealth that encourages outrageous bullying can’t exist in private hands.

For some of the ghastly details, as reported by one of the people Sandra McCaw decided to sue for writing the report, go here:
http://www.ajr.org/Article.asp?id=4226=

And for updates on how things are going at the Santa Barbara News Press, check out this blog.
http://www.west.net/~smith/blog/index.shtml

Oh, and did I mention that Dr. Laura Schlesinger dances in and out of this tangled tale, too? Here’s a “just the facts m’am” executive summary:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Santa_Barbara_News-Press_controversy

And, uh, one more thing. Keep your filthy feet off Ms. McCaw’s beach!
http://www.dailynexus.com/article.php?a=2048

If you like George Bush or Ralph Nader, you’re gonna love Michael Bloomberg pecking away at New York’s and America’s future. Here’s why.

The New York Times on Tuesday discovered what most of us who ride the city’s subways and busses have known for years: A ride during rush hour is torture.

There’s no room. No room on the platforms for more people. Platforms too short for longer trains. No more capacity to add more trains. Busses that pack people in like sardines (and send them flying like loose cargo if they don’t hang on tight enough during start-stop rides through Manhattan traffic.)

To quote the Times:

“From my point of view, this is scary,” said Howard H. Roberts Jr., the president of New York City Transit, who presented the data to members of the Metropolitan Transportation Authority’s board. “This is scary in the sense that right now, on a lot of these lines, we’re several years and a big capital construction project away from being able to provide what I consider adequate service. We’re constrained.”

Mr. Roberts said the data had particular significance in light of Mayor Michael R. Bloomberg’s proposal for a congestion pricing system that would charge most drivers who enter Manhattan below 86th Street — with the intent of moving people out of their cars and onto mass transit.

http://www.nytimes.com/2007/06/26/nyregion/26mta.html?_r=1&ref=nyregion&oref=slogin

Not only can’t Manhattan handle a significant increase in transit passengers, neither can New Jersey, where Governor John Corzine is said to be stewing at what Michael Bloomberg’s congestion pricing plan would to do New Jersey Transit, already stretched to overcapacity.
http://wcbstv.com/topstories/local_story_169170029.html

So why is Michael Bloomberg pushing so hard for congestion pricing? One suspects it’s because he doesn’t give a damn for the consequences. He’s hellbent for doing something-or-other in the coming Presidential election, with pundits debating whether he’ll actually run, thus acting as a spoiler the way Ralph Nader did when he paved the way for the George Bush presidency. Or whether Bloomberg is simply trying to play “kingmaker” and decide who else will run, on what platform, in what party – specifics yet to be announced.

What a filthy misuse of his $5 billion fortune! In fact, what an argument for a 90% tax bracket on incomes over several millions of dollars a year and accumulated fortunes over $50 million, to make certain nobody can accumulate enough money to ruin an election that’s a life and death matter for Americans in uniform overseas, of retirement age at home, and in need of medical care anywhere in the nation.

Michael Bloomberg has rushed into congestion pricing the way George Bush rushed us into Iraq – without a timetable, without a damage assessment (or environmental inpact statement in New York's case)without a significant contingency plan other than “we’ll see if it works,” without a measurable standard for success, without regard to the millions of lives it will affect, without regard to the damage it will do to the economy of New York when the straw of ridership breaks the camel’s back and not only the new riders, but all riders, no longer can get to work on time.

If he really and truly wants to reduce traffic in New York, Michael Bloomberg has to start with a massive injection of money neither the city nor the state has to add subway lines, rebuild subway lines, lengthen platforms, put on more trains – and then, only then, start pricing ordinary drivers off the streets. He also ought to limit truck double parking and the way construction sites bleed over into the streets and eat up lane space. That could do a lot more to stop congestion that slamming some lowly commuters from Lyndenhurst with an $8 a day fee.

