Rangel will run again, Paterson couldn't be happier. [NYDN]

Tawdry details emerge about the men arrested at Kennedy on terrorism charges. [NYP]

Bernie Madoff, white-collar folk hero, apparently says "f**k my victims." [NYM]

Helen Thomas dropped by agency. [Politico]

Ron Jeremy spotted at 4 Times Square. [NYP]

BP says its Gulf cap collected 10,500 barrels of oil Sunday. [WSJ]

Elton John presides over Rush Limbaugh's fourth wedding. [NYDN]

Seven figures gets you lunch with Buffett, and the easiest pun in the world. [NYT]

Wicked understudy sues Bayer, saying her birth control caused a stroke. [NYP]

Mr. Jeremy was concerned that there had been a last minute decision to "erase a few people from the list." Then, to a security guard: "You promise? Would you whisper it to me if there were something shady going on?" The security guard tried to assure him by listing other people that had been rejected from the party's short list. Mr. Jeremy nodded at Mr. Hof, who was with his bunny-date Brooke Taylor (on the cover of Hustler this month!).

While they were talking, Kevin Bacon walked by, followed by Ghost Town actor Greg Kinnear. As Ghost Town actor Aasif Mandvi walked into the hotel, he said of Ghost Town: "I think it's great, it's tragic—no, that's Lehman Brothers. The movie's very funny. Some people should see it twice."

By this point, Mr. Jeremy seemed somewhat placated. We discussed his recent endeavors: "a huge article in Time" and National Lampoon's Homo Erectus, a "caveman comedy" that said he had finished filming the day before. Perhaps inevitably, we ended up discussing Tina Fey as Sarah Palin on Saturday Night Live. The Daily Transom wondered if he thought she was a MILF.

"You know what really amazes me, that no one is making an issue of this," Mr. Jeremy began, before calling Mr. Hof and Ms. Taylor over to join the conversation.

"Come over, say hi!" he yelled, waving.

The two shuffled over from the other side of a swath of security guards. Mr. Hof was wearing a large fitted black suit, studded ball cap, and was leafing through his white iPhone, presumably for some kind of help getting into the party. Ms. Taylor was visibly cold in a tiny neon-blue tube dress. She eyed the street for cabs. Mr. Jeremy posed the sex-with-Palin question again. Ms. Taylor ignited.

"Absolutely not," she said. "She sucks enough as it is. I think she's a disgrace! I think she's honestly a disgrace to what Hillary Clinton has done. I think Republicans are stupid in this country if they think woman are going to fall for that." She hugged herself and turned to Mr. Hof. "The next cab I see..."

Mr. Jeremy turned the question back on himself. "She said on TV—I had to double check my set three times—she said if war with Russia was necessary would that be an option...I would have had sex with her until I she said that, I would have, she's cute. Now I'm scared of her."

"I would tell you this," Mr. Hof said. "I wouldn't hire her at the bunny ranch, I can't see her being sexual. Our customers demand more and better."

How about Ms. Clinton at the Bunny Ranch?

"We love Hillary. We're not going to sleep with her, but we love her."

Mr. Hawke was attending the "Late Nite in Central Park Junior Benefit for the Joseph Papp Public Theater/New York Shakespeare Festival" at the Delacorte Theater. The crowd was munching on barbecue and waiting for the start of this summer's Shakespeare in the Park production of Twelfth Night , starring Julia Stiles, Jimmy Smits and Kristen Johnston.

Mr. Hawke, who has just published his second novel, Ash Wednesday , was talking about whether negative book reviews or negative movie reviews had stung him more harshly, and acknowledged that he understands his literary limitations better than he does his theatrical ones.

"I have been acting since I was 13," said the 31-year-old actor. "I feel confident that I know a lot about performance. I don't know much about writing. I'm enjoying the learning, but I don't have ego about my writing."

Though the reviews have just started trickling in, Mr. Hawke may want to get that ego of his Simonized . People magazine, which understands the difficult lives of celebrities, opined that Ash Wednesday is "crammed full of big themes: despair, redemption, masculinity, fate," but that Mr. Hawke's "jazzy neo-beat internal monologues and wry existential riffs … never amount to more than pale reflections of the real thing, by writers who haven't starred opposite Denzel Washington."

