The CityTime system, an effort to install fancy doodads (read: high-tech punch clocks) in municipal offices that was to have cost $68 million but now is up to $722 million, has been called a “disaster” by the mayor:

“It’s been a disaster. It is one of these massive computer projects that very seldom ever is successful,” said Bloomberg, who made his fortune with financial data systems.

Now imagine that sentence applied to congestion pricing had that been implemented (kind of amazing, by the way, that Bloomberg has kept plugging congestion pricing now that the MTA is having money trouble).

Now there are two aspects to CityTime — one is a paperless timekeeping system and the other is the aforementioned punch clock doodad. It would be interesting to know where the problem is. A paperless timekeeping system theoretically has some positive benefits: it is “green” in the sense that there are no more paper timecards and automating the timekeeping system theoretically means the city needs fewer timekeepers. On the other hand, the biometric punch clocks that unnecessarily agitated desk workers always seemed like a huge waste of money. You only need punch clocks if you’re worried workers are leaving early — instead of babysitting them why not just make sure there is enough actual work to do?

Another awesome tidbit about the punch clocks is that instead of using the actual time an employee punches in and out, the machines instead round up and down to the nearest fifteen-minute increment. So that, say, an employee punches in at 9:07 and leaves at 4:53, that employee will have “worked” a full seven-hour day. Over the course of a work week, that’s 70 minutes free. Brilliant! (And if the employee punches in at 8:52 and punches out at 4:53 the machine will give him or her fifteen minutes of comp time — love it!) The other unintended consequence is that employees are less likely to hang out after five to work on projects. We’ve heard of both scenarios occurring.

Alanis Morissette should check out this article because, unless I’m mistaken, it’s basically the textbook definition of “irony”:

Williamsburg is ground zero in the growing scourge of stalled construction that has left the neighborhood littered with 18 vacant lots and rusting steel building frames — more than in all of The Bronx, The Post has learned.

Block after block in the trendy Brooklyn community and a few adjacent streets in Greenpoint have been declared stalled construction sites by the city.

A team of building inspectors found 143 stalled sites around the city. But the cluster of lots in Williamsburg, where development was white-hot just two years ago, is the biggest.

By contrast, The Bronx and Queens each had just 14 stalled construction sites, and Staten Island had 13, city records show.

. . .

Philip DePaolo, who moved from The Bronx to Williamsburg in 1979, said the neighborhood looks like the arson-scarred streets he left behind.

“It looks like I never left,” said DePaolo, comparing his old neighborhood to Williamsburg today.

“The problem we’re having now is that we’re starting to get squatters in these buildings and lots,” said DePaolo. “Blight draws crime, and if you have blocks and blocks of vacant lots with no people, that creates a problem.”

DePaolo pointed to broken construction fencing surrounding some of the sites and piles of blankets and cardboard shacks left behind by homeless squatters who spend nights there.

Officials say they’re working on the problem as a growing number of developers struggle with financing in a slumping housing market.

Still trying to unionize, now officially the most ironic thing happening in today’s Lower East Side:

It was only a matter of time: These vital workers—many of whom have worked there for years—have been absorbing and reciting the history that helped the former residents to band together and prosper. Now, they want a larger share of the museum’s success. They want some of the benefits afforded full-time employees: vacation time, sick leave and health care. If nothing else, they want an opportunity to at least bargain collectively. They want guaranteed hours, and they figure a raise would be nice, too. Especially since, regardless of how long they had worked at the museum, not one of the educators has received a salary adjustment.

They essentially want to put their money where their mouths are. Tired of just talking about unions and the way they changed the face of this country, a group of about 30 educators—hourly workers who lead tours and discussions at the museum—decided to form one. Easy, they figured: No institution is friendlier to labor than the Tenement Museum. After all, a pro-union vibe permeates the place, from its bookstore stocked with tomes about the labor movement to the actual tenement at 97 Orchard Street, where the seeds of organized labor grew. The founders and managers of the museum clearly revere the history that surrounds them.

Despite that reverence, a no-holds-barred labor clash is underway beneath their own roof. Educators who spend their days extolling unions were thwarted from the very beginning and told their own union would not be recognized. They organized anyway, protested and passed out flyers at every opportunity, just as the men and women in their history lessons did. Their rallying even convinced a trustee, State Sen. Tom Duane, to resign his position with the museum. But the museum’s stance did not change. For two years it has opposed immediate recognition of the union, and thrown up roadblock after roadblock. It’s a living history if there ever was one.

