Summer To-Do's

1. Become proficient at handball
2. Stop worrying about A/C units falling out of windowsill
3. Invent my new favorite summer cocktail
4. Bath nude at Sandy Hook beach
5. Perform one handstand everyday
6. Cannonball unexpectedly into the Floating Pool barge
7. Relearn how to rock climb (well)
8. Win the magnetic swirly wizard carny game at Coney Island
9. Montreal, Montreal, Montreal
10. Bike the Central Park loop continuously between the hours of 2:22am and 4:44am
11. Ride around on the top level of a red double decker tour bus while listening to "Strange Geometry" by The Clientele
12. ????

Digging for Undergraduate Treasure

I owe many settings on my finely tuned biological clock to the proximity of nearby accredited live in universities. My year around 7am to 6pm shut in job has dulled my environmental awareness of the season’s school delineated time markers: Pencil cases acquired in August’s back to school shopping blitz, the clean break of post-midterm winter recess, spring break’s MTV made-to-believe Mexican charms, and the dumpster diving glee of summer’s start.

There are a lot of queues that mark the beginning of summer in NYC: The sudden disappearance of good looking people on the weekends, sidewalk garbage of increased smelliness, air condition unit ugliness moved from storage room floors into teetering windowsills, the endless mysteries of sold out music festivals, and of course, the hidden treasures of undergraduate dumpster diving. Each May opportunistic deal hunters line up to sift through the disposed runoff from NYU students hurrying back to their families. As the nine axle Mayflower moving truck can only hold so much, things like aquariums, wheelie desk chairs, shoddy bookcases, and canned peas are all left for the taking. While spectating one of these digs on a recent stroll home I stood wondering what I had left behind in the dumpster outside my freshman dorm...

1. An unexplainably large, three quarter broken AIWA bookshelf stereo system equipped with double cassette deck, analog tuner, and annoying top-spring loading compact disc player.

2. A stack of international trade policy papers each marked up with a different “X” supply/demand chart.

3. Remnants of my J.A. administered freshman year “community service” project: empty Krylon green spray can bottles, college sweatshirt sleeves covered in chipped green paint, tissues tangled in green snot, and a bunch of heavy metal gardening stakes.

4. A pips-out ping pong paddle, three pairs of Nike middle distance track spikes, deflated red and white Karch Kiraly beach volleyball, and warped 175 gram flying disc.

5. Hot water percolator with frayed cord.

6. Two mini ice cube trays, capable of fitting in the 75% frosted-in freezer portion of my mini fridge.

7. Tattered Birkenstock sandals with dried out cork soles.

8. Worn out copies of Marble Madness, Rush ‘n Attack, Dr. Mario, Gauntlet, Bionic Commando, and Blaster Master for NES. (Blaster Master wasn’t so much worn out as it was broken into a bunch of low-tech shards courtesy of my black leather Doc Marten boot sole.)

9. My full kitchen cookery/flatware set: broken saucepan, white plastic strainer, plastic bowl, and fork.

10. The bed sheets that covered my two inch thick “water resistant” mattress.

Party Notes from a West Village Walkup

EV took time off his busy Latin American art sale schedule to revel with other yogi partygoers and antagonize tie-wearing guests. His dancing bear beverage gift, born from "gnarled vines grown in adverse conditions,” was an appropriate metaphor for his against-all-odds rise to greatness.

HC was kind enough to procure a coppertop bottle of "handmade" Texan vodka. VLA "knew" Texas and "knew" vodka but never the two in combination.

Despite the jeers and controversy surrounding "The Quiz" AT and LM proved their love by finally prevailing in sudden death. The dynamic duo of SC and KW might have pulled it out had they remembered that "half-moon" was favored to "plow."

AWA and BC's gifts coincidentally coincided: one bottle of Johnny Walker Blue Label with a set of "perfectly cubed" rubber ice cube trays. Upon viewing the bottle of Blue Label ST appropriately commented that KH "SURE has friends in this town!"

JG, dressed in a beautifully vintaged over jeans dress, came with "desert island treasure" tucked away in a magic marked manila envelope.

VLA's post-graduate level mastery of the English language prevented KH from understanding many of her quick-worded, quick-witted comments. Apparently, she and SC are now finished with law school.

