Theft, Greed and Videotapes

Avoiding more news about the political collapse of the Democratic Party leadership on health care is made easier by reading about another predictable aspect of life in New York: corruption. Where to begin?

First, we had a delightful tale of our chief Political Sex Worker, Pedro Espada, Jr., and the $120,000-a-year Albany job cooked up for his son, apparently (make that obviously) in exchange for his return to the Democratic caucus after a brief sojourn in the fleshpots of Republicanism. The younger Espada quickly resigned after a reporter followed him to ‘his’ office and discovered that he didn’t know how to log onto ‘his’ computer there.

Next there is the news that our state legislators can legally ‘resign’ from office on New Year’s Eve when they reach 65 so that their pensions kick in while remaining in office at the beginning of the ‘new’ term. This means that on top of their $100K salaries, they can pocket another $60-70K in retirement pay. Sweet.

More disturbing to anyone who walks by buildings or travels over bridges is the ongoing probe into the corruption of cement-inspection firms. These are the entities that are supposed to make sure important structures don’t collapse like the Minneapolis river span because someone tried to save money on cheap concrete. Turns out—surprise, surprise—that construction companies have been getting automatic passes from some of the people being paid millions to make sure we’re safe.

Construction is a notoriously seamy business, and as for the influences that are rumored to pululate therein—let’s not go there, for now. But while the health ‘reform’ movement succumbs to the screaming assholes we innocently thought we had voted out of office less than a year ago, it’s great to know that good old-fashioned urban sleaze trudges on unchanged as well.

One could have foolishly thought that the Obama election reflected a recovered sense of collectivity, the funny notion that we should pull together somehow and see if we can build a better society. Tut tut, my dear. Turns out that bipeds have two pockets but only one question: how much money is in there?