He could also do a few small things, such as encouraging cycling as an alternative means of transportation. (His plans mention walking, but never bicycles. No, he prefers to arrest cyclists on trumped up charges. Come to think of it, he’s been arresting young black mourners for walking together to a funeral, too.) http://www.democracynow.org/article.pl?sid=03/04/07/0228246

Right now, all Mayor Bloomberg is doing is turning the streets into speedways for his limo-riding friends, for whom an $8 charge is like eight cents to you and me. And if he has to add lots more of those big, space-eating, slow-moving busses to make up for the lack of subway capacity, he may actually add to the congestion.

Hey, what does Michael care? He’s making a “legacy” for himself. Or maybe a king. Or maybe a spoiled election. Whatev-urrrr.

Some of his supporters will rush to tell you he rides the subway himself.

Yeah? How often? And at what time of day? I get on at Lexington and 77th Street, same place as Bloomberg would get on if he takes the subway to City Hall from the station closest to his multi-million dollar private mansion. Funny, I never seen him on the platform. Not ever.

Hey fellow Lexington Avenue Line riders, how often have YOU seen Bloomberg on the subway? (I used to see the late former Mayor Abe Beame on the subway about once every month. He also boarded at Lexington and 77th and he was indeed a regular mass transit rider. Moreover, he was even shorter than Michael Bloomberg, which is saying something. So it’s not hard to believe that if Bloomberg rides the subway to work at rush hour, people would spot him there.) But finding Bloomberg on the subway at rush hour is about as likely as running into the tooth fairy.

Michael Bloomberg’s “legacy” will be stalled New Yorkers, a stalled economy as businesses flee the city so their workers can get to the office on time, frayed tempers, a worsening of quality of life here, and if the terrorists ever attack the subways, a higher body count.

Listen pal, if you get killed on the subway because of Mike Bloomberg, don’t run and tell me I didn’t warn you.

"Hello, Oxymoron Central? I’d like to enroll The Epoch Times."

On the same gritty Garment District block where a spelling-challenged fortune teller advertises a “$5 speical” and promises to “put your mine at ease”…in the same rundown office building where The New York Crank plies his trade… you’ll find the New York office of The Epoch Times.

The Epoch whut?

It’s a giveaway newspaper that seems dedicated to headlining anything bad they can find about China (not a difficult task) and criticizing immigration laws that would limit the flow of Chinese immigrants – legal or otherwise – into the United States.

I suspect the paper is the propaganda arm of Falun Gong, an outfit that would easily qualify as a creepy religious cult if only Peking’s political bosses would stop arresting and brutalizing them, thus turning them from a nutcake movement into martyrs.

The Epoch Times is also the worst-written paper on the planet. It reads like a high school newspaper edited by B-minus students. It has the news and language sense of a stale piece of tofu.

They can barely give the paper away. It sits in hundreds of freebie newspaper boxes that litter the streets of New York – side by side with real estate magazine giveaways, neighborhood newsrags financed by classified sex ads, and offerings of one-night courses during which Donald Trump will explain to you the simple ABCs of making a billion dollars in real estate. (I wonder if he tells his audiences, “Start with a multi-million dollar real estate fortune you inherited from your father.”)

Usually, The Epoch Times’ headlines about scandalous happenings in China are written in such a perversely bland tone that they’re almost as funny as headlines in The Onion, a spoof newspaper that often goes like hotcakes in adjacent pieces of street furniture while The Epoch Times just sits there.

But the other day, I simply had to pick up an Epochal copy. The lead headline, top right, front page, read: “Man Caught Stealing Epoch Times.”

Hey dudes, it’s a FREE newspaper. How can you steal something the owners are begging you to take?

Well, if you read far enough into the story – seven paragraphs into it to be exact – you’ll discover that the unnamed man was taking these papers that The Epoch Times is trying to give away and then destroying them – same as what The Epoch Times people undoubtedly do themselves with all their uncirculated issues.

If you keep forcing yourself to read the article, there’s a not-so-subtle implication that "stealing" free newspapers is one of the highest priority missions of China's secret intelligence operations here in the United States.

Look, I don’t much like China. I think the people running and regulating the country are a bunch of mean bastards who’d poison your dog with tainted wheat gluten and your kid with lead-painted toys and then shrug it off as business-as-usual.

