If the Mt. Gox founder would like to avail his company of all of the wonderful protections offered by Chapter 15 of the U.S. Bankruptcy Code, he’s going to have to spend a bitcoin or two on a ticket to Dallas. Read more »

How does one know when they’ve made it in Connecticut? Is it when their net worth is north of $5 billion? Is it when news of their impending arrival downtown causes workers to roll out the fleece carpet? Is it when the Radio City Christmas Spectacular becomes known as the poor man’s version of the holiday light display on their front lawn? Is it when they can finger a horse and no one says anything? None of the above, peasants. One knows they’ve made it in Connecticut when they can board the Metro North train without having to walk 12 miles to the platform in the morning and the same amount back after getting bombed on the way home at night.

In the Metro-North parking lots along Connecticut’s Gold Coast, the haves and the have-nots aren’t defined by their clothes, car or even their net worth. Here, it’s about whether they have a flimsy green piece of paper visible on their dashboards. A public parking pass in this and other towns along the Long Island Sound has become a precious asset. The waiting list for a Fairfield Parking Authority permit has 4,200 people and stretches past six years. In another town, Rowayton, the annual permit sale is an epic frenzy similar to that surrounding the release of a new iPhone, with residents camping out overnight to ensure they get a $325 pass.

Think it’s no big D? Think again. Most people would sell their first born into White slavery for one of these elusive bad boys. Read more »

Picture 129.pngWhen one is struggling through something, trying to figure out how he got to where he stands, and the point of this called life, the best thing to do is sit down at some adorable little cafe in the West Village, not a Starbucks but one of those places that draws designs in the foam on your cappuccino and bakes its own desserts, and pleasure oneself to the sounds of one’s own voice. It’s a little obscene, and common decency (not to mention the law) would typically advise you to not do so in public but this is something that you can’t help. You just sound so good. Of course you’d want to do you.

On a recent drizzly Sunday afternoon, a 29-year-old New York banker was sitting in a West Village cafe, eating biscotti with a mocha cappuccino and a glass of grapefruit juice. “I want to retire early and maybe do something else,” he sighed.

Oh, don’t you love you when you top off cliched statements with that reflective sigh thing? I bet when you paused you had a look of contemplation on your face, too.

“I had these big dreams when I was a kid to help people. But it’s much harder than one might think,” the young man said. “You have to do your job. You’re in the Army, and they send you to Vietnam. It’s not a good war, but they tell you to shoot. You shoot. It’s very complicated, but people don’t see that. I have a job. I tried to do that the best I could.”

It is hard. You know what else is hard? You, realizing that analogy sounded even better out loud than it did in your head. Lady Gaga probably would be too, if only she were lucky enough to be a fly on the wall during this conversation.

THE HANDSOME YOUNG BANKER has olive skin and black hair, but slightly mean-looking eyes. He doesn’t like working out, though he has shirtless photos of himself on Facebook. His girlfriend is three years younger. He likes The Economist and house music. He owns a few nice suits, which are Hugo Boss and were bought on sale: “I love,” he said, “making good deals.” He goes to private openings of meatpacking district clubs with colleagues, where they can party while talking business. Last month he saw a Lady Gaga concert with friends: “She puts on a great show, but the music is not that great.”

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