Alexandra Bogdanovic's Blog: That's life... - Posts Tagged "smoking"
Notes on a 'scandal'
While engrossed in the ongoing process of streamlining, downsizing and simplifying my life, I unearthed another interesting treasure this week.
It emerged from a pile of miscellaneous papers stacked on a bookshelf in the basement. In this case, "it" was actually two pieces of paper and a business size envelope bearing a Stamford, Connecticut postmark. Dated May 13, 1998, the envelope was addressed to the newspaper where I worked at the time. There was no return address.
The accompanying papers turned out to be even more interesting. One was a photocopy of a "Page Six" story from the New York Post dated Thursday, May 7, 1998. It detailed an alleged incident at a charity event hosted by an old friend of mine.
Apparently a fracas occurred when someone at the party told a New York investment banker that smoking a cigar in a barn is not a bright idea. According to the Page Six account, things got even more heated when the banker refused to extinguish his cigar...
But the other piece of paper shed an entirely different light on the same incident. Written in a way that suggested the author witnessed the event, the second account indicated the banker was alleged aggressor -- hurling insults at the event organizer who asked him to extinguish the cigar -- and trading punches with her husband.
To the horror of the anonymous author, the banker allegedly screamed the unthinkable as he was escorted out of the event in front of more than 100 people.
"The unbelievable part of the story is that he was being hauled out, he shouts in front of everyone 'Do you know who I am? I am a Goldman Sachs Partner. Do you hear me? I am a Goldman Sachs Partner. And I am best friends with Paul Tudor Jones. You can't do this to me.'"
Collectively, the papers provide an interesting social commentary on a different time. They provide insight into what was considered "newsworthy" and what was deemed "important" before 9/11 and the Great Recession.
The papers also provide some insight into a certain mindset, speaking volumes about self-importance and entitlement. I mean, I can't think of anyone who would throw their weight around and brag about being an investment banker today. Can you?
Until next time, "That's life..."
It emerged from a pile of miscellaneous papers stacked on a bookshelf in the basement. In this case, "it" was actually two pieces of paper and a business size envelope bearing a Stamford, Connecticut postmark. Dated May 13, 1998, the envelope was addressed to the newspaper where I worked at the time. There was no return address.
The accompanying papers turned out to be even more interesting. One was a photocopy of a "Page Six" story from the New York Post dated Thursday, May 7, 1998. It detailed an alleged incident at a charity event hosted by an old friend of mine.
Apparently a fracas occurred when someone at the party told a New York investment banker that smoking a cigar in a barn is not a bright idea. According to the Page Six account, things got even more heated when the banker refused to extinguish his cigar...
But the other piece of paper shed an entirely different light on the same incident. Written in a way that suggested the author witnessed the event, the second account indicated the banker was alleged aggressor -- hurling insults at the event organizer who asked him to extinguish the cigar -- and trading punches with her husband.
To the horror of the anonymous author, the banker allegedly screamed the unthinkable as he was escorted out of the event in front of more than 100 people.
"The unbelievable part of the story is that he was being hauled out, he shouts in front of everyone 'Do you know who I am? I am a Goldman Sachs Partner. Do you hear me? I am a Goldman Sachs Partner. And I am best friends with Paul Tudor Jones. You can't do this to me.'"
Collectively, the papers provide an interesting social commentary on a different time. They provide insight into what was considered "newsworthy" and what was deemed "important" before 9/11 and the Great Recession.
The papers also provide some insight into a certain mindset, speaking volumes about self-importance and entitlement. I mean, I can't think of anyone who would throw their weight around and brag about being an investment banker today. Can you?
Until next time, "That's life..."
He loved a good cigar...
It is quiet here in my brand-new home office. The phone stopped ringing long ago and now I really need to concentrate, so I've resisted the temptation to open i-Tunes or play an old CD. There is no cat underfoot - Eli is downstairs sleeping.
So there are no distractions, but there lots of memories in this new space.
Some surfaced when I found the tiny photograph of Dad and me in a small hand-painted silver frame. We are pictured curled up next to one another in an old, overstuffed armchair. I am probably eight or nine years old. I have straight, long hair gathered in pony tails and a big smile on my face. I look a lot like Mom, but I clearly love my father.
Dad looks sad, or perhaps a bit wistful. Perhaps he is annoyed because I've interrupted his reading -- he is holding his glasses and has a newspaper or book in his lap. Or perhaps he is simply longing for a cigar.
Boy, how he loved a good cigar...
In fact, he was a regular customer at Jim's cigar shop on Greenwich Avenue. As a little girl, I often accompanied him on his weekly visits there. I remember the distinctive aromas and smoke wafting through the air. I also remember the friendly arguments about the origins of the world's best cigars.
Judging by the old glass containers I just found in some architect's file drawers, Dad really enjoyed a good Dominican cigar. I don't know if he ever got his hands on any Cuban cigars -- but then again, I wouldn't have put it past him.
Clearly he didn't heed the warning labels on the Davidoff boxes stating that tobacco is a health hazard. But that's hardly surprising, either. My dad always did what he wanted -- consequences be damned.
However, as I've frequently said, that's another story for another time. And if you want to know more, well, you'll just have to read my next book.
Until next time, "That's life..."
So there are no distractions, but there lots of memories in this new space.
Some surfaced when I found the tiny photograph of Dad and me in a small hand-painted silver frame. We are pictured curled up next to one another in an old, overstuffed armchair. I am probably eight or nine years old. I have straight, long hair gathered in pony tails and a big smile on my face. I look a lot like Mom, but I clearly love my father.
Dad looks sad, or perhaps a bit wistful. Perhaps he is annoyed because I've interrupted his reading -- he is holding his glasses and has a newspaper or book in his lap. Or perhaps he is simply longing for a cigar.
Boy, how he loved a good cigar...
In fact, he was a regular customer at Jim's cigar shop on Greenwich Avenue. As a little girl, I often accompanied him on his weekly visits there. I remember the distinctive aromas and smoke wafting through the air. I also remember the friendly arguments about the origins of the world's best cigars.
Judging by the old glass containers I just found in some architect's file drawers, Dad really enjoyed a good Dominican cigar. I don't know if he ever got his hands on any Cuban cigars -- but then again, I wouldn't have put it past him.
Clearly he didn't heed the warning labels on the Davidoff boxes stating that tobacco is a health hazard. But that's hardly surprising, either. My dad always did what he wanted -- consequences be damned.
However, as I've frequently said, that's another story for another time. And if you want to know more, well, you'll just have to read my next book.
Until next time, "That's life..."
That's life...
All you may -- or may not -- want to know about my adventures as an author and other stuff.
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