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MONDAY

Kiefer, what have you done? As if Mondays didn’t have enough problems as it is, the 24 actor had to go and get busted for his second D.U.I. in three years, jeopardizing an already tenuous evening of television. He’s had hours of method acting as a Chinese prisoner, which should have him mentally prepared for 48 days in jail.

Meanwhile, a couple of cameos help spruce up a dead night: Jennifer’s dad, veteran TV actor John Aniston, attempts to match the intensity of Kevin McKidd (Rome) on Journeyman (NBC, 10 p.m.)—good luck, buddy!—while Phylicia Rashad tries to give the underappreciated Everybody Hates Chris (CW, 8 p.m.), a bit of can't-miss star-power.

News flash! Wynton Marsalis still loves jazz, New Orleans, performs during Live From Lincoln Center (PBS, 8 p.m.). Glenn Close hosts. Anthony Bourdain still loves cooking, hearing himself speak, does a holiday special (TRAVEL, 10 p.m.).

Bonus: new How I Met Your Mother (CBS, 8 p.m.)

TUESDAY

The only thing more depressing than Mondays? Tuesdays. Since everything on the networks at 8 p.m. is a repeat, all that is left is ESPN’s Best of This Is Sportscenter, an hour dedicated to recapping the best moments from the commercial series used to promote Sportscenter. (First, the Geico cavemen get a TV show.—now, this?) The options don’t get any better at nine: a new episode of Cane (CBS)—which currently only has a 4-script order for next season—or Holiday in Handcuffs, the romantic comedy inspired by Misery—that is not a typo—starring Melissa Joan Hart and Mario Lopez (ABC Family). Then top it all off with the debut of Twister Sisters (WE, 10 p.m.), a reality series where tornado hunters take adventure seekers along for the ride. The first episode features a divorced couple and their daughter on a chase from Kansas to Texas. Watch to determine which is more destructive: the tornado or the parents.

WEDNESDAY

When one reality TV series ends, another begins. And so, tonight, bid a fond farewell to Gordon Ramsey—who’s actually been around since the early summer with Hell’s Kitchen—and his Kitchen Nightmares (FOX, 9 p.m.) and America’s Next Top Model (CW, 8 p.m.), which will anoint the next Vendela, and give a hearty welcome to Crowned (CW, 9 p.m.), where mother-daughter teams compete against each other in a mock beauty pageant. Good news: looks mildly entertaining. Bad news: its debut comes at the cost of Gossip Girl, which won’t be back until next week. (By the way, what’s with Josh Schwartz and mean grandmas? First, it’s the crotchety yenta, Nana, on the OC, and now Serena’s turns out to be a manipulative old hag. Man’s got bubby issues.)

Speaking of people with issues, Paul Rubens returns to Pushing Daisies (ABC, 8 p.m.) and playwright Tony Kushner is deconstructed on P.O.V. (PBS, 9 p.m.).

THURSDAY

CBS practically has the night to itself, as it is the only network with the inventory left to fill a full prime-time schedule of programming: Survivor: China (8 p.m.), CSI (9 p.m.), Without a Trace (10 p.m.) are all new. (Fox may have new episodes of Are You Smarter Than a Fifth Grader? (8 p.m.) and Don’t Forget the Lyrics (9 p.m.), but they might as well be in repeats, as it’s impossible to tell one week apart from the next.) The only thing left of NBC’s Must-See Thursday line-up is 30 Rock. How about that for irony? The only thing left is a show about writers.

FRIDAY

Watch It’s a Wonderful Life (NBC, 8 p.m.) for the thousandth time or take a chance on the World Magic Awards (MyNetworkTV, 8 p.m.), the Oscars of illusionism. Presto!

The government of Israel appears to suffer from the same mental and moral dysfunctions that afflict the Bush administration: an urge to wage war without any plausible objectives, any viable plan for disengagement, or any rational assessment of costs and benefits. Israel’s second invasion of Lebanon, only weeks old and with considerably more justification, is already beginning to resemble the American invasion of Iraq.

Just as American policymakers badly miscalculated what would be required to occupy and stabilize Iraq after the overthrow of Saddam Hussein, so Israel appears to have underestimated what kind of resistance its forces would encounter in driving Hezbollah from southern Lebanon. The Americans failed to anticipate the ruinous effects of the war and occupation on our international reputation and national interest. The Israelis somehow failed to recall the terrible stain on their national image left by their last incursion.

There is no American strategy for the Middle East. There is only crisis management, performed incompetently, and slogans about “democracy” and “evil” and “terrorism.” From somewhere inside this intellectual vacuum, the voice of President George W. Bush assures us that things are getting better in Iraq.

There seems to be no Israeli strategy, either. There is only a military reaction to the provocations of Hezbollah and Hamas, with disappointing and sometimes disastrous results. Prime Minister Ehud Olmert claims that his campaign is winning, that the murders of civilians and U.N. observers will somehow prove to be worthwhile. The stature of the terrorists grows, and the war has succeeded in discrediting moderate Arabs and silencing the Hamas leaders in Gaza who were ready to start talking instead of killing.

Israel’s bloody response to the seizure of three soldiers has united its enemies and divided its friends. Atrocities committed by the Israel Defense Forces in Qana and elsewhere have appalled Western opinion and enraged Arabs and Muslims in countries that share Israel’s hostility to radical Islam. The people of Lebanon, who have never fought Israel and were trying to rebuild their country, have been turned into furious enemies of the Jewish state.

At the same time, the Sunni fanatics of Al Qaeda are finding common cause with their enemies, the Shiite fanatics of Hezbollah. For these organizations, the continuing violence is a moral victory, because every day of killing proves that there can be no negotiated peace.

But what does Israel expect to accomplish by bombing civilians in Lebanon? What kind of victory does Mr. Olmert hope to win by delaying a ceasefire? Whatever he may once have hoped to achieve, the Israeli leader is now quickly reducing expectations. He knows that after three weeks of bloody conflict, Hezbollah still has thousands of missiles ready to fire into northern Israel. He cannot predict that Hezbollah will be extirpated or even defeated, only that they have suffered and that things will be “different” than before.

And he will be held responsible, in the eyes of the world and his own countrymen, for a policy that could only lead to war crimes. The Israeli war plan turned hundreds of thousands of civilians into refugees, bombing their homes and villages whether they had left them or not, and then blaming them for being “terrorists” if they failed to escape. That kind of conduct will place the Israelis on the same moral plane as their attackers, where they should never be.

What has made this bad situation worse—and promises to inflict incalculable damage long into the future—is the feckless encouragement of Israel’s disproportionate response by Secretary of State Condoleezza Rice and her obtuse boss. Having neglected Israel and Palestine for years, their parody of diplomacy has achieved nothing so far, except to discredit the United States.

It will be many years before our government can play any useful role as an interlocutor between the Israelis and the Arabs, with whom they must eventually make peace. Indeed, the American refusal to insist on an immediate ceasefire has made us look weak and immoral, as if we are controlled by a small and isolated ally. We could scarcely afford still another self-inflicted blow to our reputation.

It may be too obvious to mention, but the lost lives of women, children and soldiers on both sides—not to mention the physical destruction in Israel and Lebanon—has long since outweighed the incidents that instigated this war. If the three Israeli soldiers are still alive when a ceasefire finally comes, then the negotiations over their fate that should have commenced weeks ago will begin.

The problems that existed before hundreds of civilians were killed will still have to be addressed. The world will still have to find ways to police the border between Israel and Lebanon, to encourage the Palestinians toward peace instead of jihad, and to pull Syria away from Iran. These mad and murderous weeks have only made it all harder.

To the Editor:

“The Bad Old Days” [May 28] was correct. I’ll just say that as a native New Yorker, I am always happy to be reminded that the late 1970’s and early 1980’s weren’t a mirage. There was a tangible energy that no amount of hipster vintage stores can reproduce.

Sarah Ristine
Stamford, Conn.

 

 

 

To the Editor:

Re “Free-Traders Having Second Thoughts” [May 14]: Mr. Von Hoffman’s criticisms of free trade are nothing original. It is well known among decision makers that the income gap in the United States is widening, and that the middle class, having enjoyed the benefits of a liberal trade policy in the form of vastly cheaper manufactured goods, is now terrified that their jobs will follow those of their blue-collar compatriots overseas.

The reason Mr. Von Hoffman brings us this article is apparently that economists are finally beginning to question the merits of free trade—and in publications no less august than Foreign Affairs. However, the problems with free trade that Mr. Von Hoffman cites, such as poisoned pet-food and a large number of poor people in Mexico, are not the indications of an inherently flawed system, but rather challenges that politicians, up till now, have refused to address.

While Mr. Von Hoffman may prefer to leave the solutions in God’s hands, a bipartisan plan now brewing in Washington would expand environmental and labor protections abroad while increasing access to Trade Adjustment Assistance programs for white-collar workers in the U.S.

