[pic via NYT]

Freefall (GTA IV) from VIP3Rz on Vimeo.

[Vimeo via Digital Urban]

The Daily News:

Esteban Neira of Lanus, Argentina, died Sunday after swimming in the Hudson River during the New York City Triathlon. Dozens of fellow athletes reported being stung by swarms of jellyfish, and afterward they wondered whether Neira fell victim to the slimy creatures.

The Times:

Vince Lingner, 44, from Inwood, who completed the triathlon, said he got stung two or three times.

“You can feel this weirdness, this heat going up your arm, then little spots of heat radiating from the place where you got stung,” he said. “I’d never been stung by a jellyfish before, but I’d heard about it. So when it happened, I thought, well, this is what it feels like.”

The Sun:

The cyanea capillata, better known as the Lion's Mane, has been arriving in "giant swarms" since last year, Ms. Drew said. The species can be more than a foot in diameter and has tentacles even longer than that.

Newsday:

They say one breed in particular _ the lion's mane _ showed up about a month earlier than usual. The biologists blame everything from breeding conditions and climate change for the abundance of jellyfish so early in the season.

Cornell University biologist Mark Bain says there is "widespread evidence of increasing jellyfish around the world."

Whatever you do, don't let them know you're afraid. They can sense it—in their jelly.

Here's the release we got on Wednesday:

[Alleged victim], a 25 year-old graduate student who lives in Manhattan was attacked yesterday (Tuesday, July 15th, 2008) at 8.30 P.M. outside of the 14th St.-Union Square subway station. ["Victim"], who was at the time listening to music with her iPod, was wearing a pink t-shirt bearing the slogan "Obama Is My Slave". Four African-American female teenagers approached her and one of them started to curse her because of her t-shirt, screaming at her, and then push her. ["Victim"], who was shocked, started to walk away from the group but was followed by the girls. The same one who cursed her, pulled her earphones and another girl spat on her face. ["Victim"] ran away from them and called the "[Bad designer]" store on [LES] where she had purchased her t-shirt and complained about the attack to the employee who was working in the shop at that time. The employee agreed to give ["victim"] the owner's, [bad designer's], cell phone number and the still shocked ["victim"] told him about the attack and informed him she was thinking of suing him "for all he's got". [Bad designer] in return told her that he was very sorry she had been attacked, but that she could not blame him because as he told her "No one made you buy the t-shirt". ["Victim"] said that she would come the following day and demand a refund for the t-shirt, which cost her $69. [Bad designer] told her that he doesn't give refunds because it is against his store policy. This made her even more agitated and she started to scream at him saying that he should be "ashamed of himself". [Bad designer] asked her for her phone number saying that he would speak to his lawyer and call her back. Yesterday at 10 PM when I, his publicist, called ["victim"] she was extremely upset and told me that she had spoken to her parents and decided to take [bad designer] to court.

* To speak with [alleged victim] about the incident, you can reach her at phone number: [redacted]
* To speak with [Bad designer] aka [prick], you can reach him at phone number: [redacted].
* A picture of [Bad designer] aka [prick] wearing the "Obama Is My Slave" t-shirt can be found at: [Hell]

Sincerely,

Lauren Levy
[Bad designer's] Publicist.

What's wrong with this picture? The guy is supposedly getting sued, and his own flack blasts out a press release with all the alleged dirty details, including the contact info of the girl who is supposedly suing him. Any reporter who's ever seen a press release related to a lawsuit knows that there's no way on earth one side will be happily passing out the other side's contact info and encouraging journalists to call them. And Metro says the "victim" didn't return any of their calls. Which didn't stop them from putting this on the front page.

There are only two possibilities: Either this whole thing is a hoax; or, the girl did get assaulted, and the bad designer and his creepy flack decided that this race-baiting was just the thing to get his face in the paper. Either way, what a bunch of scuzzballs.

Metro: you fools.

[Radar]

Excerpted from a triumphant email from Krucoff to Gessen:

Now, to be honest, my original plan for the book was to burn it upon pick-up at Gawker HQ (preferably right there in the office using Denton's evil eye laser), then stuff the ashes in an urn, mark it with "pussy" and mail it to you.

Dramatic, huh?

Two things dissuaded me from that: 1) I was reminded of the ugly history of book burning and how Jew-on-Jew desecration wouldn't serve anyone's cause. 2) More importantly, I remembered that *I* am the pussy. There's no way I would actually go through with that. After studied consultation, I concluded you were right on all points in our previous exchange. If we were Facebook friends, I would send you a "You Win!" sticker if such a thing were available in their virtual marketplace.