“The thing that just gets my goat is that we’re promoting labor history and they’re not recognizing the union,” says H.R. Britton, 37, an educator who has worked at the museum for two years. “On a good day that’s ironic, but on a bad day, that’s deeply disturbing.”

It’s not so much irony as it is a gigantic middle finger to the laws of internal logic:

Mayor Michael R. Bloomberg visited California on Wednesday to stump for a measure that would prevent legislators there from redrawing their district maps, a practice that he contends is a self-serving way for lawmakers to keep themselves in office.

Back in New York City, where Mr. Bloomberg is stumping for a measure that would allow him to keep his job as mayor for a third term, some saw a touch of irony.

At the very least, something tells me that the mayor is not the best spokesperson for that right now.

No, not this mayor. “The Mayor’s Dangerous Idea” was the title of a Times editorial in 2001 that argued against Giuliani’s idea to extend his term three months to deal with the aftermath of Sept. 11:

Mayor Rudolph Giuliani wants to extend his current term of office into 2002, postponing the inauguration of a new mayor for several months. This is a terrible idea. Neither New York City nor the nation has ever postponed the transfer of power because the public was convinced it could not get along without the current incumbent. The very concept goes against the most basic of American convictions, that we live in a nation governed by rule of law.

To suggest that the city would be incapable of getting along without Mr. Giuliani after the end of the year undermines New York’s sense of self-sufficiency and normality, which the mayor himself has worked so hard to restore. While Mr. Giuliani has been a great leader during this crisis, the truth is that no one is indispensable. George Washington understood that when he rejected repeated attempts to keep him in office indefinitely. Washington was followed in the presidency by a long line of successors, some of them distinctly mediocre. But the country went on, because people put their faith in the democratic process and not in the strength of any one individual.

Mr. Giuliani has asked his three possible successors to agree to postpone the next inauguration and let him stay on for a few more months to continue his work on the city’s recovery. He and his supporters are holding out the threat that if the mayor is not given his wish, they will mount an attempt to repeal the term limits law so he can run for re-election in November. They argue that he needs just a few extra months to finish the most critical work in the wake of an enormous disaster. But one critical task after another is going to crop up for the foreseeable future. And history suggests that the worst time to change the election rules is right before an election, in a time of crisis.

. . .

Mr. Giuliani already has the ability to make sure the transfer of power is smooth. The mayor should begin working immediately to bring his potential successors up to speed. When he leaves office Jan. 1, he should urge key members of his own administration to stay on to finish the work they are doing if his successor wishes them to stay. The best way for Mr. Giuliani to help New York City after Jan. 1 is not by retaining power but by giving it up in the most generous way possible.

All of which is interesting given the Times’ editorial this morning endorsing Bloomberg’s proposal to temporarily overturn term limits to allow himself and all members of the City Council a chance to run for a third term:

The bedrock of American democracy is the voters’ right to choose. Though well intentioned, New York City’s term limits law severely limits that right, which is why this page has opposed term limits from the outset. The law is particularly unappealing now because it is structured in a way that would deny New Yorkers — at a time when the city’s economy is under great stress — the right to decide for themselves whether an effective and popular mayor should stay in office.

Partly for this reason, and partly to extend their own political careers, a majority of City Council members are thinking about amending the city law to allow elected officials to serve three consecutive terms instead of two. That would permit Mayor Michael Bloomberg to run again in 2009 and could also prolong the service of council members and other senior elected officials. Mr. Bloomberg, who is expected to announce on Thursday that he will seek a third term if he can, likes the idea a lot.

We do, too. But we would go further and ask the Council to abolish term limits altogether — not to serve any individual’s political career but to serve the larger cause of democracy.

Which really is to say, we’re not serious about this at all. Think back to the large outpouring of support for Giuliani after Sept. 11 — “mayor for life” and all that. Does the Times editorial board really — no, seriously, really — think Bloomberg has more good will right now than Giuliani did after Sept. 11?