But with enemies like The Epoch Times, they really don’t have much to fear.

Melodrama in the Hamptons: Restaurant trashes Crank’s girlfriend. Manager "apologizes" with a farewell sneer.

I’ve already taken several swipes at annoying restaurant service, most recently here:
http://thenewyorkcrank.blogspot.com/2007/05/trickledown-incompetence.html

Usually, I don’t name names. I figure it’s not my business to start warning people about specific restaurants. Given enough time, most bad restaurants put themselves out of business anyway.

But a seafood dive called Before the Bridge in the Long Island town of Hampton Bays deserves special attention – and an Oscar for bad performance orchestrated by its person in charge.

Note: This is a unique review. There are plenty of favorable things getting said on the Internet about this house of horrors. For example, here:
http://www.menufrog.com/restaurantdetails.php?restaurant_id=27040207

TAKE A LOOK FIRST
AT SOME OF THE DAMAGE

See that picture above? That’s the top that the Crank’s girlfriend wore when we went to dinner at Before The Bridge. Except those wine stains weren’t there when we walked into the joint.

We were seated at a window, its venetian blinds drawn to keep out the sun. Keep this little detail about the blinds in mind as I tell the rest of the story.

Our waiter, a young, nice-seeming fellow, I would guess in his early 20s, asked us what we’d like to drink. I ordered a glass of Chardonnay. The Crank’s girlfriend ordered a glass of Merlot.

LOOK OUT, CRANK!
THAT THING FALLING ON YOUR GIRLFRIEND
IS A FULL GLASS OF RED WINE!

We waited. After a while, the waiter reappeared with two long-stemmed wine glasses balanced on a tiny tray. He set down the Chardonnay in front of me. Then he lost his concentration for a moment. His tray tilted. The red wine came crashing and splashing down to the table from a height of about three feet.

We were treated to a red wine shower. As you can see, the Crank's girlfriend was soaked with red wine. So were my pants. And so was her $500 cloth Prada handbag. (And don’t even think for a second it’s a knockoff. The Crank’s girlfriend doesn’t do knockoffs.)

To add insult to injury, the now-empty glass of red wine took a final bounce into my glass of white wine and knocked that one over too, spilling its untasted contents into my lap.

Soaking, we both jumped to our feet. The waiter seemed flustered. “I’m sorry,” he said, “I’m sorry. I’m, sorry. I apologize. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m really very sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

Okay okay. We’re standing in a river of wine, and all the guy could do was sorry-sorry us to shreds. An alert diner at the next table knew what had to be done next. He handed us his own napkin to help us dry off a bit. It helped, but there’s only so much one napkin can absorb.

The waiter ran off. He returned with an entourage of wait-persons who began swabbing the table. And our chairs. And the floor. We were left to fend for ourselves.

“Send me the bill for dry cleaning your pants,” said the waiter, evidently not noticing the artful contribution he had made to the Crank’s girlfriend’s ensemble. “I’m sorry about this. I’m really sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

AS USUAL, THE PROBLEM STEMS
FROM THE TOP. DOESN’T ANYBODY
TRAIN EMPLOYEES ANY MORE?

Clearly, the guy had not been trained by his manager. Not on how to carry drinks to the table. Not on how to focus on the customer, rather than the puddles on on the table. Not on how to stop apologizing after the umpteenth time and get on with the situation at hand.

Through all of this the head guy – I’m not sure if he’s the owner or just a hired buffoon – stayed out of sight. That’s unusual, since I’ve eaten at Before The Bridge before and he’s usually all over the dining room. I couldn’t have missed him. His uh, remarkable girth has the same impact as the proverbial gorilla in the room. Come to think of it, make that an elephant.

In time, we got fed our dinner. “I can’t believe he’s just ignoring this,” the Crank said to his wine-soaked girlfriend.

“Don’t worry, he’s going to offer to comp the dinner,” she replied.

That wasn’t what I wanted, although a single line of apology from management and perhaps an offer of a complimentary dessert or after-dinner drink would have gone a long way to mollify our feelings.