Those reforms are important, but they don’t go far enough. A far more necessary reform is an adjustment of domestic tax policy that would decrease the tax burden on the middle class and businesses while drastically increasing income taxes on that lucky 2 percent who run those businesses.

Politicians and labor leaders would be of much more service to their constituencies if they stopped pandering to loud xenophobes and instead took serious measures to improve a system that, at its core, has the potential to help raise millions out of poverty.

Jesse Mosier
Brooklyn

It’s too bad that the Knicks managed to win back-to-back games in recent days. Grouchy fans who ought to be screaming for change found themselves cheering on Monday night when the Knicks beat the Utah Jazz. The win may have inspired fans to forget just how bad this team has been, and what a disgrace the organization has become.

Even if the Knicks are showing signs of life, no amount of good play on the court can make up for the incompetence and scandalous behavior that has tarred this once classy organization. Thanks to the bizarre leadership of James Dolan, chairman of Madison Square Garden, and the antics of team president and coach Isiah Thomas, it will take years before the Knicks return to the honored place they once held in the city’s civic life. Unless, that is, Mr. Thomas finds himself out of a job sometime soon, and Mr. Dolan can be persuaded to move to another corner of the vast Cablevision empire, of which the Garden is a part.

The Knicks’ recent eight-game losing streak, during which star point guard Stephon Marbury actually abandoned the team briefly because he was removed from the starting lineup, was a reminder of just how awful things have become under the Dolan-Thomas regime. The Knicks have made the playoffs just once since 2001. Mr. Dolan hired Mr. Thomas in 2003 to revive the team’s fortunes, but things have only gotten worse.

The true measure of the team’s decline is not just a matter of wins and losses. Last summer, Mr. Thomas and the Garden were sued by a former executive who accused Mr. Thomas of sexual harassment and the Garden of firing her when she complained. Mr. Dolan chose to contest the suit; that decision led to a guilty verdict and an $11.6 million payment to the ex-employee.

It wasn’t just the verdict that damaged the Garden’s already dismal reputation since Mr. Dolan made the arena his little hobby. Testimony portrayed the Garden as a latter-day Animal House, where male employees regularly used vulgar language to describe female colleagues. Mr. Dolan, who has a reputation for hot-tempered behavior, doesn’t appear concerned about the damage the lawsuit has done to the Garden’s image.

The Dolan era has been an unmitigated disaster for Madison Square Garden. The Knicks have become a bad team and a bad organization, a disgrace to the team’s history.

Getting rid of Mr. Thomas would be a step in the right direction. Finding a new toy for Mr. Dolan would be even better.

To the Editor:

There are factors besides relative cost that will decide which New York City tabloid will survive [“They Stoop for Quarters”, May 21].

How fortunate we are to be living in one of the few remaining free societies, with a wealth of information sources available for any citizen to access.

Today in New York City, we have ongoing circulation battles between the Daily News and the Post. They face competition from other daily newspapers that have a strong presence in their own communities, such as Long Island’s Newsday and The Staten Island Advance. In addition, a growing population of new immigrants supports its own newspapers, radio and television stations.

In the marketplace of ideas, let us hope there will continue to be room for everyone.

Larry Penner
Great Neck, N.Y.

To the Editor:

I became a fan of The Observer years ago when I was a happy New Yorker and could afford to live in Manhattan (until 1994). I bought it every week and, when I moved to New Orleans, began to subscribe.

My friends are not familiar with The Observer, but I have been trying to convince them to subscribe. So, I’m doing my best!

Donald Waits
New Orleans, La.

Everyone is stunned that a process that should be occurring 9 months to a year from now is occurring now: the race for the Democratic presidential nomination. It is completely premature. And now the Republicans seem to be following in this daffodils-in-winter behavior. The cable stations are talking about Giuliani's numbers against McCain.

The prematurity has a simple explanation: We want the election to happen now; no one wants George Bush to be president any more. He is a disgrace and a failure. While Cheney is just crazy. It is truly scary to have this kind of leadership. If you polled the elite, I venture that most of them are actually frightened; and that few have any confidence in Bush. He is not a lame duck. He's a mad duck. (And I am someone who gives Bush credit for the fact that there have been no terrorist attacks in nearly 6 years...)

Yet impeachment (which I favor) is obviously unpopular. Wise men don't seem to think it is a good idea. We are in some kind of war, these are dangerous times. Impeachment is enormously disruptive.

The answer is obvious. Bush and Cheney should both resign. Bush would cement his legacy. He would show that he is actually, as he claims, a spiritual man, who did not want to sacrifice one more American life to his obstinate pride. And he would do something historic and great (and thumb his nose at the Clintons one more time): make Pelosi President.

The much-anticipated Des Moines Register poll released last night is a clear boon for both Barack Obama and Mike Huckabee, who lead their respective fields, according to the survey.

Obama’s seven-point lead over Hillary Clinton, which shows a wider gap between the top Democrats than any of the Register’s previous polls, suggests that late momentum—the same phenomenon that pushed John Kerry to nearly 40 percent of the vote in 2004—is behind the Illinois Senator.

Most notably, the poll showed independent voters and first-time participants breaking his way.

For Huckabee, who is six points ahead of Mitt Romney, the numbers contradict other recent polls that suggested he had lost his lead to Romney. Those data prompted the former Massachusetts governor to publicly raise the stakes and claim that outright victory was within his reach.

But there's a caveat for both Obama and Huckabee: this poll, the most authoritative pre-caucus indicator, saddles them with high expectations. If they do not win the caucus, even by a small margin, the media may declare them clear losers, and exaggerate the significance of even a narrow win by their opponents.

To the Editor:

Re “If She Did It” [Nov. 26]:

However mercurial she may be, Judith Regan does not suffer Swift Boaters gladly. Stung, smeared and derided by an incestuous media-political complex, this savvy firebrand decided that retribution is a dish best served ice cold. Hence her impeccably timed $100 million lawsuit.

Ms. Regan knows whose closet houses the most skeletons. And by revealing what Rupert, Rudolph and Roger knew and when they knew it, she might well change the course of human events—or the trajectory of the 2008 Republican primaries.

If Ms. Regan’s abrupt dismissal from HarperCollins was News Corporation’s preemptive bid to stop her from disclosing the extent of Roger Ailes’ propinquity to Rudolph Giuliani, it was a ham-handed failure. But any bombshells about Bernard Kerik or Fox News will be the least of Rudy’s woes.

No, what may finally undo Giuliani is the intense media spotlight Ms. Regan’s revelations will shed on his shameless exploitation of 9/11. Caucus and primary voters in Iowa, New Hampshire and South Carolina are still unaware of Rudy’s self-aggrandizing tactics in sidelining FEMA and OSHA after the Al Qaeda attacks. Nor do they realize that America’s mayor ignored the growing toxicity at Ground Zero, imperiling scores of rescuers and first-responders.

Ms. Regan’s legal broadside may also focus national attention on Rudy’s revisionism. Though he remains as ill-informed about Al Qaeda today as he was during his mayoralty, Mr. Giuliani claims near omniscience in matters relating to war, peace, terrorism and the Middle East. And now he is agitating for a possible strike on Iran.

Rather than succumbing to such foreign policy folderol, voters must ask themselves: Cui bono? Who benefits from Rudy’s comic-book bellicosity?

Should this come to pass, we will have Ms. Regan to thank.

Rosario Iaconis
Mineola, N.Y.

On the morning of Wednesday, Sept. 20, the 14th Dalai Lama, Tenzin Gyatso, was hovering on a dais inside a Catskills conference center, wrapped in the swaddling robes of fame, love and audience expectations. In front of him, a throng of scientists and seeker types sat awed and silent—and in some cases praying—while the event’s two hosts flanked his sides, ready to interpret. To his left sat Robert Thurman, renowned Tibetan scholar, friend of His Holiness and father of leading-lady bombshell Uma Thurman. To his right was Dr. Mehmet Oz, famed heart surgeon, friend of Oprah and father of college authoress Daphne Oz. At risk to their collective nostrils, they were all shoeless.

His Holiness was the culminating act of a three-day conference-cum-retreat titled “Longevity and Optimal Health.” The Tibet House and the Columbia Integrative Medicine Program had organized the event, assembling Tibetan doctors with Occidental scientists to contemplate the everlasting mystery of attaining long life. His Holiness—it seemed wrong to address him as Mr. Gyatso—had just been treated to a greatest-hits review of the event’s discussions, including a presentation by scientist Elizabeth Blackburn, a recent recipient of the Lasker Prize, and now it was his turn to weigh in, to offer insights and enlightenment on the question in every mindful person’s mind: What could the West learn from Tibet?

After Dr. Oz posed the question, the Dalai Lama and his translator began to whisper, muttering and murmuring for 10 seconds, 20 seconds, 40 seconds while the audience waited in sustained yoga-breath anticipation. Cameras snapped, a person coughed, prayer flags fluttered in the breeze outside. At last, His Holiness addressed the crowd.

