#brick pointing company new york

[okconstructioncompany]

We are grateful for the chance to present the services of OK5 Construction and Waterproofing Company. OK5 Construction is an insured, general contractor, brick-pointing company, and fully licensed construction company situated in New York. Every project is a personal journey at OK5 Construction.

[supremebricksblog]

Supreme Brick

Supreme Brick is a leading licensed construction company certified by the New York City Department of Consumer Affairs. Our organization is fully covered in terms of worker compensation, liability, and disability. We have extensive knowledge and experience in commercial contracting. Our practical approach enables us to provide you with the best and most unique building for your commercial businesses. Do you need construction facilities for your restaurant, offices, or shopping centers? We manage everything. Contact Us!

[hometoursandotherstuff]

I was so excited to see this 1892 Victorian b/c of the round turret. But, I am in shock over what they did to the home. I never expected this. Located in Goshen, New York, it has 5bds, 4.5ba, and they want $995K. I wouldn't give them $9.95. Look at how they completely stripped it of all character.

There was no point in showing the center entrance hall, b/c it's been stripped of everything. Instead of 2 sitting rooms, there's a modern living room and a dining room across the hall.

This was sitting room #1.

And, here's the dining room, which was probably the reception room. Why did they leave the original exterior intact? What was the point? The should've put up vinyl siding.

The original dining room was turned into a dinette, I guess. The windows. Wonder if that rectangular one was stained glass.

I have never seen anything like this. Usually, they'll paint the original woodwork white, or leave a little something original. Every piece of millwork was removed.

The new guest powder room.

Oh, lord, whatever beautiful original railing there was has been replaced. They just gutted every single bit of Victoriana and left nothing. I wonder if they at least sold it to an architectural salvage company.

I'm certain that they removed the fireplaces from the bedrooms. They even modernized the windows in the bump-out. Crown moldings are gone, everything's gone.

Blech.

There were probably lovely doors to a terrace, but they've been replaced by modern glass doors.

The new, improved terrace. I'm picturing a quaint covered porch that might've been here.

Modern bath.

They left a fireplace in the primary bedroom, but it's modernized and has a deep window in what was once the chimney.

Could this be any more bland?

This must be their version of a modern clawfoot tub.

And, it's in the round turret that I was so excited about.

Note that instead of allowing us to see right to the top, they constructed a weird frame for an overhead fixture and blocked it with a disk. They say that it has a turret- this is no longer a turret. I pictured brick walls and an amazing cozy little room, but now it's an angular tub room thanks to wall board and wallpaper.

The bedrooms are a waste of time and so are the baths.

And, we are in the finished attic on the 3rd level.

There's nothing anyone can do to fix it. It's ruined. The corner lot is 0.4 acre.

[seeleycollins]

Just something I had floating around in my head and was actually able to put it to writing.

Tags: Bayverse!Leo x reader, angst

Warnings: language, slight nsfw in one small part

“Leo?”

shitshitshit-

He looks up, your eyes meet, and fuck-

FUCK

It’s him. It’s really fucking him and Jesus.

You knew coming back to New York was a bad idea, but it was your cousin’s wedding and what were the chances-

What were the fucking chances you’d see him again?

Your heart is pounding, you’re breathing too fast, and fuck, you realize you’re making a scene. Your cousin and his new wife are staring, though she’s turned her attention to him, concern marring her perfect features while your cousin’s confused gaze stays on you.

“Bro?”

Your eyes dart to the speaker. Another like him, clad in accents of orange. Then two more move in- one purple, one red- their movement slow, expressions as confused as the rest.

You need to go, you realize. Get some air, collect yourself, steel your emotions so that you don’t ruin your cousin’s wedding. You’d never forgive yourself.

You could do this. Just make an excuse, go hide in the bathroom, get your emotions under control, put your big girl pants on, then come back and power through the rest of the night. It was just one night, you could do this, you just needed to reset, realign-

“Excuse me, just a moment.”

Yes, that sounded good. Normal. You could totally do this. You could absolutely pretend that seeing him again hadn’t nearly shattered your heart anew. That you weren’t running away, heels hitting the concrete sounding too loud as you tried and failed to regulate your pace.

Where was the damn bathroom?

You tried to remember, but damn it, this outdoor venue was confusing. Were there three or four tiers and which one were the restrooms on? You remembered seeing the beautifully lit brick building, but couldn’t focus enough to retrace your steps- not when all your thoughts were being pulled back to seeing his beautiful blue eyes again and how incredible he looked in a suit. God, you were not ready to see him like that. Not ready to see him at all.

The lights started to blur, your eyes burned, and you took a deep breath. No. No, absolutely not. You were not crying. You were not. Another deep breath. You started flapping your hand at your face- what that was even supposed to do, you didn’t know, but that’s what people did to stop from crying, right? Did it work? Was it working? Oh, god, someone was approaching you.

“Are you okay, Miss?”

It’s just the waitstaff, no reason to be embarrassed. Just lie. People cried at weddings all the time.

“I’m just so happy for my cousin and his new wife,” you said, breathless. “We grew up together and he’s come such a long way… I’m trying not to make a mess of myself and embarrass him. Could you point me to the restrooms, please?”

It worked. Pretending you were overwhelmed with happiness helped you arrive more or less in one piece to the bathroom where you beelined it to a stall and with shaking hands, slammed the lock home.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you lost the battle against your tears. Why, oh why was this happening? Why was he here? After so many years how could this even be real? He was always so paranoid about being seen, so secretive. How did he know your cousin? Or was it his wife? Neither seemed shocked to be in the company of not one, but four giant turtle men.

Four.

They must be his brothers, you reasoned. The ones whose existence you only knew by accident when he’d let it slip in one of the rare moments he ever let his guard down with you. You could practically feel his fingers slowly combing through your hair as you sat beside him, watching the sunrise from the roof of your apartment.

“Stay,” you’d whispered, grabbing his free hand and bringing it to your mouth for a feather-light kiss. “Please?”

His fingers in your hair stilled, but he intertwined the other with yours, bringing both your hands to his mouth and mimicking the kiss you’d just given.

“You have no idea how much I wish I could,” he sighed, lifting your hand higher so that your wrist rested against his lips and you felt the flick of his tongue on your skin, followed by another kiss and a little nip full of intent.

That was all it took. In the next moment you were climbing on top to straddle him, hands on either side of his face as you pulled him to you, grinding down on his lap, a little surprised to feel him already hard beneath you.

“...shiiiiit,” he moaned and grabbed your ass with both hands, pulling you back down against his length.

“Stay,” you insisted, all but rubbing yourself off on him now, his breath coming out in hot puffs on your face.

“-can’t,” he said between clenched teeth while lifting his hips and grinding up into you. “My brothers-”

“-fuck your brothers-”

An auto response given, but then, after a beat you froze.

Wait. What?

“Brothers?”

You hadn’t realized it at the time, but this revelation acted as the loose thread that would completely unravel your relationship. You tried to be understanding at first, about his need for secrecy, about the real threat to his safety should his existence be exposed to the wrong people.

But it hurt. It bothered you that he would hold so much of himself back from you. That it only ever felt like you had a part of him at any time. That by his own admission, it was unlikely to ever change.

“I love you, Leo. Do you really think I’d ever betray you like that?”

“Not on purpose! But all it would take it is one slip up, one innocuous comment to the wrong person and-”

You leaned back against the stall door, your head bumping against the hard plastic as all those feelings from back then came rushing back. Being helpless to do anything as your heart was slowly breaking in two. The fighting was almost constant. You cried more back then than you had ever before or since. He began to distance himself, slipping away, and you had no idea how to stop it until one day he was just…

Gone.

Any trace of your time together had been scrubbed from your apartment. Admittedly, there wasn’t much- he was too careful for that. Even your phone had somehow been wiped. In the end there was nothing. As if he’d only ever been a figment of your imagination.

And now here he was, of all places. A specter of your past you’d left the state to forget.

Part II ⬇️

https://www.tumblr.com/seeleycollins/760553851721039872/the-uncommon-room

[thatone-brightstar]

Before You (Carmen Berzatto X Fem!OC)

It was Isaac before Carmy, and it was Ross before you.