It makes a lot of people uncomfortable to legislatively rewrite a law that voters have twice approved at the ballot box — in 1993 and 1996. It makes us uncomfortable, too, and we previously took the position that any change should be left to the voters. But we have concluded now that changing the law legislatively does not make us nearly as uncomfortable as keeping it. It is within the rights of the Council, itself an elected body, to do so.

Term limits are seductive, promising relief from mediocre, self-perpetuating incumbents and gridlocked legislatures. They are also profoundly undemocratic, arbitrarily denying voters the ability to choose between good politicians and bad, especially in a city like New York with a strong public campaign-financing system, while automatically removing public servants of proven ability who are at a productive point in their careers.

But again — who exactly — exactly who — is agitating for a change? Is this something families discuss over dinner, expressing fear that their elected representative who is right in the middle of a productive point in his career won’t have had enough time to fulfill his legacy? Or is this coming from the people who would truly be affected by term limits, which is to say, the mayor and the City Council?

The City Council members who want to change the law are not alone. A survey in The Times last month found that at least two dozen local governments are suffering buyer’s remorse about the term limits they adopted, mostly in the 1990s. One common complaint is that they force politicians to focus on small-bore projects that can be achieved quickly rather than visionary ideas. The constant churning also diminishes accountability in governmental institutions like the City Council.

See, elected officials in governments everywhere are unhappy that they only have a limited time in office! As much as I’m excited to let council members explore visionary ideas, I have a feeling New York City will somehow survive.

Then there’s the up-is-down argument that this is actually more democratic:

Most places that are trying to relax term limits are likely to do so via the ballot box, with several referendums due in November. There is a chance that a vote on the issue could be organized early next year in New York in conjunction with special elections to the City Council. But such elections do not attract many voters. In the end, a vote by the Council is probably the most democratic way to address the matter.

And if you don’t like it, vote the bums out:

It is worth repeating: This is a rule that needs to be abolished. If the voters don’t like the result, they can register their views at the polls.

Good idea. It almost makes you want to hope that Bloomberg, despite the millions he will spend, will go down horribly next November.

Ultimately, you have to wonder who is so excited about a third Bloomberg term? The Times’ report clarifies:

With his decision, Mr. Bloomberg is overruling the advice of his top three assistants at City Hall — Deputy Mayors Edward Skyler, Patricia E. Harris and Kevin Sheekey –who have expressed opposition to a third term.

Those aides have told the mayor — at times forcefully — that any campaign to challenge the term-limits law would look like an end run around voters, and could sully his legacy as a reform-minded outsider. Others have told the mayor that they may not remain for a full third term.

In the business community, however, the idea of a Bloomberg third term is popular. At charity balls and on golf courses, executives like the financier Steven Rattner, the developer Jerry I. Speyer and the media mogul Rupert Murdoch have encouraged him to seek a third term.

Got that? Wall Street, a developer and Rupert Murdoch. Given what has happened this past month, do you really want to trust those guys?

Just like a three-card monte game where the rube walks away a winner:

I was trying to find out from a very harried looking cameraman why a full film crew was following around the worst dressed group of young people at last night’s packed Semi Precious Weapons show at Rebel.

“They’re nobodies,” said the cameraman trailing them around the club. A friend whispered to me that they weren’t just any nobodies, they were the cast of the new The Real World in Red Hook. The lights, cameras, VIP status, bottle service and fawning by wannabe socialites was explained.

MTV had the kids well trained. “I’m sorry I can’t divulge that,” the cast members would tell me when I pressed them for any details on life in the Pier 41 house. But Chet Bannon, the Mormon who the producers are trying to have de-flowered, was too nice not to talk. By far the most suave of the yahoos, he was wearing an H&M scarf, Elvis Costello glasses and had his short blonde hair spiked. Best of all, he admitted that they were indeed the cast of The Real World.

“I love glam rock,” Chet told me as he sipped a Shirley Temple, “you just don’t see anything like it in Salt Lake.” As if on cue, Justin Tranter, the mascara-wearing, teased, peroxide-haired frontman of the Weapons, put a medallion around Chet’s neck, whispered something in his ear, then strutted off.

“Wow, that’s just so cool,” Chet — who’s engaged to a girl back home — gushed.

There was trouble in paradise, however, and the young man needed to get something off his virginal chest. “When we go to Williamsburg we get harassed. The hipsters throw things at us and say ‘Why are you here? Go home! Ten years ago none of them were there either.’” He looked hurt and wondered, “Why are the hipsters so small minded?”