Instead, Krucoff's current plan is to offer the priceless ($890) book as a door prize at this soup kitchen benefit next Wednesday. And Gessen agreed to do his part, saying:

Sure, I'd be glad to come. We should consult the Talmud—or, failing that, Jewcy.com—as to whether a book can be offered to charity twice, but otherwise I'll be happy to explain how I replaced the Crimson Sports Grille with the 4th Quarter Bar.

Although I think they should charge a lot more than $10 at the door.

Ha, YES WE DO TOO.

The outcome of our saga: An $890 donation to the New York Homeless Coaliton; The opportunity for even more charity, if Krucoff is able to convince the small, effete sliver of New York society that would actually desire to own this obscure volume to come out to a soup kitchen benefit next week; And, most importantly, an odd and short-lived sense of unity among fake enemies on the fake internet arguing about fake writing and stuff, which is how we sum up the culture war.

Never again say that Keith Gessen hasn't accomplished something good.

[Pictured, Krucoff enjoying his new prize on the Gawker office toilet. The backstory to all this is here. Andrew Krucoff's blog is here. Info on the soup kitchen even is here. The most important Tumblr of our time is here.]

Edward Glaeser, an Econ professor at Harvard, has a long study in the New York Sun today about why Houston's population grew more than seven times faster than NYC over the last seven years. My guess would have been "nothing to do down there but make babies," but no! Turns out the answer is Houston's "ability to provide affordable living for middle-income Americans, something that is increasingly hard to achieve in the Big Apple."

• Housing costs are way cheaper in Houston. Middle class people can buy houses.
• There's no state or city income tax in Houston.
• Property taxes are lower in Houston.
• You earn less money in Houston, but not that much less. You pay more in transportation costs, but not that much more. And you get to ride around in an air conditioned SUV, rather than a subway car.
• It's cheaper to build sprawling, hellacious strip developments in Houston because there's less government regulation of construction.

Houston: the model for our collective dystopian future. Go there now, so I can have your apartment!

[NYS]

[via Flickr]

The New York City Transit campaign was set into motion after a study last year by Manhattan Borough President Scott Stringer found that 10 percent of women surveyed reported having been sexually abused in the subway and 63 percent claimed to have been sexually harassed.

Stringer recommended a public awareness campaign, which NYC Transit quietly prepared. The agency made it as far as developing mock-ups, which never went to print.

Sources said the agency held off on launching the campaign out of fear it could actually provoke deviant behavior.

I'm thinking the slogan "Rub against me and I'll expose you" is the problem here.

[NYP]

[Flickr via Thighs Wide Shut]

Yes, of course! Throw the bums out for not spending money quickly enough! Damn this policy:

Clairol: Girls are purty.

Volkswagen: People look closely at things that are small.

9 Lives Cat Food: People like stuff with animals.

Levy's: All that "we are the world" shit makes people feel good enough to want to buy your thing.

Isuzu: Be funny.

[NYO]

[Pic via Gothamist]

Felker started New York in 1968 as a "new journalism" window into the workings of the city's power structure—but one that defined the power structure broadly, and explored how the city's different spheres collided with each other:

Thirty years ago, not long before his fellow owners and Rupert Murdoch squeezed him out of the magazine he had founded, Felker defined New York very simply as a guide to "how the power game is played, and who are the winners." And Wolfe, his early superstar, has said that "Clay's real interest, although I'm not sure he ever thought it out conceptually, was status and how it operates in New York. ... In New York Magazine, Clay really wrote an enormous novel about the city. ... It was his vision, his plot—a huge novel called The City of Ambition."

Designed as a sort of urban-centric antidote to the New Yorker's more eclectic musings, the magazine fostered a ton of talent, including Tom Wolfe, Gloria Steinem, and Gail Sheehy, Felker's future wife. He lost the magazine to Rupert Murdoch in a hostile takeover in 1976. He would go on to hold a series of editorial jobs at a kaleidoscope of titles, including Esquire, the Daily News, the Village Voice, and US News & World Report. But none would approach the legacy that he left with New York.

Kurt Andersen says that Felker, the middle American emigre to the big city, simply took his mental playbook of how New York worked "literally, and published it in weekly serial form." And look around: that's what everyone—including us—is doing today. For that, we must all acknowledge that Felker's mark will never disappear, as long as this city stays full of smart people with a burning ambition to talk.