An initially almost unrecognizable, shaky handed, trench coat clad VLO brought the corkscrew stemmed orange boutonniere of KH’s dreams. A few de-petaling hugs later SC and VLA helped him repin; this time with the pointy pin side up.

JR dazzled the kitchen crowd with his razor sharp mental math, dividing KH's 360 second time limit into minutes. 6 minutes.

Despite MA’s giddier than usual state, he failed to force KH into the XXXL sized gift depicting him as cured child bathing in brine.

SL and KH failed at making each other feel guilty for being "unavailable" during SL's looooong gardening leave.

MC to GT in regards to GT's upcoming vegetarian bbq: "You can't win friends with salad."

After spilling wine on the soon-to-be thrown out host sheets J kindly left his calling card and credit card beneath the "highly sought after" three dimensional Mario Brothers refrigerator magnets. KH WANTS THOSE MAGNETS.

After consuming one (or two) whole bottles of Knob Creek, CN lost, then quickly found his "perfectly fitting" jet black Agnes B. suit jacket.

JG took KH's "moistness wanted" feedback and delivered in SPADES. The cake was SO moist that some attendees mistook it for birthday pudding.

Though MC was about 2 minutes late on the cake delivery her AMAZING rendering gift more than made up for it.

KH was coerced into re-posing for what is apparently the most hilarious/ambiguous photo of him on the internet. Except this time it was while holding a raspberry blue FLA-VOR-ICE instead of a Rocket Popsicle.

VV was KH's many-years-ago massage therapist, not masseuse. Massage therapists are not masseuses.

"A" astounded and allured the crowd with her voluminous head of crimped hair and psychedelic colored tights.

With a little non-attendee help KH successfully guilted DA into coming by with her new beau.

SV seemed preoccupied with his then weeklong shopping preparation for an upcoming country western themed wedding. KH was surprised that he had never heard of a bolo tie.

MS, B, EC, and others aided in the process of de-walling the apartment's paint encrusted transatlantic telegraph wire.

In the Cocteau Twins discography AW pointed to "Blue Bell Knoll" as the album that defined their sound. KH was disappointed for never having heard this album but then acquired it the following day.

CF kindly complimented KH's personable "stranger in a strange land" demeanor before inquiring his availability for future party jobs.

LJ's ghost within a child's mind within an artist's mind will be framed and prominently displayed in short order.

*KH had a great 30th and is very grateful for all his FANTASTIC friends.

The Secret Lives of Restaurant Food Delivery Tippers

Tipping protocol is a constant subject of conversation, debate, and controversy in New York. Parking lot attendant extortion, unsolicited "help" hailing yellow taxis, doorman ties to the mob, the massage parlor "invisible hand," gypsy cab negotiations (and whether this term is offensive to the gypsy population), dedicated sommelier tip lines, Christmas gifts for the highrise building family you never knew you had, and the bartender binary bill conundrum are a few of the many gratuity topics on the mind of today's metropolitan citizen. Most of the notes I've read on the topic are generalized guides, outlining the appropriate instances when prescribed roundabout percentages are owed to certain recognized service providers. But with the recent rise of purveyor instituted tip jars -- accompanied by gratuity induced prices engineered to maximize coinage returned from paper bill purchases -- it's become increasingly important to develop a more granular and robust thought process for gauging these subjective matters of social protocol.

Friends commonly ask me for opinions on appropriate tipping procedure expecting a singular hard-and-fast rule in reply. Very few tipping situations are as uniform and static as the posers of this question would like to think. And many, like the one I’ve outlined below, involve multiple considerations in order to tabulate the proper outcome. To give you an idea I’ve outlined a cursory “thought process” examination of the high-frequency, multi-variable tipping scenario of restaurant food delivery.

>Long a Floor / Short a Cap
Importance: High

The blind application of a flat tipping percentage will at times result in a payment shortfall or overage. On the low side, remote patrons who are consistent placers of near minimum charge meal orders should be tipping more than 15-20%. On the high side, the toro sashimi takeout party you and your ten closest friends decide to have shouldn’t require the full 20% on top of an already pricey bill. A floor/cap of $2/$10 for a reasonable payload carryable by one delivery person should override an otherwise 15-20% of bill baseline rule-of-thumb.