Severe ramifications from the recent writers’ strike continue to wreak havoc on a fragile American culture:

Dreaming of showing it all on reality television? A new school has opened to show you the ropes.

The New York Reality TV School — brainchild of theater coach Robert Galinsky, who has trained reality-TV stars for years — began classes on 19th Street in Manhattan yesterday, offering lessons in jumping from real world to “reality.”

The school — which claims to give students a “competitive advantage” over other potential contestants — provides one-time workshops for $139 and five-week workshops for $299.

That would be a switch! Funny how that sometimes works out:

One of the biggest water bill deadbeats in New York City is the Economic Development Corporation, according to an audit released by the city comptroller’s office on Monday.

William C. Thompson Jr., the comptroller, said that the corporation had not paid any water or sewer bills for 22 years at the Brooklyn Army Terminal in Sunset Park, Brooklyn, a building of commercial and light industrial space controlled by the corporation.

The unpaid bills totaled $4.5 million.

In a press conference, Mr. Thompson said he was outraged that the agency was so delinquent, not only in failing to pay its bills but also in not contacting the city’s Department of Environmental Protection, which runs the water system, since 1989.

Too bad this story didn’t come out yesterday:

Paul McCartney gal pal and Manhattan MTA honcho Nancy Shevell has a pass that lets her flout city parking rules, The Post has learned.

Shevell, the raven-haired MTA board member who has been dating Sir Paul for months, slid her shiny, black SUV into a commercial loading zone on a recent afternoon.

She then brashly headed off to a Manhattan salon, without the slightest fear of reprisal from a meter maid, photos taken at the scene show.

That’s because Shevell has a special MTA police placard plastered to her dashboard that allows her — and the rest of the agency’s board members — to park their vehicles in no-parking, loading, and metered zones.

An MTA spokesman said agency rules stipulate the pass can be used only for “official MTA business.”

He declined to say whether Shevell’s parlor pit stop qualified.

NIMBYers somehow invaded the bodies of the four preservationists devoted to the cause of the Gowanus Canal:

Activists admitted that there was some irony in trying to retain the current polluted state of the canal by seeking protection for the industrial buildings that hastened its demise during the 19th and 20th centuries. But they said it’s possible to separate the buildings themselves from the messy business that went on inside.

“They are perfect specimens of what industrial buildings looked like at the start of the Industrial Revolution,” said Betty Stoltz, a member of Friends and Residents of the Greater Gowanus. “Think of it this way: I don’t love everything the Church does, but I don’t want to see churches destroyed.”

Location Scout: Gowanus Canal.

The idea that this is somehow better only makes it seem worse:

Sifting for clues in the wreckage of Eliot Spitzer’s stunning, sordid prostitution scandal — and trying to make sense of what no doubt will always contain a large element of pure insanity — that old mob investigation offers a vivid glimpse into the suddenly ex-governor’s psyche. “I don’t think [the prostitutes] were so much about the sex,” says one man who worked closely with Spitzer for many years and thought he knew him well. “There’s definitely an element of self-destruction. There’s complete ‘the rules don’t apply to me’; it’s very arrogant. But Eliot loves covert ops. He always has. The most animated or excited he ever gets is when he talks about running the sting on the Gambino family.”

. . . “Like Romeo to Juliet/Time and time, I’m gonna make you mine.” His friend scratches his head, because he was (is) a big Ratt fan, and knows that the very next line is “I’ve had enough, we’ve had enough/It’s all the same,” but no matter, since most people only internalize snippets of lyrics, and besides, he came to the sad conclusion long, long ago that Ratt were probably a bunch of high-school dropout goons with little sense of internal logic, but that’s all beside the point on this particular day, he thinks, because he understands his friend’s sentiment, which is something along the lines of “what comes around goes around,” etc., etc. or whatever:

Cheers erupted on trading floors around the city yesterday as word spread of the stunning downfall of Gov. Spitzer — who spent most of his term as attorney general torturing Wall Street with his witch hunt for financial wrongdoing.

An employee of a major investment bank, who requested anonymity, said the company chef had been instructed to break out bottles of champagne so that the staff could party and swap jokes about “client No. 9.”

