Martin J. Kleinman's Blog, page 17

Big Bikers Banned — Fatties Flunk Citibike Contract!

The long-delayed Citibike share program comes fully equipped with a rider contract that prohibits bike usage by riders weighing more than 260 pounds, according to New York Post reports.

http://www.nypost.com/p/news/local/apple_snubs_chubs_wPsjx5Q7LjJICDn4j0oOLI

What gives?  First, program managers bungle the software, delaying operations for many months.  Then, Citibikes’ garish kiosks and docking stations marr building access and aesthetics around town.  And now, we learn, anyone over the 260 lb. weight limit is not contractually eligible for the program.

So, let’s get this straight.  Transfats?  No good.  Big Gulp sodas?  Too fattening.   Fast food?  Gotta put up calorie signage.  Cigarettes? Verboten, put them on the bottom shelf.

But try to bike around town to shed weight and live healthily?  Forget about it, fatty!!!

What kind of cheesy bikes are these, anyway?  We Real New Yorkers bet that Bloomberg Lite (aka Christine Quinn) is barred from the Citibike program.  C’mon, how much do you really weigh, sweetheart?

Sounds more than a little contradictory, n’est-ce pas, Monsieur Bloomberg?  And maybe plus-size banking customers should take their accounts elsewhere — Citibank does not seem to appreciate your body type.

 

 

 

 

Bully Mayors

Are you tired of bully mayors?  I am.  Giuliani was a bully, a finger-poking, sharp-talking, nasty bully, with a penchant for appealing to the worst in human nature and for pushing around those less fortunate.  With 9-11 came a period of redemption but, alas, he’s been riding that day for more than a decade now, largely irrelevant but, still, a bully.

Mike Bloomberg is a bully too.  He’s sharp and mean and vindictive and, under the guise of “I don’t suffer fools,” he pokes the eye of reporters who ask him tough questions.  ”That’s just stupid,” Mike will say.  Frequently, the reporter backs right down.

And who, early on, latched onto Mike’s teat, as if for dear life?  Christine Quinn, current Council Speaker, who aided and abetted Bloomberg’s unconscionable quest for an illegal third-term and made sure her thumb pressed down hard upon the scales of justice.

Recently, Quinn was outed as a big-time bully in The New York Times.  http://www.nytimes.com/2013/03/26/nyregion/in-private-quinn-displays-a-volatile-side.html?hp&_r=0&pagewanted=all.  She withholds funds from those who cross her.  She screams and yells at subordinates.  She has a volcanic temperment.

So does Mayor Mike.  So does Giuliani.  When it comes to school behavior for our children, we are all over the bullying issue.  Why, then, do we seek bullies out, as elected officials?

And, mind you, the issue is not men/women, when it comes to bullying behavior.  The issue is not “oh, when Quinn, a woman in a position in power, goes batshit, the world quakes.”

No, that’s not it at all. The issue is professional/shtunk.  Rudy, Mike and Quinn are shtunks.  They are abusive.  They are mean, in spirit and in deed.  As mean as Butch and his henchman, Woim, from the Little Rascals (photo above).  People like these will not get my vote.  Will they get yours?

New Friends

Just a quick post for Real New Yorkers: Wife got a call from a new friend in the building here, where we moved in the summer of 2010.  She hadn’t seen my wife in several weeks and was just calling to see if everything was alright.   What a refreshing difference from our previous abode, where it was all about what you did for a living and “what could you do for me?”  Wow!  Did we ever move to the right place, or what?

Buddy Boys Redux

http://theater.nytimes.com/2013/03/31/theater/lucky-guy-by-nora-ephron-as-recalled-by-jim-dwyer.html?pagewanted=all

You know all the stops on the G train.  You are a regular at Pete’s Candy Store.  You know where to find the best Banh Mi in the city.

So, do you know about the dirty 30?  Does the name Abner Louima ring a bell?  What about the Buddy Boys of the 77?  What about Amadou Diallo?  What about the Bushwick riots of ’77?

Yeah, that’s about what I thought.  That’s the world Real New Yorkers know — from back in the day, pre-Disneyfied NYC.  The world explored in Home Front (coming soon, to a bookstore near you).

But if you can’t wait for Home Front, you may want to check out Lucky Guy, a new play about the bad old days of NYC crime, as reported by the tabloid heroes of my youth.  In this case, the protagonist is Mike McAlary (played by Tom Hanks), a brash, swaggering crime reporter who wants to climb the Hamill – Breslin – Daly mountain.  These are the guys I learned from, the guys who reported on the folks others overlooked.