Clad in an open-collared navy polo, Mr. Hawke sported mussed hair and a studied crop of peach-fuzz on his lips, chin and upper neck. Loading his plate with pasta and Caesar salad, he took a seat and told The Transom about his new literary effort.

"It's fantastic, have you heard?" he said with what we think was irony. "I can tell you to buy it-you'll like it. And if you buy it and you don't like it, I'm sorry." Mr. Hawke sounded really sincere.

According to Mr. Hawke, Ash Wednesday is "a love story, really" about a pregnant woman deciding whether to marry her boyfriend. The 1996 publication of his first effort, The Hottest State , prompted a spate of mixed reviews, including Kirkus', which called the book "mercifully brief." But Mr. Hawke, who said he was "inspired by falling in love and getting married myself"-in 1998, to actress Uma Thurman-got right back on the horse and has been working on Ash Wednesday ever since.

After a year that included a surprise Oscar nomination for Training Day , the release of his feature directorial debut, Chelsea Walls , and the January birth of Roan, his second child with Ms. Thurman, Mr. Hawke is now gearing up for a national book tour.

The Transom asked him whether the depressing prospect of traveling to poorly lit Barnes & Nobles across the country was even harder to face with a new baby at home.

Mr. Hawke looked at us blankly for a moment. A drop of mayo clung to his upper lip.

"Well, I'm not bringing the baby," he said finally.

A few minutes later, Mr. Hawke had had enough of himself.

"I try really hard not to talk too much about myself," he said. "Let's talk about Julia Stiles." Ms. Stiles is starring as Viola in Twelfth Night and has played Ophelia to Mr. Hawke's Hamlet in Michael Almereyda's 2000 film adaptation of the play.

Mr. Hawke described Ms. Stiles as "a serious-minded young actress," but derided the rest of her generation-"the one right below me"-as "solely interested in stardom and trying to make more money. The aesthetic right now is how big a star you are. It's the pollution in the water of the arts."

He said that his only hope that Hollywood might return to the days of making quality films is if it splits along similar lines as his other industry: publishing.

"You've got your Farrar, Straus and then you've got your Random House," said Mr. Hawke with a knowing nod. When The Transom looked at him blankly, Mr. Hawke clarified: "So there's a place for your money-makers and a place for your literature."

We're not really sure what it means, but for what it's worth, Ash Wednesday is published by Knopf, a division of Random House.

- Rebecca Traister

The Porn Identity

Note to George Tenet: If Gong Show host Chuck Barris was, as he has claimed in his memoirs, an assassin for the C.I.A., then perhaps there's a former schoolmate you might want to recruit during these dark days of spookdom: Ron Jeremy.

Mr. Jeremy, the former porn star, told The Transom that he would make a damned good spy at the July 2 birthday party for D.J. Paul Sevigny, brother of actress Chloë, atop the roof of the Atlas apartment building on West 36th Street.

There were obvious reasons, of course. Mr. Jeremy's porn-world nickname, "the Hedgehog," could easily make the jump to the world of espionage and subterfuge. And then, of course, there's his rare talent for performing fellatio on himself, which would come in handy should he need to distract and confuse any captors.

But Mr. Jeremy had his own reasons. For one, he said, there's a history of intelligence-gathering in his family.

"My mother was in the O.S.S.," he told The Transom, referring to the Office of Strategic Services, which, he added, "in the late 40's became the C.I.A. She spoke fluent German and Spanish; she was a decoder, a cryptographer. There were certain things that she couldn't tell us. I think she was a little involved in the tracking down of some of the Germans who had tried to escape to New York."

That wasn't the whole of it. "Well, I'm fairly athletic, at least for a fat guy," he said. "You have to be fairly quick. I went to school with the head of the C.I.A, George Tenet; we were both on the same soccer team, Cordozo High School. Then I have two cousins-can't give names, but one of them is a very, very high-ranking diplomat, and her husband is supposedly, rumor has it … you know, C.I.A.

Mr. Jeremy was just warming up. "I'm very well-gifted in sneaking under girls' dresses," he added. "You know, taking phone numbers out of peoples' phone books, covert operations. [I'm] covert, overt, obscene and obese." As he stood on the roof of the Atlas, Mr. Jeremy was also looking pretty sweaty and hairy.

"I'm a great shooter," Mr. Jeremy continued. "True story: I did target practice with Charlie Sheen, just for the fun of it. He had a couple of guns, and we went to a shooting range. He was amazed it was my first time using a pistol.