Meanwhile, at another giant firm, Merrill Lynch, “everyone broke into cheering on the trading floor,” an employee said. Merrill got socked for hundreds of millions of dollars in penalties, thanks to Spitzer.

Traders were on such a high that stocks rallied for about a half-hour. Then the laughs wore off and the gloom returned for a down day.

The cab driver who delivered an infant to safety after becoming the unwitting participant in a nurse-and-dash scheme seems to have made up parts of the story as a cover up and has been arrested:

In a stunning turnaround, the cabby hailed as a hero for delivering an “abandoned” baby to a Queens firehouse Thursday was arrested yesterday for making up the heart-wrenching story.

In a dramatic jailhouse confession to The Post, livery cabdriver Klever Sailema, 45, said he was only trying to help the infant.

“I feel really bad. It wasn’t my intention to hurt anybody,” a shaken Sailema said from a holding cell in Kew Gardens yesterday. “We did it so that the girl would be well cared for. I just wanted to help.”

The cabby, a father of three from Elmhurst said that he kept up the ruse because “every time I lied I thought it would end there.

“I felt terrible. In my heart I knew it wasn’t right. It was a mistake.”

Sailema allegedly teamed up with the child’s dad, Carlos Rodas, 27, and paternal aunt, Maria Siavichay, to enact a bizarre plot to get rid of the kid, dubbed “Lourdes,” but whose real name is Daniella Perez, after the little girl’s 14-year-old mother said she could no longer handle being a mom, police sources said.

The plot unraveled late Friday night, when a neighbor who spotted the baby girl’s picture in the newspapers called cops.

. . .

Sailema told The Post that Siavichay, a waitress in his neighborhood, asked him for a ride to work Thursday, as she frequently does.

But when he arrived at her apartment at 7:30 a.m., she walked out carrying a baby in her arms along with Rodas, whom he had never met. All three got in the back of the cab.

Sailema initially thought that the baby, whom Siavichay had mentioned before, was sick and therefore Siavichay was taking the tot to work with her.

“The father said, ‘I know you don’t know me, but I need to ask you a favor. Can you take my girl to the fire station?’ ” Sailema told The Post.

Rodas wouldn’t take the child himself, because he “had a problem with the courts,” Sailema said.

“At that point I knew they were talking about bringing her to a safe place,” the cabby added.

Sailema dropped off the dad, a construction worker, a few blocks away and then headed to Queens.

A few blocks from the firehouse, Sailema said, Siavichay became worried because “she did not have [immigration] papers” and asked Sailema to drop her at work and take the baby to the firehouse — Engine 289 in Elmhurst — alone.

Just before 10 a.m., the cabby arrived at the firehouse. “That’s when I invented the story,” he told The Post.

. . .

“I don’t know how I committed a crime,” said an exasperated Sailema.

The Patriots get cocky . . . the Giants stay cockier:

If the Giants win the Super Bowl on Sunday, the city is prepared to throw them a party.

Police Commissioner Raymond Kelly said plans are in the works for a victory parade and ceremony to take place on Tuesday following the big game.

The parade would start at 10 a.m. at the U.S. Custom House and travel uptown on Broadway to City Hall, where grandstands would seat 5,000 fans for a 1 p.m. celebration ceremony.

Well now isn’t that cute:

With all the peace, love and unity in the air at the Petrides school auditorium during yesterday’s “Day Out Against Hate” assembly, one couldn’t help but think of the feud between Borough President James P. Molinaro and District Attorney Daniel Donovan.

Both men attended yesterday’s event, the first time they have been together at a public event since Molinaro went nuclear on his former deputy in the final weeks of Donovan’s recent re-election campaign.

But unlike Martin and Lewis, or Yogi and Steinbrenner, there was no public rapprochement between the two yesterday. They did not speak.

. . .

Molinaro said he didn’t see any incongruity between the theme of yesterday’s event and the feud that he set in motion. “I don’t dislike the man,” he said afterward. “I don’t hate the man. I felt what I felt. It is what it is.”

When asked if he would make some overture to Donovan to mend the rift, Molinaro said, “There hasn’t been close contact for years, so why go there?”

It’s a Scorsese detail come to life:

The rat that was circling André Thomas’s feet was big and brazen, measuring more than a foot from the tip of its tail to a pointed snout that arched upward to the aroma of Mr. Thomas’s ham and cheese sandwich.

