Really, folks -- we don't object to your anger per se. We just wish you could direct some of it at, say, these folks, discovered partying in Manhattan over the weekend as if there's no Great Recession at all, because for them, presumably, there isn't one (hat tip New York Observer):
The last couple of months would suggest that if you could pick one industry not to be in, it would be real-estate. And yet, there are always those few that seem to defy the odds (or so it seems). Enter Michael Shvo and Matt Moinian. Shvo, described by NY Mag as "the most loathed broker in New York" (due in part to his success and youth) teamed up with real-estate heir Moinian in 2008 on the [ultrahip] downtown W Hotel. This Saturday, the two teamed up at Bagatelle's Saturday brunch. No word on the financial health of the W Hotel operation, but a tipster notes (with questionable grammar) that their personal conspicuous consumption sure hasn't declined:
I seen all of the biggest show offs in NYC at Bagatelles yesterday including Mike Shvo, the real estate tycoon and Matt Moinian, another tycoon. They sprayed nearly $90,000 worth of Dom Perignon according to our maitre'd most of which was aimed at some other guys in their group (of about 30 men in total...).
They continuously sprayed champagnes on other men all afternoon long, but it looked like they were enjoying doing all of this.
Remember the New York Times headline from a couple of Sundays ago -- "After Off Year, Wall Street Pay Is Bouncing Back"? Here's another sign that in the other America, the recession is over already.
The New York magazine article that's cited above was from 2005, when the current crisis seemed unimaginable to most people. It's hard to believe Shvo is a real person and not someone Bret Easton Ellis made up after hoovering up half a gram:
Michael Shvo's black Mercedes 500 limo is stuck in traffic, and he is not happy. "Let's go, let's go," he urges the driver. "Shit, we are really late." ...
The traffic is crawling, but Shvo remains as slick and polished as the marble finishes on one of his buildings: his dark hair impeccably swept back, his Brioni suit crisp, a mist of cologne enveloping him. On the seat next to him are two cell phones, which buzz and click like menacing bugs, an earpiece phone, and his omnipresent BlackBerry....
Shvo picks up the two cell phones and dials different numbers simultaneously with his thumbs....
He ... calls Brooke, his secretary, for messages. "Yes, yes, I took care of that," he says. "Next. Barry? I'll call back. Who else? She's a retard. Next."
He cracks open a can of Diet Coke. Until a few years ago, he says, he guzzled 30 to 40 cans a day. Now he's down to ten.... Although it is 10 degrees out, Shvo doesn't wear a coat over his suit. "Too many clothes," he says. "I don't feel comfortable." Instead, he jabs up the heat in the back seat to 85 degrees....
All he's missing are the power tools.
He was selling a lot of multi-million-dollar apartments in 2005 -- and I guess the sales are going to be at 2005 levels in the very near future.
I'm sure he's very grateful to the teabaggers because they don't want his taxes increased, and because they agree with Republicans (and far too many Democrats) that allowing bankruptcy judges to readjust the mortgages of struggling have-nots is a bad idea.