"I know!" he suddenly said, as if he'd had an epiphany. "Covert operations, covert stuff-every time I make a movie, I make my penis disappear …. I also talk very fast; I can save on long-distance phone calls. Oh, and I got a good one here: I'm basically immune from the Taliban, from terrorists. I look a little Arabic, that's No. 1-I could disguise myself. But if they do know who I am, they would not want to hurt me."

How did Mr. Jeremy arrive at that conclusion? Wasn't he an infidel of the highest order?

"Somebody once asked if porn people are ever in danger from being celebrities. We're not. If the Taliban think that pornography is a curse … a scourge on earth," then, he reasoned, "they would never want to hurt a porn person, because they think that we're good for America because we're destroying it. They wouldn't want to hurt us. They'd want to hurt our President, our Congressmen; they're not gonna want to hurt porn stars. They're glad we're here! We add to the slime ….

"And the best thing of all?" he went on. "No one would suspect me. If someone said to you, if someone said to anybody , 'Ron Jeremy's working for the C.I.A.', they'd go, 'Yeah, rii-iight !' It's perfect! That's what you want them to say! Nobody would buy the story anyway. I could be doing it right now-you wouldn't even know it."

Mr. Jeremy had a point, and he could have stopped there. But on the way back up to the roof, he thought of another C.I.A.-appropriate use for his penis.

"If I lose my weapon, I could bash someone on the head with it," he said.

"From across the street."

-George Gurley

Product Placement

Always the businessman, independent film attorney John Sloss doesn't miss an opportunity to promote his work. On July 20, Mr. Sloss married actress and screenwriter Kathryn Tucker at the couple's large Germantown, N.Y., home. The couple's New York Times wedding announcement, published July 21, included the helpful marital statistic that Mr. Sloss produced the movie Tadpole , "a Miramax comedy that was released to theaters on Friday." Sources who attended the wedding said that Mr. Sloss also distributed Tadpole buttons at his nuptials. Tadpole is about the May-December romance between a fortysomething woman and a high-school boy, and the wedding guests said the buttons were a joking reference to the age difference between Mr. Sloss, 46, and Ms. Tucker, 32. Because of their genders, however, this gap is actually a case of reverse-tadpoling (or, as Harrison Ford refers to it, "dating"). Mr. Sloss declined to comment.

- R.T.

The Transom Also Hears …

Joe Quenqua, a vice president at mPRm Public Relations, has landed the plum position of vice president of publicity at Walt Disney Pictures. The position, in which Mr. Quenqua will oversee all of Disney's movie publicity on the East Coast, was left vacant in November 2001, when Gigi Semone left Disney to become the senior vice president of publicity for Columbia Pictures, owned by Sony. Sources said that the decision was made at the end of last week.

Mr. Quenqua has been at mPRm since January of 2001, where he handled publicity for films like You Can Count on Me and Quills . Prior to mPRm, Mr. Quenqua represented actors Charlize Theron and Calista Flockhart and late-night talk-show host Conan O'Brien for PMK Public Relations.

Neither Mr. Quenqua nor Disney representatives would confirm the hire.

- R.T.

Porn n' Chicken 's cast includes a stable of young, on-the-rise actors as well as two authentic porn stars, Ron Jeremy and Jenna Jameson. Playing the part of Yale, so to speak-the university isn't mentioned by name in the script-is New York's Columbia University, where the Porn n' Chicken crew was filming on Tuesday, June 25.

"The film takes place at any Ivy League college in the U.S.A.," Patty Newburger, Comedy Central's vice president of films, said during a break in shooting in front of the Butler Library in Morningside Heights. "We wanted the story to speak to a large audience. We felt that, by not setting it at a specific Ivy League school, it would have broader appeal."

Columbia's cooperation had its limits, Ms. Newberger said. "We can't do a nude scene at Columbia," she said. Instead, she said Porn n' Chicken 's skin scenes will be filmed down the street at- urk! -the Union Theological Seminary campus.

Still, said Ms. Newberger, Porn n' Chicken is "not a movie about porn or nudity. It's a coming-of-age film about college kids who were just about to graduate, did a prank and got in over their heads."