The encounter might not have seemed all that unusual to many New Yorkers, who have become wearily accustomed to rats bounding along subway tracks or lurking about garbage bins, usually after dark.

But this rat sighting came as a shock to Mr. Thomas because of when and, especially, where it took place — 2 p.m. on a brilliant fall afternoon while he sat on a bench in City Hall Park, a nine-acre jewel of the municipal park system that underwent a $30 million renovation in 1999. The park is a cornerstone of the city’s efforts to revive Lower Manhattan.

“At first I thought it was a squirrel,” Mr. Thomas said as he strode away. “Isn’t this where the mayor works?”

Mr. Thomas’s rodent experience was hardly unusual. If he had looked under the park’s benches and around its meticulously cropped foliage, he would have spotted at least six other rats scurrying around, unconcerned about the humans all around.

The infestation of rats in City Hall Park, clearly an embarrassment to the city, was acknowledged in interviews by senior officials of the Department of Health and Mental Hygiene, the city’s lead agency for rodent control, and the Department of Parks and Recreation.

“It’s just a big issue down there and we all recognize it,” said Jessica Leighton, the health department’s deputy commissioner for environmental health. Adrian Benepe, the commissioner of parks and recreation, said that City Hall Park provided “a perfect set of circumstances for rats.”

Indeed, the park’s extensive makeover not only produced a verdant oasis, but inadvertently also created a haven for rats: leafy ground cover in abundance, garbage cans that proved rodent-friendly and droves of lunchtime visitors carrying brown bags with deli sandwiches. Adding to that are large construction projects in the neighborhood, including the World Trade Center site, that have forced rats from their underground homes.

Something that only seems to occur in the sticks with psychotic underemployed part-timers is happening here:

Two firefighters were arraigned yesterday on arson and reckless endangerment charges for allegedly torching a Hell’s Kitchen firehouse over the weekend.

Michael Izzo, 30, of Staten Island, and Richard Capece, 31, of Brooklyn, were arraigned in Manhattan Criminal Court on felony charges of second- and third-degree arson and reckless endangerment. Judge Abraham Clott set bail for both men at $20,000 cash or $30,000 bond and ordered them to return to court on Friday.

According to a criminal complaint, a surveillance camera captured Izzo and Capece buying a gallon of gasoline and a cigarette lighter at a gas station on 38th Street and Tenth Avenue, about two blocks from Engine 34/Ladder 21. Capece allegedly paid for the merchandise with his MasterCard debit card and then accompanied Izzo in a 2001 black Chevrolet Suburban to the firehouse at 440 W. 38th St., where its main door was doused with gasoline and set ablaze at 2:30 a.m. Saturday. No one was injured in the fire, which was quickly extinguished by five firefighters at the firehouse.

Because you know the (not $1 billion but $500 million) World Trade Center Sept. 11 memorial costs way to much money when the foundation funding it becomes one of the nation’s top nonprofits:

The World Trade Center Memorial Foundation has joined the annual honor roll of American nonprofits that received the most private support last year.

The organization, which raised $115 million in 2006, ranked no. 158 on a list of 400 entities compiled by the Chronicle of Philanthropy. The list is published in the Chronicle’s November 1 issue.

At the top of the list was United Way of America in Alexandria, Va., with $4.1 billion raised. No. 400 was the Eisenhower Medical Center in Rancho Mirage, Calif., in the midst of a $200 million capital campaign, with $42 million raised.

The World Trade Center Memorial Foundation, which began operations in May 2005, in 2006 reported donations totaling $115 million. By June 1 of this year, it had raised $300 million of its $350 million goal for the building of a memorial and museum at the World Trade Center site. The fund-raising feat is impressive, as the foundation’s president quit in May 2006 after criticism for rising costs and delays. Mayor Bloomberg then stepped in as chairman of the foundation.

“It is a big deal that it raised enough money to get on the list,” the editor of the Chronicle of Philanthropy, Stacy Palmer, said of the new entrant from New York. “They put a lot of effort into bringing in a lot of very big gifts and saying, ‘We need to go ahead and move forward on this.’”

By way of contrast, the Staten Island Postcards memorial, a very nice memorial, only cost $2 million.