>Distance
Importance: High

Requesting delivery to the outskirts of a maximum territory boundary prevents workers from churning out additional orders. Reward distance. Conversely, don't feel guilty offering up a low side tip on deliveries from restaurants located within shouting distance of your front stoop.

>The Multitask
Importance: High

Reward delivery journeys that appear dedicated to your order alone. If the person shows up with multiple bags it’s likely that the oven-to-door time has been extended against your interests (though this is not always the case).

>Weather
Importance: High

Though braving the elements is technically part of the job description, an additional tip is appropriate to compensate for safer/slower delivery speeds, especially if the payload arrives promptly. This booster is countered partly by the fact that during bad weather there is likely more orders to deliver, thus more tips.

Sidenote: The opposite theory applies in regards to bad weather when considering tips for taxis. Yellow cabs generally operate "in stride" during inclimate weather. And since there is usually no shortage of riders I feel less compelled to bump up gratuities.

>Tonnage
Importance: Moderate

Unwieldy pizza boxes and heavy orders of cheap brothy soba deserve more credit than a lightweight bento box or portable dish of Thai protein. Reward tonnage.

>Stair Stipend
Importance: Low

Climbing two flights of stairs is easier than four. Delivery to the door of my fifth floor walkup apartment deserves a small scaling consideration. Reward height.

Souvlaki Trailer

I don't bicycle to work very much during the winter. The problem is that I haven’t worked out a system to shield my shower wet hair from the cold while both protecting my skull and not looking more disheveled than usual upon arrival. But despite all my undeniable wimpyness I decided a brisk February morning ride would do my not-looking-forward to work despondency some good.

{Don’t forget your helmet or the two bike lock keys. Stop ignoring the garbage and just take it downstairs; you can replace the bag liner the next time you throw something away. Don’t close the door until after you tap your pockets to check if you took your apartment keys, wallet, and phone. Ok, close the door. Turn the deadbolt key counterclockwise one rotation until you hear the click. Click. Heel toe down sixty stairs, hairpin left onto the humidity warped linoleum towards the rat infested garbage canned backyard, and don’t get startled when the door hinge makes that weird brakey noise. Undo the ten pound chain lock first and be careful as you drag it through the already damaged front tire spokes. Wrap the chain four times around the head tube without getting your hands greasy or choking the brake cables. Watch out for all the mysterious broken glass!}

There are only so many ways to get from Manhattan’s east single digits to its east 40s. That morning I decided to take the longer but less treacherous bike-pathed route: Westward via tree-lined 9th Street, up 6th Avenue (not “Avenue of the Americas”), back east across 46th Street (a.k.a. The Little Brazil that couldn’t), then up Vanderbilt Avenue. As I approached the company sponsored bike rack a member of our crack security team, acting as if he’s never seen me before, began reciting his lines as I preemptively patted myself down in search of i.d. “This bike rack is ONLY for employees” he says in a mandatorily stern voice. Before I have the chance to become annoyed the “I’m only doing my job and though it’s boring and unfulfilling I don’t mind because it’s enough to support my family” look in his eyes forces each prickly inclination in my head to stand down. After locking up the bike I replace my helmet with my work hat but not before giving my now matted down hair a two handed tussle in front of the window’s glared reflection. I prove myself again to the indoor security guard before stepping onto the escalator where I decide to uncharacteristically stand rather than climb. A tiny but earned reward for this morning’s harrowing journey.

Preparing to leave my desk, I am quickly reminded that the tattered Helly Hansen fleece which was inadequate on my ride to work will be even more inadequate in this evening’s windy chill. After completing my P.M. security guard serenade I set off for my semi-annual dentist and doctor checkups.

Most visitors to this city would wrongly assume that delivery trucks, yellow taxicabs, or the unwieldy multi-sectioned MTA buses sit on top of Manhattan’s street traffic hierarchy. Anyone who’s lived here long enough or has ridden a bicycle once during rush hour knows that it’s the hardened bike messengers who are the lions of this kingdom. With their grizzled glares peering through duct taped vintage eyeglasses they zoom past soon-to-turn-green avenue lights atop their sanded down fixed geared skeleton frames. If you’ve never noticed them before you will now. But while messengers are our fearless generals it’s the endless platoons of food delivery bikers who are the true unsung heroes of this war. The speed, recklessness, and grit that characterize messenger bike culture is mirrored by the endurance, temperament, and humility of New York’s food delivery cavalcade.

