knock it off

First I read this.
Naively, I thought to myself that it was a major bust and that mayor Bloomberg must really be cracking down. I thought that the face of Chinatown was changing for good, as of now. HA!, suuuuuure.

Then I saw this and I wondered why a tiny little freebie newspaper would be the only one to have the ironic side of the story. Maybe the big rags don't have time to follow up.

But Mayor Bloomberg looked really tough and accomplished and he had a moment in the sun. A time he could point to in future election runs to say "look how I led New York through that tumultuous knockoff crisis." And the people will applaud and cheer and he would stand by his record of sweeping up the city. All he needs now is a midget with a broom to walk around with him, reminding the fair citizens of our city what a clean, forthright metropolis we inhabit.

And then the theme song fades in and a cape, somewhere, is blowing in the wind.

mailing it in

Okay, I'm totally mailing this in as a post, but I think it's a little bit mailed in as a dating inquiry as well, and might i just add that this is embarrassing to any competent, worthwhile woman, even if it is hilarious. In any event, if you haven't seen this, it's hilarious and if you have, it's worth reading again. Enjoy.



THE FOLLOWING APPEARED ON CRAIG'S LIST:

What am I doing wrong?

Okay, I'm tired of beating around the bush. I'm a beautiful (spectacularly beautiful) 25 year old girl. I'm articulate and classy. I'm not from New York. I'm looking to get married to a guy who makes at least half a million a year. I know how that sounds, but keep in mind that a million a year is middle class in New York City, so I don't think I'm overreaching at all. Are there any guys who make 500K or more on this board? Any wives? Could you send me some tips?

I dated a business man who makes average around 200 - 250. But that's where I seem to hit a roadblock. 250,000 won't get me to central park west. I know a woman in my yoga class who was married to an investment banker and lives in Tribeca, and she's not as pretty as I am, nor is she a great genius. So what is she doing right? How do I get to her level?

Here are my questions specifically: - Where do you single rich men hang out? Give me specifics- bars, restaurants, gyms -What are you looking for in a mate? Be honest guys, you won't hurt my feelings -Is there an age range I should be targeting (I'm 25)?- Why are some of the women living lavish lifestyles on the upper east side so plain? I've seen really 'plain jane' boring types who have nothing to offer married to incredibly wealthy guys. I've seen drop dead gorgeous girls in singles bars in the east village. What's the story there? - Jobs I should look out for? Everyone knows - lawyer, investment banker, doctor. How much do those guys really make? And where do they hang out? Where do the hedge fund guys hang out?- How you decide marriage vs. just a girlfriend?

I am looking for MARRIAGE ONLY Please hold your insults - I'm putting myself out there in an honest way. Most beautiful women are superficial; at least I'm being up front about it. I wouldn't be searching for these kind of guys if I wasn't able to match them - in looks, culture, sophistication, and keeping a nice home and hearth.

* it's NOT ok to contactthis poster with services or other commercial interests PostingID: 4322710


THE ANSWER

Dear Pers-431649184:

I read your posting with great interest and have thought meaningfully about your dilemma. I offer the following analysis of your predicament. Firstly, I'm not wasting your time, I qualify as a guy who fits your bill; that is I make more than $500K per year. That said here's how I see it.

Your offer, from the prospective of a guy like me, is plain and simple a cr@ppy business deal. Here's why. Cutting through all the B.S., what you suggest is a simple trade: you bring your looks to the party and I bring my money. Fine, simple. But here's the rub, your looks will fade and my money will likely continue into perpetuity...in fact, it is very likely that my income increases but it is an absolute certainty that you won't be getting any more beautiful! So, in economic terms you are a depreciating asset and I am an earning asset. Not only are you a depreciating asset, your depreciation accelerates!

