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 The Weather
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The New York sky before another summer thunder shower on West End Avenue. Friday at 5:00 PM. |
August 24, 2009. Hot and humid in New York. Very quiet. Riding up Madison Avenue Thursday mid-afternoon, the street was empty. Same with Friday and then Saturday.
The Times had a piece in Friday’s or Thursday’s about there being something, a “quiet” (my word) in the air in New York these days.
Things being the way they are in the financials, it is easy to read all of this as a reaction to the situation. It is even easier, however, to read it as: The Weather.
Although stories of reversals of fortune among and about the social set are emerging. Some are true, some are exaggerated; some are entirely false, and others remain concealed from public knowledge. One in particular has been circulating with authority: a very high profile multi-residential couple whose visibility has grown more glittery in the past ten years especially, are said to be caught in the squeeze, the kind that can cause serious divesting and noticeable downsizing. The man of the hour has been quietly seeking his own private version of a bailout, although to no avail so far. To make matters worse, the marriage has been made vulnerable thanks to A Girlfriend. To make matters even worse, the sympathy factor is almost non-existent among their peers. |
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| Sunday afternoon. I love watching all boats along the river. This oil tanker is moving up toward Long Island Sound and when it returns, emptied, it will rise in the water to just below the lookout on the tug. |
| The leaves are reminding us of the coming changes in seasons. |
| Late Sunday afternoon on the Promenade looking toward the Triboro/Robert F. Kennedy Bridge. The red bridge behind it is for the trains coming in from the Connecticut coast and Boston. The tracks wind through Queens in a loop and then descend into a tunnel under the East River, arriving in the Pennsylvania Station on 7th Avenue and 31st Street. |
Growing up in the ‘50s and ‘60s, I often heard someone say about his or her family background: “We were very wealthy but my grandfather lost everything in the Crash of ’29.” Or, “my family had money but they lost it in the Great Depression.” You’d hear it in social situations where people were explaining without being asked, why they weren’t wealthy; or why they felt they should be “respected” the way the wealthy are “respected” (treated) by certain people who have been ignoring or snubbing them.
I’ve heard that explanation so many times that I tend to conclude it’s made up. Although, these days I can see that future generations are going to be saying the same thing about their fathers and grandfathers, and mothers and uncles, etc. So maybe it was true.
Friday afternoon late, there was a torrential downpour way over west on West End Avenue. At the same time, two miles to the east on East End Avenue, there were dark clouds, a few raindrops but nada. I’m obsessed with the matter.
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| Gillian and Sylvester Miniter who entertained us Friday night in celebration of the engagement of Danielle Rossi and JH. |
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Friday night I went to dinner at Sistina, the fabulous Italian restaurant on 81st and Second Avenue. Jordana Z. in her Bits & Morsels column several weeks ago on NYSD referred to Sistina as a bit of a hidden gem. It’s the sister restaurant to San Pietro (on 54th between Fifth and Madison) which is one of the most popular restaurants in town for the corporate chieftans and the big money boys.
Sistina’s actually not a secret, thanks to the aforementioned CC’s and BMB’s, and the set that weekends in the Hamptons. And that is because the food is soooo good. That’s what Jordana meant by gem. One thing about the rich and the well-fixed: they always know where the good stuff is.
The restaurants are owned and run by Italian brothers named Bruno. Giuseppe was the brother in charge at Sistina. They recently opened a new one, Caravaggio, on East 74th Street between Park and Madison where Coco Pazzo prospered for many years.
It was still very warm and humid when we came out of the restaurant. I only live about five blocks up and across from the place but I decided that I’d treat myself to a (cool) cab ride.
It was a short one: $3.70 was the fare. I gave the guy a twenty and told him to take five. I was thinking how that was a pretty healthy tip percentage-wise although it doesn’t amount to much with that small a fare. Oh well. He handed me the bills, I thanked him (they rarely thank you), wished him a good night business-wise, and got out of the car. And he sped away.
He sped away so quickly I wondered what the hurry was. Then I counted my change. Five Singles. I gave him a twenty and he took FIFTEEN!!