“Well,” he said, “I don’t know!”

The crowd paused, then burst into delighted laughter. How simple! How profound!

The conference had been a dizzying romp upstate—just miles from the hippie hamlet of Woodstock and the world’s largest kaleidoscope—a cozy but awkward group grope of East and West, mind and body, spiritualism and materialism.

At breakfast and dinner, crimson-robed monks sat beside pointy-headed researchers, who sipped warm herbal tea beside bead-wearing yogis and wealthy Manhattan Buddhists. During panels, discussion was as apt to be about meditation and chakras as cytokines and tumor necrosis factor—or sometimes all four at once, which had the mind-warping effect (to the layperson, at least) of watching a Discovery channel bio-flick looped to a high-speed Tibetan over-dub. Or vice versa.

On the final evening, a group of scientists dug in and debated the biological limits of longevity, while a cadre of white, Western seeker folk swayed and chanted in a nearby yoga studio. “Hare Krishna, Hare Krishna, Krishna Krishna, Rama, Rama,” they sang into the night, bringing to mind the old scene in Hannah and Her ­Sisters.

But unlike Woody, conference organizers don’t do irony. Instead, they believed that such age-old opposites could attract—that the practices of Tibetan Buddhism (meditation, mind-control) could be merged with the research of Western scientists to create a new science of longevity. That was why they had enticed some 200 people to a rolling 320-acre retreat called Menla Mountain, miles from the nearest cell-phone tower. And who better than the Dalai Lama—teacher, Nobel Peace Prize winner and international Symbol of Understanding—to bring everyone together?

“Very useful, very useful,” the wise monk said on the dais, blessing the conference. With a little prodding, he even agreed to share his theory of his own 71 years of longevity, a theory he boiled down to “calm mind,” and which flowed into a deep-thoughts discussion of the meaning of “intention,” the dual nature of violence, the “truth of suffering,” the danger of anger and, of course, the importance of “compassion.”

“The calm mind is very essential,” said the Dalai Lama in his rumbling basso profundo, “and for calm mind, compassion is the key factor. Infinite compassion, or unbiased compassion.”

When the audience emerged from the hall, quite a few declared themselves enlightened.

“Anything he says to me is pure pleasure, anything he says to us is grace,” said Sandra Ross, a Buddhist and psychologist from New Canaan, Conn., who was among the 150 or so guests who had paid $395 to attend the conference. (The 40 or so invited scientists and scholars attended for free). “Some of the things said about him is that when he touches you, it’s like every cell in your body feels ­acceptance.”

INTEGRATE ME!

In recent years the merging of Eastern and Western medicine has evolved into something of a passion, even obsession, in certain quarters of New York’s urban medical establishment. Once the province of California mystics and dreamy organic-philes, it has gradually ohm’d its way toward the outer center, popping up at sleek feng-shui’d clinics and sprawling hospitals like Memorial Sloan–Kettering Cancer Center and Weill Cornell Medical Center. Its practitioners call it “comparative” or “integrative medicine” to signify its embrace of both antibiotics and acupuncture, chemotherapy and qigong.

Integrative medicine “is taking the best ideas from parts of the world that we normally don’t speak with in medicine,” said Dr. Oz, 46, a comely cardio-thoracic surgeon whose titles include director of Columbia University Medical Center’s Cardiovascular Institute and one of People magazine’s Sexiest Men Alive (2002). He also founded Columbia’s Integrative Medicine Program. “We speak to them in banking,” he said, “we speak to them in entertainment. You can get money out of an A.T.M. machine in Tibet, but you can’t get medical care there that’s Western. And vice versa.”

For many New York doctors, that’s been just fine. But in the age of Vioxx, managed care and nonstop cancer alerts—as well as a few genuinely promising studies—angsty New Yorkers have begun responding to the lure of integration, turning to everything from meditation to pain management (on the tamer side) to visualization to shrink tumors (on the fringier side) to all manner of supplements to block cancer. With its promise of new age self-helpism and allopathic reassurance, integrative medicine is perhaps the ultimate elixir of the control-freak class.

“Integrative medicine is definitely the future of medicine,” said Dr. Woodson Merrell, executive director of the Continuum Center for Health & Healing, which, he said, has seen more than 100,000 patients since its June 2000 opening.

In certain integrative circles, talk of “revolution,” “renaissance” and the “future of medicine” is apparently as de rigueur as green tea and St. John’s wort.

“We want to create a long-term medical think tank here, a healing think tank, in which the so-called alternative and complementary people have an active agency and voice, and their voice is as respected as the Western technocrats,” Professor Thurman, 65, told The Observer in his excitable baritone as a flurry of monks and staffers fluttered around him, building an altar, hanging tangkas, preparing a throne for the Dalai Lama’s arrival.

“It starts out with this conference, and then maybe there’s a more long-term thing; we have fellows, we have even pilot projects, and so it develops.”

On the second morning of the conference—a sunset and sunrise before the Dalai Lama’s visit—Professor Thurman’s “think tank” was chugging at full throttle, buzzing along with a series of talks with titles like “Mind/Body Practices that Regulate Immune Functioning” and “The Cascade of Transformations and the Fountain of Youth.” In the audience, an inordinate number of women in shawls sat or sometimes crouched, while one after one, a parade scientists, Tibetan doctors, and new-age mind-bodyists traipsed to the podium. Some flipped through PowerPoints, others lectured blind, and at least one thing became clear: There were at least a few science masters in the room. “The take-home point is that the brain can control the amount of an immune response to an infection,” said Dr. Kevin Tracey, director of the Feinstein Institute for Medical Research, as he zipped through slides of his research on the “the inflammatory reflex”—a theory of infection that suggests the immune system is regulated by the vagus nerve (in essence making it the elusive mind-body link).

“Is stress related to cell aging? The quick answer is yes,” declared Dr. Elissa Epel, assistant professor of psychiatry at the University of California San Francisco, while slides of chromosomes capped by little fez-like caps—called telomeres—flashed across a screen.

One could almost feel one’s own cells aging as the lectures progressed, moving from the realm of traditional Eastern or Western medicine to a jumbled in between, where the slides moved fast, the words came long and the very frame of meaning seemed to ­disjoint.

“The focus on transformation becomes a transformational process in its own right,” intoned an “accelerated experiential-dynamic psychotherapist” named Diana Fosha. “ … If you have an energy body like this, you have to have ways of sensing changes in that energy body,” mantra’d Daniel Brown, director of the Center for Integrative Psychotherapy in Massachusetts. “ … Cancer may not be accidental, it may have to do with a missed energy signal in that area,” he said in a later lecture, generating the kind of questions you don’t want raised at a medical conference.

Was it all just made up? Was it real? What is reality? Can some humans actually live to be 200 years old? And do any of these questions actually matter in the omnivorous marketplace of medical ideas?

As the conference wound to a close on Thursday, in the febrile moments after the Dalai Lama spoke, a sparkly-eyed internist turned spiritualist in a crushed-velvet top and pinstriped pants stopped to opine on the message of his speech and its meaning for medicine.

“I think [one of the most important things he said] was that if you have compassion toward your enemies, that will make you more healthy,” she said as she bent to put on her shoes. “If we incorporated this right here we’d be healthier physically and emotionally.”

To the Editor:

Re “Tea With Miss Coulter” [Oct. 8]:

I realize the best way to confound aberrancy is to expose it to the general view. But is it necessary to give us a whole page of Ann Coulter?

She is patently delusional, not to say psychotic. That point could be made in a lot less space than The Observer used.

John Costa
Manhattan

To the Editor:

I’m saddened by the fact that George Gurley couldn’t find someone to interview for The Observer other than Ann Coulter.

A man, woman or, yes, even a newspaper, is judged by the company it keeps. To give Ann Coulter more than a sentence of attention, let alone three-fifths of a page, is a tragedy of wasted space.

Since you folks don’t seem to care about what you put on the page, try this next time: a blank page. Not a comma, period or exclamation mark. Leave the ads in if you must, but Ann Coulter out!

It would save on ink, and The Observer could give Mr. Gurley a week off.

Tom Rodehaver
Brooklyn

To the Editor:

Re “Coulter Culture: Ann Blames Clinton, Carter for 9/11 and Dreams of Denying Women the Vote” [posted to observer.com on Oct. 2]:

Ann Coulter’s self-professed “personal fantasy” is an America in which women don’t have the right to vote, in turn making it a one-party theocracy.

That doesn’t sound like a daughter of the American Revolution to me.

In fact, despite her anti-Islam stance, I bet she’d be quite happy living as a woman under Taliban rule.

Perhaps it’s not too late for her to go to Afghanistan and defect to the enemy side.

James Deagle
Ottawa, Ontario

To the Editor:

David Foxley’s article about HBO’s documentary I Am an Animal: The Story of Ingrid Newkirk and PETA [“The Little Lady Who Fears Nobody—Not Even Karl Lagerfeld!” posted to observer.com on Nov. 19] was insightful, but I need to point out one inaccuracy: KFC has not, unfortunately, overhauled its cruel practices.