Part I: December.

Part II: January.

Part III: February.

words: 3.4k

a/n: Welcome all to the second part of my TB & TF series!! This is a prequel to the first part, so if you haven't read that, you can either read this first then the other one or vise versa. Also, this is me kinda just adding personal experience to her story because as a hostess, I think we don't get credit enough for having to deal with some people's shit (sigh) however, she's her own character so feel free to relate however you please. Another thing, I wrote this before S2 came out, so any coincidence with the firework scene in Ep5 is just me being ✨psychic✨ Enjoy! XX

No amount of deep breaths could calm the blistering anger circulating through her system. Her quickening steps move across the dining hall of the stupidly ostentatious restaurant she has the misfortune of working at. From the elegant decorum and the expensive menu, she can pinpoint the exact type of diners the place hosts: terrible, horrible, shitty people. And while she’s completely against placing anyone under any category, New York socialites seemed to never want to leave the rooted stereotype of being pompous, rude and extremely annoying.

Her theory had been proven correct once more after spending the last 10 minutes getting berated for not seating a walk-in on one of the busiest nights of the month. 

“You should save a table of that size for these situations…” The insufferable trust fund baby spat at her and all the self composure in the world could not stop the words from leaving her  mouth.

“Maybe send us a heads up by telepathy next time and I’ll try and catch it…” She had mumbled sarcastically, hoping that the background noise would drown it out as she tapped meaninglessly around the tablet.

It did not. And now her mouth was coated with the metal taste of blood that had oozed from her bitten tongue. She usually wasn’t this easy to frustrate, it took more than a pretentious jackass to destabilize her mood- especially in her line of work- but the weight of the day crashed on tiresome shoulders and the little manbitch past the podium had just been the spoiled cherry on top. 

The smooth Jazz is replaced by the sharp sounds of metal clinging against each other once she pushes past the service doors, in direction to the back alley. Her presence pulls a few looks from the chefs, but with a hardened scowl and a rigid stance, only an idiot would be aloof to the irritation detaching off her in not so subtle waves.

“Yo Ross, baby-” One of the cooks shouts, but is soon silenced by a threatening look and pointed finger.

“Fuck you Frank- not now.” She spits back, without even stopping or wasting any more time.

The frigid winter air finds a worthy opponent in the heat cursing through her veins as she crosses the emergency exit and drops against the brick wall with hands around her face, fully embracing the cold. A muffled groan vibrates through her fingers and blends in seamlessly with the usual sirens and horns blaring from the street ahead. It doesn’t take long for the dropping temperature to catch up to her- numbing the balls of her fingers and painting the tip of her nose red- but her manager told her to take five to calm down and she would not oppose to stealing company time, even if it meant freezing her ass off.

Ross pushes herself off the grimy wall and begins to tread along the small alley to warm up while she tries to talk herself out of quitting for what feels like the fifth time that month. 

“Chill, okay? You’ll find shitty people everywhere-” Her voice swims around the reduced space, comfortable in the privacy of her own company. “Besides, next one’s the good one and you can say goodbye to this shithole wrapped in a Gucci sweater…”

The noise of the busy kitchen pierces her bubble when the door opens again, blinding her with the white light while a body passes through, then closing back again and leaving them with the dim yellow bulb fighting to stay lit. 

“Ross.” He greets with a single nod of his head as his eyes spot her in the darkness, pulling a beaten up package from his pocket and lighting the thin tube with one of those long kitchen lighters he always seems to carry.

“Chef.” She answers back with a similar nod. 

Her cheeks carry a crimson that goes beyond the freezing cold, embarrassed to think that he might have heard her little self pep talk and she’s thankful for the lack of lighting in the space. The sound of his steady exhales and the lingering scent of tobacco slowly make their way to her as she keeps her eyes on the ground, uncomfortable shoes rubbing away over the pavement in distraction. 

“You, uh, you good?” He clears his throat and shuffles against the wall, switching from one overworked foot to another. 

They’ve probably only ever crossed a couple sentences despite her working there for almost a year, but she tries to hide the doubt behind a nod. 

“Uh… y-yeah. Another day, another shitty customer.” She jokes in hopes to break the barrier of ice, though it seems to be thicker than she expected, because all she gets is another nod that has her wanting to scurry back inside. 

“What’d they tell you now?” He asks through another smoky exhale. 

“That he’s friends with the head chef and that he’d have my head if I didn’t give ‘em a table…” 

“That’s bull-“ He says, sucking in his cheeks and making the ember tip glow bright orange. “I don’t have any friends.”

“Yeah that’s what I told him too.” Ross adds and receives the wisp of a snigger in return. 

It’s small and almost unnoticeable- so tiny it could be confused with a cough- but it’s there. And the ice wall doesn’t seem as thick as she thought now. 

“So did you?” The chef asks again, cigarette halfway finished while she tries to keep her teeth from chattering. “Let ‘em in, I mean..”

“Like hell I did.” She responds before rolling her eyes. “But fucking Martin probably did…” 

He nods his head slowly in acknowledgement, then lets another soft breath blow through his nose, smoke and vapor invisible in the low light. “I can send ‘em a shitty stake if you want.”

Ross knows it’s a joke, no respectable chef in the building would ever ruin a $300 Kobe beef just to spite a shitty client, but the solidarity in his offer grants him her own smile. 

“Nah, I’ll just ask the bartender to pour ‘em the cheap stuff so they get a hangover tomorrow.” 

Despite wanting to continue the unforeseen interaction- mostly out of scientific curiosity- the cold seeping through the thin material of her uniform finally triggers her feet in direction of the door, a few feet away from where he’s finishing his cigarette. Her fingers stay curled over the handle, contemplating the words and if they have any space in the situation, but before she can convince herself otherwise, she calls out to the chef. 

“I know it’s a shitty day to work ‘n all… but Merry Christmas… I guess.”

He nods again, brows raised and eyes wide seems to be the default expression on his face, then a ghost of something she can assume is a barely visible smile hides behind the dying tube. 

“Yeah… you too.” 

**********

“Have a good night guys, happy new year!” She recites with a wave to the departing guests, the phrase already lacking meaning after constant repetition.

New Year’s dinner rush is a blatant copy of the week before, with the exception of the nice vibes that many seem to carry, influenced by the faux restart. However, it does move painfully slow, between kind guests and uncomfortable offers from the Wall Street wannabe bros who couldn’t take a hint. Every advance had to be deflected with a kind smile and by the end of the night her cheeks had grown tired from all the tension they were forced to endure. Thankfully, there were only a few tables left and she could finally switch the uncomfortable heels for her sneakers, which facilitated finishing her last tasks in record time.

“Hey, Ross-” 

“Yeah” She turns to Meg- one of the waitresses and her friend- while shuffling through the menus, but stops as she sets a small plate with an even smaller dessert over the wooden desk. “What’s this?”

“From the kitchen…” She answers with a teasing tone and a smile that makes her roll her eyes.

“Take it back and tell Frank to fuck off- I’m not sucking his dick for an eclair-”

“It’s not from him, idiot! Chef Carmen sent it…” Meg whispers leaning in as if sharing some long kept secret. 

“What? Why?”

Meg shrugs and pulls a tiny spoon from one of the pockets on her apron. “Probably heard you bitchin’ about some guest again.” Then she scoops a piece of the dessert and pops it in her mouth, groaning in delight. “Say what you want about that man, but god is he good with his hands.”

“Dude that sounds so wrong.” Ross chuckles before taking a piece for herself and can’t help but agree with the delicious taste of the pastry. “We’re still on for drinks, right?”

“Can’t-” Meg mumbles between spoonfuls. “Mom’s making me meet them at grandma’s after this. She says this is probably her last new year so…”

“Shit- I don’t wanna go just with Frank.”

“Why don’t you ask your chef.” She suggests teasingly, before picking up the empty plate. “‘New year, new you’ ‘n all that. He already sent you food ‘n plus you’ve had the hots for him for a while now-”

“I do not!” She bickers a bit too defensively, rolling her eyes at the disbelief in Meg’s expression. “I’m nice to everyone, not just him.”