[NY Mag]

"Korshunova, a green-eyed beauty, known as 'The Russian Rapunzel' for her long, flowing chestnut locks, worked with the elite modeling agency IMG, which boasts top models Heidi Klum and Kate Moss. 'Our hearts are with her family,' said IMG's representative, Zach Eichman.

"The 5-foot-8 head-turner—just days from her 21st birthday—has been featured in ads for Marc Jacobs, DKNY, Vera Wang and Christian Dior. She was discovered in 2003 when a booker from London-based Models 1, Debbie Jones, noticed her in a feature about the model's hometown of Almaty, Kazakhstan.

"'She looked like something out of a fairytale!' Jones told British Vogue. Soon after, the 17-year-old beauty was hailed as the next big thing, gracing runways at Fashion Week wearing Jill Stuart, Betsey Johnson and other designers.

"Her distraught ex-boyfriend, Artem Perchenok, 24, said that he dropped the model at her apartment at 5 a.m. after they watched the movie 'Ghost.'

"'She was a good person'" he told The Post, still reeling from the shock.

"Friends broke the tragic news to Korshunova's mom, Valentina and brother Ruslan, who still live in Kazakhstan. '[The mom] didn't believe it was real,' one close friend told the Post via phone from Moscow, Russia.

"Korshunova's best friend, Kira Titeneva broke down when she arrived at her pal's apartment late last night. 'We were talking on the phone last night,' she said. 'She loved life so much. She was an angel.' Titeneva, who grew up in her pal's hometown, said Korshunova 'wasn't wild. She was never on drugs or anything.'

"Another friend said that Korshunova seemed to be 'on top of the world.'

"'There were no signs,' said the pal who did not want to be named. 'That's what's driving me crazy. I don't see one reason why she would do that.'" [NYP]

[Big Think]

“See her?” Mr. Young asked as he pointed to a tall, narrow-framed girl with slightly protruding hips. “She’s too big."

“That one, over there by the hot-dog stand, is cute,” he continued, “but she’s too short and, eh, bad skin.”

At 5 feet 7 inches, Mr. Young barely grazes the chins of some of the models he scouts. But he claims that his height, combined with the fact that he is gay, gives him an advantage. “The physicality of a scout counts for a lot,” he said. “You don’t want to be a perceived threat to their safety.”

Although the best hunting grounds are teenage gathering spots like schools and clubs, the next Gisele Bündchen can be found anywhere. Near Union Square, for example, Mr. Young pointed to a statuesque couple cuddling in front of a Duane Reade. “Hey, look right there,” he said. “I’m almost positive he’s a model, but I’m not sure about her.”

He followed the couple into the drugstore to check them out.

“Hi, excuse me, are you guys models?” he asked when an opportune moment presented itself.

The pair looked down at him from their towering, modelesque heights.

“Um, yeah,” the man replied.

“Oh, I’m just wondering because I’m a scout with Elite Models. What agencies are you with?”

They answered his question, but backed up warily as they did so. All model scouts encounter such skittishness, but the scouts themselves operate in very different ways. Some, like Mr. Young, are full-time agency employees — the New York Yellow Pages lists 130 agencies in Manhattan — but others are freelancers working on commission, or scam-minded photographers with a convincing business card and a knack for gaining the confidence of aspiring models. [NYT]

O'Neal got busted by narcotics cops on Clinton Street between Grand and East Broadway—hardly a bad neighborhood. The cops just happened to be doing a drug sweep, and she got swept. Terrible timing.

This is why people have connections, call their dealers, and have their drugs delivered to them safely. And for celebrities who are veteran coke champs, one would expect a ton of numbers on speed dial precisely to avoid the need to trot around the streets at 7:30 p.m. in search of crack.

Our theory: she really was committed to getting sober, and had thrown out all of her drug dealers' numbers. In fact, this could all be a blessing in disguise for her; she told cops, "Today was the first time I was relapsing, but you guys saved me!" Sweet!

Then she tried to say she was researching a part, and begged to be let off. That one didn't go over as well.

Even assuming that she was going to buy drugs no matter what, the actress made two serious mistakes that you can learn from. The first was buying crack in the first place. In New York, the Rockefeller drug laws set harsh mandatory minimum sentences for possession of just five grams of crack—a standard that used to be 100 times lower than that of powder cocaine, though the disparity has been closed somewhat. Still: legally speaking, you are always safer buying powder in New York.

Second, she should never have engaged the police in the lying conversation that she did. She was caught up in a sweep; they weren't going to let her go no matter what. Saying "Do you know who I am?" and "I'm researching a part" is simply foolish, because together they're an acknowledgment that she did, in fact, buy drugs. Better to say nothing and let your lawyer sort it out later. Scientific studies show that cops can't even identify intoxicated people accurately, never mind spying contraband from across the street; deny, deny, deny. Legally speaking.