The 850 million chickens that are raised and killed for KFC each year are crammed into dark, waste-filled sheds, and workers often break the birds’ wings and legs when they throw them into transport crates.

At the slaughterhouse, the frantic birds are shackled and hung upside down and have their throats slit. Many are dumped into scalding-hot water while they’re still conscious.

PETA will continue campaigning against KFC until the company implements the scientific advice of its own former animal welfare advisers and stops the worst abuses of these animals.

Lindsay Rajt
Assistant Manager, Factory Farming Campaigns
People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals (PETA)
Norfolk, Virg.

Tough Crowd!

About 40% of the Press and Industry screening of the Stanley Tucci film Blind Date left the theater during the first first fifteen minutes. What gives? The film is a quiet two-person film, co-starring Patricia Clarkson. Those who stayed, enjoyed.

To the Editor:

“Live! Nude! Girls!” [posted to observer.com on Aug. 30], concerning censorship of adult entertainment advertisements in weekly newspapers, is disappointing to those who cherish freedom of speech and individual rights.

There is no coercion between the customer in the exchange of cash for the product purchased and the supplier of services. Perhaps some forget about First Amendment rights for both the advertiser and reader. If you don’t like the ad, don’t buy the services being offered and turn the page.

The article reminded me of government attempts to introduce legislation which would require adult topless dancers to obtain employment permits—which also doesn’t make sense. Do we really want police—at taxpayers’ expense—spending time undercover visiting bars to document so-called immoral behavior?

Our funds would be better used if the same police and judges would spend more time prosecuting those who commit real crimes against individuals or property. Citizens have more to fear from murder, arson, rape, muggings, robberies, auto and identity theft or home break-ins than adult entertainers or adult bookstores.

What consenting adults consume, inhale, perform, read or view in the privacy of their own home or social club isn’t the concern of government.

Individual economic and civil liberties prosper best when government stays out of both the bedroom and marketplace.

How ironic that so-called liberals have so much in common with the “moral majority” social police on the right who aim to inhibit our freedoms.

Larry Penner
Great Neck, N.Y.

Ah, finally we have something in common: both New Yorkers and Americans at large take a sick pleasure in seeing our fair city being destroyed, the Statue of Liberty decapitated, our buildings mashed into fine dust, our taxis squashed like aluminum cans—basically ravaged like a modern-day Sodom and Gomorrah. We need therapy. (Gabriel Byrne!) On its way to breaking the MLK weekend box office record with a $46 million haul, Cloverfield (No. 1) managed to pick up over $900,000 ($1 million is summer blockbuster territory) here in the city, averaging a tongue-rolling $90,000 per theater. So, what’s next Hollywood, the ten plagues?

Sadly, Americans and New Yorkers have another thing in common this weekend, their complete apathy towards Woody Allen’s new film Cassandra’s Dream (No. 8), which did modest business—$16,000 on six screens. It wasn’t always this way. Come back to us, Woody!

Meanwhile, Katherine Heigl continued her rapid ascension up the profitable leading lady scale with a pretty $27 million take with 27 Dresses (No.2). The rom-com easily took second place in the city with a $45,000 average at nine theaters. I’m convinced, in James-Lipton hyperbolic fashion, that she’s the best actress who ever lived—how else could she convince an audience that she would both sleep with Seth Rogen and that she would be unweddable? Where’s her Oscar nom?

And thankfully, Katie Holmes has a shoulder to cry on in Tom, since her Mad Money (No. 9) didn’t hold up too well over the weekend. Just barely eking out an above-$10,000 average, this comedy is destined for the Netflix Queue.

List of theaters: Paris, Zeigfeld, Oprheum, East 85th St., 86th St. East, 84th St., Lincoln Plaza, 62nd and Broadway, Lincoln Square, Magic Johnson, 72nd St East, Cinemas 1, 2 &3rd Ave, 64th and 2nd , Imaginasian, Manhattan Twin, First and 62nd St., Angelika Film Center, Quad, IFC Center, Film Forum, Village East, Village Seven, Cinema Village, Union Square, Essex, Battery Park 11, Sunshine, 34th Street, Empire, E-Walk, Chelsea, 19th Street East, and Kips Bay.

Manhattan Weekend Box Office: How moviegoers in the multiplexes of middle America choose to spend their ten-spot is probably a big deal in Hollywood. But here in Manhattan, the hottest movies aren't always the ones making the big bucks nationwide. Using Nielsen numbers for Manhattan theaters alone and comparing them to the performance of the national weekend box office can tell you a lot about our Blue State sensibilities. Or nothing at all! Each Monday afternoon, we will bring you the results.

To the Editor:

Re “Whose 9/11 Is It? Clintons Invoke It in Their Campaign” [Sept. 10]:

As the sixth anniversary of the 9/11 attacks comes and goes, I think it’s a fair question to ask, “What as a society have we learned?” What have we learned about ourselves and about the world?

Sadly, I’d say not much. We have learned that a lot of corrupt, incompetent, greedy people have made a lot of money at the expense of the American taxpayer. One has only to look at the lucrative contracts being handed out annually by the Department of Homeland Security, coupled with an exploding Pentagon budget, to see that post-9/11 has been very good for some selected industries.

Another sorry consequence of the terrorist attacks has been the way certain craven, cynical politicians have used it not only to enrich themselves personally, but, in the case of Rudy Giuliani, an attempt is being made to ride it all the way to the White House.

But worst of all, a great many Americans are still stumbling around muttering, “Why do they hate us?”

Vernon Burton
San Leandro, Calif.

To the Editor:

Re “For Gore Supporters, Nothing Is Inconvenient” [April 30]: Sorry, but Al Gore is really Al Bore! Did anyone notice that every time Mr. Gore traveled to his speaking engagements in An Inconvenient Truth, he was always seen exiting a limo or taxi? Why couldn’t he set an example to promote a cleaner environment by his individual actions? Is riding mass transit, like millions of other urban residents do every day, beneath his dignity? How about riding in an alternative-fuel vehicle? Why no criticism for fellow Senator Ted Kennedy, who opposes wind power? (Windmills would ruin his view of Martha’s Vineyard.) Too bad we can’t harness the power of Mr. Gore’s hot air after every speech.

The real reason Mr. Gore lost the election in 2000 was that a majority of Americans were so disgusted by the choice of either Bush or Al Bore that they stayed home rather than vote. In reality, “None of the Above” received the most votes and was the true winner! Al Gore’s political career ended years ago. It’s time for him to move on and let a new generation give it a try.

Larry Penner
Great Neck, N.Y.

Antonin Scalia, the loudest mouth on the highest bench, has indulged himself again. The idol of the far right has provoked fresh doubts about his temperament—and this time, unfortunately, the rest of the world is likely to notice.

Surely as brilliant as his admirers claim, Justice Scalia’s intellect is too often overshadowed by aggressive bluster and rigid ideology. He suffers from an uncontrollable impulse to give insult and an insufficient respect for the opinions of others. Widely advertised as exceptionally smart, he sometimes does and says things that are extraordinarily stupid.

On March 26, after receiving communion at a special mass for politicians and lawyers in Boston’s Cathedral of the Holy Cross, Justice Scalia answered a reporter’s question with a rude hand gesture. Asked whether some Americans doubt his impartiality, he replied, “You know what I say to those people?” and then flicked his fingers under his chin, adding, “That’s Sicilian.”

The conservative Boston Herald noted that this incident occurred “just feet from the Mother Church’s altar” and described it as “conduct unbecoming a 20-year veteran of the country’s highest court.” After two decades, Justice Scalia should have learned to speak with a measure of decorum and responsibility. Yet the 70-year-old jurist seems more erratic as the years go by—and his Sicilian sign-language clowning is certainly his lesser offense this month.

A few weeks earlier, he visited the University of Fribourg in Switzerland to deliver a talk on his “originalist” approach to the Constitution. Following his lecture, the combative justice engaged in discussion with the audience—and reacted emotionally to questions about the prisoners incarcerated in military custody at Guantánamo Bay.

As first reported in Newsweek, he bristled at implied criticism of the imprisonment of hundreds of men at the Gitmo facility over the past four years, which he denounced as “hypocritical.” Brushing aside the notion that those detainees should be entitled to any rights guaranteed by the Constitution and by the Geneva Conventions, he was quoted as saying: “War is war, and it has never been the case that when you captured a combatant you have to give them a jury trial in your civil courts. Give me a break.” He reportedly went on to deny that such persons possess any rights under international treaties. “If [a prisoner] was captured by my army on a battlefield, that is where he belongs,” he said, and went on to mention gratuitously that one of his sons served as an officer in Iraq.

“I had a son on that battlefield and they were shooting at my son and I’m not about to give this man who was captured in a war a full jury trial,” he said. “I mean it’s crazy.”