How about health care for every uninsured New Yorker? Just asking! Because now you have a lame duck mayor spending his waning political capital on a subway stop:

Over the next nine months the Bloomberg administration will likely press the state for an additional $450 million in funding for the no. 7 subway line extension, as cost overruns have left the 1.5-mile project with only one planned station stop.

The city has put up the full $2 billion required for the project. Though with the major tunneling contract slated for approval tomorrow, the Metropolitan Transportation Authority has dropped plans for constructing the shell of a station at Tenth Avenue and 41st Street.

The extension has been billed as an essential driver of development for the area west of Midtown, which is one of the Bloomberg administration’s key initiatives.

“The city is coming up with a couple of billion out of the taxpayer’s money — I would argue that it’s the MTA’s responsibility” to fund the station, Mayor Bloomberg told reporters yesterday.

While the city is anxious to have the MTA come up with the money, the state agency has said it is facing major budget deficits and is prioritizing other projects such as the Second Avenue Subway.

Again, that’s a $2 billion investment for a) a convention center that is fully booked to begin with and b) infrastructure for waterfront housing for rich people that doesn’t even exist yet. Oh, and probably an artificial-turf ballfield named for Dan Doctoroff forty years down the line. That would be worth it.

When a Brooklyn man eats only what he farms in his own backyard, we discover that “eating locally,” ironically, can go too far:

In three weeks of eating nothing but Farm-fresh food, I lost 29 pounds, down from my pre-Farm weight of 234. Abs: That’s the upside of only two meals a day. The downside is the expense. Not counting my own labor, which was unending, I spent about $11,000 to produce what, all told, is barely enough to feed one grown man for a month. But I did learn something about food: Unless you really know what you’re doing, raising it is miserable, soul-crushing work. Eating food fresh from the farm, on the other hand, is delightful.

(Hey, no need to punish yourself!)

In a strange twist, being a total jerk driver actually may help you in the long run:

Pedicab drivers busted by police for running red lights and hitting pedestrians may have better odds of winning coveted licenses to “pedal” their wares in the city than drivers who bother to obey the law.

Tickets for moving violations will be accepted as proof a pedicab business was in operation prior to the new regulations passed by the city this spring.

This proof, which can also come in the form of insurance or incorporation documents, gives operators of bicycle rickshaws first dibs in the lottery to distribute 325 licenses later this year.

Lady, please put down the cosmo:

The Bordeaux was flowing, the foie gras abundant and the well-heeled epicures at Daniel were having a refined old time when suddenly all eyes turned toward a table against one wall and all conversation ceased.

Jean-Luc Le Dû, a sommelier in the restaurant, looked in that direction, too. And he saw her: the woman making like a dancer on a pole at Scores.

She stood facing the rest of the dining room. First she took off a vest or a jacket, as best Mr. Le Dû remembers. Then she went to work on her blouse.

Just as she was getting to her bra, the maître d’hôtel got to her. Thus her drunken, wobbly stint as a stripper ended, and so did her dinner. She and her date, a smiling, sloshed man who had seemingly egged her on, were escorted to the door.

“She was not necessarily attractive or young, so it was disruptive,” complained Mr. Le Dû, who left Daniel several years ago and now owns a wine shop in Greenwich Village. “If she were beautiful, it might have been different. People might have been cheering her on.”

At Daniel? Hard to believe. But then Mr. Le Dû’s story provides a reminder that a 1985 Burgundy casts the same dark spell as a 2007 peppermint schnapps. That in a four-star temple as surely as a starless dive, some diners drink too much: way, way too much.

. . .

“If anything, a large bank account enables one to forgo normal levels of decorum, because you don’t have consequences,” said Rocky Cirino, a manager at the restaurant Cru, who previously worked at Daniel. “I’m thinking of several people whose station in life has enabled them to bypass normal civility and caution.”

. . .

Sometimes drunken diners don’t even bother to seek a private sanctuary for their libidos.

“People are often doing things underneath the table,” said a veteran server who has worked in many of Manhattan’s premier restaurants, including Gotham Bar & Grill and Fleur de Sel. The server asked not to be named for fear of angering past or future employers.

“The darker the restaurant, the more romantic the restaurant — there’s going to be some activity,” she said.