Instead, we got about a half dozen more apologies from the flustered waiter combined with “How is everything?” queries, until I finally had to tell him, “Look, kid, stop apologizing and asking how everything is. Just stop it, okay?”

HAVE SOME ROPE
WITH YOUR FISH

Eventually, the head guy did come over to our table – but only to pull up the venetian blinds that covered our window. While he was at it, he let the pull cord from the blinds drop in my plate and linger there.

“Hey, please don’t stick that dirty cord in my fish,” I complained.

He muttered something unintelligible and walked away.

That did it! By now smoke was coming out of my cranky ears. We finished dinner. This bill, before tip, came to $100.31. Yes, I tipped the waiter – not generously, but enough to let him know it wasn’t him I was feeling particularly cranky about. Then we walked to the bar, where the person-in-chief was now acting as bartender.

I told him what had happened.

“Your waiter apologized, but not a word of apology from you,” I said. “Not an offer of dessert, not even a cup of coffee. Nothing. Instead, you dropped the filthy pull cord from your blinds into my plate. And when I called your attention to that…”

“I thought you were only kidding,” he said.

Okay, folks. A restaurateur who simply assumes he’s blown a couple of customers so there’s no point offering a gesture of apology is one thing. Maybe it’s one thing even when he’s staring directly at their ruined clothing. But a slob who drops venetian blind pull cords into your food and either doesn’t notice it or thinks it’s a big joke is another thing entirely. Plus, the pull cord and the wine add up to two things.

If he believes that a frequently-used rope draped across your main dish is no big deal, and if he thinks disgruntled customers with ruined clothing are no big deal, I tremble to think about sanitation in his kitchen.

THE HEAD GUY OFFERS
A PARTING SNEER

I crankily told him I was angered past all redemption and that I intended to blog about this experience.

“Have a nice summer,” he sneered as we walked out his door.

Fine. Never try to mollify a justifiably irked customer when you can sneer at him. If I had any doubts about posting this piece, his sneer nuked them into oblivion.

On the drive home to a different Hampton where the Crank's girlfriend's has a weekend retreat, we commiserated about the evening.

“Serves me right,” she said, in her wine-stained ensemble.

“For what?” I asked.

“For ordering red wine with fish,” she said.

What? A disastrous war in Iraq isn’t enough? Now he’s rekindling the cold war with Russia!

The casualty figures from Iraq are getting so bad it's easy to get a deep-down, bottom-of-the-gut sick feeling every time you look at them. Each day, more American kids are dead. For what? (More Iraqis are dying every day, too.)

The Iraqi civil war, whose existence once was denied by the administration, is now so bad that the locals are busy blowing up one another’s mosques. As one acquaintance of mine remarked, out of the side of his mouth, “Good thing they have us to persecute them, otherwise they’d spend all their time persecuting each other.”

So in the midst of this what do we need more than anything else? Right – renewal of the nearly forgotten cold war with Russia.

This new ham-handed tactic of ours springs from Boy George’s brilliant idea to place anti-missile missiles in Poland and the Czech Republic, former Iron Curtain satellite countries. The administration purports that the sole purpose of these missiles would be to shoot down Iranian nukes aimed at the United States. Only a few small problems with that one, starting with the fact that Iran doesn’t have ICBM capabilities.

Second small problem, even if Iran ever figures out how to make a nuclear ICBM: if a missile from Poland hits a nuke from Iran while it’s sailing over Russia, who gets nuked? Can you blame the Russians for feeling antsy? Shoot those missiles down over the ocean instead? Nah!

Third small problem: Imagine if Russia set up a weapons system only miles from our border in Mexico, claiming the anti-nukes were only there to shoot down Chinese missiles. Would we believe it? Would we allow it even if we believed it?

Vladimir Putin attempted to defuse the issue in a meeting with Boy George. Condoleeza Rice responded essentially by poking Putin in the eye. She changed the subject to Russia’s execrable human rights record. Two problems with that.

First, it’s a non-sequitur. Second, given our recent record for secret prisons, water torture and other human rights abuses, we seem to have the equivalent of a dungeon calling a Siberian salt mine black. (You’ll find URLS you can cut-and-paste to read more about Condi, Boy George and Putin below.)

