Clean Government

I'm pretty fond of my local dry cleaning emporium, Fifth Avenue's own Economy Cleaners. They do reasonable alterations, are fast, and have by now learned to recognise me (I think Mrs. Cutesome's volumes of dry cleaning may have something to do with this). I sometimes wish they'd accept credit cards, and this longing has only increased as Betances Grocery's hours, and thus access to its ATM, have become more erratic.

The one thing I didn't like was this biggish 8x12 picture of Brooklyn's featured embarrassment Marty Markowitz on the wall when you walk in. Marty had gathered with a group of local businessmen, among whom the cleaner's owner was presumably numbered, on the steps of what was presumably City Hall.

You probably know by now that Marty likes cameras a lot. Certainly a lot more than trying to achieve something substantive during his time in office or asking difficult questions of developers and campaign contributors. But this picture is a classic.

Our local businessmen are stood stony-faced behind the speaker looking out into what might be a crowd. Not Marty, oh no. Marty catches sight of the camera, turns ninety degrees towards the source of putative publicity, and busts out a grin that looks like its been tucking into the merde with gusto. It's utterly inappropriate, if not quite on a par with the casual attire that Marty wore to the 9-11 firefighter funerals.

Anyhow, the picture's gone, with no obvious explanation. It could be that the anti-Atlantic Yards forces, fresh from their Arena Bagels victory, are now adopting a scorched earth approach to their opponents, or maybe the owner grew tired of the disrespect. I don't know. We tend to keep our discussions to collection dates and crease types.

Small post-script here. I had previously speculated aloud that top ninja-attack author Eric Van Lustbader might have fallen on hard times to accept the job of ghost-writing dead Robert Ludlum's latest books. Not a bit of it. Apparently he really likes the gig, and was a friend of Cap'n Bob's. My bad.