He failed to restrain himself, knowing that the Supreme Court would soon be hearing the case captioned Hamdan v. Rumsfeld. In that matter, lawyers representing Salid Ahmed Hamdan, a Gitmo prisoner who once served as a driver for Osama bin Laden, have filed a petition protesting the Bush administration’s decision to try their client in a military tribunal without the rights guaranteed by international treaties.

Like Mr. Hamdan’s lawyers, the Swiss students argued that the Geneva Conventions we ratified long ago mean what they say. Like our other European friends and allies, they think that democratic values are best served by fair and decent treatment of our enemies.

That perspective is shared by several courageous American flag officers and generals, who filed a friend-of-the-court brief endorsing the Hamdan petition. They worry that by depriving our enemies of the “judicial guarantees that are recognized as indispensable by civilized peoples,” as described in Article 3 of the 1949 Geneva Convention, the Bush administration places our own soldiers, sailors and Marines in jeopardy of similar treatment. They also believe that the White House’s wanton violation of the best American military traditions in the name of the war on terror sabotages our struggle against totalitarians and extremists.

After hearing about Justice Scalia’s remarks in Fribourg, the military officers sent him a letter suggesting that he should recuse himself from the Hamdan case. His rant had clearly violated the simple standard for recusal, which is whether a justice’s “impartiality might reasonably be questioned.”

Back in 2004, after Justice Scalia foolishly denounced the separation of church and state at a Knights of Columbus rally, he recused himself from the argument over removing the phrase “under God” from the Pledge of Allegiance. In that case, he knew his vote wouldn’t matter. He refused to recuse himself from the government-secrecy case involving Vice President Dick Cheney’s energy task force, despite their notorious duck-hunting junket.

In the Hamdan case, Justice Scalia’s vote could be crucial. So he showed up for the oral argument on March 28 and openly displayed his support for the government’s position. He thus brought America’s global reputation into further disrepute, when that is what we can afford least.

It’s not often that a Congressional race in the northern suburbs falls within the purview of this page, but Andrew Saul, who is running for the Republican nomination in the 19th Congressional District, is worth a special mention. For Mr. Saul is also vice chairman of the Metropolitan Transportation Authority, thanks to his 2006 appointment by former Governor George Pataki, and as such is in a position to influence M.T.A. decisions that directly impact city residents. And so it is important for New Yorkers—both those who vote in Westchester, Putnam, Rockland, Dutchess and Orange counties, and those who live within the five boroughs—to have a sense of Mr. Saul’s priorities.

It turns out that Mr. Saul’s priorities, at the moment, are to get elected, and to not be too fussy about ethics. As The New York Times reported this week, the candidate has been taking campaign contributions from real estate developers who are bidding on the lucrative right to develop the M.T.A. rail yards.

One would hope that anyone seeking elective office would be careful to avoid even the appearance of a conflict of interest. Simple common sense dictates that when a board member of the M.T.A. runs for Congress, taking campaign contributions from people who would very much like to be in business with the M.T.A. is a bad idea.

But such small-minded considerations don’t stop Mr. Saul. In fact, he said this week he sees no conflict of interest in taking cash from developers bidding on the rail yards, never mind that the M.T.A.’s code of ethics instructs board members to steer clear of any conduct which could give the impression of opening the door to improper influence.

Not only has Mr. Saul accepted money from developers bidding on the rail yards; his campaign has also received $4,600 in contributions from the chairman of Danaher, a company that has been awarded contracts worth $1.2 million from the M.T.A. over the past decade.

It’s hard not to conclude that, both as M.T.A. vice chairman and as a candidate for Congress, Mr. Saul just doesn’t get it. The members of the M.T.A. board are appointed to serve the public; it’s clear Mr. Saul has a strikingly low opinion of his public.

In terms of his candidacy, if Andrew Saul wishes to salvage his integrity, there is an easy solution: He should announce that he will return all campaign money from any company that has done, or wishes to do, business with the M.T.A. Otherwise, one must conclude he is clearly unfit for appointive or elective office.

To the Editor:

Re “My Book Deal Ruined My Life” [June 11]:

The writers quoted in this article apparently did not experience the kind of publishing horror story that I did—which included a lying and incompetent editor and a marketing manager who imposed an inappropriate title on my book over my objections. But even worse was the post-publishing disaster unleashed on my book (which took me seven years to write).

In 1997, in a routine call to the royalties division of my publisher, I learned that 3,000 copies of my book had been shredded. When I called my publisher, I was offered the opportunity to buy the remaining 900 at $3 each. I borrowed close to $3,000 from a friend to do so.

Another friend surfing the Web in 2005 discovered that the same publisher had issued a paperback edition of my book in 1999. Had they told me before publishing the paperback, I would not have purchased and tried to sell the 900 hardcover books remaining (which were hard to sell because of the existence of the paperback edition).

In short, I learned that the publishing companies have no regard for the authors who haven’t written blockbusters or who don’t have killer agents.

Aviva Cantor
Manhattan

Hilly and I are pushing our luck. We’re not far from the gate at J.F.K., but our flight to Rome is boarding and the waitress at Chili’s has yet to serve us our snacks. Hilly’s working on a Pinot Grigio and I’m chasing a double Black Label and soda with a Sam Adams.

Hilly looks great as usual, which makes me look better. Her hair’s in a ponytail and she’s wearing a short-sleeve turtleneck, white jeans, tennis shoes.

The waitress sets down a chicken burger, nachos and fries. We eat and run. The good thing about being the last passengers to get on a plane is no waiting in line. The bad thing is, people look at you funny. But when you’re armed with Xanax and Ambien, that’s O.K.

Hilly claims the window seat.

HILLY: We’re next to the poopie bathroom!

Carol the Delta ticket agent had managed to pull strings and seat us next to each other by the emergency exit, so the stewardess lectures us about “exit-seat responsibilities.” We nod, suppress giggles, then Hilly looks alarmed: A man has darted into the bathroom.

HILLY [loudly]: He’s not supposed to be in there now. I’m sorry!

A steward knocks on the bathroom door. “I have to tell the captain and we’ll have to stop the plane!”

HILLY: We’re going to be delayed. Thanks, Mr. Acrylic Sweater! He-lo? After 9/11?

GEORGE: Shhhh. You’re going to get us delayed.

Chastened, the man returns to his seat four up from us, but Hilly won’t leave him alone.

HILLY: Fasten your frickin’ seat belt. Because it’s the law. It’s going to be some clown like you that gets us delayed! Guy thinks he’s a comedian. For the next seven hours I’m staring at the back of his head, thinking how much I hate him.

GEORGE: Shhhhh.

HILLY: I could be drinking free champagne in the business section, but I’m with Scoopie next to the poopie! Are we going to join the mile-high club?

GEORGE: I don’t think so.

HILLY: Not after Acrylic Sweater ruined the flight for everyone! Dirtbag. Georgie, we have to be on our best behavior, ’specially since we’re sitting on the exit row.

GEORGE: I know.

The engines gun, the plane starts moving, and Hilly starts scratching my head.

HILLY: Scratchy for Scoopie during liftoff until it’s time for cocktails.

Corpse Bride is the in-flight movie. We look through Vogue, Vanity Fair, debate fashion.

GEORGE: It’s worthless. It’s not even fun. It’s a silly business, and fashion people are ludicrous cretins.

HILLY: I work in fashion. Well, “luxury.” It’s a euphemism.

GEORGE: I take it back. I like fashion. But just wear a nice skirt and sweater, stockings, sensible 40’s-style shoes, not ridiculous slut shoes. And wear your hair like Gene Tierney or Barbara Stanwyck—that’s all a woman needs to do.

HILLY [scrutinizing actress Sienna Miller]: There’s no reason for her to be topless.

GEORGE: That Edie Sedgwick movie will suck donkey balls.

HILLY: She looks like she’s stinky, like B.O. Like our car driver today.

We hit a few bumps.

GEORGE: We’re going to crash.

HILLY: It’s air pockets; it’s absolutely nothing. They really shouldn’t be playing a scary Claymation movie.

She pulls out her good-luck pouch to make me feel better: a picture of me as a toddler, a Van Halen pin (which she fastens to my lapel) and a St. Christopher thing.

HILLY: He protects us.

GEORGE: I think I’m going to pop a half a Xannie. But you know how I got over my fear of flying? By not caring what happens. If the plane explodes, the plane explodes.

HILLY: Thanks. You don’t care if I die?

GEORGE: No, you’d use the flotation device and wash up on an island like in Cast Away and get rescued.

HILLY: I don’t want to. Stop it. It’s our anniversary. You can get my present in Rome. Everything’s cheaper there because—shhh—the Mafia back most Italian designers. I like Valentino.

She watches Corpse Bride. I read The Complete Fawlty Towers. We pat each other’s knees. More white wine for her, beer for me.

Hilly pulls out the toddler pic of me.