With blood extraction bandages on both arms I cruised past Broadway’s Carpet Row, bumped along the cobblestones of Union Square West, then hooked a left onto 14th street. After parting throngs of NYU students at the pedestrian owned intersection of Broadway and 14th a food delivery biker, previously heading north on 4th Avenue, turned right and led me and another commuter in a mini-peloton towards The East River. It was at that point when my vividly rare New York moment began. The delivery payload sat within a black strapped dirty red padded bag, lined with space-aged shiny aluminum insulation. The bag was carelessly dropped unfastened in a stripped black wire basket atop the rear wheel of his ravaged late 90s model mountain bike. His unwavering swerve was accompanied by the metallic clank of sloppily affixed chain lock against frame. As we passed 2th Avenue the wind flapped open his bag and I awoke from my daze to the appetizing smells of Chicken Souvlaki! Under normal delicious food whiffing circumstances it would have hardly registered. But against the backdrop of MTA bus exhaust, those darn sewer smells, and piles of pizza store garbage it was a nothing short of a sensory revelation. My nostrils flared and relaxed as the wind continued to blow the bag open and shut. After parting ways upon his delivery destination I walked my bike the rest of the way home feeling happy to live in New York.

Clawing for Premium Brand Toiletry Kits

Dear junior advertising associate,

This photo, taken at a Staten Island roller skating rink, reflects a fascinatingly dense maze of important social, political, and economic concepts. Of the academic, artistic, commercial, and journalistic applications this photo invites I will suggest just one. Your firm will pitch a new ad campaign to Coach targeting ironically conscious but fashionably confused affluent females ages 22 to 32. Companies are always looking for ways to penetrate markets outside their core demographic and if presented correctly, this campaign's oblique sensibility will attract both "savvy" label mavens and "savvy" label maven haters. Keep in mind that Coach's market value has been halved during the last six months. What this means for you is that suits in Coach's boardroom who are under the gun for new ways to grow profits will be more receptive than usual to ideas that radically alter their sacrosanct brand.

Congratulations in advance on your promotion.

Sincerely,
M.M.

Brunch Wheelbarrows in The Weimar Republic

The scene is reminiscent of media depictions during chaotic months following the Soviet Union's 1991 collapse. Hordes of hungry people waiting in endless lines, clamoring to purchase bread, flour, eggs, milk, and other dietary staples. The only difference is that this isn't post-communist Russia, it's a typical Sunday morning steps outside my New York City apartment.

Surrounded by female clothing boutiques, vintage nic nak shops, and a truly fabulous eyeglass store sits the unmarked 9th Street Market, one of Downtown's elite brunching institutions. Elite in that hungry Manhattanites routinely wait for more than hour to secure seating at one of their 10 coveted tables. The menu boasts a stock array of hearty New American seasonal fare: Banana walnut pancakes, French toast dusted with confectioner's sugar, Goat cheese omelettes, Steel cut Irish oatmeal, etc. I've had the pleasure of dining there on multiple occasions, a few times for weekday breakfast and once for their lesser known dinner offering. The food is undoubtedly good but given the preponderance of quality restaurants in the vicinity it's astonishing to me why anyone would wait an hour and a half for a plate of Migas and roasted potatoes. If you’re considering a peak time Sunday meal here just think how silly you'll feel standing in the freezing cold amongst a restaurant-full size group of uninformed brunchers, clogging the sidewalk, and trying to ignore our incredulous stares. Do yourself a favor and opt for one of these lesser known neighborhood alternatives: Angelina Café, La Palapa, Quhnia, or Tree.

Party Notes from a Tribeca Loft

ST’s sms impression coincided with the surprise of revelers’ that the Queen of Spain’s pied-a-terre was actually “a sports bar.”