In any case, those of you who are happy and well-adjusted drug users would presumably not be so stupid as to put yourself in a position to be arrested on Clinton St. in broad daylight. Those of you with serious problems would, which is all for the better. And Tatum O'Neal was prevented from returning to crack smoking, which is certainly worth a night in jail. It's a happy story, really!

Of course, the NYPD was supposed to have nipped this whole problem in the bud a century ago, according to this NYT story from 1908:

[Gothamist]

For Stuart Sugarman, 48, any amount of noise goes. From the witness stand in Manhattan Criminal Court yesterday, Mr. Sugarman told a jury about grunting during a good workout and releasing exclamations of "you go girl," and "great song."

"Are you psyched?" an assistant district attorney, Brigid Harrington, asked Mr. Sugarman, in an effort to explore his mind-set during spinning class.

"I am," Mr. Sugarman said.

And what did his psycheness get him? Humiliation.

Mr. Sugarman said he hit the wall behind him hard when Mr. Carter lifted up his bike. Although he continued to pedal throughout the remaining half-hour of the class, Mr. Sugarman said his body grew numb.

"I was in shock," Mr. Sugarman said. "I was in searing pain but I didn't know what to do."

He continued a little later: "The class is mostly women and it's pretty embarrassing for a guy who is athletic to have this happen to him."

[NYS; pic via Peter Krogh]

[Confidential to both guys: stop all the spinning and take a look at this.]

"our building had its first pool party this weekend and i thought you would enjoy. the disastrous combo of hedge fund guys, gay guys, and hipsters caused massive combustion resulting in the cops coming, fdny as well, the roof trashed, drugs, booze everywhere and some random people shitting in our gym. i stopped by for a couple hours and saw the disaster in the making! i'm sure you'll read about it in curbed soon. it was one of those 'only in ny' moments."

This would never happen in Topeka.

[Pic via Curbed]

According to NYC & Company, which is behind the campaign, 27 people were chosen to participate in the campaign's first two phases. Of those, six are black, one if half Korean and the rest — about 80 percent — are white (or, appear to be, anyway). That's non-Hispanic white, by the way.

Mind you, the actual percentage of non-Hispanic whites in the city is 35 percent, according to the 2000 Census. Hispanics, who can be any race, accounted for 27 percent, black/African-American 24.5 percent and Asians accounted for 9.7 percent.

NYC & Co. says the campaign is "evolving," and they plan to reach out to more Latinos soon. Especially fictional characters!

"We have a list of people we like to reach out to. It is very diverse. Ugly Betty is coming to the city, and we're reaching out to America Ferrara."

Ugly Betty is a New Yorker. America Ferrara, however, only plays one on television.

[City Room]

I wrote this so non-sports people could understand it, because it is important.

There's nothing wrong with nature writing, per se. But Verlyn's overwrought prose most often makes me think of a male Martha Stewart. Possibly one who smokes a lot of weed. Here is but a brief sampling of the man's whimsy:

"Officially Spring":

This is a deeply contentious time of year. The rains have torn out the road without fully melting the soil. What the calendar promises, the day itself retracts. Unless you knew better, you'd hardly believe there was the readiness of spring to be found anywhere. The witch hazel is blossoming, but undemonstratively, not in a way that really means anything.

"A Swallow In The Hand":

I keep a dead hummingbird and a downy woodpecker in a bag in the freezer. Down at the barn, the dead swallow lies beside a wren I found this winter, its tail as sharply cocked, as impertinent, as it was when alive. I don't know why I keep them, except to notice, as I often do, that among small birds, death is not very corrupting.

"When Things Go Wrong":

One afternoon last week, I noticed that one of our mares — a quarter horse named Ida — was stepping slowly as she came into the corral. A horse's mobility is everything, and I began wondering about a hoof abscess or a muscle strain. But when I walked over to Ida, I saw a gaping wound on her neck...

I held her head in my arms, but it made no real difference. My arms trembled the rest of the night from the weight. Somehow she kept her legs under her. I know that what I took as trust was mostly drugs. But it was also trust.

In addition to the bizarre writing, it's the stated inspirations that rub me harshly, like the rough bark on some type of tree that you would see out in nature. Verlyn says "I walked up the hill in the middle pasture after chores," or "I find myself looking at the waterline," or "I'm writing from Omaha, looking down from the 15th floor of my hotel at a section of the Gerald R. Ford Freeway." How about finding yourself doing something interesting?