With a sarcastic ‘Sure, kid’ and an exaggerated nod, Meg turns on her shoes and heads deep into the emptying dining room.

By the time she’s finally done, it’s an hour to midnight and almost everyone has gone home except Frank, who sits wrapped up in his own coat and sharing a cigarette with another cook. Her steps lose power past the door and stop altogether once she notices the lonely man leaning on the wall a few feet in front of her.

“Hey, chef-” The girl calls towards him, his head immediately snapping up in her direction, unlit cig hanging loosely from his lips. “You got any plans?”

Ross doesn’t wait for an answer, steps moving closer towards him. There’s a thin nervous expression harboring his normally closed off features as his eyes dart around her face and the two men ahead of them, slowly putting the smoke back in the box.

“So?” She asks again. “You got anywhere to be?”

“Uh… no but-”

“Great, c’mon. Let's go grab some drinks.” She doesn’t wait for a response before linking her arm around his and walking closer to the waiting men.

She can see the tightness locked over Frank's jaw but tries her best to ignore it, pulling the chef in the opposite direction from where they’re standing. 

“Night boys.” She calls out before turning the corner and out of their view. 

Ross lets go of his arm once they’re a few blocks away, the warmth of her touch immediately escaping through the frigid wind. 

“Sorry ‘bout that… Frank’s just a little too much and I don’t wanna deal with that right now.” She says while growing the space between them. 

“Yeah-no I get it- he gets on my nerves sometimes… too.” 

They can hear the faint noise that the wind carries from a few blocks away, the celebrating multitude that has crowded Times Square in anticipation of the ball drop only growing thicker by the minute. 

“So, um, you really don’t have anywhere to be?” She asks, nervous fists inside her coat pockets. 

“Just home.” He shrugs. 

“Cool- so, what do you say to that drink?”

He shrugs again, not in an ‘I’m too cool to care’ way but more of an ‘I suck with words’ kind of way, that triggers a soft smile over her freezing features. 

“Thanks for the dessert… by the way.” She thanks with a slow step so he can catch up beside her once they’ve renewed their destination. 

“Oh-uh- yeah, sure.” He stammers, hands tightly in his pockets. “Anyone piss you off tonight?”

“Someone pisses me off every night-” She jokes, the lightheartedness growing with each step further away from work. “Curse of the trade, I guess.” She adds with a shrug.

They can hear the music emanating from the bar before even seeing it. The regular spot sits at the end of the curve, seemingly untouched by the masses, though the dusty windows show the movement of bodies inside. After maneuvering their way through the dispersed crowd, they’re still able to find an empty spot by the corner of the bar where it’s easier to reach the bartender. Every screen in their view covers the transmission of the infamous ball drop- as if the event wasn’t occurring a  few blocks away- but she figures it’s more comfortable seeing it from the inside of a heated bar than in the crushing crowd of bodies freezing outside.

It takes her five minutes to grab the barman’s attention and another two to get their drinks, but when he pats down his pants in search of his wallet, she’s already pocketing down the change the man’s given her.

“I asked you, remember?” She says to him while passing his drink, noticing a soft tint over his cheeks that hadn’t been there at their arrival and her brows raise slightly, before choosing to ignore it.

Ross can feel the man shuffling and clearing his throat beside her and the anxious actions pull a thin lipped smile over her face. He seems very different from the person she has observed behind the kitchen- a baby deer almost- careful not to trip over his own legs. It’s kind of endearing to her, how the confidence he carries in the confinements of a kitchen switches off the second he’s outside of one, replacing it with silence and the constant cracking of his knuckles that has her asking:

“You don’t go out much, do you?”

He exhales in the form of a small laugh, then takes a drink from his emptying mug. “That obvious?”

She nods and turns to him. “Well we’ve been here for almost twenty minutes and you’ve said three words… max.”

“Five now…” He jokes and a grin forms on her face at the dumb joke.

Ross turns to him, shifting her body in the stool to face him completely, bare knee brushing against his clothed one. “Tell me the thing you hate most about your job.”

He takes a few seconds to respond, gaze lost in the multitude as a terrible rendition of ‘Sweet Caroline’ from the karaoke machine flows through the speakers. “I don’t- think I have one…”

“Nothing?” He shakes his head. “At all?” Another shake and a thin unnoticeable smile. “Chef Carmen-”

“-Carmy.” He corrects and the grin on her face grows a few inches wide.

“Okay Carmy, tell me you don’t hate people messing up your dishes or modifying your recipes?”

A grin slowly spreads across his static features as he looks down at his empty jug of beer and scratches over his brow out of habit. Then he nods in agreement. “I really fuckin’ hate that shit.”

“Right!?” Ross’ excitement pulls a snicker that has him agreeing to another drink, which he insists on paying for. “Like, I get it when it’s an allergy, right? You don’t wanna kill anyone. But Meg was telling me about some guy that wanted the ‘blanc’ but not the ‘beurre’ on his fish- and if 8th grade French doesn’t fail me- that literally translates to ‘white butter’!”

Carmy’s warm chuckle blends in nicely with the buzzing surroundings, causing a slight tint to graze her cheeks and hold a smile on the edge of her glass as she watches him.

“One of the waiters once asked me if I could just send ‘em a rack of ribs cause they didn’t like anything on the menu…”

“Jesus! As if you had a rack to spare behind that aged ham you got hanging in the walk-in…”

“You- you’ve been inside the walk-in?” He asks in surprise while she takes another sip off her second drink.

“That’s where I go to vent.” Ross shrugs with a soft grin. “Plus it’s soundproof so no one can hear me cry or lose my shit.”

He knew it wasn’t. He’s seen her barely hold her composure many times as she crosses down the hallway- hands tightly in fists- before hearing a muffled shriek from somewhere in the back; but he always assumed it came from the depot or the alley, never his walk-in. He wasn’t gonna tell her that, though.

Their drinks slowly drain while their attention falls heavy on the transmission from the TVs. With only ten minutes to spare, she can feel the growing excitement buzzing around the room as many inch closer to their loved ones, arms over shoulders and complicit kisses galore. For a second her eyes flicker over the rim of her glass towards Carmy’s profile, drinking in the strong shape of his nose and the many little scars she hadn’t noticed from a distance.

“I don't get it…” Ross says suddenly, turning back to him again. 

“Uh… context?”

“Right- sorry-” She clears her throat -as a way to order her ideas- and places the mug back on the bar, but doesn’t notice how her body leans in closer to him when she turns back around. “So, you’re like… the shit, right?” She starts, pulling a nervous chuckle from the man.

“Solid start.”

“Shut up-” She groans. “I mean it as in… anyone who knows anything about the culinary world knows who you are. These people, they pay big bucks for your food and they always leave boasting about how great it is-”

“No they don’t-” He tries to argue with a shake of his head.

“Yes they do!” She reassures, voice a little higher and eyes a little glossier. “They do. You have the skill- the reputation to open your own place, make it however you want it to be… why stay here?” 

There’s a look behind his eyes that makes her throat run dry, brows sunken over a concentrated gaze as he settles all his attention on her and everything seems to just vanish into white noise. It could be the confidence the alcohol carries that’s made her so vocal about her thoughts, but the rational part in her head warns that it’s not her place to comment on what she doesn’t know.

Ross shakes her head lightly and mumbles a soft ‘Sorry, nevermind it's stupid.’ before gulping her drink and redirecting her attention and posture back to the screens.

‘1 Minute to Midnight!’ flashes over every screen, bathing the room in an emerald green glow that bounces perfectly off her profile and catches Carmy’s attention. The playlist of 80s anthems and the growing excitement packed in the small room are loud enough to drown out the constant nagging voice in the back of his head. He sucks in a breath and moves impossibly slow in her direction.

“I’ve thought about it.” Carmy confesses loud enough so she can hear him over the chanting crowd.

Ten. She doesn’t expect him to be so close when she turns towards him. Specks of silver rim the outer edges of his eyes, wide enough that she can almost see her reflection staring back, stealing the breath from her lungs.