HILLY: You’re just a precious little Scoopie and you don’t know any better. You look like Damien in The Omen, but filled with goodness and kindness and love for animals.

We hit smooth air. I find my iPod and play her a Who song about a plane crash.

HILLY: Not funny.

GEORGE: But it has a happy ending. Playing a song like this is good luck—you’re warding off evil by facing your fear.

HILLY: Jokes like that aren’t funny after 9/11. I don’t appreciate it. If you get me another white wine, I might feel better. O.K.? You spearhead that project.

I fetch the wine. She guzzles and falls asleep.

My seat turns out to be very bad. There’s a permanent line to the bathroom. People chat, fidget, look straight at me while they wait. I listen to Stevie Wonder, Cat Stevens and Dolly Parton. Hilly wakes up somewhere over France and sees that I’m overcome with emotion and kisses me eight times.

HILLY: Don’t cry, Scoopie. You’re so precious.

GEORGE [half shouting]: These people are driving me crazy. They won’t stop moving and milling about and speaking Italian.

HILLY: We’re together, Scoops, that’s the only thing that matters.

She goes back to sleep. The beer has completely worn off. I fantasize about Demerol. I decide I want something major to happen to me in Rome.

It’s 7 a.m. and I still can’t sleep.

HILLY: Don’t fall for any Italian girls and leave me.

GEORGE: I’m going to be with you the whole time—how am I going to have any time for that?

We land.

HILLY: Scoopie?

STEWARDESS [to HILLY]: Arrivederci!

No one says anything to me as I disembark. The whole crew bow their heads with pity and disgust at the sight of me. I want to holler, “I’m just hung over—fuck off!”

On the way to baggage claim, Hilly’s chipper and happy. Her carry-on bag smacks someone.

HILLY [smiling widely]: Scusa! [To GEORGE] Get used to it. I’m going to be aggressively friendly. Let’s get a smart cart.

GEORGE: O.K., dingbat. Here’s a new Scoopie rule: Don’t force me to talk when I don’t feel like it, just because you slept well.

Hilly talks to the cab driver in her near-perfect, over-enunciated-but-charming Italian the whole way to the Hotel Eden. She’d scored us an $800-a-night room for less than half the price. It’s not ready, so Franca from reception leads us to the roof for a complimentary breakfast.

Hilly orders stuff left and right (Coke Light, croissants, cigarettes, Coke Light). I let her know she’s making me nervous, that this trip will lead to my financial ruin.

HILLY: Some people get really grouchy when they’re tired. Others get slaphappy. You’re grouchy, ha-ha!

GEORGE: Please take it easy on me. I need to conserve my energy. Please don’t force me to talk now.

HILLY: Want some Coke? Grapefruit juice? You know who’s up now? Jack! Want to send him a text message?

GEORGE: Every time you make me talk, I’m losing my mind. Please stop talking, Hilly. I’m going to pass out. If you stop now, I’ll be able to make it to the room without keeling over. I may throw up soon.

HILLY: Think I can order a cocktail?

GEORGE: No.

The room is ready. Our $150 breakfast is on the house. Hilly sleeps for three hours, I go for five, despite all kinds of feminine sounds (clothes being put away, drawers slamming, sniffling, noisy exhales, blow-drying).

GEORGE: Just go away for like 15 minutes and I’ll get up.

HILLY: O.K., I’ll meet you in the lobby by the fireplace in 15 minutes.

She waits for me in the lobby for 45 minutes. Finally, she heads upstairs and runs into me in the hallway.

GEORGE: I’m sorry, were you crying?

HILLY: Almost.

I lead her to the Spanish Steps. We descend and check out the fancy stores on Via Dei Condotti and sit down at Café Greco, established 1716. It’s too bright. I’m tense. Takes forever to get a panini. We order what we think is pasta, but pastries come instead. It takes forever to get the check.

GEORGE: I’m not sitting around here anymore.

I get up and walk out. Hilly pays. We wander around in the rain, and I get us lost trying to find the Pantheon. But then it turns out we’re only a few steps away.

HILLY: Wow.

She’s gazing at the 2,000-year-old temple. Inside, we look up and can’t figure out if that’s a hole in the ceiling. A bird flies over it as if in response.

GEORGE: Are you mad at me? Is everything O.K.?

HILLY: George, no. I’m not mad. Everything’s fine, but I have to admit it’s a little irritating you keep asking me that, because it makes me feel that I’m behaving in a way that makes you think I’m mad.

GEORGE: So now are you mad?

HILLY: No! I have to get cigarettes.

There’s a line of tourists at the shop and the girl behind the counter is irritated, too. Hilly asks for smokes and a map and gets complimented on her good Italian.

I get us lost on the way to the Piazza Navona.

Time for drinks. Takes a half hour to find our way back to the Spanish Steps. I score major points for finding a liquor store. We load up on Smirnoff, Johnnie Walker Red Label and mixers, and haul them back to the Eden. I ask for permission to take a nap. She nods.

GEORGE: Because you’re the boss?

HILLY: That’s right!

I try to coax her into bed. She orders me to clean up first, to “be respectful of the room.” Her cell phone rings. Panic. It’s the neighbor who’s taking care of her cat, Svenny. He tells her there’s a U.S. Marshal’s notice on the door of her apartment and that her locks have been changed.

She calls a guy named Bernard in the rental office. She argues and pleads, saying she knows they want everyone out of the building so they can renovate and charge five times as much, but can’t they work something out? She’s lived there for 11 years and has been a decent tenant. She didn’t sue them about the toxic mold. Yes, she owes some back rent, but she had an agreement with Alexandra in the finance department. It’s in writing! He says Alexandra doesn’t work there anymore, adding, “Too late.”

Hilly holds out her hand and takes half a Xanax. I take the other. Soon there are tears. I call our friend Tracy Westmoreland, actor and owner of the bar Siberia in Hell’s Kitchen, who puts us in touch with his lawyer, gay civil-rights activist Tommy Shanahan. Tommy gets on the case immediately. He tells her the landlord is a notorious prick. He calls the landlord, the marshal, an animal shelter. He tells Hilly that all her possessions might be confiscated and put in storage, that the shelter might come get her cat.

She sobs.

GEORGE: We gotta get out of here. Everything’s going to be fine. This is a New York thing. I’ve been evicted, everyone’s been evicted. It’s a rite of passage. It’s nothing personal; these people are just human scum. You can move in with me.

HILLY: Thanks, Scoopie.

We stroll down the Via Veneto. I remind her that Fellini had used this street in La Dolce Vita.

HILLY: That doesn’t make me feel any better. Remember how you stopped it halfway through when we tried to watch it a few weeks ago?

GEORGE: I like 81¼2 better.

After a mediocre dinner, we get a drink at the Hotel Excelsior and have the luxurious ballroom to ourselves.

HILLY: What would anyone do if I start playing “Chopsticks” on that grand piano?

She plays an elegant version of “Chopsticks,” then sits next to me on a couch under a chandelier.

HILLY: Fuck it.

GEORGE: Come on, girl. Cheer up.

HILLY: This means I get to move in with youuuuuu! And I get two closets. I get Bobbie’s litter-box closet—we’re going to move the litter box out—and I get the other closet, too.

GEORGE: Isn’t it funny? We’re staying at an $800-a-night—

HILLY: It’s hysterical, George—let’s talk about it some more.

GEORGE: We’ll talk about it later, after some bam-bam. Let’s steal those nuts—they’re so good. Guzzle that drink. We’re going back to the hotel.

I pay the 35 euros for two drinks.

Back at the Eden, we make cocktails. Hilly jokes about jumping into the Tiber.

GEORGE: Well, dying in Rome is pretty romantic. Keats.

I take a bubble bath. I put on a fluffy bathrobe. Hilly doesn’t want to call anyone about her predicament except our couples therapist, Dr. Selman. I put him on speakerphone.

GEORGE: Dr. Selman, this is a problem from the past. She has a great job, she’s doing really well now, and she needs to get out of that apartment—there’s toxic mold, the place is falling apart.

HILLY: They told me that tomorrow they’re going to seize all of my possessions and move them into storage somewhere.

DR. SELMAN: Hilly, there seems to be two issues here. One is, what happened to your cat?

GEORGE: The cat is safe. Her best friend has the cat.

DR. SELMAN: Issue No. 2 is that you need a real-estate lawyer.

GEORGE: We’ve got one!

DR. SELMAN: I actually know somebody, because I went through something like this. Would you like for me to put you in touch with this person?

GEORGE: We have one; he’s on the case!

HILLY: But the last thing he told me, about an hour ago, was that despite all of this communication, it’s still possible that these people could seize all of my possessions in my apartment—

DR. SELMAN: Do you have a rent-stabilized lease?

HILLY: Yes.

DR. SELMAN: So listen, you’re coming from a position of strength. You could get a buyout here. You need a lawyer that can really help you out with this.

