This weekend the Yankees owner told the 'Post' that he hoped that the guy who buried Red Sox uniforms in the cement of his new stadium got the shit kicked out of him by his co-workers. We take this opportunity for a short walk down memory lane.
Jerry Seinfeld valiantly attempted to come up with a joke for the Post about the car crash he got into when the brakes on his vintage Fiat failed Saturday, but it turns out that near-death experiences may not be so funny.
A couple of weeks ago, back when Hookermania was in full effect, Cindy Adams wrote about how Ashley Alexandra Dupré, a.k.a. Spitzer sexer "Kristen," was besties with a hooker called Natalia, whom New York once called the city's No. 1 escort.
Turns out it's not just Rupert Murdoch who's interested in buying Newsday; Mort Zuckerman, the real-estate magnate who owns the Daily News, and James Dolan, whose family owns Cablevision, Madison Square Garden, and the Knicks, are making bids as well.
Cindy Adams, columnist for the masculine organ known as the New York Post, apparently looked at Salman Rushdie askance when she saw the author and bon vivant "chugging a pink drink" at a party the other night, even though the party was, in her own words, "serving pre-prepared Cosmopolitans." What's next?, we imagine Cindy squawking to Salman. Hanging out with Elton John? "Look, it's what they've got," Salman said. "I'm easy." Let's hope not too easy, Salman. Cindy wouldn't want to have to write about you waking up in the back of Lance Bass's space shuttle some day.
Not Running Back, Tiki Offers Advice [NYP]
Eliot Spitzer is still holed up in his apartment in New York, where he and his wife, Silda, have been conferring with advisers since last night. He's weighing his options, and deciding whether to resign. Meanwhile, on the outside, the politicians and the media have descended into exactly the kind of feeding frenzy you would expect:
• The Post reports that State Senate Majority Leader Joe Bruno held back from reveling in his great rival's fall: "I feel very badly for the governor's wife, for his children," he said. "The important thing for the people of New York State is that people in office do the right thing."
• According to CNN, Republican state senators and assemblymen (and some Democrats) are aggressively calling for his resignation. So is the Republican Governors Association.
• If Spitzer doesn't resign before a deadline set by state Republicans, they've vowed to begin impeachment proceedings, reports WCBS.
In further proof that the Brooke Astor will debacle is the ultimate high-low glamour contest of the year, news surfaces today of a charming little related anecdote from overseas. The Post tells us the story of Lia Opris, Brooke's former maid, who is one of the only witnesses to the signing of two late codicils to her will (ones that favor her son, Anthony Marshall, heavily). Since the legitimacy of these codicils is contested, her testimony is very important. So important that a year ago, while she was recuperating from a car accident in her hometown in Romania, lawyers working for Marshall arranged to have someone visit her house to get her on the phone. That someone was Romanian prince Paul Philip. The ploy didn't work, but he tried again, this time bringing his wife, Princess Lia. The tab described it as "something akin to a work-a-day crime-scene witness opening her door somewhere in the United States and finding President and Laura Bush standing there, begging a small tactical favor," but let's be honest: It would be more like if Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie showed up. It's kind of a romantic story, actually. So romantic, in fact, that the Post waxed all fairy tale on our asses:
There was no word if the prince was wearing his crown at the time — or on a subsequent occasion, when he returned to her door, his wife, Princess Lia, at his side. Told that Opris was at her sister's house, the royal pair hence proceeded thither. Again, the maid demurred.
"Thither"? "Hence"? We wonder what kind of words the Post would use if they wrote a story about us? Probably something along the lines of "fagatron" and "twatermelon."