One of those college kids was James Ponsoldt, Yale '01, who was on the set this morning. Mr. Ponsoldt, who has brown hair and is of medium build, penned a treatment of the original Porn n' Chicken screenplay, and was serving as an intern adviser on the movie. Despite Ms. Newberger's contention that the club was a "prank," Mr. Ponsoldt insisted much of Porn n' Chicken was authentic.

"The appeal of the Porn n' Chicken club was that it was purely non-academic and not pre-professional," he said, sounding almost wistful. "It had nothing to do with classes or any other Yale-related activities. It was something fun that had nothing to do with polishing your résumé."

After four years in New Haven, in fact, Mr. Ponsoldt had become something of a porn connoisseur. "My favorite porn is probably Debbie Does Dallas, as clichéd as that sounds," he said. "There's something good-natured about it as opposed to porns that are made now that have more of a malicious, misogynistic slant. Most porn now is just fulfilling a rape/gang-bang fantasy. A Stallone or Schwarzenegger film is really close to porn, in a way. Porn is about violence and exploitation."

Given his affection for porn's more innocent, flabby past, Mr. Ponsoldt was thrilled about Mr. Jeremy's participation in Porn n' Chicken. "My favorite porn star is Ron Jeremy," Mr. Ponsoldt said affectionately, as if he were talking about Harrison Ford. "There's an appeal to a guy who's fat, hairy and ugly but, by virtue of pure charisma and serious girth, has created quite an empire for himself."

And as the crew set up to film on, Mr. Ponsoldt scoffed at the suggestion that Yalies should be embarrassed by Porn n' Chicken .

"I think there's a lot of alumni that Yale should be quick to disassociate itself from," Mr. Ponsoldt said. "I think a lot of assholes have come out of Yale and acquire very high political positions because of Yale. I think what they do is more harmful and offensive than anything that goes on here. Porn and its association with Yale is the least of Yale's worries."

-Noelle Hancock

The Unworking Life

I have worked full-time less than 10 months of my life (and I started working in 1973). Originally I was called a "hippie"; now I'm termed a "writer." With the unemployment rate currently the highest in eight years, millions require advice on non-working. Here is my guidance for the newly emancipated:

1) Most Americans have too much money, and no time. You are now the opposite, with a superfluity of time and zero money. How will you spend your time? Luckily, mere existence requires effort: One must cook, wash dishes, bathe, eat, launder. Rather than rush through these tasks while half-asleep, like most workers, you may now linger over their execution. You finally have time to stop and smell the dishwashing liquid while listening to La Traviata (as I actually did last night).

2) Beyond that, you need a schedule. If you are literary, read Robinson Crusoe or Walden -or The Man Without a Country . Learn how solitary men improve their solitude.

Here is my schedule:

9 a.m.-12 p.m.: Write, cook

12 p.m.: Yoga, other exercises

12:40 p.m.: Toothbrushing, flossing

12:50 p.m.: Meditation

1:20 p.m.: Lunch

1:50 p.m.: Reading

2:20 p.m.: Correspondence

3:30 p.m.: Pick up my daughter from school bus, make her snack, talk

5:00 p.m.: Daily walk

5:20 p.m.: Correspondence

6:30 p.m.: Bath

7:00 p.m.: Dinner

7:30 p.m.: Family games

8:00 p.m.: Reading.

I have a profusion of time, and I am generous with it. If my friend Mark from L.A. calls, I may talk an hour and a half. When I meet Dave C. at the Phoenicia Market, I'll joke with him for 20 minutes. A schedule exists so that one may depart from it.

3) Most human skills may be mastered with continual effort. A few minutes a day is enough to learn carpentry, physics, embroidery, the piano. Now you have no excuses: reserve four minutes per day for study. (I read one Ezra Pound poem daily, then practice my French. Also, I recently added a page of Francis Bacon's essays.)

Warning: You will "forget" your four daily minutes soon after you begin. Don't despair! Recommence the following day. You always have more time!

4) Now you may go anywhere, as long as it's free! (I'm not counting carfare.) I became an art lover (and eventually an art critic) because art galleries charge no fee. If ballet had no admission charge, I would be an expert in that.

5) The biggest drawback of not working is loneliness. The answer: have lunch with friends. Your worker pals need someone to eat with (and perhaps an excuse to take a longer break). Don't fret about the price: Either they will pay, or you will order soup. Afterward, you may visit the local library.