At first I thought he made a mistake. I started running down the avenue hailing him. In the dark (it was midnight) and him two blocks away already. Yeah sure.
I’d been had. It ticked me off. God damnit. I looked for my receipt (I always ask for one). I thought of calling the Taxi complaint number. I went through the dialogue in my head. Then I thought: I lost fifteen bucks and I want to get involved with a thief? Whose business is as deadly as the heat. I’m not really unhappy over this.
Then I thought: I could have counted the money while I was in the cab. I thought of Marc Faber.
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| Marc Faber at home in Chiangmai, Thailand (from Asia Inc. profile). |
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Marc Faber (pronounced Fah-ber) is a financial analyst/money man whose musings and interviews I follow regularly. He has a Monthly Commentary called “GloomBoomDoom” that is widely read all over the world. He has openly and frequently not been upbeat about the situation, although he has been very successful in his business. He himself has a rather jolly manner although somewhat Nordic restraint.
A man from Goldman Sachs who is familiar with Marc Faber’s point of view and opinions about the current financial situation once asked how he remained so optimistic about life.
Faber replied (in his telling of the story), “The man saw me smoking and already thought that I should have already gone to hell -- even under the 'Black Swan Theory', Heaven isn't an option, or he thought, because I ride fast motorbikes in Thailand (where there are no traffic rules), drink, and go out in the early hours of the morning -- that I’ve been living like there was no tomorrow. My philosophy on life...is to enjoy life even in the darkest times and most horrible situations."
In concluding his story Marc Faber said his “optimism” comes from some simple but important principles:
• The ability to adapt to change: whether economic, financial, personal or social.
• Accepting responsibility when things go wrong that are your fault, and don't blame others.
• And take comfort in the dynamism and drive of the human race.
I’m with Marc Faber. (And out fifteen bucks.) |
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Meanwhile, Other Voices Other Rooms: Last week when I was writing about Tinsley Mortimer and her boyfriend’s granny, Manni/Mamarazzi (Princess Marianne Sayn-Wittgenstein-Sayn), I got one of her books down off the shelf, and when I opened it, I found the following photo. I’d completely forgotten about it. I must have placed it in Manni’s book when I first interviewed her back in 2000 (and obviously never opened the book again).
I was Editor-in-Chief of Avenue magazine at the time – ‘97 thru 2000. One of our annual features was a group photograph of women in New York who are actively engaged in the philanthropic/social world of New York. It’s not an original idea. I first saw it in an old Life magazine from the ‘50’s. That photograph was taken in the penthouse apartment of CZ and Winston Guest at One Sutton Place South and Mrs. Guest was featured prominently.
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Seated, left to right: Cornelia Bregman, Alexia Hamm, Patricia Patterson, Simone Mailman, DPC, Nicole Limbocker, Rachel Hovanian, Cynthia Lufkin, Judy Peabody. Standing: Topsy Taylor, Kimberly Rockefeller, Somers Farkas, Brooke Neidich, Connie Spahn, Courtney Arnot, and Joan Hardy Clarke. Avenue, circa 1999. |
Back in the late 1990s, that same penthouse apartment – the Guests had departed years before – was on the market. When I learned that it was vacant, I called the Real Estate broker and asked if we could use it for a fashion photo shoot. And we did.
So here we are. Everyone’s in place before the main shot. Someone had the bright idea of a preliminary shot with me in the center. I don’t know if we used it in the magazine or not. We definitely used the final fashion shot, as you can see, it’s an interesting array of New York’s fashionable women. The guy in the middle is wearing what was his favorite (looking) jacket although it was already falling apart. It was a herringbone tweed from Ralph Lauren and thank god I bought it on sale (I couldn’t have afforded the retail price anyway).
The penthouse, which was enormous, and covers most of the top of that very large and grand Candela-designed building, was sold not long after this photograph was taken, to a young couple with children who hired Tony Ingrao. He turned the classic interior into something so modern/far-out/ contemporary that it bears no resemblance to what you see here. And it’s certainly not the color pink. Were these same women brought together to pose in this same room as it now exists today, they’d look like they’d landed in Mars and were the aliens. Funny but true. (But fabulous, just like this photo). |
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