Battle 'Royal' [NYP]
• The Post violated a man's privacy by publishing his name after he was injured in an S&M sex tryst. They also, um, called his wife and published where he lived. While activists protest, a spokesman says, "The Post will happily name every adult caught in a dog collar." One day we need to really start "happily" naming every married Post editor caught at a strip joint. [Portfolio]
• Sam Zell's Tribune Co. will cut staff by two percent. Is it the same two percent that he's already cursed out? [LAT]
• Times scribe Alessandra Stanley spends a column (a few days late) talking about how MSNBC's "Best Political Team on Television" is in disgrace. Sadly, it's CNN that incessantly uses the "Best Political Team" moniker, which causes Gawker to ask whether the TV critic actually "owns a TV." [Gawker]
• At least 75 Time Warner layoffs are expected to be announced today. The layoffs are among CEO Jeff Bewkes's first public tasks since taking the helm of the company from Dick Parsons last month. Earlier today, Time Warner announced a 41 percent decline in fourth-quarter earnings. [MSNBC & AdAge]
• Maybe some of those Time Warner folks can hang their hats over at Condé Nast. The Observer evaluates Portfolio's recent spending spree, during which it recruited top talent from The New Yorker, the Post, and the Times. [NYO]
• (Product)Red, the love child of Bono, iPod, and the Gap, has raised more than $22 million for fighting HIV and AIDS in Africa. But considering the big advertising bucks spent during the Super Bowl and elsewhere, some are arguing that it's not enough. [NYT]
Today in the Daily News, Rush & Molloy attempt to make the case that News Corp. overlord Rupert Murdoch is still on Team Hillary, despite the fact that his New York Postendorsed Barack Obama last week and trashed her in the process. "When it comes to putting money down, Murdoch poured $2,300 – the maximum allowed for a primary race – into her campaign six months ago," the husband-and-wife duo point out. "He gave Obama nothing." But the key phrase in that sentence seems to be "six months ago." Public statements of editorial independence aside, the Post simply doesn't do anything that Rupert Murdoch doesn't want it to do. The official policy of loathing Senator Clinton was reiterated even today, with a masthead editorial attacking both her and her husband. David Carr, in today's Times, seems to see the issue more clearly:
[Clinton] never once appeared before [the Post's editorial board — a customary act of tribute by local politicians — and her lack of deference was duly noted by the paper’s leadership
Last night, only moments after the Patriots stuttered out their last plays in Super Bowl XLII, the shouts began. From our window facing East 14th Street, we started to hear chants of "Eli! Eli! Eli!" A communal roar echoed out of bars like the Blarney Cove, Otto's Shrunken Head, and Mona's. A few minutes later crowds poured out of Stuyvesant Town and Alphabet City, walking down the street towards the First Avenue L stop. They whooped, they chanted — we even saw one guy dive tackle a friend into the (hard-looking) sidewalk, screaming "PLAXICO!"
This morning, when we woke up, we picked up the Daily News. Not being from New York originally, we've never really understood the rationale behind the "commemorative covers" that the tabloids put out sometimes. Do people in the city really have walls covered with Daily News and Post covers? But when we unfolded the paper to check out the giant photo of Eli Manning clutching the trophy, with a yell of triumph on his face, we thought to ourselves: "Huh. We'd better save this one."
Anyway, if tomorrow is Super Tuesday, today has definitely got to be Giant Monday. Leave us some comments! We want to hear where you were last night when Plaxico Burress caught the touchdown pass with 35 seconds to go, and what you did when Manning escaped from the Patriots' clutches to make that longshot pass to David Tyree. Oh, and which Super Bowl ad was your favorite, because ours was totally that Coke one with the Macy's parade balloons
Related:Underdog: The Rise of Eli Manning
We are still several days away from finding out results of the toxicology reports being done on Heath Ledger's body, but the New York Post is still having trouble with the fact that, as yet, there is no one to blame. Last week, we were surprised at all of the heat they brought on Mary-Kate Olsen. They put her face on the cover and claimed she was to be questioned by police (they stand by the story, but cops are now saying they won't be speaking with the actress). Olsen is involved, as even your golden retriever must know by now, because the masseuse who found Ledger's body mysteriously called her before calling 911. Olsen sent in her bodyguards rather than calling the police. After we and other Websites like Gawker.com pointed out the contradiction between the paper's story and what police were saying, we were e-mailed with a blusterous comment from Post editor Col Allan, which implied that the police were "afraid" of Olsen and that's why they wouldn't question her. Then, they followed up on Saturday with a photo-free cover, which asked "WHY" the police weren't questioning Olsen. There was an interior editorial that day explaining that the tabloid was receiving "dark communications" from Olsen's lawyers, threatening them.
Following our post this morning about how the Post's story on Mary-Kate Olsen being questioned by police turned out to be wrong, we just received this statement from Post editor-in-chief Col Allan, via e-mail:
We confirmed this story last night with an impeccable source inside the NYPD and we stand by our reporting. Almost immediately after the tragic passing of Mr. Ledger, Ms. Olsen’s attorneys began emailing us threatening letters. As has been well reported, there were a number of calls to Ms. Olsen from the masseuse before the NYPD arrived on the scene. We would find it strange if Ms. Olsen were not questioned at all. The New York Post will not be pressured and we find it odd that the chiefs at the NYPD appear to be terrified of 4-foot-11 inch, 90-pound Mary Kate Olsen.