There's An App For That

All of my son Andrew's friends seem to have ipod Touches; it is obviously the hot device to own right now. This morning over breakfast one of his friend's younger brother, Cooper, was sharing an app that his mother had downloaded for him. I was expecting to see an amusing game, or perhaps a whimsical application featuring a gun or a cigarette lighter. Instead, I was treated to something I wasn't quite expecting. What the boy had on his ipod was an application that allows the user to search the online sex offender registry. Andrew and his friend Otis are both 12-years old, but Cooper is only 7, albeit a very mature 7-year old.

What followed would have been funny if not for the fact that I was looking at mug shots of these wretched individuals in the company of three children. Cooper would pull one of them up, and the boys would then comment on the gory details. I was put into the rather awkward position of serving as translator in which capacity I helpfully explained what "sex batt" stood for, as well as some other charming abbreviations. Interestingly enough, what they found the most fascinating of all was the fact that most of these men were ancient. One of them was born in 1930 and once the boys had done the math in their heads the fastest screamed "For Christ's sake, he's 80-years old!", or words to that effect.

As uncomfortable as I felt, maybe this isn't an altogether bad thing. These kids are far more saavy then I was at their age. I doubt that one of them would fall for a pedophile asking them "Can you help me look for my lost dog?". That is not to say that they are absolutely immune to being preyed upon, only that it would take a much more sophisticated, or threatening, approach on the part of the predator.

Zoot Suiters And Jitterbugs

A neglected aspect of WW II would have to be the image that the Germans had of themselves, as well as the image that they wanted to project to the rest of the world. As the caption on the magazine cover at left makes clear, one role that the Germans cast themselves in was as the defender of European civilization against the Bolshevik hordes.

The Magazine Signal was a product of the propaganda arm of the German Army (Wehrmacht), and it was published from 1940 to 1945 in some 30 different languages. Signal was almost exclusively for distribution in other countries; it was never distributed in Germany proper. It was even available in the United States right up until December of 1941, at which point, for rather obvious reasons, it's circulation run came to an end.

I became aware of the existence of Signal when I came across a book titled Hitler's Wartime Picture Magazine Signal. An subsequent internet search provided me with a fuller understanding of exactly what Signal was, and more importantly, what it represented. Because with a circulation that reached a peak of 2,500,000, one has to assume that this magazine had a powerful impact on it's readers, particularly in the countries of German-Occupied Europe. A recurring theme in the pages of Signal was the vision of a New Order, one that obviously had some appeal, as evidenced by the fact that significant numbers of men from occupied countries fought alongside the Germans over the course of the war, particularly under the banner of the infamous SS.

So, while my research into Signal has provided me with an invaluable window into the image that Germany, or at least the German leaders, wished to project, I still am at a loss when it comes to explaining the other half of the query that I posed in my opening paragraph. The propaganda in the pages of Signal was not, as I already pointed out, for domestic consumption. Did the average German citizen of the Third Reich really view himself as an Aryan Superman with a divine mandate to rule the world? I tend to doubt it. We are then left with the question of what, exactly, gave the Germans strength enough to withstand a long war, one with ultimately catastrophic consequences for their nation.

I don't have an answer for that, at least not one that will neatly wrap up this post. And while I would like to explore this topic further, I find myself unable to expand any further on it at this point in time. The title that I selected for this post comes from an article I came across in the pages of Signal. The subtitle of the article informs the reader that "Two new American slang terms will be explained by Signal". The writer then introduces us to the "Zoot Suiter" who turns out to be a young man of Mexican descent who finds himself the target of roving mobs of sailors. The sailors are apparently angered by the outlandish attire sported by these Mexicans, and they proceed to beat and even strip them of the offending outfits. Signal offers this as an example of rampant American racism. The dance craze called the "Jitterbug" is presented as a kind of mass hysteria that climaxes into "indecency and degeneracy". I would link to the article, but can't find it online. It does however appear in the book about Signal.

Have A Knick

I find that the longer I live outside the city, the more nostalgic for it I become. The most obvious manifestation of that would certainly be my sudden fascination with the Jacob Ruppert Brewery, and it's product. Shortly before the holidays, I was browsing in an antique store in Stanfordville and I happened across a tin serving tray. Well, that discovery has led to exhaustive internet searches for any Ruppert Brewery-related memorabilia that I can lay my hands.

Now I do have some history with the Jacob Ruppert Brewery. For 25 years, my father lived at 1623 3rd Avenue, in the Yorkville Tower, of what is known as the Ruppert Yorkville Towers. He lived in that apartment from 1975-2000 and was one of the original tenants. I myself lived in that apartment on and off over that same span of time. The old Brewery stood on the site where the towers now loom and the developers were paying homage to that fact with the names that they gave to the buildings. There is also a third tower called Knickerbocker, but I believe that was set aside exclusively for the elderly.

