Bloomberg’s “Kiss of Death”
Third-term disaster Michael Bloomberg is apparently so frustrated by every New Yorker’s determination to ignore him in the waning days of his administration that he took to the pages of New York magazine to weigh in on the current electoral race to be Not Bloomberg. Most of the digital ink being spread on this piece is on Bloomberg’s bizarre charge that current Democratic front-runner Bill deBlasio is being “racist” for, um, marrying a black woman and raising an adorable multi-racial family with her. Not to get all Inigo Montoya, but I do not think this term means what the lame-duck Mayor thinks it means. Which is odd, because I’m pretty sure if you look up the word “racism” in the Oxford English Dictionary, you will find a WSJ-style stipple portrait of hizzoner with a description of the NYPD’s “stop and frisk” program.
But the real red meat of el Bloombito’s interview is his weird, back-handed endorsement of human corporation Christine Quinn:
“Whether you are in favor of Chris Quinn becoming mayor or not, I will tell you this: She did a very good job for seven and a half years of keeping legislation that never should have made it to the floor, that would have been damaging to the city, from ever getting there.”
Earlier this year, Bloomberg called the United Federation of Teachers’ endorsement of Bill Thompson, an utterly decent man who is a wee bit skeptical of shutting down schools and labeling children as “failures,” a “kiss of death.” I’m sure that in the cocktail party circles in which the mayor, Cathie Black and various DFER’s travel an endorsement by the teachers union is a helpful guide for where to not invest your money. But that is hardly the “kiss of death” of a haughty billionaire praising a political hack for preventing an honest up-or-down vote on legislation that would allow hard-working New Yorkers to take a day off without financial penalty if they get sick. I hope Bloomberg Inc. publishes a helpful voter guide. I would like more guidance on whom to not vote for by The. Worst. Mayor. Ever.
The Sandpiper Serves as Lookout Against the Ferals.
I’m taking a mental health day; smoking a cigar on the fire escape. I bought my Padron at the Humidor, a neighborhood spot where the old men can smoke their stogies on the leather couches inside. They’re watching coverage of the Greek elections like it’s a soccer game. I’m not sure which side they’re on.
I take the opportunity to refill our bird feeders. Bay Ridge doesn’t have a lot of bio-diversity. We get lots of finches and the occasional mourning dove. Lately there’s been a couple of sand pipers to enliven the scene. They’re beautiful. Their tail feathers are slightly robotic in motion. I hear a bird whistling like an alarm. Is she pissed that I won’t vacate the fire escape so she and her comrades can enjoy the new snacks we’ve laid out for them? I notice it’s one of the sand pipers alerting all the other birds to the presence of one of the neighborhood ferals. She flies along the top of the fence that surrounds the Catholic Church’s parking lot and perches occasionally to renew the alarm as the neighborhood stray saunters along the bottom of it.
The kids from the Catholic junior high school stream into the parking lot with their parents, resplendent in their green “graduation” gowns. It’s “moving up” day. The girls are model-tall and stumbling in their high heels. The boys have the misfortune of looking a little too much like Glen Bishop from Mad Men. A couple of goobers toss their four-cornered caps into the air, in a re-enactment of whatever just took place in that 50-year-old auditorium. It’s hard to imagine being that excited about something ending and a new thing beginning. And yet we’ve all been there.
“yo,” my wife e-mails. “i forgot my phone. email in the next few minutes if you need anything. there’s a laptop on this pedicure chair.”
“this is the future.”
I take another drag from the cigar and look at the spray paint marks on the grating of the fire escape, where she preps her canvasses and think, “Maybe this is.”
Introducing…
I flew back from New Orleans yesterday feeling a little under the weather. Ordinarily, it’s the sort of thing I would power through. But the prospect of also having to push my way through the teeming masses of Super Bowl celebrants (good game, that) just to get in the front door of my office left me with a very definite case of Blue Flu.
On my day off, I helped a very talented local artist set up her personal website. May I introduce to you my wife, Kate Ostler.
Oh, yeah. By the way, this happened while I was neglecting my own website.
NYAAF’s 10th Anniversary Celebration
Since it seems my main venue of non-labor activism is charitable giving, I have signed on as a Co-Chair of the New York Abortion Access Fund‘s 10th Anniversary Celebration.
This is a wonderful organization that directly addresses what may be the greatest threat to reproductive freedom today: the high cost of, and limited access to, abortion procedures. This is an entirely-volunteer grassroots organization that puts money directly in the service of women in need. They do intake and connect women to the best health-provider for their situation, negotiate lower rates and leverage what matching funds they can raise from donors like you and help women get the medical help they need.
This may be the first time that the NYAAF has held any kind of event like this; y’know, a seemingly bourgey cocktail party. I’m glad they are doing it. Firstly, nothing is too good for the working class. Secondly, the organizational space that is hosting the event is, itself, a worthy charity. Thirdly, the women who have kept NYAAF as a going concern (on top of all the other demands of their lives) for over a decade deserve a little party. And, finally, because it’s an opportunity for people like me to invite you to check them out and either donate your money, or better, still, your time to one of New York’s best causes.