ES opined credibly on the political economy, explaining how asset markets would react to the results of the 2008 electoral season. Regarding his job search he profoundly admitted to knowing “what strategy WAS but not knowing what WASN’T strategy.”

LM padded her “cross-pollinating” stats by introducing D to KH for the 5^th time then took a brief break from her second night-in-a-row of preoccupiedness to dance to Tiffany’s ‘I Think We’re Alone Now.’

GB was still recovering from mopping mashed up Bushwick chocolates from the previous night’s piñata thrashing. (Thought bubble) “What am I supposed to do with all this mirrored plexiglass now?”

S quickly retracted his congratulatory record scratch hand motion after mistaking random shuffle cds for KH’s phantom dj debut.

Atop the great sushi pyramids E described NO COUNTRY FOR OLD MEN as “glib” but KH and HP couldn’t figure out why (HP saw the film TWICE). E got drunk with power after a triumphant 80s music coup deluded her into believing that “Come Sail Away” by Styx was actually a good dance song.

KY cutely posed for a mock Air Italia ad, not missing a beat after slip sliding on Johnson Street until the wee hours of the previous night.

Aided by CB’s coat hanger divining abilities, HP showed off her pipe cleaning skills while eloquently defending Paul Dano’s performance in THERE WILL BE BLOOD. KH then appropriately punned that “there will be bud.”

CB obliged to HP’s request for his digits only under the condition that calls would be strictly for “business.” CB admitted to being given the open door but decided to “unscrew the hinges instead.” KH found it odd that HP was ordering pizza so late in the evening despite all the available leftover food.

VLA tried to give the impression of disappointment when Louie the Chimp "copped a feel or two;" BL matter-of-factly remarked that Louie “puts all these girls to shame;” and KH never figured out how much you're supposed to tip a chimp in a tuxedo shirt.

KH wondered where all VLO’s pent up dancing energy came from and why ST and JR don’t take her out more often.

KH was simultaneously shocked, relieved, and happy that CL, the cabaret singer of 'Toothbrush Time', was a PHD in economics. CL and KH sniggered at the fact that Daffy’s, the retail source of KH's sweater and other "Bargains for Millionaires," actually has layaway.

KH wishes AT a happy 30^th birthday.

Q Square, 5 Circle, or 7 Diamond?

Thousands of New Yorkers make this decision every day. Is it faster to take the sure thing incoming local train or wait for the no-where-in-sight but most times expedient express line? Given a few set variables most grizzled locals can quickly spit out an answer calculated by the subconscious algorithm they've built on years of commuting experience. I've always wondered what one can infer about another's personality based purely on their subway platform decisions.

Riders are continually optimizing multiple considerations each time they swipe their Metrocard: travel time, comfort, safety, surety of destination, crowd, view, etc. Not knowing how each person prioritizes this list makes predicting their behavior and thus inferring anything about their personality quite difficult. Many make choices considering only travel time. Others don’t mind taking the scenic local track in exchange for a luxurious lumbar supported seat. One might ignore their normal intuition to politely stalk an attractive fellow traveler (where do you think all those “missed connections” come from?). Misgivings on whether express trains are operating normally through unfamiliar terrain force even experienced New Yorkers into suboptimal decisions.

There are certain moments during the week where the variable of travel time is undoubtedly paramount to train riders. 5:30pm on a Friday in Grand Central Station is one of those moments, and I occasionally have a front row seat. Observing waffling straphangers as local and express trains simultaneously approach seems akin to the curious wonder of watching a lab rat in a maze. Why do people so commonly duck into the local train, wait a few nervous moments, then dart out the door across the platform onto the express track? Should I feel guilty for smirking when a merciless conductor punishes their indecision by leaving them stuck trainless on the platform? But what happens when a local train approaches during rush hour and you have a multiple express stop distance to travel. Are you the type of person who will just take the sure thing or will you bank on the experience that waiting will get you there faster? I'll spare you the details of my decision making neurosis and just admit to being a local kinda guy. I'm rarely in a rush, choose people watching scenery over speed, and just earnestly enjoy taking a long subway ride.

So which are you? Express or local?

Velvet Rope Scars

The below note was written by a friend (who will remain anonymous) in response to a query for "upper crust" nightlife recommendations. A sad, hilarious, and telling commentary on a slice of New York nightlife written by one who isn't famous, connected, attractive, or female enough to wander carelessly through bouncer protected gates.