Now, we have a city run by zillionaires who threaten to veto a law that would allow workers to take five sick days a year.  (More on this to come, dear readers.)  Five effin sick days, our Mayor is against.

Yeah, well: Hamill – Breslin – Daly – McAlary in their prime would have had a field day with that.  Meantime, compatriots, remember: NYC wasn’t always the way it is now.  McCarren Park was a dump, as was Prospect Park, Central Park, Madison Park, Van Cortlandt Park and more.  The East Village was wall to wall heroin and believe me, kids did NOT play in Tompkins Square Park.  It was a black and white world and danger lurked everywhere.

Remember this as you uplink L Train hijinks at 3 in the morning, eat your blueberry bagels and wait 20 minutes for your mixologist to herbify your $17 cocktail.

Get a ticket to Lucky Guy.  Buy a copy of Home Front.  Get dirty.  Be a Real New Yorker.

 

 

 

It’s European!!!!!!

This is a picture of pickles.  Big deal, right?  Well, Real New Yorkers are bemused by the movement to “artisanal” versions of products once considered prosaic, a basic part of NYC life.  Like a pickle.  Or gin.  Or a l oaf of bread.  Or pastrami.  Or herring in cream sauce.

Quality versions of such comestibles are now called “Old World” by today’s food elites.  We are reminded of the old Seinfeld defense of his man-purse: “It’s European…!!!”

In New York City, back in the day, you went to the local food store, or deli, and got pickles. They came in a big barrel.  You picked them out, sours or half-sours.  The merchant put them in a jar.  If you wanted bread, you went to the bakery.  The baker sold you a loaf of bread, white, rye, pumpernickel, corn bread, challah.  The sales person asked if you wanted it sliced or not.

Herring?  You went to the appetizing store.  There, you selected: in cream sauce, roll mops, schmaltz herring, matjes.

Over the decades, the European immigrants raced to assimilate.  Old World recipes were thrown out, replaced by recipes for brisket that called for Harvey’s Bristol Cream.  No, seriously.  Local food purveyors gave way to national chains and regional brands, to the point where packaged balloon breads ruled and a good corned rye bread with seeds became impossible to find.

And, now, the pendulum swings again.  Brooklyn’s Boerum and Cobble Hill sections boast artisinal pickle makers. Herring boutiques.  Montreal-style Jewish delis.  Old-time bread bakeries and cheese purveyors.  Only the prices have changed.  A pound of fancy pants craft cheese is roughly twice the price of a decent ribeye.

Recession?  What recession?  Business is booming at Williamsburg Smorgasburg market and all the little stores.  And the trend is being pushed out from Brooklyn, as that borough becomes, in essence, a national brand.

Call it tasty.  Call it Old World.  Call it what you will.  But remember this: “real” European style means FRUGAL.

Mayor Koch — RIP to a Real New Yorker

Mayor Koch is dead.  He lived a good long life and all Real New Yorkers have their own favorite mental picture of him.

Here’s Koch at a subway station, asking, “How’m I doin’?”
Here’s Koch eating Chinese food, egg rolls and ribs
Here’s Koch on the Lex, holding court with rush hour riders
Here’s Koch on a camel, someplace in Egypt
Here’s Koch in the St. Paddy’s parade, in a white sweater, trying to blow into a bag pipe

Koch was mayor when New York was physical abusive to its inhabitants.  It was half-broke, the infrastructure crumbling.  It was dangerous.  The schools sucked.  The cops were corrupt.  Our city was an internationally renowned butt-of-jokes.
And yet…why do I miss THAT New York and why am I so cool to today’s sleek, affluent, user-friendly version?
Why do I miss an elected official who, when asked about crime, spat back, “It stinks!”
Why do I miss a Mayor who was an unabashed ball breaker, who deserved a good slap in the face from time to time?  Why?
Because HE CAME FROM US.  He was not a billionaire.  He was not a slick guy.  He was an up from the streets, sharp-elbow, irascible rogue.
For all the vitriol, we loved Mayor Koch.  And he loved us right back.
You lived a good long life dude.  Now go raise hell in Heaven’s Hunan Kitchen.

 

Happy Birthday, La Lupe

Tomorrow, December 23, would have been La Lupe’s 73 birthday.  She died in ’92, only 53 years old.

