ENDANGERED WATCH: THE PARK SLOPE CHARACTER

Wherefore art thou, oh crazy black lady weaving and cursing your way down 8th Ave in your circa 1980s spandex leotard and leggings? And you, opera-singing falsetto dude? Have you headed to South Beach for the winter with the wind of your high notes beneath your wings? I have nobody to yell "give it a rest, Beverly Sills" out the window at in your absence.

Sure, we still have the good-natured Linda, the awesomely dykey dog walker. And that Starbucks fixture who wears the same black and white uniform every day. We've got that rad, super sweet homeless dude who stands in front of Ace Supermarket.  And I think the guy that looks like an Elvis impersonator is still around. Oh, and my downstairs neighbor smoker Bob! Can't forget him. [ed. note: and don't forget Norma! She was fun].

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Jesus Fucking Christ: When Did the Russians Get So Agro?

Back in the 90s when the NY Yankees used to kick everyone's ass and weren't synonymous with failed capitalism and greed, one of my favorite things in the world was to read the Boston newspapers the morning after each fucked-up Redsox bloodbath; I loved listening to the laments of the Boston retards after our physics-defying comebacks broke every heart in their shitty little wannabe city.

Well in the same vein, I've been enjoying reading all the international reactions to Obama's inauguration - that's about as close as I'm gonna get to a Yankee victory for the foreseeable future.

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FIPS ToDo's: A Polaroid A Day: Jamie Livingston

I read about Jamie Livingston months ago on Only the Blog Knows Brooklyn, and (true confessions), I immediately started to cry.

I mean, I am a total fucking whimp, but there was something about his story that really pulled at my rusted/crumbling/decayed heartstrings.

As a senior in college at Bard Jamie acquired a Polaroid camera; he went on to take one polaroid photo (over 6,000 photos) every day of his life for the next 18 years until he died of cancer at the age of 41. The last photo in his collection is a self-portrait of the artist in his deathbed on the day he passed away.

Buzzfeed posted a bunch of great links about the project today, reminding me of its utter awesomeness.

I really think you should click on all of em immediately.

Rosie Perez is a Real Brooklynite. We're Not [You Might Not Be Either]

Rosie gets into the nitty gritty of who is and isn't a REAL Brooklnite with Brian Lehrer of WNYC.

Our fave comment on the debate comes from Robert from NYC: What makes a real Brooklynite? The ability to turn people off quickly by talking about Brooklyn.

[Lulz!]

[Also, Noah brought our attensh to the hilarious SNL vid above, which also explores this very same issue].

(via Brooklyn Hall of Fame).

New Year's Eve Idea: Fuck the Economy, And Party Like You're Diddy Circa 2006

(ed note: Remember when pics like the one above were not considered wildly inappropriate?)

So, just to recap:
*Over the last 6+ months, my 401k has gone from looking like this to looking like this.
*Everyone is in agreement over the fact that we are in the midst of a global financial crisis the likes of which we haven't seen in a LONG time.
*For the first night of Chanukah tonight, I got exactly nothing

And maybe that's why Brooklyn Paper's New Year's Eve: The Last Great Splurge Feature, kinda makes me want to punch someone right in their fucking face.

Having not attended the editorial meeting that took place when this story was pitched, perhaps I'm missing some sort of important nugget of information that can help me understand why in the fuck this story isn't totally ridiculous and/or wildly inappropriate at this moment in time.

I mean, I guess everyone is busy doing budget New Year's Eve bash stories and "how can we give back?" stories and Brooklyn Paper just wanted to buck the trend? Could that be it? Cause really I'm getting angrier by the second.

Here's why: I fucking love caviar, and smoked salmon and pricey chocolate and champagne...and I haven't eaten any of it in a long time. And certainly can't afford any of it for a "last splurge" NYE party. And I don't really know anyone else who can at the moment (otherwise I would have already invited myself over).

So, many thanks Brooklyn Paper...for reminding me just how shitty things really are right now. Happy fucking New Year's to you too.