Somehow, the Bush administration’s clever propensity for turning everything – absolutely every last damn thing there is – into a life-threatening disaster brings to mind an old song that once ridiculed a Democrat. Fortunately, it can be easily updated to describe the disaster that is George W. Bush and Friends.

President George Bush
Had brains made out of mush
He started fights with everyone
(“Just bring ‘em on,” he said)
And he said,
“You know I’m pro-life
“And so’s my lovely wife
“But we won’t be safe
‘Till everybody’s dead.”

P.S. Look, I know this is pathetic, but I still – after a year of blogging – haven’t figured out how to imbed links into text on my Mac. Sorry sorry sorry. So if you want to refer to the URLs below, just copy and paste them into your browser.

There’s plenty more where these come from, but you’re a big kid. I figure, if you’re still hungry for more after reading these, you’ll find ‘em on your own.

http://www.cnn.com/2007/WORLD/europe/05/31/russia.tensions/index.html


http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2007/05/31/AR2007053102391.html

Go git ‘em Larry!

It may interest my friends who ply the direct response advertising trade to know that this ad by the publisher of Hustler Magazine is pulling responses like crazy.

The ad “has yielded about 200 tips so far,” Flynt said.

“He said he’ll let them continue to trickle in over the next two weeks or so before his team begins to follow up on them. ‘We’ll be lucky if we get 2 to 4 percent’ hard leads that could yield a payout,’ he said.”

http://politicalwire.com/archives/2007/06/11/flynt_ad_yielding_tips.html

I’m going to skip all the advertising shop talk about response rates versus conversion rates versus return on investment. All you need to know is that if Larry were selling life insurance by mail right now, he’d be doing great.

If Larry is telling it straight – and I sincerely believe that he is – we’ve got four to eight really juicy scandals coming.

Will they be Republicans or Democrats? Will they be pious Christian Coalitioners or closet atheists? Adult liasonists or pederast slimeballs? In S&M costumes or just plain nekkid?

Will they be getting it for free or paying for it? Straight or gay? And if gay, will they be openly gay members of Congress like Barney Frank? Or could we have a few really fun surprises coming, preferably in the White House cabinet or Dick Cheney’s or Alberto Gonzalez's office? Hey, come to think of it, what about lust with animals?

And will there be pictures? You know what I mean by “pictures” dontcha? Come to think about it, how about tape recordings of heavy breathing? Or videotapes?

Stay tuned.

"Sopranos" Producer David Chase Puts A Contract Out On His Audience

Somebody ought to talk to David Chase. With a pipewrench.

With the whole nation sitting up on Sunday night to see the grand finale of The Sopranos...with people making book on whether Tony gets hit or rats out his own people to the FBI to save his own hide...with eight years of loyal Soprano-watching audiences demanding a grand finale...

Chase pulled the ultimate copout.

Nothing happened.

Actually, it was worse than nothing. In the last few minutes of the last episode of The Sopranos, the screen suddenly went blank and silent.

Big joke on the audience. Get it? A lot of us went crazy thinking our TVs had suddenly died, or the cable company went kerflooie.

That's not drama. That's sadism. That's an attack, an attack against the very people who supported you and stayed loyal to you all these years

Film snobs may argue that Chase did that to let viewers come to their own conclusions, write their own ending.

I crankily declare that Chase is a little rat. No worse, he's a rat's turd. We paid our admission and he turned off the projector. That's the equivalent of putting a contract out on his own family.

So let me tell you what, David Chase. Don't come around my TV set no more. If I see you, if I see any program you're behind, it's dead. Got that? Dead. I'm going to blast it with my remote like it's a clay pigeon.

You're finished, Chase. You'll never eat calzone in this town again.

More meat for conspiracy theorists: The Bush Administration, Condi Rice’s State Department, and those awful RFID passport delays

Look dude, let’s get this straight. I’m not saying there actually is a conspiracy. All I’m saying is, the news about Americans facing huge delays in obtaining passports could get you thinking like a conspiracy theorist. Got that? Thinking like one is all I said. Thinking.