Nine. Betrayal in her body flicks her eyes down to his lips only for a brief moment and it has him questioning if he might have imagined it, before a teasing smile rounds at the edges of hers.

Eight. “Well when you decide to do it, call me if you ever need a bitchy hostess…” Ross whispers.

Seven. The air from his laugh blows softly over her cheeks, growing hot with the small distance. With a quickened pulse, she tries to settle her gaze on any other part of his face.

Six. ‘Just look at his eyes- shit no, not the eyes!’ ‘The mouth? No, that's even worse!’ ‘Jesus, you’ve kissed people before, why are you so fucking nervous?!’

Five. The turmoil in her head doesn’t bleed through to her calm expression, keeping a gentle smile that has Carmen letting out his own.

“Okay… ” 

Four. The bundle of words hangs from his lips, swinging in her direction and hooking around her neck to pull her closer.

Three. There’s a prevalent pulsing rippling from her chest that drowns out any other sound around her, as if a fish bowl had fallen over the two, blocking out any exterior sound.

Two. “D’you mind if I kiss you?” She asks, gently.

One. The TV behind him explodes in multicolored lights as the ball finally drops. Fireworks reflect back to him from the shimmer of her eyes and all he can do is swallow hard, nod and let her gravity pull him forward.

A soft “Happy New Year, Carmy” brushes over his lower lip.

Then the last thing he remembers is the sweet taste of coconut gloss followed by the smooth movements of velvet lips above his bumbling ones.

**********

Part II

Taglist: @pearlstiare @teteminne, @beebslebobs, @harrysmatcha, @yum-yahgurt, @pussy-f41ry, @kirakombat, @redsakura101 , @hobisunshine13 and that’s it lmao

[unchartedpotential]

The American Radiator Building, now known as the Bryant Park Hotel, is one of the most iconic early skyscrapers in New York City. Located at 40 West 40th Street, it overlooks Bryant Park in Midtown Manhattan. This building, constructed in 1924, is a standout example of the fusion of Gothic Revival and Art Deco styles, designed by renowned architects Raymond Hood and André Fouilhoux. Its design and significance have made it a prominent fixture in New York City's skyline and a key piece of the city’s architectural history.

Historical Overview:

Originally commissioned by the American Radiator Company, the building was intended to serve as the company's headquarters. At the time, the American Radiator Company was a major player in heating and plumbing systems, so the building was constructed to reflect both industrial power and modern elegance. The black brick exterior, intended to symbolize coal, and the gold trim, representing fire, are metaphors for the company’s business, combining both raw industrial elements with luxurious, forward-thinking design.

Key Points and Architectural Significance:

Architectural Design and Style:

Designed by Raymond Hood, who later designed the famous Rockefeller Center, and André Fouilhoux, the building is a hybrid of Gothic Revival and Art Deco architecture.

Its most striking feature is its black brick facade, an unconventional choice at the time, symbolizing coal. The gold trim on the setbacks and pinnacles represents fire, directly tying the building’s aesthetics to the American Radiator Company's role in the coal and heating industries.

The building's verticality, ornamentation, and setbacks are early signs of what would become the dominant Art Deco skyscraper style in New York throughout the 1920s and 1930s.

Height and Structure:

The building stands at 338 feet (103 meters) and has 23 stories, a significant height for its time.

Its steel-frame construction allowed for large vertical dimensions, and the use of setbacks—required by the 1916 Zoning Resolution—helped shape the city's modern skyscraper aesthetic.

Symbolism in Materials:

The choice of materials in the building’s facade is symbolic: black bricks represent coal, the source of heat, while gold represents fire and energy, key elements of the heating and radiator industry.

The use of industrial imagery in an elegant building was groundbreaking, and the American Radiator Building is often cited as a precursor to the Art Deco movement, blending industrial might with luxury and beauty.

Cultural Impact:

The building’s bold design and rich symbolism caught the attention of artists and critics alike. It was famously painted by Georgia O'Keeffe in her 1927 work Radiator Building – Night, New York, where she depicted the building against a luminous nighttime cityscape, highlighting its iconic shape and glowing gold details.

The American Radiator Building became a symbol of the modern age—where industry, art, and architecture met—at a time when New York was asserting itself as a global center of innovation and culture.

Transition to the Bryant Park Hotel:

In 2001, the building was converted into the Bryant Park Hotel, a luxury boutique hotel that retained much of its original architectural grandeur. The hotel has kept many of the building's iconic features while adding modern amenities and services. The hotel continues to be a cultural landmark, hosting events and celebrities, and maintaining the historical aura of the building.

Influence on Future Architecture:

The American Radiator Building is often considered a precursor to the fully developed Art Deco style that would dominate New York architecture in the 1920s and 1930s. Raymond Hood’s design sensibilities, displayed in this building, were later applied in his more famous projects, like Rockefeller Center and the McGraw-Hill Building.

Its bold color scheme of black and gold was highly unusual for its time and set the stage for a more adventurous approach to materials and ornamentation in skyscrapers.

Legacy and Preservation:

The building was designated a New York City Landmark in 1974, ensuring its preservation as a crucial piece of the city's architectural history.

It has become a cherished part of the New York skyline, particularly noticeable from Bryant Park, and remains a favorite subject for photographers and architects due to its striking contrast with nearby modern glass skyscrapers.

Conclusion:

The American Radiator Building is an outstanding example of how industrial symbolism and modern aesthetics can blend into a masterpiece of architecture. Its use of black bricks and gold accents to reflect the heating industry, coupled with its early adoption of Art Deco styling, make it an important precursor to many of New York's iconic buildings. Its transformation into the Bryant Park Hotel in the 21st century has allowed the building to retain its place in both the city's history and its future, continuing to serve as a symbol of New York’s architectural evolution.

- Not mine just sharing

[gammacousin]

Just Forget the World

Ch: 14

Natasha has enjoyed a decent enough view from the roof of her apartment in Little Ukraine for the past year. It's a pleasant enough spot to catch a breeze and admire the bustling sounds of her busy block.

The Avengers come and go, called together here and there for various assignments. And the last time she saw the Hulk was months ago, amidst the third ‘Lullaby’ attempt.

They were mid-debriefing when Banner ended it abruptly after receiving a phone call from Jennifer Walters- a woman who will always take priority.

Natasha respects the fact that family matters to Banner. Or, at least, his cousin does.

Looking out over the city, Natasha takes a bite of her stale burrito. Her head rests against the brick of the wall as she spares a thought for her partner in crime.

Yelena Belova invades her waking dreams more often than Natasha would like, curious over whatever could've happened to the sweet innocent blonde who loved her macaroni and cheese.

Natasha nearly chokes on her swallow, suddenly nauseated for giving Dreykov even a spiraling thought.

A dark cat with one eye distracts her, brushing up against her leg.

Natasha spats a Russian swear and shifts her dinner into one hand to cup the cat’s chin.

“I’m not feeding you anymore.”

“Delivery.”

Her head whips in immediate suspicion over the voice at the door. Her guard is up, strolling through the studio apartment toward the door.

Unless her mind is playing tricks on her, Natasha is confident she knows that voice.

The spy maintains surprise as the door opens to reveal Banner in a pizza cap, red t-shirt, and black hoodie, holding a box in her direction.

She blinks, unsure of how to respond;

“I thought I told you to call first so I could disengage the trip wire.”

“Yeah, well,’ Bruce exhales, ‘I was in the area and thought I'd take my chances.”

Natasha huffs with her eyes, ready to roll, “What's in the box?”

He checks it as if he's already forgotten, “A lot of carbs. I was in the area and thought I’d—Tony called and asked me to make a delivery.”

“To me?”

“No, this is an extra. The rest were to make amends for some wrongdoing years ago with some model on the opposite side of the city,’ Bruce fumbles with the box and bites his cheek, ‘He’s, going above and beyond after…”

She understands the unspoken reference to rogue suits; it's entered every tabloid.

