In the remaining hours of election day, as waves of patriotic feeling and democratic pride wash over the city, it’s easy to forget what a headache this whole affair has been. The endless TV ads, the increasingly desperate campaign emails, the traffic-snarling fundraising visits.
But whichever candidate emerges victorious tonight, in the days and weeks to come, we will all have to contend with that post-election hangover, in which we acknowledge the colossal amount of time, energy and money—so much money!—the democratic process has cost this season.
As a favorite stop on both candidates’ fundraising circuits, New York pays a particularly high price—millions of dollars in police overtime to supplement the Secret Service—for the privilege of throwing money at the candidates during each election.
If you see Mayor Michael Bloomberg on the street on the No. 4 train in the next week or two, do offer him a cup of cocoa and an hour or two of your time, to listen. He is sad. Neither of the presidential candidates have had the courage, the will, the determination to stick Read More
The Bombshell loves O. Like so many other American women who helped elect him in ‘08, I adore that great, always-ticking political brain. I love his health care reform, his calm, cool and collected kill order for OBL. His barely clothed socialist tendencies drive me wild, too.
The trouble is, I’m not sure he really loves us—me and my sisters—back. Oh sure, we look pretty good about three months before an election. And yes, he’s put two women on the Supreme Court who will presumably help keep women’s basic rights intact for decades to come. But it really hurts to have to admit that, to him, women are tactical advantages, mere numbers and percentages in a demographic column.
You know they’re getting a little too personal. There’s not a day that goes by that we don’t have a minor heart attack reading those “grabby” subject lines from the campaign, before realizing that they’re not from a guy we met at a bar last night. Why are they always so personal? Why do Barack Obama, Joe Biden, Bill Clinton, Julian Castro and, yes, even Michelle, send us these vaguely headed emails that are both too vague and way too personal at the same time?
As the march toward November 6th intensifies, things might get weird. For example: someone apparently fired a shot into President Barack Obama’s campaign headquarters in Denver Colorado on Friday afternoon, shattering a large window.
The Denver Post reports the incident occurred around 3 p.m. There were people in the offices at the time but no injuries were reported.
A reporter for Denver’s alt-weekly Westword tweeted a photo of the shattered window and his puzzled comment:
sticks and stones
Wall Street, wounded by President Barack Obama’s anti-Wall Street rhetoric, responded with anti-Obama rhetoric: It’s not a new story, but Chrystia Freeland’s story on Leon Cooperman in The New Yorker today does a nice job of bringing it into focus.
Mr. Cooperman, child of the Bronx, alumnus of Goldman Sachs, founder of the hedge fund Read More
This is how Madonna endorses political candidates: by playing on a widely-held falsehood about his religious upbringing. During her second night in D.C. on her already controversial MDNA tour–what with all the pub(l)ic nudity and swastikas superimposed over heads of state–she encouraged voters to support Barack Obama, “the black Muslim in the White House” who’s “fighting for gay rights.” Then she said “You all better vote for f—ing Obama, okay,” before promising to take her clothes off if he wins.
This will definitely play well in the red states.
Poor Samuel L. Jackson. Once a Jedi, the actor’s current résumé reads like a string of four letter words that would make your mother swoon. From his infamous “I’ve had it with these motherfucking snakes on this motherfucking plane,” to his audio rendition of Adam Mansbach’s Go the F**k to Sleep, Mr. Jackson is now synonymous with blue language.
So it’s no surprise that his ad for Barack Obama isn’t any different.
The Neverending Story
Obviously all we think about, all we care about, here at the real estate desk is, well, real estate. Which is why one line in particular jumped out during the president’s speech at the Democratic National Convention last night.
Stockpiling and Society
Of the many campaigns and causes that stir the hearts and checkbooks of New York’s moneyed set, there is nothing quite so invigorating as a presidential race. The old rituals of money and power take on a sharper edge with the start of the fund-raising season, a time that verily thrums with the energy of impending victory (or possible defeat). It is a season of security details and $40,000-a-plate dinners, when the wealthy and well-connected head to palatial apartments on Park or Fifth for intimate evenings with the president.
Indeed, there are few more stunning social triumphs than having POTUS over for dinner. It is far less delightful, however, when it’s not your apartment where the president is supping, but your next-door neighbors’. In which case, you may not have an opportunity to rub shoulders with the commander in chief, but you’re guaranteed an intimate experience with the Secret Service. And those who share walls with the apartment in which the party is held are treated to a very intimate experience—they must submit their apartments to a full inspection (or so we’re told by those familiar with such fetes. The Secret Service does not comment on its policies or procedures).
“I had clients that lived next door to where a fund-raiser was being held, and the Secret Service basically went through their entire apartment,” said Michele Kleier, the president of brokerage Gumley Haft Kleier. “My clients found it very intrusive. Especially because they were of a different political persuasion.” Residents can refuse, of course, if they have no compunctions about scuttling their neighbors’ party plans at the last minute.