The Brewery ceased operations in 1965 and the Ruppert Yorkville Towers rose on the site 10 years later. The impact that they had on the Yorkville Neighborhood cannot be overstated. I once worked with an hispanic woman who had grown up in the neighborhood, and she bluntly said to me that the buildings destroyed Yorkville. The project was a Mitchell-Lama job, and what that meant was that my father was able to move into a 2-bedroom, 2-bath apartment in a brand-new luxury building on the Upper East Side of Manhattan for under $500/month rent, and that included utilities. When he moved out a quarter of a century later, he was still paying under a thousand dollars a month for that same apartment.

My father left just before the clock struck midnight on the Mitchell-Lama subsidies. He would have been forced to pay whatever the market would bear at that point in time, probably something on the order of $2500/month. I realize that this sounds like a renter's dream, but there was no happy ending. The irony of my father living suspended in the air above what was once a brewery did not escape me as he relentlessly drank himself to death. I always wondered whether his behavior would have changed if his rent was more in line with what the unit was actually worth. Certainly, he would have had less money to drink with, but even with a ridiculously low monthly rent he was always behind with his payments.

I will continue collecting my beer trays and signs, although I am not sure why I am compelled to seek them out. They have a certain functional beauty and represent a much better time for American manufacturing. And, I am fascinated by New York City's history. I also happen to like beer. Maybe I'm being evasive, but as Freud said "Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar". Did I mention that I like beer?

Midnight At The Oasis

For nearly 15 years, fully 1/3 of my life to this point, my home was Stuyvesant Town, that sprawling 80 acres of residential real estate on the east side of Manhattan. I never expected to leave there and still feel very connected to the place. So, I am watching the meltdown with more then detached interest.

Where to begin? Well, perhaps a good place to start might be with our fine mayor and the role that he played in this debacle of epic proportions. In 2006, when Met Life announced that it was putting the property on the auction block, City Council member Dan Garodnick was the point man for an offer that would have made the residents of Stuyvesant Town the new owners of the property. Met Life's response was a paraphrase of the famous New York Daily News Headline of the '70's, which was hardly surprising, After all, they were looking to sell the property to the highest bidder.

But one could be forgiven for assuming, naively, that Mayor Bloomberg might have looked upon the tenant's offer somewhat more favorably. We know that Met Life and Tishman Speyer have legions of lawyers and lobbyists representing their interests, but who's looking out for the little guy? By his words and his actions, Mike Bloomberg has left no doubt where his sympathies reside. At the time of the sale, the mayor's comments were something to the effect that it..."is their property (Met Life's) and they have every right to sell it to whomever they please". He also remarked that affordable housing in the city was something that belonged in the outer boroughs. Bloomberg pointedly refused to put the considerable influence of his office behind the tenant's offer and Tishman Speyer was the winning bidder with the final sale price coming in at 5.6 billion dollars. And as recent events have revealed, nearly all of that astonishing amount was borrowed. Tishman only put in 112 million of their own money. I guess it is a lot easier to walk away from your obligation if your investment stake is so miniscule.

The tenant offer was something like 4.5 billion dollars, which is still more then double what the property is valued at today. However, if the tenants offer was accepted then you don't have the whole acrimonious and tortured 3-year history that was Tishman Speyer's disastrous stewardship of the iconic development. I witnessed the whole thing firsthand and it was even worse then we thought possible. The "landscaping" improvements alone consumed untold millions of dollars and most of what they planted died immediately. I remember reading a description of this crazed project where the writer said it appeared to be the work of a "deranged horticulturist". That says it better then I ever could.

I could go on in this vein forever, but will limit my bile to these few paragraphs. As my numerous links demonstrate, there are plenty of talented people weighing in with their thoughts. And as Barbara Bush so memorably put it "Why should I waste my beautiful mind on something like that?".

He Named His Dog What?

My 12-year son Andrew is interested in all things military, and we have recently begun collecting painted metal soldiers and vehicles. These figures are historically accurate down to the smallest details, as I discovered two days ago. I was doing a web search for suppliers and came across an excellent site that I quickly shared with Andrew. The two of us worked our way through the many pages of product marveling over the incredible variety and obvious quality of the items offered. Then, something unexpected happened. Andrew began laughing nervously, and I turned to look at what he was reading on the web page (scroll down to product code #RAF011). At that point, things took an interesting turn.

The word that we stumbled across is frequently, and quite correctly, described as the ugliest word in the English Language. Those six letters join together to form something that is so loaded with meaning that it becomes literally impossible to use, regardless of the context. We are all familiar with the now-ubiquitous euphemism that is summoned to avoid uttering, or putting in print, the offending noun. I realize that the word has been claimed by the very same group against which is was originally directed, but that is for another post.