Let me explain, you're 25 now and will likely stay pretty hot for the next 5 years, but less so each year. Then the fade begins in earnest. By 35 stick a fork in you! So in Wall Street terms, we would call you a trading position, not a buy and hold...hence the rub...marriage. It doesn't make good business sense to "buy you" (which is what you're asking) so I'd rather lease. In case you think I'm being cruel, I would say the following. If my money were to go away, so would you, so when your beauty fades I need an out. It's as simple as that. So a deal that makes sense is dating, not marriage.

Separately, I was taught early in my career about efficient markets. So, I wonder why a girl as "articulate, classy and "spectacularly beautiful" as you has been unable to find your sugar daddy. I find it hard to believe that if you are as gorgeous as you say you are that the $500K hasn't found you, if not only for a tryout. By the way, you could always find a way to make your own money and then we wouldn't need to have this difficult conversation. With all that said, I must say you're going about it the right way. Classic "pump and dump." I hope this is helpful, and if you want to enter into some sort of lease, let me know.

i can

When this commercial came out, it made such an impact that it nearly brought me to tears. That's right, race fans....it's cheesy, sporty shit! Suuuuch a stretch for me.

But there is this part toward the end, where this badass chick is squatting and I know that feeling that you see on her face. All she is saying is "up, up, up"; finding that the tank is not yet empty and pushing more, more, more. I fucking love that shit.

little things

I got a haircut about a week ago. I was so excited about it, that I had talked it up for 2 weeks. Normally a haircut would be something that I sort-of hid from my general conversation, because I would want everyone under the impression that my cheveux was always and effortlessly trimmed and coiffed. I haven't had a haircut since about September though and cutting my hair and getting my toenails painted and pretty much anything else that would normally fall under the heading of "personal care" have been vacant from my life for waaay too long.

And speaking of that....I got my toes did, yesterday. Having a lovely shade of "berry hard" on them just makes me smile everytime I take off my shoes. See, it's the little things that I used to do for myself, that I missed the most in my 'dammit-New-York-is-not-gonna-get-the-best-o-me' poverty phase. I didn't buy anything new for myself for almost 2 years. The occasional work shirt, new underwear and socks were pretty much the only new things, of any kind, that I picked up; and I didn't like most of the shirts I got.

And after 3 weeks of playing cat and mouse with a couple of paychecks that were owed me, it only took me 4 days in my attempt to get home before the drycleaner closed. That actually, is something I just do not get. We are all workers in this city, so why does the drycleaner only stay open until 6pm? What the fuck is that all about? If they had any brains, they would take a siesta in the middle of the day and then just stay open late. A greatful island would thank them. Nail salons, too. Come on, people, we're American. We're too busy having pissing contests to see who can stay at the office longer to run errands.

Anyway, the point is, although many parts of life are heavier than they have ever been, and that is no understatement, I have a startlingly good outlook on all of it. So good in fact, that I did not have one violent thought on the subway all day today. Amazing. Tomorrow I'm getting another haircut to fix the first one that was fucked up. See, I'm feeling so positive that I didn't even care when the loaf of bangs came into my life. Snip sniperoo is all that'll take.

pictures of there

I haven't been home in a long, long time. Not for a social visit anyway, and usually not for more than 16 hours in any given area. Coincidentally, this is the time of year where I get a little homesick. I miss being outside all the time. I am an outside girl and although my bottom line wasn't quite as attractive at that time as I'd like for it to have been, I was outside, on the water in some capacity, nearly every single day of my life. Who can beat that? It's almost 4 years now that I have had to come inside for the winter and I keep waiting for it to get easier.......

This is the view from the pool at the Y in Newport Beach, where I used to swim, outside, year round. At night you could watch the moon rise in between laps and the combination of a heated pool and the cool air made my swims have this surreal quality to them. Today I wished I was in that pool, charging away.

This is HB on a beautiful day in probably September or October. I didn't actually get to get out during the trip where I took this picture, which sucked ass because it was a perfect day.