The news?

The State Department suddenly finds itself facing an “unprecedented demand” for passports, after new U.S. Government rules require passports for citizens visiting Canada, the Caribbean and Mexico. Those are places where you used to be able to cross back and forth with nothing but your driver’s license and a smile.
http://www.nytimes.com/2007/06/07/washington/07passport.html?em&ex=1181361600&en=ff62d217ac815dff&ei=5087%0A

I’m not saying this is wrong. Al Quaida and possibly some other nasty people are out to get us. We don’t want them slipping across the border with nothing but a bomb, a discount certificate for flying school lessons and a forged driver’s license.

But wait a second!

All you have to do is look at winter traffic to Cancun and the Caribbean to know that humongous numbers of people who once never bothered getting passports now will need them. Not to mention the tourists who want to enjoy Canda.

So why the delay? Why is the State Department telling Americans it will take “at least 10 weeks” to get a passport when it only used to take two? Why weren't they geared up for this?

Is it that the old Bush Administration incompetence again? Did they merely forget or fail to foresee that insisting more Americans carry passports would increase the demand for passports? I mean, duh!

Or is it…

CONSPIRACY THEORY #1: The Bush Administration doesn’t want Americans to leave the country.

Why? Maybe because we’ll find out how many foreigners have suddenly begun hating us since the Bushies began tearing apart all the good will America had built up over the years.

MAYBE IT’S THE IMBEDDED RFIDs
THAT ARE TRACKING YOUR EVERY MOVE

New passports will contain an RFID, which will enable the government to know where you and your passport are at any time.

According to the Bushies, “"The reason we are doing this is that it simply makes passports more secure…It's yet another layer beyond the security features we currently use to ensure the bearer is the person who was issued the passport originally."
http://www.wired.com/politics/security/news/2004/10/65412

Yeah, sure. How does the RFID know you’re who you say you are? Unless…

CONSPIRACY THEORY #2: While you were asleep, the government secretly and surgically imbedded an RFID in your brain that matches the one in your passport...

Nah! Forget that one. I’ve got better, based on the RFID in your passport.

Such as…


CONSPIRACY THEORY #3: The Bush administration is out to catch you doing sex tourism so they can throw your butt into the hoosegow.

Go to a bordello in Bangkok and Uncle Sam’s Big Brother will be watching via satellite and waiting to bust you. Or it could be…

CONSPIRACY THEORY #4: The Bushies are out to find out who’s a closet gay and out you.

Go to a gay bar, and suddenly the satellite tracking your RFID will beep a creep in the White House and the government will know exactly where you are. If you’re in the military, you didn’t tell. and nobody asked, you’re still no longer safe. Now they won’t have to ask. They’ll know you were in the bar where everybody wants to dance with Dave. If you’re a gay closet Dem, you’re dead political meat, so to speak. Not only that, but it could be…

CONSPIRACY THEORY #5: The government is checking out cheating spouses who say they’re traveling “on business.”

Check into a hot pillow joint with a chick and suddenly word creeps back to the Christian Coalition, which then e-mails your wife. Or maybe you get electronically reported to the CIA. Next you know, you get paid a visit by a shadowy CIA agent. He tells you, “We’d hate to have to tell your wife about that blonde, the orange thong you bought for her, and the strawberry-flavored whipped cream.

“So next time you visit Paris, we want you to go to such-and-such a mosque and start voicing sympathy with Al Qaida. Infiltrate them and report back to us. If you get caught, we will disclaim all knowledge of you. If they behead you, tough luck, Charlie. But don’t worry, we’ll make some feeble protest about your death after the fact.”

CONSPIRACY THEORY #6: It’s a way for the Feds to figure out who’s sneaking into Cuba.

The whole world’s allowed to visit Cuba, except us “free” Americans. Lots of Americans go anyway, via Canada or Mexico. The Cubans don’t stamp American passports. They simply stick a separate paper visa in your ID and off you go to see whatever Fidel hath wrought, and maybe to take a gander at an antique T-bird or ’54 Chevy. When you leave, you leave the paper visa, too.