By now it is probably quite obvious that I find myself unable to use the noun. I simply do not want it to appear on my blog, alongside my name and picture. To adequately explain why that is so would take an enormous amount of effort, not to mention honesty. Instead, I would prefer to concentrate on the incident in question. After the shock of discovery wore off, I proceeded to do a google search and was quickly able to confirm the historical truth of the matter. In fact, the usage of the noun in question was so common and accepted that a 1955 feature film titled The Dam Busters used the word frequently and apparently without much controversy.

But that was in 1955, and what was acceptable then becomes a painful reminder of a history we'd all soon forget. So, you either change the dog's name to trigger or dub it out completely. Of course you end up pleasing no one and find yourself charged with censorship, but what other option exists? I suppose you could attempt to suppress the movie by blocking it's availability, an option that was considerably easier in the age before personal recording devices, but is that really the best way to deal with a problem like this?

There is much more that I have to say on this subject and I will return to it again. Please feel free to leave your comments. It is much easier to keep up with this endeavor if I know that people are reading it.

Boston Tea Party

Well, Scott Brown of Wrentham, Massachusetts, and his truck, are on their way to Washington. The repeated invocation of Brown's trusty pickup during the campaign became fodder for the likes of Jon Stewart, but who's laughing now? It is hard to believe that the Democratic Party was unable to come up with a stronger candidate for Ted Kennedy's senate seat then Martha Coakley. In addition to her obvious shortcomings as a campaigner, Coakley was further handicapped by what can only be described as an infuriating, and wholly undeserved, sense of entitlement.

Martha Coakley quickly proved to be a GOP operative's dream opponent. Her gaffes will doubtlessly become the stuff of political lore. Did she really say Curt Shilling was a Yankee? Coakley saved her opponents the trouble of defining her. No, with quotes like that she did the job for them. The RNC should cut her a fat check. Talk about an unmitigated disaster. This was it alright.

With Friends Like These...

The 24-hour news cycle, has been dominated by reports from Haiti, in the wake of the earthquake which struck the Caribbean Island Nation 3 days ago. And while the coverage certainly feels comprehensive, I can't help but suspect that something big is missing. Namely, what on earth happened to the Haitian government? Apart from occasional statements attributed to the country's president, I have seen nothing that would indicate that a functioning national government even exists. News commentators talk about UN armored personnel carriers roaming the streets and there is plenty of mention of NGO's, but what about Haiti's domestic agencies that would normally be tasked with responding to something like this?

Well, I did a little digging on the internet and found some answers, albeit ones that will not fit comfortably into the narrative that is being spun for public consumption. According to that feel-good interpretation of events, the United States has long played the part of benevolent "big brother", and the current massive outpouring of relief efforts is simply the latest example of the US wanting only to help the people of the long-suffering nation. We are told over and over again that Haiti is the poorest country in the western hemisphere, yet are provided with few clues to enlighten us as to why that is.

For some insight, click here and here. After reading both of these essays, I can only conclude that the very selective outrage displayed by the media is nothing, but a useful diversion. I am talking of course about the ire reserved for the likes of Rush Limbaugh and Pat Robertson. Unfortunately for the American public, it is much easier to flog two already unpopular blowhards then it is to do some real reporting. That would cost money and might upset someone important.

News That Really Is Fit To Print

I just finished reading something, on the New York Time's website no less, that actually encourages underwater homeowners to behave like banks. The article features the bomb-throwing heading "Walk Away From Your Mortgage!", and then advises said homeowners to do exactly that. The writer, Roger Lowenstein, argues that once you strip away the moral arguments in favor of honoring the debt, what you are then left with is a very compelling case for "walking away".

Obviously, this is not the kind of advice that banks want you to hear. But, as Lowenstein points out, banks make decisions like that every day, with regard to their own investment properties, and don't hesitate to cut their losses when the investment goes bad. And yet, those very same bankers are the ones preaching to homeowners about their moral obligations. If that strikes you as hypocrisy of the rankest sort, welcome to the club.

Lowenstein registers surprise that more underwater homeowners aren't doing exactly what he is counseling. And he makes a strong case that, far from having the sort of apocalyptic consequences that the bankers warn of, a mass exodus on the part of distressed homeowners might actually result in a positive outcome. Namely, that lenders would finally be forced to make real and substantial adjustments to the rotten loans that they issued during the housing bubble.

Unfortunately, that will probably remain an unlikely scenario. Most homeowners do have an ingrained sense of shame that will mitigate against them making a perfectly rational decision, one that is clearly in their best interests. They will continue to make their mortgage payments, and pray that the property somehow recovers enough to make them whole again. Bankers, on the other hand, will continue to operate blissfully unencumbered by any such human emotions.

My thanks to Slate Magazine for the excellent cartoon...