La Lupe was probably the greatest salsera of her time.  Born in Cuba, she lived in The Bronx and was the first Latin singer to sell out Madison Square Garden.  La Lupe’s career reaching dizzying heights.  She lived hard and her world ended in tragedy, basically crippled, and destitute and wheelchair bound.  

So why write about an old time Cuban junkie that no one knows about anymore?  La Lupe was a Real New Yorker.  She did not suffer fools, and mouthed off to Fidel and got her butt kicked out of Cuba.  She came to The Bronx with nothing and used her talent to get to the very TOP of her profession.

And she was an A-R-T-I-S-T.  If you like Janis Joplin, give a listen to La Lupe.  “Puro Teatro” and “Que Te Pedi” for starters.  Use Spotify, or Calcify, or Mystify, or whatever methodology you choose.  Then listen to Janis’ “Maybe.”

What’s that?  You don’t speak Spanish?  No matter: Listen to the pain in her voice.  Feel the raw emotion.  She lived life and could sing from experience. 

Feliz cumpleanos, baby. Tu es la mejor!

 

 

Could you please play just ONE of her records — I know your audience would dig it.  Her ballads are just heartbreaking.  “Puro Teatro” runs under three minutes.  Please, pretty please, play just one from La Lupe to celebrate a MAJOR talent from our Bronx.

People With Guns Kill People

http://cityroom.blogs.nytimes.com/2012/12/18/a-growing-list-of-gun-victims-and-the-mayors-demand-for-a-plan/?ref=nyregion 

Mayor Mike Bloomberg is leading the charge on gun violence and new gun laws.  He is putting President Obama’s feet to the fire.  He is uniting the country’s mayors in his quest.  Clyde Haberman’s story in today’s issue of The New York Times spells it out.  All good. 

That said, I agree with David Brooks who, on the PBS News Hour recently, said Bloomberg is the wrong point person on national gun control.  I rarely agree with Brooks but this time he’s got it right.  The message is correct but the messenger is perceived as what he is: eastern, urbane, big-city, Jewish, and therefore “out of touch” with Gun Lover Nation. 

I recommend recruitment of an (ideally) Republican, high-profile, white male, preferably an avid sportsman.  He should then lead a team of acolytes, composed of current and ex-athletes, and stars of filmed and recorded entertainment.  Get some Country/Western singers, a former QB, an action adventure movie hero to help spread the word.  We need people who have a high approval rating, from the people who need to be convinced, in order to turn the tide.

Bloomberg has it right, but he’s a “New Yorker” to many in the country and, as we Real New Yorkers know, NYC is not considered a “real” part of the U.S. by many — it’s considered a strange, wicked aberration.

The Triumph of Renee Katz

Here’s a story  http://cityroom.blogs.nytimes.com/2012/12/10/not-silenced-33-years-after-her-own-subway-nightmare/ from a Real New Yorker, ABOUT a Real New Yorker. Remember these things:

– it’s the Triborough Bridge, not the “RFK”

– you don’t put pineapple slices on pizza

– blueberries don’t belong in bagels

– paying retail is for saps

– Anything can happen to anyone, at any time

– New York is a big, rough, tough city and even though crime is way down, you have to lock your doors, keep your head up, and try not to look like the next victim.

– People like Renee Katz are what NYC is all about: keep pushing, keep giving, slurp down life and never stop going forward.

Hey, Long Time No See

Yeah, it’s been awhile.  Let’s see, where do I start: went to the Middle East, had a swell summer, had a back explosion on September 7, did innumerable tests, got my back operated on, learned to properly use a cane, kept working all the while, survived Hurricane Sandy, lived through the Presidential election cycle, wrote three stories (To Bake Bourekas…Crackers…Lower East Side Sunday) and started a fourth, commenced planning for a new non-fiction work, solidified relations with current clients and laid groundwork for two others, completed online holiday shopping in record time, paid final quarterly estimated taxes EARLY, had the great opportunity to do two readings (Freddy’s and KGB Bar) with dearest family and friends in presence AND got the chance to see my darling wife onstage acting in TWO events.  And got goosebumps listening to the recent exploits of my 25-year old son as he navigates life in the 21st Century. And re-united with old friends AND made so many new friends here in the Boogie Down AND really started to dig-in regarding my understanding of the Bible.

And, oh yes, work proceeds apace for publication of HOME FRONT: A COLLECTION, in March of 2013, with a super cover (see art below) by uber-photographer William A. Loeb.

So yeah: overall, life’s been, by turns, challenging, painful, scary, rewarding and fun.

And that’s the way it should be for The Real New Yorker, n’est-ce pas mon petites?