HILLY: The attorney helping me seems very capable, and he’s been doing cases like this for a long time. But he said they could—

GEORGE: Can you reassure her? We just got here, she’s got meetings tomorrow—what should she be thinking right now?

DR. SELMAN: The worst scenario is they take your stuff and put it in storage, and you crash with George when you get back. I’ve been through this myself! And it’s worked out very well for me.

GEORGE: I got evicted from my last apartment, too.

HILLY: But Dr. Selman, I know this sounds ridiculous, but the thought of them taking all of my things—I feel so violated.

DR. SELMAN: Look, you know what the Serenity Prayer is? You’re there in Italy. Have a good time. Deal with it when you get back. How much Prozac are you taking, Hilly?

HILLY: Forty milligrams!

DR. SELMAN: You can have two pills. Why don’t you take two a day for a few days? Don’t let this ruin your time in Italy. O.K.? Bye.

Soon we get kind of racy on the couch—not porny, but racy. And later on, we hit it again. This time it’s X-rated and angry. Arguably the best sex we’ve ever had.

GEORGE: So—that was pretty good, right?

HILLY: If we gave the management a video of that, they’d give me free rent for a year.

Hilly drifts off to sleep right next to me.

The next morning, we get our caricature drawn by a Moroccan man while a dozen people watch. I see a little boy whisper into his mother’s ear. I imagine he’s saying, “He looks like Uncle Fredo!” His mother frowns and shakes her head.

I lead Hilly to the Trevi Fountain, but we get lost and give up. Hilly tries to be patient, but after I snap at her a few times, she asks for directions and finds her way back to work. I go back to the hotel, nap.

Hilly comes back at 7 p.m. She wants to have dinner at a 500-year-old restaurant we read about in Rome: The Expert Traveler.

GEORGE: We’re just going to take it easy tonight. A couple of drinks so we can get up real early and go to the Vatican, O.K.?

HILLY: O.K., Scoops!

I get us lost, but Hilly’s in better spirits, on the cell phone with her friend in Los Angeles and laughing.

HILLY: I am literally wearing tennis shoes right now, because George insists we walk everywhere.

I don’t mind having to listen to this for 10 minutes—it’s painful, but I don’t complain. She gets another call. Tommy has bad news: Her landlord will be moving all her stuff out of her apartment the next day.

GEORGE: It’s all going to work out.

Hilly doesn’t want to talk about it. She stares straight ahead, keeps moving. I get us more lost.

GEORGE: Don’t worry—I know where we are.

Hilly dodges a car.

HILLY: Just try to run me over, motherfucker! This city—there’s no signs, no walk signs, stop signs. Watch out, daredevil bastard.

At the restaurant, I quickly order us white wine while we wait for a table. I don’t mention the viola that’s being played: Hilly studied the viola until her instructor told her she had a tendency to flee from beauty. We’re seated, and Hilly thinks of the important stuff in her apartment.

HILLY: My Jackie O. books, my memory bowl, the jewelry your mother bought me, my 200 pairs of Manolo Blahniks, the bottle of vodka in the fridge, Piggie, my treasure box ….

GEORGE: Uh-oh, the menu doesn’t have prices.

HILLY: Oh, I love that! That’s so cool.

The sommelier overdoes it pouring the wine. Hilly can’t stop talking about Bernard from her rental office.

HILLY: I’m going to start practicing witchcraft. He’s going to die alone, probably on a Barcalounger. I bet he has tons of hair coming out of his ears. He probably smells like eggs. Sulphur. The girls at the local bodega probably call him the Egg Man. He probably hasn’t been laid since that hooker at age 21.

The waiter is smarmy, smiles too much.

HILLY: Bernard sucks! Evicting me was the only way he could get into my apartment to sniff my panties. Bernard probably voted for Mike Dukakis. I bet he got so many wedgies. I can see them giving him a bra: “Here’s your bra, Bernard.” ’Cause he has bitch tits!

Patrons are looking over, but I think it’s healthy to let her vent.

HILLY: Oh, what am I going to do?

GEORGE: You think you have it bad? Now I have to live with you and another cat.

HILLY: You’re sweet. Bernard’s probably walking around talking on his cell phone right now, saying, “You’re evicted!”, but everyone in the neighborhood knows there’s no one on the other line. You know what, when I was talking to him, he probably had a boner: “I get to talk to the hot girl who always rejected me, and now that I’m in control, I can show her what it feels like.”

I’m beginning to sympathize with Bernard. The food arrives and is extremely average.

Hilly smiles at the annoyingly theatrical waiter who lays down the check with a flourish—180 euros. Train robbery.

To be continued ….

Previous Installments:

It’s V-Day, Dammit!: Feb. 13, 2006
George and Hilly: Feb. 6, 2006
George and Hilly: Jan. 23, 2006
George and Hilly: Jan. 16, 2006
George and Hilly: Dec. 26, 2005
George and Hilly: Nov. 14, 2005
George and Hilly: Nov. 7, 2005
George and Hilly: Oct. 24, 2005
George and Hilly: Oct. 17, 2005
George and Hilly: Oct. 10, 2005
George and Hilly: Oct. 03, 2005
George ’n’ Hilly, Back in Couples, Turn on the Doc: Sep. 26, 2005
But Should We Get Married? Part III: Aug. 29, 2005
But Should We Get Married: Aug. 15, 2005
Should I Get Married? My Hilly Joining Me In Couples Session: Aug. 8, 2005

Michael Barbaro, the budding star of the Times' business desk, is headed to City Hall. Mr. Barbaro, a transplant from The Washington Post, has been handling the paper's retail beat and its coverage of Wal-Mart (and, according several well-placed sources, was in conversations with the Wall Street Journal, but decided to stay at the Times). The opening in City Hall comes open after Diane Cardwell makes her move to Stanford to study for a year.

Thanks, Azi.

It might seem fair to say that Rich Conaty slips into a time warp every Sunday night from 8 p.m. to midnight. As the host of a program called The Big Broadcast, which airs at that time on WFUV-FM, Mr. Conaty plays and talks about music from the 1920’s and 1930’s—music made decades before his birth. Unsuspecting listeners trolling through the FM dial on Sunday nights are likely to do an audio double-take when they tune in 90.7, which is WFUV’s frequency. Yes, that really is Ethel Waters and the Dorsey Brothers Orchestra you’re hearing, and no, it’s not really 1933. You just thought it was, for a moment.

Of course, Rich Conaty doesn’t actually slip into a time warp when he’s on the radio. In reality, Rich Conaty lives in a time warp, his radio show being just one manifestation of this curious lifestyle choice. After all, the man tools around his adopted hometown of Hudson, N.Y., in a 1950 Nash. And yes, the gold-and-maroon beauty—like the music he plays every Sunday night—is older than he. Mr. Conaty was born in 1954.

If there’s a radio program like Mr. Conaty’s in the New York market, I’ve yet to hear it. Sure, Jonathan Schwartz still brings us Sinatra & Co. on WNYC-FM on Saturdays and Sundays. And a few smaller stations, with signals only slightly more powerful than the cheap walkie-talkies my kids play with, still feature occasional music from the swing and big-band era.

But most of the songs you’ll hear on Mr. Schwartz’s show are just a little too current for Mr. Conaty’s taste. Rich Conaty’s music is from the Jazz Age and the Great Depression, from Coolidge Prosperity through F.D.R.’s second term. “Like a lot of kids, I used to stay up at night with a radio under the covers,” Mr. Conaty said. “At that time, a lot of the people from the 20’s and 30’s were still around, and I’d hear some early Mills Brothers and early Bing Crosby.” He got hooked, happily, and has never let go.

This Sunday, Feb. 12, and the following Sunday, Feb. 19, Mr. Conaty may expand his reach just a bit. To commemorate the full moon on Feb. 12 (hey, everybody needs a gimmick every now and again) and the Feb. 19 birthday of astronomer Nicholas Copernicus (“All right,” says Mr. Conaty, “he’s more of a sun guy, but he certainly saw the moon”), Mr. Conaty is putting together a play list of songs about the moon. The earliest recording he’s found thus far dates to 1911, entitled “Turn Off Your Light, Mr. Moonman.” The latest under consideration is a 1940 recording of “How High the Moon”—pretty modern for this show, but hardly the last good moon song worthy of note. Just around the corner in 1942, dangerously close to the millennium, lurks the Bing Crosby and Dorothy Lamour duet “Moonlight Becomes You,” from The Road to Morocco. Granted, 1942 is a little late for Mr. Conaty, but sometimes you just have to compromise.

Mr. Conaty has been doing this sort of thing since he was an intern at the Hofstra radio station, WRHU, in 1971, when he was about to enter his senior year at Monsignor McClancy High School in Queens. He went to Fordham University, which runs WFUV, and later went on to meet and work with the greats from the old WNEW-AM. “I hosted Milkman’s Matinee on NEW,” he said, without feeling the need to explain to a fellow young geezer why that was important. “I was terrible. I sounded like I was 12 years old”—he wasn’t much older than that, actually—“but I think people thought there was something endearing about this kid playing old music.”

