Photo Essays

Aleksey Vayner: Hey Everyone, Come See How Good I Look!

[Editor's note: Aleksey still hasn't granted our request to interview him. So we sent DealBreaker travel correspondent Bess Levin deep into Aleksey's brain. This is what she came back with.]
As many of you may very well already know, my adoring fan base has taken to calling me, of late, a douche bag. Being an immigrant who’s only offered the (obviously inferior) English language a cursory glance up to this point (see my motto: “Impossible is Nothing.” Doesn’t even make sense, right? NB, Graydon, you can just copy and paste that into my Proust Questionnaire), I had to defer to on this one and, as per us, things are just as I expected– you people love me! Lots of talk about “cleansing” and “vaginas” and all good, positive things like that. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again– you people love me! As a token of– I don’t want to say gratitude ’cause that’s not the right word, but how about this– my effort to let you suck at the teet of greatness that is me, I’ve cooked up something special. Had a little downtime last night as a result of dance practice being cancelled—I won’t say who’s been slacking but it could be one of two people and it’s not me, hint, hint—and I put together a little photo album for what I anticipate will be your immense pleasure. Enjoy looking at me as much as I always do.
me n bobby.jpg
This is me and my friend, Bobby, at Yale. Notice how
I almost completely blend into the background, like that
picture of Zach Braff in Garden State. In other words,
his shirt was the same pattern as the wallpaper,
so it looked like he was a part of the wall, and my
otherwise superior being blends into the
landscape of the most superior academic institution on earth.
Also notice how I’m letting Bobby mount Mt. Greatness,
i.e. me, so, if he’s lucky, a little Greatness might rub off on him.
I’m a very generous friend.

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The Commute: Tale of the Williamsburg Hitler

watertaxiwburg 005.jpg + wwt568768.jpg + Water_Taxi.jpg
Having burned all of our bridges with Connecticut, we really had to dig deep to come up with today’s installment of our twelve-part series, “Bro’ing Out With Bankers: The Commute” (today is part II; hunker down—we’ll get there, and we’ll do it together or so help me God I’ll pull this car over and you can walk). Yes, after crossing every town in Fairfield County off the dry erase board (like we care!) that ‘Breaker editor John Carney had so lovingly—albeit while hopped up on amphetamines and pure hate—printed out in his best cursive, we had our work cut out for us. We scraped the bottom of the barrel and Williamsburg by way of the New York Water Taxi was what we—John—decided upon. Per usual, this was not a trip we wanted to take alone. Unfortunately, Pete was busy lying in a pool of (what we can only hope was) his own vomit and all of our other friends either A. Claim to have jobs or B. Are egomaniacal pricks whose Pavlovian conditioning decrees that they only stand at attention when in the presence of either Junior Mint-toting hookers or women that remind them of their mothers (we’re looking at you, Tom, in particular; Joe Kelley, you’re also being watched), with a few—Rothbard—who encapsulate both, however, statistically speaking, constitute a very small percentage of the group—though you know we never say no to a Venn Diagram and we’ll include this one after the jump.

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Separated at Birth: Jamie Dimon and Steffi Graf?

Via Gawker, we found the blissfully delightful time-waster/productivity-killer that is the facial recognition site. The technology’s a little screwy, but we have to admit, the resemblance between JPMorgan CEO Jamie Dimon and erstwhile tennis star Steffi Graf is uncanny:
After the jump: John Mack, Rob Kindler, Eddie Lampert, Warren Buffett and our Jim Cramer Bobblehead Doll.

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