6) Give money away to panhandlers and street musicians (just nickels and quarters). You'll feel wealthy, and they will effusively thank you. (Somehow they instinctively know who is broke.) The blessings of the homeless, the saxophone players, are influential in heaven.

7) Once in a while, wear a nice outfit and sit in a hotel lobby. Read the paper, or Plato. Think: "I actually have more free time than Bill Gates!"

8) Take a daily nap.

Not everyone enjoys idle poverty. You may choose, ultimately, to re-enter the work force. This is your decision. But in the meantime, experiment with leisure. It's like being an English lord, but without the money. (Come to think of it, numerous English lords are penniless.) It's a contemplative, friendly life. Your biggest problem will be the absence of stress.

-Sparrow

After thousands, who knows, perhaps millions of money shots, Mr. Jeremy, hairy back, mustache and 9 3/4-inch penis are trying to make it in the world of legitimate films under his given name, Ron Hyatt. The crossover hasn't been easy, exactly. He had a role in the new John Frankenheimer picture, Reindeer Games , but, alas, it got cut. He still gets parts in the raunchy stuff, like last year's Still Insatiable and Black Cherry Coeds 3 , but it's getting harder and harder to land the good roles he owned during his prime, when he could pull down $800 for just a few hours' work.

"I'm heavy but I'm still very graceful, and I can still outrun, outjump, outkick, outswim kids half my age," Mr. Jeremy said in the car. "People think I'm just talking. Just to prove it to you, go ahead, there, go ahead." He removed his denim jacket and made a muscle. "Anyone can say, 'Oh, yeah, I have lot of muscle,' and you're like, 'Oh, yeah, right, look at this fat fuck.' Here." Mr. Jeremy, who is 46, rolled up his bluejeans a few inches and displayed a bulging calf muscle. "I have a lot of muscle. It's just covered by a lot of fat. I got careless with my weight. I was in Playgirl four times, but I got careless with the weight. I still get layouts in Cheri a lot, and Hustler uses me a lot because of the novelty–because I still have a big penis even though I am heavy, too heavy to be modeling, that's for sure."

Mr. Jeremy's efforts to go legit haven't been completely for naught. He was a male strip club emcee in the recent Detroit Rock City , the Kiss nostalgia film, and a gangster in The Boondock Saints , a Willem Dafoe ultra-violence flick. He was a concierge who gets shot in Killing Zoe and, in Sylvester Stallone's Cobra , a masked bad guy. He played a cameraman in the Charlie Sheen film The Chase , a peeping Tom for one episode in the CBS show Nash Bridges and a monster in an ABC kids' show, Bone Chillers .

Mr. Jeremy arrived at Barney Greengrass and took a seat at the back of the dining room. He was wearing a denim jacket, a blue T-shirt and white sneakers. He was unshaven and had forgotten to wear a belt. In the adjoining room, Moe Greengrass, the son of Barney Greengrass, was napping at a wooden table.

A waiter arrived. Mr. Jeremy ordered a sturgeon platter, chopped chicken liver and a cream soda. He instructed the waiter to announce to Mr. Greengrass that a relation had arrived at the restaurant.

The waiter returned a few minutes later.

"Did you tell him?" Mr. Jeremy said.

"He's a little cranky now. He just woke up."

"Tell him about Rose Greengrass, she's my grandmother. Tell him that," Mr. Jeremy said.

The waiter left. When he got back, he reported that Mr. Greengrass wasn't sure he knew a Rose Greengrass.

"Ask him if he knows the gangster Ben Greengrass. That's my great-uncle. Ask him about Gangster Ben. Just tell him that. That'll be enough."

The waiter left again and soon returned to say there had been some breakthrough with Mr. Greengrass.

"Ask him if he knows this. This will knock his socks off. Ask him if he remembers how we lost a great relative, Elliot Siegel. Ask him if he knows about how Elliot died in the war. He's going to shit in his pants!"

While he waited for the waiter's return, Mr. Jeremy plowed into his sturgeon platter and recounted the story of his life.

He was born and raised in Bayside, Queens, the son of an Army engineer father and a cryptographer mother. He first understood his own extraordinary endowment one day at summer camp: While bending over to tie his shoes, he found he was able to fellate himself. The gift remained sealed throughout his time at Benjamin Cardozo High School, where he appeared in a production of Oklahoma! and was known more as thespian than as a lover. Then came Queens College, where he studied theater and education.