In the early 1980’s, he got a chance to fill in, briefly, as host of Make Believe Ballroom, made famous by the legendary William B. Williams. When the old WNEW-AM died, WQEW took up the cause of old standards. Mr. Conaty moved The Big Broadcast from WFUV to WQEW for several years, but QEW gave up the ghost, too, in the late 1990’s. The station now serves as a promotional platform for Radio Disney, which exists to educate 8-year-olds in the fine art of crass consumerism and the empty-headed worship of celebrity culture.

Mr. Conaty rejoined WFUV in 1997, just in time to take advantage of—ironically enough for this cultural throwback—radio’s latest breakthrough, the World Wide Web. “It’s amazing—through the Internet, we have listeners all over the world,” he said. “I got an e-mail the other day from a guy who listens to the show in Sydney. I’ve heard from listeners in Hawaii. The technology has been a godsend for the show.”

And for Rich Conaty’s devoted listeners as well.

Joe Torre seems to be heading for Los Angeles, Alex Rodriguez is available to the highest bidder and the fates of Mariano Rivera, Jorge Posada and Andy Pettitte have yet to be determined. This is hardly the way to start a new era in Yankee history.

After a glorious run of championships, the Yankees are in disarray. The team’s fortunes are in the hands of George Steinbrenner’s two sons, Hank and Hal, and his son-in-law, Felix Lopez. The team’s patriarch is said to be in declining health. The decision to hire Joe Girardi as Mr. Torre’s replacement instead of Don Mattingly, one of George Steinbrenner’s favorites, may or may not have been a smart move, but there is no denying its significance: A new generation is in charge of the Bronx Bombers.

One could hardly expect such a momentous transition to be smooth. But one might have hoped for fewer bumps. The decision to make Mr. Torre an offer he could easily refuse only added to the chaos. With the Yankees already in transition, why did the younger Steinbrenners dismiss a beloved manager who won them four World Series rings in a dozen years?

On the heels of Mr. Torre’s departure came word that Mr. Rodriguez and his publicity-mad agent, Scott Boras, have decided to exercise an opt-out clause in Mr. Rodriguez’s contract. Hal Steinbrenner has said the team will not negotiate with Mr. Rodriguez as a free agent—the Yankees wanted to extend the third baseman’s contract and give him a substantial raise without having to compete for his services. So the Yankees have painted themselves into a corner. They either have to replace one of the game’s greatest players, or go back on their word and try to outbid other teams to keep Mr. Rodriguez, who is looking for at least $30 million a year.

In the meantime, three of the Yankees’ stalwarts—Messrs. Rivera, Posada and Pettitte—are not signed for 2008. Without them, the Yankees face uncertain prospects next year, their final season in historic Yankee Stadium. That simply won’t do. The Yankees cannot open their new ballpark in 2009 with a team in decline. Now that they’ve hired a manager, they have to sign their closer (Mr. Rivera), their catcher (Mr. Posada) and one of their better starting pitchers (Mr. Pettitte).

Since Mr. Torre arrived in 1996, the Yankees and their fans have become accustomed to winning. The new generation of Steinbrenners apparently consider it a given that the team will make the playoffs every year. That is both a foolish assumption and a laudable ambition. But as many teams know, spending money guarantees nothing.

To the Editor:

Nicholas Von Hoffman offers a strong rebuke to the recent tidal wave of Robert Moses revisionism [“Beware of the Robert Moses Revisionists,” May 28]. Mr. Von Hoffman’s plea to keep Moses’ anti-black rhetoric and action front and center is critical.

However, making an analogous case to the fashionable substitution of John Adams for Thomas Jefferson in the early-American-heroes pantheon is misleading. Far from being an American Enterprise Institute–engineered historical coup (as Mr. von Hoffman implies), the current reinterpretation has at least something to do with modern reconsiderations of Jefferson’s attitude toward slavery. For example, retrospective genetic testing has affirmatively proven that Jefferson sired children with his slave, Sally Hemings.

Contrast Jefferson’s disingenuousness with the genuine anti-slavery impulses of, say, Alexander Hamilton, and a more enlightened picture begins to emerge.

Leonard Benardo
Brooklyn

To the Editor:

Re “Hey A-Rod! Smile!” [June 11]: If the paparazzi must pick on a celebrity, let them pick on those whose injudicious acts are fact, not fiction.

To ridicule Alex Rodriguez for sunbathing in Central Park and for giving verbose answers to reporters’ questions is nitpicking. He is a decent man who has been condemned without any proof of cheating on his wife.

He is envied and despised because of his talent, enormous wealth, good looks and everything that comes with success. It’s not his fault that there are people who are willing to reward him with millions of dollars.

Susan Smpadian
Manhattan

To the Editor:

Re “The Transformer” [July 23]:

I think it’s worth noting—and this often gets left out—that Barack Obama has held elected office for longer than either Hillary Clinton or John Edwards.

He was an Illinois state senator for much of that time, working closely with people on their day-to-day problems. He also taught constitutional law and worked as a community organizer to help those who were disenfranchised.

Who better than a professor of constitutional law to restore habeas corpus and our right to not be spied on without a warrant? He has championed open government, ethics reform, and campaign finance reform throughout his whole public life. And he is the only candidate to have the foresight to be against the war from the beginning.

Now, tell me who really has better experience for leading this country? I think the answer is clear.

Bryan Barash
Selden, N.Y.

To the Editor:

Re “Will Congestion Pricing Make 86th Street the New 96th?” [June 25]:

I support most of Mayor Bloomberg’s policies. Nevertheless I must say on behalf of all New Yorkers that the current push for congestion pricing is evidence of being out of touch with ordinary hard-working citizens (regardless of their political beliefs).

The main benefactors of congestion pricing will be billionaires who will have an easier time navigating their limousines through the streets of Manhattan while the rest of us are squeezed onto already overcrowded trains.

There are alternate solutions to the congestion in Manhattan which are more effective, efficient, fair and practical.

One such solution might be to turn all the streets in Manhattan into “high-occupancy vehicle” lanes. Basically, all cars would be required to have at least two occupants to drive in Manhattan, with an exception for commercial vehicles.

David Stein
Brooklyn

To the Editor:

Re “Never Mind the Denials” [June 11]:

The buzz about a possible Presidential bid by Mayor Michael Bloomberg started the day after he won his second term and hasn’t stopped. I felt a sense of validation when it was reported last year that Mayor Bloomberg met with Al From, C.E.O. of the Democratic Leadership Council.

Senator Joe Lieberman retained his Congressional seat in Connecticut as an independent, and he has been closely identified with the D.L.C. Clearly, the D.L.C.’s goal was to determine the plausibility of an independent run for the Presidency.

I am a Democrat and believe that the average American’s interests are best served by the Democratic Party. The problem is that the incessant need to raise money dilutes the candidates’ positions and their ability to think. Mayor Bloomberg doesn’t have that demand on his time or agenda. Instead of raising $500 million, the Mayor can spend his own money to organize and implement a formidable campaign. We owe it to ourselves to keep an open mind toward his candidacy.

Steven A. Ludsin
East Hampton, N.Y.

To the Editor:

In an article about the plan to rebuild the Ramaz Lower School [“Neighbors to Synagogue: Enough With the High-Rise,” July 30], I was quoted accurately, but the meaning of a statement I made could be understood out of context by some readers.

I said that my friend Lo van der Valk of the Carnegie Hill Neighbors community group “was a little bit out of his element” in regard to the planned construction of the school on East 85th Street.

I was not referring to his general expertise or his capacity to speak with authority on land-use issues, as some may have concluded. Rather, I was referring to the fact that Carnegie Hill is a landmark district in the upper East 90’s along Madison Avenue—a low-scale neighborhood containing many of the city’s preeminent landmarks—where issues have little in common with those faced by the school, which is located just one block from the intersection of East 86th Street and Lexington Avenue, with its multiscreen theaters, big box department stores and residential towers.

Shelly Friedman
Manhattan

End of the year means one thing: lists—and a whole, heaping lot of them. There are as many “best of” lists—just check out this presumably exhaustive list of lists on the blog Largehearted Boy to get the picture—as there are albums worth mentioning. What’s the “best of” the “best of”? Couldn’t tell you. But here’s a random sampling.

In the last half-decade, Pitchfork has made an art of the list. This year they have been slowly rolling out their annual coverage, milking every one of their year-end lists (not mention the weekly updates they make to their “Best New Music” section)—top 100 tracks, the favorite tracks lists of each staff member (36, to be exact), artists’ favorite albums, worst album covers, top 50 videos (warning: major time killer)—just building the suspense until, let’s be honest, they release the only list that really matters, their top 50 albums, which they did today.

NPR offers a special hour and a half edition of All Songs Considered to digest the year that was with host Bob Boilen and special guests, Carrie Brownstein (Sleater-Kinney)