The Times is doubtless enraptured by Verlyn's eloquence, and pleased that he brings a nice rural touch into the urban confines of the newsroom. But really: America is absolutely packed with small-town country papers that reflect on the weather, and the seasons, and livestock with no real purpose, because that's all that is going on in much of America. But we're blessed to live in the world's mightiest metropolis, with crime and politics and money and sex and celebrity and culture and pressing human issues that rise above the hypnotic drumming of the spring rain in a muddy puddle.

So Verlyn, here's my offer to you: Raekwon is playing at BB King's on 42nd St. on June 19. He talks about all types of urban things. I'll buy you a ticket, if you promise to write your next column about that, instead of about the way your mare's shiny coat glistens in the low, sultry heat of the coming summer. Wu-Tang, Verlyn. New York City. Tra la, tra la, tra la.

"Slapdash and haphazard renovations have led to the destruction of architectural detail, while modern additions to historic buildings sharply contrast with the neighborhood's scale and character. In 2007, permits were approved for the full demolition of 11 buildings on the Lower East Side, compared with just one in 2006. These developments, among others, signify the quickening erasure of the neighborhood's architectural and socio-cultural fabric...

A melting pot of cultures and nationalities, the Lower East Side remains central to the social history of the United States. Its preservation of 19th and early 20th century properties convey the story of immigrant home, health, entrepreneurship, labor, education and recreational life in New York City."

Well, at least the character of the neighborhood will be forever preserved on Grand Theft Auto IV. And on the plus side, the Bowery Boys have really calmed down lately.

[via Curbed]

[via Copyranter]

[NYP; pics via Every Person In New York]

one problem was for a place that easily charges the highest prices in London (10 quid for a tiny bottle of water...you are having a laugh) it doesn't offer much in terms of entertainment except if you get a kick out of spending crap loads of money and getting little back in return.

We are regulars at Bungalow 8 and on Wednesday evening we went down at 10pm for our usual champagne eve. The waitress took our order twice and came back saying they did not have this and that bottle in stock! The third time we ordered a bottle which was around £100-£150 on the menu approximately. I know because I checked it on the menu. Two bottles later we got a bill for £485. We are not the type to complain or make any sort of fuss, but we were all very disappointed and appalled at the fact that they would deliberately overcharge, thinking just because you can afford it, its ok to do that.

I'm personally very disappointed...

Last night my fiance dragged me down Bungalow 8 for a few drinks, as she has recently received her membership. My god, I was appalled by the manners of the lanky doorman - the tallest door person there with dark brown hair. I can't believe they get away with having staff like that at a reputable club. Anyway, drinks were great, the music was ok, on and off, but the no. of freaks there were the entertaining part of the evening!!We were told it was an A-listers club and considering the membership fees of £300 and the hassle of being 'shortlisted' for the membership, it was a load of K*K.

[Ratings via The View, London. Related: what is this "K*K"?]

The Post obviously doesn't know who househead7d5 is, identifying him only as a "27-year-old filmmaker." I looks like he has pulled all the videos down from his YouTube channel, probably yesterday or this morning—there are clips on there from as recently as one day ago.

Here's what we know about him, through our online detective work:

• He took "a recent trip to the Southfork Ranch from DALLAS."
• He used to work in LA, or is possibly bi-coastal.
• He has clips from an MIA show at Terminal 5 on 10/19/07
• And another clip from KUDU at Lotus in NYC
• His final posted clip, from yesterday, was entitled "Squirrel on crack."

Does this sound like anyone you know? If so, please email us straightaway. Together, we can stop illicit crotch-spying once and for all!

I say that from a position of ignorance, because I've never bothered to explore upstate NY much. Primarily because I'm convinced that it sucks. That makes me the target audience for this campaign! So how are they pulling skeptical people away from the confines of the city?

The twist comes in using the powerful appeal of the city to woo visitors to other locales, which is encapsulated in the phrase "The state with the heart of the city."

For instance, an ad for New York vineyards asserts that the wine "has to be just as good as what the city offers."

In other words: Why not drive way the hell upstate so you can have some wine that you could've gotten anywhere in your own neighborhood? We promise that we're trying to make it just as good as what you have at home.

Pass.

Why not just stay in Brooklyn? It's the place you can do everything, "from taking a rollercoaster ride, sunning on the beach, and seeing a dolphin show in Coney Island to exploring one of the world's best Egyptian collections at the Brooklyn Museum of Art." Hey, I love New York!

[final pic via Animal]