Michael Bloomberg may be a genius in the world of financial news, but the man seems to be a few watts short of the brightest bulb in the tree when it comes to this city.
In fact, last week, surrounded by a lot of bright bulbs at Tavern on the Green, Bloomberg said sanitation workers have higher-risk jobs than cops and firemen.
His reason? For one, “They are dealing with medical waste. It’s a dangerous job.”
Not hardly, mister. Specially licensed private trash haulers pick up medical waste in this city. Duh.
If that’s not enough, city inspectors are constantly snooping into the garbage bags of private citizens all over the city to make sure that nobody’s disposing of needles carelessly. Pity the landlord whose garbage isn’t 100 percent clean dirty trash!
Look, sanitation workers don’t have it easy, but they don’t have it dangerous either. My own father was once a sanitation man. It’s a stinky, thankless job, and these guys are unsung heroes just for facing what they do every day.
But, I never remember my sanit-foreman dad sending his crews off with the warning, “Hey, let’s be careful out there.” He left that to the guy on “Hill Street Blues.”
FROM Zarela: PMS stands for: “Psychotic Mood Shift, Perpetual Munching Spree, Puffy Mid-Section, Pass My Sweatpants.”
From Anonymous: “Italian and Jewish doctors speak of masses removed in terms of food – ‘It was big as a cantaloupe, peach, grape,’ whatever. But WASP docs talk sporting equipment: Basketball, softball, and baseball. It’s when they get to ‘squash ball’ that you see patients panic. WASPs are the only ones who know how big a squash ball actually is.”
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LEAVE SOME FOR US, JULIA
WAS Julia Roberts really Mother Teresa in a former life? She must have been to be so richly rewarded in this one.
I mean, the woman runs off with every man she runs into. Geez, save some for the rest of us, would you?
Last week she and the world’s second best-looking man, Benjamin Bratt, split because she supposedly got too steamy with (help me, Lord!) George Clooney.
Now, really, we forgave her for scooping up Jason Patric (not really), and Liam Neeson (not at all), Kiefer Sutherland, Daniel Day-Lewis, Matthew Perry and, most definitely, Lyle Lovett.
But George Clooney? No way.
All that’s left for the rest of us are gay men, girlfriends, and guys wearing designer camouflage. Back off, sister!
WHY DID KILLER MOM DO IT?
The best thing in the world is the way a baby’s kisses taste. The second best thing is the way a baby’s laugh sounds – the purest noise in the universe.
Babies turn us to mush, and yet the minute we give birth, a killer instinct is also born – and it’s aimed at anyone who tries to harm our kids, not at the kids themselves.
Or that’s the way it’s supposed to work.
I once knocked over a blind man who’d hit my toddler with his cane. Irrational. Instinctual. So sue me.
And that’s why the slaughter of her children by Andrea Pia Yates is so impossible to comprehend. Postpartum depression should lead to chocolate, not infanticide.
But something else is wrong here – and I’d bet the farm on the premise that her house holds many more horrible secrets.
It looked like something was off, even early in the week when the rocket-scientist husband remained relatively calm in the midst of the nightmare.
Then he miked himself up so he could move from coffin to coffin and still be heard in the back of the church during the funeral. What is he, Tony Robbins?
Something smells horrible in Houston – and it’s not just the rocket fuel.
Mike catching fashion flak
The only possible explanation for Mike Piazza’s nightmare new look is that he was dragged unconscious into a mall in Chicago where the terrible ‘do was done.
You know that the beige bowl-cut he’s now sporting could never have originated anywhere in this state – or even in a conscious state for that matter.
“I hate to say it, but he looks like a big Q-Tip,” said New York City stylist Damien Miano, of Miano-Viel Salon. “The guy’s choosing the worst looks of two horrible periods. Q-Tip meets Fu Manchu mustache.”
Said colorist Louis Viel, “The guy needs a makeover for his makeover. Buzz it all off, whiten it up. He gets an ‘A’ for effort, but an ‘F’ for execution.”
Dear God! Where are the fashion police when you need them?