A week ago we found out that the governor of New York, Mr. Goody Two-Shoes, was schtupping some high-priced slut from New Jersey.
On Saturday, just around the corner from my office, a construction crane collapsed trashing 2 city blocks, destroying a couple of buildings and killing God knows how many.
On Sunday the venerable investment house of Bear Stearns (aka "Da Bear") was sold to JPMorganChase for about $2 bucks a share. The building it occupies at the corner of 47th Street and Madison Avenue is worth more.
Today the speculation surrounds the rumors that the brokerage house of Lehman Brothers might be next (I certainly hope not. They owe me a pension!)
No wonder people drink! Especially in this city. Times either are very very good, or else they suck donkey.
Today the city has it's annual celebration which involves tens of thousands of Italian, Polish and Jewish teenagers who arrive on trains and buses to imbibe obscene quantities of green beer, festoon themselves with buttons and hats which invite the world to "Kiss Me! I'm Irish!" and to vomit said green beer in the middle of, and all the way up, Fifth Avenue, so the marchers can find their way from 42nd Street to 86th Street. At that point the parade disperses and, by 5 o'clock this afternoon just about every cop and firefighter in town will be drunk out of their minds and hanging out the open doors of every Irish Pub on Manhattan's (usually) fashionable Upper East Side.
It's a great time to knock off a few banks. Ain't no way you'll get caught.
I only suggest that because, well, times are hard. Even if Georgie Porgie can't or won't see it.
So, Happy St. Paddy's Day, everyone.
Eat, drink and be merry! But especially, drink (if you can).
(And for those who keep track of such things, I am one-quarter Irish, one-quarter English, one-quarter Scot and one-quarter Welsh. Now you know why I never stood a chance.)