Questioning Stark’s well-being feels like a moot point now that his best friend stands in front of her with some borderline joke in his hands. Things couldn't be that bad for the billionaire if he's already scheduling apology pizzas to old flings in New York City.

Natasha tilts her head to invite Bruce inside. Closing the door behind him, she takes the box a few feet away into the makeshift kitchen;

“I’m not sure how I feel about you roaming New York at night to visit strange women. Are you keeping the tower in one piece while Tony’s away? Or are you throwing some wild parties on Avenger dollars?”

“J.A.R.V.I.S has been enough company.”

Natasha playful tilts her head, snatching a pepperoni from inside the pizza box, “Just J.A.R.V.I.S?”

“Well,’ he wrings his hands, ‘Steve came by for an eight-hour Star Wars marathon, and we’ve only gotten through the first three.”

She pauses.

“That sounded way less dorky in my head,” Bruce says as he adjusts his cap.

Natasha takes another bite, “Tony could’ve called the pizza place himself. He wouldn’t have had to pay for your train and cab rides.”

Bruce lifts his shoulders with a lie. She knows he hates being out in public despite his blush and awkward tone when he mumbles;

“I don’t mind.”

She locates her two small plates from a creaky cabinet, “I would’ve picked up around here if I knew you were coming.”

“I’m not the only one crashing.”

Natasha checks over her shoulder and then down the direction he points. She spots the black stray cat yawning at the window…

[yatescountyhistorycenter]

Written in stoneware: The potteries of Summersite

By Jonathan Monfiletto

A Yates County native who has collected pieces of pottery from various local stoneware manufacturers and researched the history of many of these companies recently reached out to me with a question about the succession of these producers in the Penn Yan area. She had found a stoneware batter pail marked “Conklin & Heimburger, Penn Yan” and wondered how this company might have related to the Mantell stoneware business.

This woman had previously sparked my interest in learning about Byron Ansley and Ansley’s Dairy after she asked me about the company behind an Ansley’s Dairy milk bottle she had come across. Naturally, she now sparked my interest in learning about stoneware manufacturers in Yates County; we have traded messages to share the information we have uncovered in our research, and now I present that research here.

In fact, my research into stoneware manufacturing overlapped with another topic I had begun researching at the time. You see, as it turns out, stoneware production in Yates County appears to have been concentrated around the foot of Keuka Lake – on the east branch, where the outlet flows out of the lake and heads toward Seneca Lake – because of “a choice bed of clay” in that area, according to a May 30, 1958 article in The Chronicle-Express. This area, now incorporated into the village of Penn Yan, was once its own separate settlement outside of the village proper. It was known as Summersite.

In 1832, George Campbell founded the first pottery at Summersite – in modern-day terms, think of the intersection of Lake Street and South Avenue and the location of Red Jacket Park – after possibly working at potteries in Manhattan before arriving in Penn Yan. Another source states John Campbell established a redware pottery in the area before 1830, while his son George took over the business by 1850. This source indicates John and George came from New York City. However, a newspaper advertisement dated February 20, 1832 announces George Campbell producing earthen water pipes, candle molds, and other earthenware at his factory at the foot of Crooked Lake.

The 1958 article, written by former Yates County Historian Frank Swann, mentions the firm of Savage & Knapp operating around the same time in the same area. That appears to have been a partnership of Joseph L. Savage and Samuel Knapp, who advertised in 1846 the sale of flint ware, bricks, and earthenware pieces. According to a chapter titled “The Dundee Connection” in a book titled Stoneware of Havana, NY, Savage also enjoyed a partnership in making stoneware in Dundee with James Holmes, of Barrington, who had discovered a bed of clay on Washington Street in Dundee. The Holmes & Savage partnership lasted just a short time – as did, presumably, the firm of Savage & Knapp – as Savage formed another partnership in the village of Havana (the former name of Montour Falls) by August 1850. In 1848, Holmes had already acquired another partner by the name of Purdee, and they continued making stoneware in Dundee.

Meanwhile, George Campbell sold his pottery in 1855 to James Mantell, who had come to Penn Yan from Lyons the year before. Mantell had been a potter in Lyons from 1840 to 1853 and thus was well prepared to keep Campbell’s business going. For a brief time, Mantell had a partner in Shem Thomas, who had arrived in Penn Yan in 1853 but moved on to Harrisburg, Pennsylvania in 1856. Mantell continued his business on his own until around 1876, apparently concluding his work with his death. By this point, Swann states, the original clay deposit had been exhausted and “suitable supplies for pottery were brought from New Jersey as ballast in canal boats.”

Nevertheless, the pottery industry in Summersite remained strong, with Oscar Conklin, Mantel’s son-in-law, taking over the business. He worked with at least three partners during this time in business – his firms were known as Conklin & Patterson, Conklin & Mingay, and Conklin & Heimburger. F.J. Elliott & Co. purchased the business sometime in the 1880s – a handwritten note in our subject file dates this purchase as May 1883 – though I have not uncovered an end date for this firm or a successor to this business. At some point, this may have represented the end of the stoneware pottery industry in the Summersite area of Penn Yan.

Much like this major industry in the area, the end of Summersite is also not clear to me. I assume the settlement melded into the village of Penn Yan over time as the village grew up, but I have not yet found concrete evidence for this. What I have found, though, is concrete evidence for the start of this lakeside settlement.

According to Stafford Cleveland in his History and Directory of Yates County, the first settler at the foot of Keuka Lake was John McDowell in 1803 on land belonging to Abraham Wagener, building a double log house on the bank of the lake on the east side of the outlet. A year later, William Wall purchased a tract of land on the west side of the outlet – the present-day Indian Pines area – and took steps to form a village, including surveying the ground into lots. However, Wall died soon after, Wagener took possession of the property, and the proposed village never came to fruition.

However, on the east side of the outlet, a village did come into being with the name of Elizabethtown. By 1817, Meredith Mallory had built a flour or gristmill in the area at the head of the outlet, depending on the low fall of water near that location. However, during the construction of Mallory’s mill, Wagener raised the level of the dam at his mill at the foot of Main Street so there was insufficient water to turn the wheels at Mallory’s mill. By September 1818, Gilman Lovering was operating the Bath, Painted Post, and Geneva stagecoach line. The construction of the highway led to the establishment of several taverns in this area. Zara L. Walton purchased the line on January 1, 1819 and kept it going. Exactly one month after Walton’s purchase of the highway, on February 1, 1819, a group of citizens met at Peter Heltibidal’s tavern and approved a resolution naming the community Summersite.

No matter the name of the settlement, it did seem to hold promise for a major village. In addition to the taverns – Wallace Finch started the first one and was succeeded in its ownership by Heltibidal, George and Robert Shearman, and William Kimble – there were mechanics and a grocery, both presumably serving the stagecoach passengers and workers. In addition to the potteries, other industries sprang up in the area. Isaiah Kimble manufactured augurs and bits; later on, Azor Kimble established a carriage shop. When the Crooked Lake Steamboat Company was incorporated in April 1826, there were hopes for a boom in the village. However, the company never got off the ground – or out on the water.

The Crooked Lake Canal opened a few years later, and the age of the steamboats on Keuka Lake soon dawned. However, by that point, the sun seems to have set on Summersite. “The prospective city of Summersite has faded away,” Cleveland wrote in 1873, while Swann noted the community has been encompassed into the village of Penn Yan.

[mariacallous]

A new class of health care startups has emerged in response to the US Supreme Court’s decision to overturn the federal right to abortion last year. These “digital abortion clinics” connect patients with health care providers who are able to prescribe mifepristone and misoprostol, a course of care commonly described as the “abortion pill.”

These services, many of which were founded before Dobbs v. Jackson, are poised to eliminate a major paradox in the field of reproductive health: Medication abortion is currently the most common way to terminate a pregnancy, yet only 1 in 4 adults are familiar with it, according to a recent study by KFF.

These clinics operate in different ways—some provide live video visits with doctors and nurse practitioners, while others offer asynchronous counseling—but many have experienced a record number of patient orders (and increased VC funding) over the past year. According to Elisa Wells, cofounder of the nonprofit Plan C, their appeal is straightforward. “Their pricing is quite affordable, and there’s convenience in placing an order and getting pills delivered to your mailbox in three to four days,” she says.