>>>>>>

K:

You may want to also forward this commentary to your friend.

These pearls of wisdom do not come from any innate hipness I possess, but from brute-force trial and error over the years in the NYC bar/lounge/club scene.

1) Unless you are going to a private party, very little is happening in NYC until **after** 11pm. Some of the hottest places don't even open up their doors until 11pm. Most places peak around 2:30am and tend to peter out by 3:30am. That being said, if you can get into a good place before 11pm it may make sense to just grab a few drinks in a relaxed setting (albeit devoid of girls) until it becomes more populated. This strategy will work at almost all places with the exception of the Rose Bar @ The Gramercy Park Hotel and other X-Level establishments where they will sweep out the Riff-Raff at 11pm.

2) Bottle Service: If it is within your budget this will work wonders in two dimensions: it will maker it infinitely easier to get into any of the hot places (especially as we may be on the precipice of a economic recession) AND more importantly it gives you a Home Base of Operations. This Home Base is very important for several reasons in that it enables you to have a secure seating area in the VIP area and serves as an attractive lure for a particular type of woman. The VIP is not Nirvana, it does not make you smarter, better looking or more witty. But it is less crowded place and extremely easy to invite people back there.

The bottle is approx $400 all-in per bottle of liquor (with tip and tax). That price will not change much from bar-to-bar. Having the table and bottle is the surest path to a fun-night (I know its unimaginative, but it works) and you can be creative with forming your own little party within a party. (ie you, your friends and 6 Norweigian Airline Stewardess, etc).

Most clubs have a minimum botle requirement for a group of people depnding on the guy/girl ratio.
Here are a few permutations of the bottle requirements for both an "A" level bar and a "B" level bar (with A being more popular). "X" level bars have been omitted.

Two guys
A-Level: 2 bottles
B-Level: 1 bottle

Two guys one girl
A-Level: 2 bottles
B-Level: 1 bottle

Three guys
A-Level: 2-3 bottles
B-Level: 1-2 bottles

Two guys Two girls
A-Level: 2 bottles
B-Level: 2 bottles

Two guys Three girls
A-Level: 2 bottles
B-Level: 2 bottles

Remember if you are buying bottles and inviting guests to your table, be sure to budget approx one extra bottle per every 3 people getting the table as the guests will certainly want a drink and it may take a few iterations to find the correct group of guests to stay for the duration.

Examples of A level clubs: Bungaloo 8, Marquee , Cain, Tenjune, Socialista
Examples of B level Clubs: Home, Guest House, PM

Autumn Two Week Staycation To-Do's

1. Decode the ins-and-outs of all entrances/exits at the Union Square subway station.
2. Ride bike from Manhattan to Astoria to Coney Island to Manhattan.
3. Replace certain drinking glasses with a set from Bodum.
4. Buy a FIRM mattress without getting hoodwinked.
5. Attend a Christie's art auction dressed like a collector.
6. Drink mulled apple cider at least once each day.
7. Attend five concerts, two art benefits, and two Halloween parties.
8. Read the 2 foot stack of magazines that's piled up on my counter.
9. Figure out how to re-brush and re-coat an old steel desk.
10. Ride around the City on the top level of a red double decker tour bus while listening to "Strange Geometry" by The Clientele.
11. Go apple picking upstate with B.C. and L.P.
12. ??????

Jumping Monkey Cocktail Recipe

This is a recipe I adapted from a cocktail served to me at Perry Street Restaurant during the spring of 2006. Naming credit: Christina Frayne

Ingredients:
Kentucky Bourbon
Serrano peppers
Granulated sugar
Brown sugar (optional)
Passion Fruit Juice

Making the Syrup:
The quantities I use in this example should make enough syrup for many drinks (15+). The extra syrup should be cooled and stored at room temperature in a glass jar. Other types of peppers can be used to vary the taste and heat level - Thai chili, Jalapeno, and Habanero (hot!) all work well.

