July 28th, 2013 was a warm summer day with seemingly no significance. Having recently shed the yolk of selling Village Voice and Backpage ads, semi-retirement for me meant a quick ride to and dip in the Asser Levy pool, and then a longer ride down the East River bikeway for a stop in Chinatown – or maybe to the ferry for a boat ride to Staten. Such was my carefree life.
Then 9 AM the next day, everything changed. A knock at the door. “Who’s there?” asked I innocently. The particulars of the ensuing conversation I won’t detail here. But within a few minutes, I knew the feds had seized most of my money and I was in serious trouble.
Guys who read this blog can only access the last 30 published posts. But I have saved in a file the other two or three thousand. And I have what I published on July 28th, 2013 just hours before the boom fell. Here it is…the last piece I wrote before the day of reckoning.
While it’s true that I endorsed Eliot Spitzer’s bid for the city Comptroller position yesterday, I’m not so sure today. An articulate commenter…and a conversation with my FWB last night…might have changed my mind. The problem is that one side of me respects Mr. Spitzer’s command and knowledge of the issues…and his obvious qualifications for the job. But another deplores the blatant hypocrisy of busting escort services while he was actually using them!
This duplicitous reality smacked me in the face last night during the aforementioned conversation with my “squeeze.” She called to say “I see you rang my phone last night. What’s up?” asked she. Forgetting for a moment why I’d actually called, I snapped to…”Oh, yeah. Eliot Spitzer was on tv last night. I wanted you to tune in to see if that was really the guy who was your customer.” Matter-of-factly, the girl responded “I’ve seen his picture in the paper,” implying that I shouldn’t doubt her story. She knows what Eliot Spitzer looks like.
From there the lady went on to bemoan the demise of the New York Magazine role play advertising section…something she’s lamented on numerous occasions before as according to her…that’s where she got her best customers. Not really meaning to burst her bubble, I informed her that it was actually Mr. Spitzer (in conjunction with NOW) who killed her ad when the joint initiative threatened to picket the home offices of the magazine outing them for being aiders and abettors of human traffickers.
“What?!?!” she almost screamed. “He called from my New York Magazine ad?!?!” And suddenly in the bat of an eye, she completely soured on the guy whose praises she’d been singing. “How can he do that?!?!” she beseeched me.
Well…she isn’t a citizen so there was no vote lost but still…it really is food for thought. Whatever…who gives a shit? I got laid last night. Let me keep my eye on the prize. And whichever candidate is elected, I don’t picture that person legalizing the escort business.
Regardless, I’m left with the nagging question as to what kind of personality would run for public office in the first place? I know I wouldn’t! Seems like a job for egotists and masochists…as it’s clear in this day and age that any skeletons lurking in your closet will surely be exposed by your enemies. Unless you’re a saint, it’s clear you’re gonna take a beating in the process.