After college, Mr. Jeremy tried to make it in New York as an actor. During the week, he taught at a high school in Queens. On weekends, he waited tables at Catskills resorts. He studied with the Dramatis Personis and La MaMa theater troupes and appeared in Oscar Wilde's Salome (as King Herod) and Nikolai Gogol's The Government Inspector (in the role of Osip). But, still, Mr. Jeremy couldn't catch his big break, and he was low on money.

Then, it happened: Mr. Jeremy's girlfriend sent his nude picture to Playgirl . The picture appeared in the October 1978 issue, and the offers started coming in, including the one for his first movie role in Tigresses and Other Man-Eaters .

Word spread quickly among filmmakers of the man with the prodigious member and unfailing ability to deliver the money shot on cue. Mr. Jeremy's career soared. He received back-to-back Best Supporting Actor awards in 1983 and 1984 from the Adult Film Association of America for his work in Suzie Superstar and All the Way In .

Back at Barney Greengrass, Mr. Jeremy asked the waiter for some waxed paper to wrap up the remainder of his chopped chicken liver.

"What most actors do and what I do is I read a script over and over and over again, and I understand exactly where I fit in," Mr. Jeremy said. "Then, once it's ingrained into my head, I try to make the characters as exciting as I can. It's the Stanislavsky technique, being inside your character and looking out. You bring characteristics and traits of your own personality within the framework of the character you're playing. Because it's like this … Inside all of us are many types of people. This is the basis of acting. You don't take on a role and try to mug and try to make believe you're something you're not. You become it. I use the same technique in my adult work. In fact, I like to think that's one of the reasons I got well known in adult films, was that I took my characters all the way. I try to play a role and continue that role right into the sex scenes. If I play a nerd, I want to fuck like a nerd. Too many actors in porn, when it comes time for the sex, they pop a Viagra and they fuck like themselves. If I'm playing some nerd I'll say, 'I am hurting you? Is this O.K.? How are you feeling? Can I bite your neck?' You know, I'll be like a putz. But if I'm playing a really confident guy, a tough guy, then I'll fuck like a confident guy, like, 'You like that, huh, baby. Feel good? You like that, don't you? Oh, I know you'll like this. Let me just do this. Why don't you do this to me now.' You see, it's a whole different attitude, a whole different voice."

Mr. Jeremy had finished wrapping his chopped liver. He gathered his bags together, stood up and hitched up his pants. "Let's see what happens when I talk to this guy," he said.

It was time to approach Mr. Greengrass.

"Hi, how ya doing?" Mr. Jeremy said, going over to him in the next room. Then he launched into the story about how Elliot Siegel was killed in the war. Maybe Mr. Greengrass was still sleepy, but Mr. Jeremy's story didn't seem to make much of an impression.

He tried a few more stories. Mr. Greengrass looked up blankly at the porn star, nodding his head occasionally. He recalled that Ben Green grass, the gangster, was strong enough to lift a car.

"Well, all right then," Mr. Jeremy said finally. "It was nice to meet ya. I've never been here. I always thought I would someday."

Mr. Jeremy shuffled out of Barney Greengrass onto Amsterdam Avenue and hitched up his pants again.

"Well, he didn't give much of a fuck," he said. "Basically, he didn't give much of a fuck."

Mr. Jeremy caught a cab and headed across Central Park to meet a lady named Venice, whom he described as "his best friend in the world."

On Fifth Avenue, the cab got caught in traffic.

"Oh, this is the story of my life," he said. "You know, I try to meet up with people, and I'm never on time." Mr. Jeremy looked himself over. "I should have shaved to go to Greengrass. I just never have enough time, you know? I must have bags under my eyes. It's my own fucked-up schedule … Well, I can't blame anyone but myself. I never have time for anything, and it takes so long to get around. Oh, man. I'm trapped here."

The traffic still wasn't moving. Mr. Jeremy stared outside glumly and tapped the window with his fingers.

"I don't know why I'm going where I'm going at this point. I blew it. This is a joke. That's why you can't make plans in this town. I hate to think I'm trapped here. That's what makes me so sick. I'm literally trapped in the city now, and now I'm going to have to fight rush hour to get out of it. This is a nightmare. I should have stayed in Queens. I thought it would be a nice thing to go to Greengrass. It was a mistake."