Recent data suggests that telehealth clinics have been effective in expanding access to abortion care, especially for people living in remote areas or in states where the procedure has been criminalized, a finding that Wells’ team corroborates. Thanks to a new series of “shield laws” protecting clinicians from out-of-state prosecution—passed in 12 states, including New York, Maryland, and Illinois—these clinics are positioned to expand their reach even further.

Following the lead of other companies in the femtech space (a category that includes everything from kegel trainers to period-tracking apps), leaders at digital abortion clinics like Hey Jane and Choix have publicly expressed their commitment to users’ privacy as they grow. In a recent interview with Vogue, Hey Jane cofounder Kiki Freedman said that the service is “HIPAA-compliant and encrypted.” In an interview with Ms. magazine this January, a representative from Choix highlighted its “HIPAA-compliant texting platform,” while another interviewee suggested that “most telehealth providers are not checking IP addresses.” (Read more about how HIPAA actually works here.)

A common belief about virtual clinics is that they offer more discretion than their brick-and-mortar counterparts. “There’s definitely a privacy factor—these sites don’t ask a lot of questions,” says Wells. In a 2020 study of over 6,000 abortion seekers, 39 percent reported choosing a telemedicine option specifically to preserve their privacy. While some providers’ intentions seem genuine, privacy experts have pointed out that their services may not be as secure as users expect them to be (even if they are compliant with US law).

Last July, a team of researchers at the Markup reported that Hey Jane’s site passed along user information to Meta and Google, the world’s largest digital advertisers. While providers may not restrict access via IP addresses, our analysis found that most providers readily collected them. For telehealth abortion clinics, HIPAA compliance is just one part of the puzzle.

So which virtual abortion clinics take users’ privacy seriously, and which do not? How can users approach these services with safety in mind? Does HIPAA protect all information sent to telehealth providers? To find out, we teamed up with experts to analyze the privacy policies of five popular abortion-by-mail providers: Wisp, Choix, Hey Jane, Carafem, and Aid Access.

While the American Bar Association reported in April that “high-tech tactics” (like sending court orders to femtech apps) have not been used to successfully convict abortion seekers, prosecutors have used women’s text messages and search histories as evidence in a number of abortion-related cases. Because of this precedent, users should proceed with caution when handing their personal information over to telehealth providers. It’s not uncommon for vulnerable data to end up in the hands of third-party brokers who compile digital profiles of users before selling their information to the highest bidder. Michele Gilman, professor of law at the University of Baltimore, says: “Reproductive health data is being sold and transported into a much larger system.”

To make matters worse, the absence of a comprehensive federal privacy law, like the EU’s General Data Protection Regulation (GDPR), leaves the burden of evaluating privacy policies to individual users. Considering that these policies have gotten longer and more difficult to decipher in recent years, this is a serious burden. For our evaluation, we consulted frameworks from the University of Texas at Austin’s Privacy Lab and the Digital Standard to arrive at four core factors.

Here’s what we found:

Data Collection (PII)

The GDPR’s American cousin, the California Consumer Privacy Act (CCPA) has inspired proposed state legislation that supports greater protections for a specific category of data—personally identifiable information. While PII is broadly defined, Google interprets it as including your email address, full name, precise location, phone number, and mailing address.

The safest websites to use won’t collect your PII at all, but offering a mailing address to a virtual clinic is a matter of necessity here. In this context, it’s helpful to distinguish between companies that use your personal information to provide essential services and those that share this information with third parties. Austria-based nonprofit Aid Access fared the best in this category, encouraging users to access the service with virtual anonymity in its policy. Wisp fared particularly poorly here, citing its ability to send specific geolocation data to advertisers.

The majority of providers we analyzed categorize email addresses and the like as “personal information,” which is only protected by HIPAA if it’s stored alongside medical information. This makes it difficult to judge whether it’s being used appropriately.

Low Risk: PII is not recorded, Some Risk: PII is used for intended service, High Risk: PII is used by third parties

Law Enforcement

According to bioethics expert Sharona Hoffman, there’s a common misconception that HIPPA protects your medical information from being shared outside of your doctor’s office. The reality, she says, is that “HIPAA isn’t that protective. Consumers need to know that HIPAA has exceptions for law enforcement and public health.”

While the law provides safeguards for a particular subset of information (personal health information), it doesn’t cover all of the information you provide to a telehealth service. Even if it did apply, the rule allows (but does not require) health care providers to expose PHI when presented with a search warrant or other legal document. While providers could technically refuse these requests, most don’t. “It’s easier to comply rather than involve your medical office in litigation,” says Gilman.

Aid Access is a notable exception and has a track record of standing up to law enforcement (it even sued the US Food and Drug Administration last year.) When examining privacy policies, UT’s Privacy Lab recommends looking at companies’ willingness to hand over any data in the absence of a warrant or other legal document. Neither Carafem, Wisp, Hey Jane, nor Choix specify that they would require a warrant before sending information to government agencies or other legal entities.

Low Risk: PII is not recorded, Some Risk: Legal documents are required to comply with law enforcement, High Risk: Legal documents are not required to comply with law enforcement

Data Control (Deletion)

Sites that offer users more control over their data can deliver better privacy than those that don’t. While low-risk sites will allow you to delete and edit your information freely, some medical information that users provide to virtual clinics will still be out of reach. This is due to state-specific medical record retention laws, which can require health care entities to retain some records for up to 25 years.

Examining how much control companies give users over other information is a better proxy for understanding their general safety. While most of the providers we analyzed included data deletion protocols in their privacy policies, Choix and Hey Jane’s do not. In addition, the latter confirms that it retains data for an unspecified (“reasonable”) period of time.

While Wisp does offer a deletion protocol, it admits that requests can be refused for a variety of reasons, including “exercising free speech” and “internal and lawful uses” on behalf of itself or its affiliates. In addition to responding to requests, privacy-forward organizations will also proactively delete sensitive information, something Carafem does. However, Carafem does not specify a timeline or provide a general deletion request protocol. By contrast, Aid Access allows users to file deletion requests at will for most information.

Low Risk: Users can edit or delete data, Some Risk: Users can edit data, High Risk: Users cannot edit or delete data

Third-Party Sharing (Ads and Marketing)

Research scientist and privacy expert Razieh Nokhbeh Zaeem calls personally identifiable information the “currency of the internet” because of the myriad ways individualized data is collected, bought, and sold across industries. While almost all websites work with third parties in some way, telehealth companies should not sell or share your information with advertisers—but many do, as evidenced by Betterhelp’s recent settlement with the Federal Trade Commission.

If a company is collecting sensitive information and using it to market products and services to you, that presents some risk. If a company shares this information with other companies to support their marketing efforts, it’s a major red flag. As the Markup rightly points out in its privacy policy guide, mentions of “personalization” and “improving services” in these documents usually equate to ad tracking.

According to its privacy policy, Hey Jane uses personal data (and PII) to market its own services (“inform you about products”), while Carafem, Wisp, and Choix reserve the right to pass along information to third-party marketing partners. Choix’s policy claims that it “will never sell your data for third-party marketing purpose[s]” in one section but reserves the right to disclose data to its affiliates for “marketing” purposes in another.

Rather than limiting or removing the third-party trackers installed on their sites, some providers recommend that users generally opt out of cookie-based advertising within their policies, a strategy that is far from foolproof.

Low Risk: PII is not used for marketing or advertising, Some Risk: PII is used for marketing/advertising, High Risk: PII shared with third parties for marketing/advertising

The Bottom Line

In a post-Roe America, virtual abortion clinics provide an essential service, especially for people living in states that criminalize care. Early indicators have shown that they increase access to safe and effective abortion medications, but they don’t offer as much privacy as users are led to believe. With the exception of Aid Access, all of the providers we analyzed have a long way to go when it comes to protecting users’ privacy and earning their trust.