I loved cycling or running on those paths, just zoning out for a while with the water there, like the friend it has been to me since before I could crawl. We had a bonfire here one night at the end of my junior year of high school, where i ended up carrying my friend up a rocky cliff, because she was too wasted to make the trek and I had to get her home to sober up at my house before she could show up at hers. Ahh, good times.

I miss the sun.

....'nother round

I'm a planner and I'm a fan of a good routine. My entire life I have been juggling tons of different projects, groups and activities and have thus been forced to become ridiculously organized. It has also made me a huge fan of structure. I am "goal oriented" and what's more, "action oriented." I am the person who uses the "task" portion of Outlook on a regular basis. I note and then check off. I label.

Lately however, I am among a growing number of people in my life who are having serious difficulty with a solid routine for just about anything. I make my plans, lay them all out, neat and pressed and then when the slightest change in plans comes along, I feel like my house of cards has tumbled and I've got to start all over. Like everything I have done up to that point is moot and negated. Even writing it out right now, I am struck by how fucking stupid that sounds, but there it is in all its embarrassing inconsistency.

What happened to being able to stay on a roll? So many people I know are fighting with that circumstance. Kicking and fighting to get out of a bad or draning position and then finally, things start to look up. Then juuust when the situation is looking bright, just as quick as it all started to be so good, it all falls apart. Not just slows up or gets difficult, shatters to pieces worse than if it never happened at all. Like we are all telling ourselves that there's no way it could actually be that good for us, so if we subconsciously destroy it, and therefore ourselves, then we were right all along. No surprises.


But even with the bars and a thousand other inmates with whom to commiserate, the story is not going to get any different without a good, fucking plan. The kind of anal retentive plan that people make fun of, if they find it. The kind that has long range goals and short range goals and expected outcomes and progress markers. The kind that becomes studied and automated and when coupled with a good self-talk and good behavior, is nearly impossible to fail.

I'm sticking to the whole plan this time. Got the job, made the budget, going to get my shit straightened out for real and for good. I'm now learning what I should have been taught at 10; you have to plan it out and give yourself the good life, because most of us ain't getting good advice from many other sources.

who saw that coming?!

Certainly not the Pats, that's for sure. But you know despite the fact that I was sort of rooting for the Patriots, I had 2 requirements for a successful Superbowl experience fulfilled. First, it was a great game with no real foreshadowing as to the outcome. Second, the halftime show kicked ass. Tom Petty was, by far, the best choice they have made in years. Can't go wrong there.

And while I am disappointed that the perfect season was tarnished, I'm happy for the Giants. It really wouldn't have mattered to me who had the perfect run going, I just like the idea of having something so seemingly unattainable come through to fruition.

If I were the other team though, I'd be itching and clawing to get on the field so that I could be the one to take it away, and that kind of motivation is just so consuming, that you could see it all over the Giants on the field. They wanted that championship and they fought for it. And for once, Eli Manning had an expression on his face; something other than a vacant stare. That alone is a reason to celebrate.

I celebrated by drinking my weight in beer and I'm paying for it now, so I think I'm going to be spending some quality time staring at the back of my eyelids. I must note my sadness at the end of the football season, though. I will miss it.

wait...what?

I came in, showered, put on my purple, snowflake-fairy pajama pants that my friend made me and sat down. I was sooooo ready to write and I had started crafting this brilliant narrative in my head.

Then I actually got home. Then I had a handful of Milk Duds to chase the beer, a couple of glasses of water and my eyelids hooked up to the daredevils base jumping off of my cheeks, and now here I sit, barganing with my peepers to remain open juuuust long enough to finish the sentence. Just a second longer, while I pour some more water and try, desperately to follow any of the 43 trains of thought that came to hang out over the last 6 or so hours.

Fuuuuuuuuuuuck. No dice. Now I will just tell you that I will have to pick this shit back up on Monday night, because who are we kidding.....even if I find some axe to grind tomorrow, I'll be too drunk to give a shit, since 4 hours of pregaming are mandated in order to have a decent seat for the game. Gotta get my drinking rest.



go pats.