A few years ago, at an open meeting of the New York Cycle Club in Manhattan, three different people put on slide presentations in one night about their bicycle tours of Cuba. During the Q&A session that followed, one smartass in the back of the room stood up and said, “You do realize, of course, that three members of the club work for the FBI and two are in the room tonight?” There was a lot of nervous laughter. A couple of guys hurriedly put away their pads and ballpoints.

No more, pal. A blood hound in the Hoover building down in D.C. will find you out faster than Lance Armstrong can race downhill on the Alpe de Huez. After which, refer back to Conspiracy Theory #5.

CONSPIRACY THEORY #7: The U.S. Government’s intentions are pure, but Al Qaida is planning to track the chips, single out Americans abroad, and kidnap us, blow us up, shoot us or behead us. And those sleeping-at-the-switch Bushies won’t figure it out until hundreds of us leave our noggins in Nuremburg or some other foreign locale.

CONSPIRACY THEORY #8: Las Vegas is going to change its advertising slogan. What happens there will no longer stay there. In fact, it will go straight into a dossier that has your name on it.

If you want to add a few conspiracy theories of your own, feel free to submit them.

Until then, happy travels.

What will I do if elected President? None of your damn business! says Fred Thompson. Just what we need. A King George IV wannabe.

The following is stolen verbatim from: http://theCarpetbaggerReport.com

>>”Fred Thompson received a warm welcome at a fundraising dinner for the Virginia Republican Party over the weekend, offering up red meat — and little else — for the GOP faithful. Asked by a reporter afterwards what he would do as president, Thompson said, “Well, I’d do lots of things.” Asked if he was prepared to share some examples, he said, “No.”<<

600,000 Americans get their identities ripped off in the mail and this doofus gets upset it’s even reported. Problem is, he’s Postmaster General.

I note almost wearily that yet another Republican appointee has been bristling, essentially declaring that reports of harm befalling thousands of Americans via his department is nobody’s damn business.

This didn’t garner any significant space I’ve noticed in most of the daily press. All the more reason for reading publications like Ad Age’s online edition, which covers some hidden pockets of news while the rest of the press is snoring.

The story in today’s issue was headlined, “Postmaster General Takes Umbrage With Wachovia Ad.” The ad, he said, is “really doing a disservice to the American people."

The gist of the story: A Wachovia ad that suggested mail theft is a major cause of identity theft really gets Postmaster General Potter’s goat. That’s because mail only accounts for four percent of identity theft, he insisted.
http://adage.com/article?article_id=117007

I guess Postmaster Potter figured nobody would do the math. Well, he was wrong. Here’s the math:

According to the Gartner Group, a respected survey research firm, “Approximately 15 million Americans were victimized by some sort of identity-theft related fraud in the 12 months ending in mid-2006…”
http://www.gartner.com/it/page.jsp?id=501912

Now, let me get out my handy-dandy pocket calculator here. Four percent of 15 million…hmmm! That comes to 600,000 people.

Six hundred thousand people! Why, that’s more than the entire poulation of Denver, CO. More than the entire popualation of Long Beach, or Sacramento CA. More than Minneapolis,MN. More than Las Vegas, Tampa, Pittsburgh, Witchita, Omaha, Atlanta, or New Orleans, to name just a few.
http://www.psigroup.biz/megap/wave1_200-500.php

Imagine if the entire population of your own town woke up one morning and discovered their identities had been ripped off.

There’d be hell to pay.

Instead, Postmaster Potter has arranged for you to have higher postage rates to pay. But what can you expect? When you have an idiot at the top of the Government, you’ll find idiot appointees all the way down.

New York Times Book Review falls prey to Lit Crit Technobabble Madness. This man is partly responsible.

I’ve already taken an oblique swipe at gibberish that passes for literary criticism, churned out in universities around the world. You'll find it here:
http://thenewyorkcrank.blogspot.com/2007/05/poetry-that-bears-witness-to-horror.html

However, that was only a swipe made in passing while I was discussing a book of poems that I favored.