To manage risk when approaching these services (and accessing other information about abortion in hostile states), educators at the Digital Defense Fund recommend reducing your footprint by using privacy-forward search engines like DuckDuckGo, creating temporary email accounts for abortion care, and turning off location tracking on all of your devices.

While engaging in defensive tactics like these are practically useful, legal scholars like Gilman suggest that the reproductive justice movement will advance only when federal and state governments no longer rely on an outdated “notice and consent” paradigm for data privacy. “We need meaningful consent in the reproductive health space,” says Gilman. “Privacy policies today are more like adhesion contracts—suggesting that users ‘take it or leave it.’ It’s not realistic or fair to tell people they can’t engage with technology if they want to protect their privacy.”

Gilman recommends advocating at the state level for better privacy standards, especially if your representatives are considering new legislation. She also encourages people to demand increased protections from private companies, many of which are more flush with the “currency of the internet” than they would have us believe.

[okconstruction]

[okconstructioncompany]

Finish Your Driveway, Walkway and Backyard Patio with the Best Concrete Contractor in New York

If you are planning to give a renovated look to your driveway, walkway, or backyard patio. Concrete usage is a perfect option. Because there is a vast range of options for you. Like various colours, borders, and cut lines. This offers an extraordinary look and feel to your place.

There are three most popular concrete designs which are highly in trend. So, you can ask the best concrete contractor New York to craft the following designs for you.

Let us have a look:

Brushed Concrete

A Brushed concrete finish gives you a rough texture on the surface of a concrete floor. Contractors apply a brushed concrete finish. This avoids slippery areas. It is the technique of creating lines by broom or any brush on wet concrete. This rough as well as textured look provides an appealing and functional finish.

Stamped Concrete

Stamped concrete, also known as textured or imprinted concrete. It is used to replicate stones like slate and flagstone, as well as tile, brick, and even wood. It is popular for decorating patios, pool decks, driveways, and other areas. Due to its diverse pattern and colour options, its use is wide.

Furthermore, it is a cost-effective paving option that requires less maintenance than other materials.

Modern or limestone Finish Concrete

Modern or limestone finish work is a perfect blend of the durability and affordability of concrete. It is a modern concrete and specialised type of finish. This adds the classic elegance of limestone.

So, if you are looking to use concrete finishes for your driveway or backyard patio. Hire an excellent concrete contractor New York to get the desired result!

[thosearentcrimes]

In the 1970s and 80s there was a chain of electronics stores in the New York media market that became quite famous for its over-the-top commercials. They hadn't invented that style of ad (which, as far as I can tell, rose and fell with the independent or small chain retail market), consisting of a very excited "insane" guy with a catchphrase about prices (His Prices Are INSAAAAANE!), but they flooded the Tri-State area airwaves with it.

I'm not really talking about this company because of their advertising, except in the sense that I am familiar with this company because my father told me the story of the ads once, while mentioning that he got some suspiciously cheap but good electronics there. You see, Crazy Eddie, named after primary ringleader Eddie Antar, was also a criminal enterprise and a fraud. According to one of the participants, Sam E. "Sammy" Antar, whose detailed and presumably highly misleading account of the case is available on his amazingly-named website White Collar Fraud, it had always been engaging in fraudulent accounting.

From its humble beginnings as a private company, profits were skimmed and employees were paid under the table, allowing the Antar family to, ah, manage their tax obligations. My understanding is that neither of these practices is or was particularly uncommon in the world of brick-and-mortar retail.

Now, as Crazy Eddie expanded, it became less and less reasonable to engage in petty fraud at that scale. What they had to do next was stop committing tax fraud. Not only would that allow them to avoid getting caught doing tax fraud, by progressively skimming less of the profit they would be able to appear to achieve an impressive rate of growth. This was all in preparation for the smart bit of the scheme, going public.

This is how it works. Stocks trade speculatively at a significant multiple of earnings. This means that if you control and own most of a company, if you can dump your own money into your company and then sell a significant amount of your stock, you can still easily come out well ahead. Soon, the Antars were painstakingly laundering money they had sucked out of Crazy Eddie while it was privately held back into the company past the not particularly vigilant auditors in order to look good to the financial markets.

Eventually the scheme started falling apart socially and financially, and the company suffered a hostile takeover from a competitor who subsequently found that there was $40 million less inventory than advertised. Caveat Emptor, I guess. Eddie Antar tried to flee to Israel but was extradited, upon later getting out of prison he tried to start another electronics retailer called Crazy Eddie, which surprisingly didn't work. Sammy Antar turned state's evidence and is now a fed-lite.

Why am I saying all this, why am I pointing out this particular case? Well, obviously it's because I think there are a lot of modern-day Antars running around making a lot of money, and presumably a lot of their CFOs are also going to flip and reinvent themselves as forensic auditors once they get caught. I assume most startups are somewhat more legal than anything Crazy Eddie did, but many of the market principles remain the same. In fact, corporate lawyers have developed more and more ways to do the same things the Antars did legitimately.

It is ironic that stealing from their own company was worthwhile for the Antars so long as the company was a serious business for them, albeit one that they were operating in a criminal manner, while pumping money into their company was only the correct thing to do once they were divesting themselves of ownership. Obviously this is just how tax evasion and pump and dumps work, but I find it contrasts interestingly with the capitalist dogma that ownership makes for better stewards of the property, still used as the primary political argument for privatization even though capitalist firms are also run managerially.

Ultimately, my takeaway is that the Antars were basically your regular shady retail guys, until they spotted an opportunity to get in on the ground floor of Shareholder Value Maximization. My other takeaway is if you get something cheap because someone is fucking the shareholders, mind your own business probably.

[sage-wilde-va]

Gargoyles X TMNT: Shadows of New York Chapter 1: Breaking News

“... sightings have not yet confirmed the witnesses’ stories, but the enormous ball of flame that engulfed the building last night … “

Psssszzzh!

“ … signs point to a fascination with ancient mysticism, these warriors of the night straight from a bygone era who …” 

Psszzzh–ssszh!

“... An ancient code of honor, binding all who fought with the Lord, to protect the innocent from the wicked and the powerful …”

Psssszzh!

“... No explanation yet as to how these burglars were left, almost literally, gift-wrapped for the police. You won’t believe the story these lucklorn criminals told to New York’s Finest. Tonight, on…”

Psszh-zh-zh-zhhh!

“... local legends and urban myth, never seen in broad daylight. You could call them ‘modern cryptids’…”

Pssszzzzh!

“...Monsters! I’m telling ya! Monsters, right here, in New York City! Can you believe it?”

Pssszh!

“...warm'd and cool'd by the same winter and summer, as a Christian is? If you prick us, do we not bleed? If you tickle us, do we not laugh? If you poison us, do we not die? And if you wrong us, do we not revenge? If we are like you in the rest… we will resemble you in that. ”

Kk-tewww!

The television blinked off, the remote carelessly dropped onto a coffee table that looked like it had been pulled out of the harbor, dusted off, and set in the middle of a living room as if it still had any business being in polite company. A balding middle-aged man stretched on his stained, broken recliner. “Gots like a thousand channels, and nothin’ good on.” He sighed. “The hell do I pay for cable, anyway?” 

He wriggled left, right, left, and eventually managed to roll to his right out of the greasy, dark-stained pit he’d worn for himself in the seat of the broken La-Z-Boy. His feet kicked a few beer cans to the corners of the dingy, trash-strewn apartment as they padded, bare, across the stain-and-mess-colored kitchen tile. He pried open the fridge door with his grimy toes, the corner of the once-white fridge stained with filthy brown footprints from the habit. He fished out another can of Bud Light, and popped open the can. He sucked down several gulps of his liquid bread before looking about the apartment.

He really should clean. If there was nothing good on TV and he was too broke to go out, maybe he could at least pick up a few cans. But what the hell else was he going to do? Walk to Blockbuster and rent a movie? 

Actually? Yeah. Yeah, he could do that. Get one of them old monster movies, see if they were renting out Alien or maybe even Terminator! Yeah, he could make it a night, go to that pizza place on Eastman and Laird that just opened up. It’d be nice to get out of the apartment for a change. Cleaning could wait.