1. Bring 3 cups of water to a rolling boil in a medium sauce pan.
2. Add 5-7 roughly chopped whole Serrano peppers. Boil gently for 2-3 minutes.
3. Drain out the peppers and discard. Pour the water back in the pan under low/medium heat.
4. Completely dissolve 1 1/2 - 2 cups of sugar into the water. Note that the traditional balance for simple syrup is two parts sugar to one part water. I prefer to use less sugar for this particular drink.

Making the Drink:
2 parts Bourbon.
1 to 2 parts syrup depending on desired sweetness.
8 parts passion fruit juice.

Combine ingredients in a Cobbler Shaker with ice. Shake and serve in a chilled double old fashioned glass. Granulated or brown sugar rim if you like that sorta thing.

Gawker's Smear Campain Against Me

This morning my photo mysteriously appeared in a Gawker article outlining a political development proposed to slow the hedge fund rich from getting richer. The photo harmlessly/accidentally implies that I am one of these "tax avoiding" hedge funders (the term "funder" appears when you roll your cursor over my photo). Though I do not work for a hedge fund I will pretend to while I write this note.

Those of you that know me will have no difficulty spotting the abundance of hilarious irony. Could there possibly be another person who has shorted* Manhattan's cultural trajectory with more fervor? The vicious cycle of more tasteless money, higher rents, higher prices for everything, and less diverse inhabitants desiring less unique arts/food/services has turned Manhattan into New York's cultural bowl of smashed peanut shells. Go ahead and tax hedge fund performance fees by 20%, 30%, or 50% - Like that's gonna make any difference! Performance fees are only half the hedge fund payout equation. If you happen to be one who is somehow supported by the spume of these abundant capitalist treasures don't be worried. And even if DC does decide to raise taxes, don't believe that it will prevent a new deluxe high rise from towering over a neighborhood near you!

Your salary to the Nth power,
T. Boone Pickens

* 'Shorting' is hedge fund speak for betting that the price of a security will decline.
You might overhear a witty hedge funder utilizing this term in various non-financial contexts:
"Man, Marquee really sucks these days, I'm max short that place."
"You think she's hot? Where's your bid, I'm looking to put on a colossal short!"
"You live uptown? Man, downtown is totally where it's at, I'd short the hell out of above 14th street."

Most / Least Desirable NYC Restaurants (Hype Adjusted)

--Most desirable restaurants after adjusting for hype--
360
Aki
Anyway Cafe
Apizz
Bozu
Cafecito
Cha-an
Chiyono
Downtown Bakery II
Fette Sau
Franny's
The Good Fork
Kori
Little Giant
Locanda Vini E Olii
Los Dos Molinos
Marlow & Sons
Moto
Natori
OMS/B
Pizza Gruppo
Pho Bang
The Queen's Hideaway
Tides

--Least desirable restaurants after adjusting for hype--
'Inoteca
9th Street Market
Cafe Habanna
Clinton Street Bakery
Da Silvano
Danal
Dos Caminos
Frank
Katz's Deli
Koi
Kuruma Zushi
Lombardi's Pizza
Mama's Food Shop
Momofuko Noodle Bar
Morimoto
Tomoe
Veniero's
Waverly Inn (Note: I've never actually eaten here)
Una Pizza Napoletana
Union Square Cafe

Gentrify Gripe

Houston between 2nd Avenue and Bowery.

David vs. Goliath.

East Village Restaurant Files

I'm very keen on updated my tired list of East Village & vicinity DELIVERY / TAKOUT staples. Listed below are my current "go-to" places surrounding my home near 1st avenue and 9th street. If you have suggestions to improve this situation please write me. (Help me.. Help me please)

*Japanese/Sushi*
Ginger
Natori

*Pizza*
Pizza Gruppo
Una Pizza Napoletana
Two Boots

*Italian*
L'il Frankies

*Latin*
Caracas Arepas

*Pan Asian*
Tara Thai
Republic
Pukk
East Village Thai
Kai Kai
Why Curry?
Cafe Himalaya
Thai on Two

*Indian*
Banjara
Royal Banglandesh

*Mexican*
Downtown Bakery
Paquitos
Benny's Burritos

*Middle Eastern*
Cafe Rakka
Moustache

*Chinese*
Red House

*Misc*
Westville East
Atomic Wings
Wai Cafe
Quantum Leap