Now it's time something got said about the whole genre of lit crit technobable, and I have to warn you that the subject is making me feel violent.

But first things first.

The purpose of literary criticism when it started was to help people understand literature better – why it affects us, its context in history, its relationship to current events.

Lately, the field has been seized by fiends whose sole purpose seems to be obfuscation. They appear hell-bent not on clarifying what literature is about, but on making their own literary criticism impenetrable. If they happen to celebrate impenetrable fiction while they’re at it, so much the better.

They speak, as I’ve said in a previous post, in tongues. They have their own secret language. I wouldn’t be surprised if they had a secret handshake, too. They display a certain smug attitude – “Well, if you can’t understand what I’ve written, it just proves I’m smarter than you are.”

They are no longer opening the gates of literature to the world. In fact, they are slamming them shut, attempting to lock out anyone who doesn’t find profound meaning in the meaningless jargon of their field.

As long as this game was limited to a group of insignificant and mostly obscure academics, it was hard to care very much. You can read the Journal of the Modern Language Association and others of its ilk, or you can trash it. Not much harm done either way.

But now the New York Times has fallen prey to this idiocy. Yes! The effin' New York Times!

Last Sunday, I was sitting with a copy of the Sunday New York Times Book Review, when suddenly I discovered my eyes crossing. I was trying to navigate my way through this passage:

“Such a capacity to make language unleash entire states of existence reveals the extent to which Davis’ fiction is influenced by her work as a translator. Apart from Proust, her credits include French thinkers and writers like Maurice Blanchot, Michel Butor and Michel Foucalt. In reading Davis’s stories, therefore, we are likely to be reminded as much of the poststructuralist emphasis on language in the works of Blanchot as of the antinarrative impulse of French nouveau-Romanists like Butor.”

I should have set fire to the Times Book Review and tossed out the window the instant I came across Foucalt’s name. It was a warning, like an air raid siren before the bombs begin falling.

“Anti-narrative impulse?” “Nouveau Romanist?” “Postructuralist emphasis on language?” Gimme a break! No wonder the circulation of The New York Times is dropping like a shot.

This impenetrable review was written by Siddhartha Deb (that's his picture at the top of this post) who began his career as a journalist in Calcutta. He should have stayed there.

He was praising a book of stories that, judging what I can make out from Deb’s review, are also impenetrable: “Stories” by Lydia Davis.

To quote Dreary Deb again:

“Sometimes a title can be nearly as long as the story, as in,’Mother’s Reaction To My Travel Plans,” whose entire text reads: ‘Gainsville! It’s too bad your cousin is dead!’ We could almost text-message it, but then we wouldn’t get the effect of the surrounding white space, against which the words seem to suggest an almost gnomic quality. We might miss the exclamation marks, the italics…”

Or we might miss wanting to vomit over all Deb’s jargon-filled praise of practically nothing.

I’m not worried about Davis, the author of "Stories." Despite the acclaim she has received not only from Deb of the Doldrums, but also Salon Magazine, I guarantee you that if her work is taking her in the direction of "stories" like “Mother’s Reaction…” she is destined for the trash heap of literary history.

But Deb’s editor at the New York Times Book Review is another matter. He ought to be busted back to police beat and put on two years’ probation there. If it then turns out he also can’t tell nonsense prose from a rape case, fire the idiot! (I hope you haven’t missed my very clever exclamation mark and my post neo-modernist omission of italics. Whatever the hell that means.)

As for Siddhartha Deb, he is a more serious case. He came to this country on a literary fellowship and now he is poisoning impressionable young American minds, encouraging by example nonsense prose in the guise of expository writing not only in the New York Times but also in The Boston Globe, the Guardian, The Nation and the New Statesman. No wonder the President of the United States can't make a coherent argument for any of his policies! No wonder politicians doubletalk! They learn it in college

I am tempted to pray for a vigilante squad of Writing Police, who would seize people who scribble in jargon and bash them over their head with their own laptops until consequent brain damage obliterates phrases like “anti-narrative impulse” and “postructuralist emphasis on language” from their vocabularies.