He lifted his arm, warily sniffing his own body. He leered, gagging on the stench, his face twisted up like a gargoyle. “Eugh. Maybe I should shower first.” He grunted.

Whoosh!

He whirled around to look at his window where he heard the noise. A car? No, no way. He was up on the 18th floor. A bird? No. Too big. Way too big.

Crrrnch, crrrnch, crrrnch, WHOMPF!

His eyes tracked up the wall of his apartment, following a trickle of dust up the wall and across the ceiling, as he watched in horror. Something was… crunching the brick of the wall outside. Something big, strong, fast, and very heavy. Now it was on the roof.

He heard a pained cry of a person. Or an animal? He rubbed his bloodshot eyes, gulping dryly. Right. Leaving. He was leaving. Screw the shower. He was from the Bronx; he knew trouble when he smelled it, and had gotten very good at avoiding it. He grabbed his work coat, put it on over his shoulders, and fished out a hat to jam over his greasy, stringy hair. He slipped on a pair of flip flops and slipped out of the apartment.

He stood in the hallway, quietly debating if he should bother waiting for the elevator, or take the stairs and aggravate his asthma. He heard a low rumble over his head, felt the building tremble subtly. Another stream of dust trickled from the ceiling. Stairs. Never take the elevator in an emergency. He shouldered open the stairwell door, flip flops slapping against his heels as he shuffled down the stairs as fast as he dared.

What on earth could be making that racket? Punks? Pigeons? Terrorists? His blood went cold at that last one. The planes hit the Twin Towers only a few weeks ago. What if it was another attack? His thoughts raced as he found himself going down the stairs a little faster, sandals clopping from a trot up to a canter. 

Pizza. Movie. And if the cops showed up, he'd just wait until they cleared the place. He could always sleep in his car. He had nothing to hide, and they couldn’t arrest him if he wasn’t there anyway.

He shuffled out of the lobby and out onto the dark street, only daring to look up for a moment. But, seeing nothing in the black and starless night overhead, he turned up his collar and jammed his hands into his pockets, his fingers finding the familiar holes he still had not yet patched. He marched off towards Blockbuster first, determined to put at least a mile between him and whatever the hell was happening at his apartment. He didn’t get involved in other peoples’ problems if he could at all possibly wriggle his way out of it. Was it slimy? A little. But it was also decidedly not his problem. He had enough of them as-is.

He made it to the Blockbuster, heard the ding of the bell on the door, and waved to the teenager behind the counter. She spun around in her office chair, looking down at the magazine without really paying him any mind. He rolled his eyes. Whatever. Young punks.

He picked up one or two movies, beginning to engross himself in the only reading he actually did–the summaries on the sleeves of the VHS tapes–when the wall beside him exploded.

[nickgerlich]

Hell Freezes Over

Twenty-five years ago, Reed Hastings and Marc Randolph upset the apple cart by offering a mail order DVD rental business. Until then, chains like Blockbuster and mom-and-pop shops rented movies to households in search of entertainment. The brick-and-mortar world was firmly entrenched, but Hastings and Randolph had seen the future. They called it Netflix.

Blockbuster ballyhooed the whole thing until its death (there is one store remaining, and it is in Bend Oregon). They watched as Netflix grew its mail order business, and evolved into streaming as well. They sat by while Netflix split operations in two in 2011, with DVDs by mail and streaming each having their own subscription fee. And they kept watching until most of the rental shops, including theirs, were rendered extinct.

All along, Hastings had argued that being ad-free was the fabric of their existence, and that they would never go down that road. Netflix’ only revenue stream was in subscriptions, which is 220 million worldwide in 190 nations, 73 million of which are in the US. But subscription fees have inched ever higher in recent years, to the point that Netflix noticed a downtick this year in subs and was forced to reconsider.

It was last April the company announced it would indeed back-pedal and start offering an ad-supported budget subscription. Yesterday, it went live. Hell has indeed frozen over.

The new plan, which will come with four or five 15- or 30-second ads per hour, clocks in at $6.99. Ad-free plans start at $9.99 for one device, and climb to $15.49 for two devices, and $19.99 for four devices. Netflix has now joined many of the other large streaming providers with both ad-supported and ad-free offerings, like Hulu, Peacock, and Paramount+.

As much as Hastings may hate to admit it, the move makes sense. At a time when we are clearly reaching streaming saturation, plus with inflation still over 8%, they have to offer a cheaper solution. Competition is brisk, and money is short. Worse yet, this is entirely discretionary spending. We really don’t need Netflix.

Wait. Did I just say that? I need my Netflix! Really, I do!

It’s just that Netflix has become such a part of the fabric of our existence that it is hard to imagine living without it. Sure, there are nearly 60 million US households that do not subscribe. For those of us who have been sending the company our money every month for many years now, it has practically become an inflexible payment.

Netflix has evolved considerably in recent years as competitors rose and put up a challenge. These new competitors have been able to steal content from Netflix, like when HBO Max got the exclusive on Friends, and Hulu recently getting Schitt’s Creek. While Netflix was certainly stunned by these losses, it may not be as significant as you might think, because the company has focused much of its energies on original programming. And that original programming is expensive to produce, including owning or renting soundstages in Albuquerque, Atlanta, Vancouver, New York City, and elsewhere.

I have long been intrigued by the Netflix model, because it knows very little about each of its users, which includes not just the person paying the bill, but also family members with their own profiles within the account. This means that ad placement will be difficult for Netflix. If they knew that a user is male, in his 60s, educated, of a certain income class, etc. (I might be talking about myself), they could target ads with laser efficiency. But as it stands, ads on Netflix may be as targeted as those in your daily newspaper, which is to say not at all.

Truly, all that Netflix knows about me is the shows I have watched, including those I watched entirely, watched multiple times, or bailed open after only 10 minutes. OK, so they kind of know my genres. But while that knowledge makes it easy for them to suggest content to me, it makes it hard to advertise specific products.

But Netflix will remain one of the streaming services in which I will not take the cheaper option. I rather like things the way they are. I can’t imagine having to pause my viewing when Squid Game 2 comes, nor can I fathom ads in Stranger Things. Those shows are intense. That said, I am willing to tolerate ads on Hulu when I watch Only Murders In The Building and What We Do In The Shadows. 

Now let’s see what kind of profile my students can deduce about me. Have fun with that one, because I am kind of all over the map, with the exception being romcoms.

Back to Netflix, I’m sure they will be watching closely if their latest move results in increased subs and revenues. It is possible that they get none, and that a huge part of those 73 million downgrade their plans. That would put more than a $225 million dent in revenues if we all did.

The bigger takeaway, of course, is never to say what you won’t do. Because there’s ice forming on the lake of fire right now, and Reed Hastings may be lacing up his skates.

Dr “Never Say Never“ Gerlich

Audio Blog

[dethelk]

hey does anyone want to see the only part of the maxim horvath fic i have written:

I’m having fun.

I’m having fun.

This place is not overwhelming and I am having fun.

Perhaps if you think it hard enough, the words will be true.

What started as a small group vacation to New York City eventually turned into this solo train-wreck. A rare ray of luck shined when you won a paid trip for four to a concert, then the clouds rolled in. The one person you had actively invited had to bow out for a family emergency, leaving their two friends and yourself to carry on with the trip. They seemed like nice enough folks that were also fans of the band, but you barely knew them. Thunder crashed; the concert was canceled due to mass food poisoning among the touring staff and band. Leading to the lightning strike that was going along with Plan B(TM) of attending a pop-up rave tonight and almost immediately getting ditched by the others.

Yes, you could just leave, but that would be giving up and at this point you were running on pure spite. Also it turned out that this event was sponsored by some booze company so hey, free shirley temples made by actual bartenders and not just Some Guy. Who are you to deny yourself a fancy little soda and all the maraschino cherries you can fit in a drink, while still calling it a drink.

So that leads to now, back pressed against a cool brick wall and consuming enough liquid sugar to be concerning. The music is beyond loud, as it should be, reverb passing throughout the building and seeping into your bones.