Manhattan real estate is irresistible — even to the most die-hard commies:

As the price of Gotham real estate climbs ever higher, the socialists who embrace the ideas of common ownership espoused by Marx and Lenin decided to stop mothballing their precious office space across the street from the Chelsea Hotel and turn it into hand-over-fist cash.

“This is Manhattan. It’s the biggest rental market in North America,” said Libero Della Piana, state chair of the state Communist Party. “We live in a capitalist society, and in order for us to play our role, we have to make money.”

Two months ago, the local hammer-and-sickle crowd opened the doors of its swanky, eight-story headquarters to yet another new tenant, Dumann Realty.

“We believe the market is great. We believe Chelsea is coming up,” said Richard Du, president of Dumann, which leases commercial and retail space in Manhattan.

And if that’s not ironic enough, know that this story can only get, uh, richer:

[Richard Du] laughed at the idea that the capitalist forces of Manhattan have forged a financial partnership with his realty company and the commies.

“I come from Vietnam,” said Du, who grew up with landmines outside his front door before leaving his homeland at age 13, unable to read or write.

“This is a free country,” Du said, “and everyone has to work together for financial freedom.”

. . .

The party, which bought the building 30 years ago, wouldn’t say how much it is raking in from tenants. But based on the latest local real-estate prices, rent for each 5,000-square-foot floor in the building could command well over $135,000 a month, considering the space is in the heart of Chelsea.

Other tenants in the building include two record companies, an art-supply store and the Sheila Kelley S Factor Striptease dance school, which features pole dancing.

Capitalism looks pretty good at the socialist headquarters, as they have been able to renovate their cramped 1970s-style office into a sleek, open-air space with environmentally friendly furniture.

Rather than perpetuate this pro bono ruse Skadden should have just donated $1 million to Legal Aid — I’m pretty sure their attorneys are cheaper:

Chinatown restaurant workers who claimed their bosses stole their tips and cheated them out of overtime thought they’d scored a major payday when a judge awarded them $700,000 in February.

But their lawyers ended up the bigger winners — tallying $1 million in legal fees, even though they took on the case pro bono.

A judge this week awarded attorneys’ fees of as much as $450-an-hour to Skadden, Arps, Slate, Meagher & Flom, who argued the case on behalf of waiters, busboys and captains at the 88 Palace Restaurant.

“The case was unusually difficult and complex, the resources required to prosecute it immense,” Manhattan Federal Judge Gerard Lynch wrote.

Skadden Arps attorney Mark Cheffo said his firm will donate most of the money “to the support of Asian-American legal endeavors.”

It’s not just immigrants who fake being religious to get their kids an education. Now we’ve got “come for the pre-K, stay for the chocolate-covered matzo”:

In the frenzy to land a preschool spot, some parents have found God. Area churches and synagogues that offer early-childhood programs are swelling with new families that have joined to help gain priority school admission for their kids. Brooklyn Heights’ Plymouth Church, for instance, has had “a surge of growth in young families,” reports the Reverend David Fisher. “We’re not sure if there is a direct relationship between the school and our congregation’s growth — though we strongly suspect there is.”

. . .

Some institutions are growing wise to self-interested joiners. “I laugh when people tell me, ‘I joined Temple Emanu-El in June and I’m applying to the preschool in September,’ says Amanda Uhry, owner of Manhattan Private School Advisors. “I say, ‘Do you think Emanu-El isn’t hip to what’s going on?’” Madison Avenue Presbyterian Church Day School prefers two years of membership and participation to be eligible for an admissions advantage, while the East Side’s Christ Church United Methodist limits preschool priority to congregants who actively worship and give money. “The Day School office sends to the church office the list of people seeking admission, and we go over it to make sure that the criteria are being met,” says Christ Church’s the Reverend Javier Viera.

Other religious leaders, though, are happy to see new faces — no matter what the reason. Andy Bachman, rabbi of Park Slope’s Congregation Beth Elohim, sees a membership bump in early November, when preschool applications are given out, and another in January, during tour season. That’s okay by him. “People approach affiliation from a variety of motivations,” he says. “The same people who say they joined just because of the preschool are the ones who can’t stop eating the chocolate-covered matzo at the children’s Seder.”

The museum dedicated to helping visitors understand the trials and tribulations of the overworked, underpaid and unappreciated turn-of-the-century tenement dweller is playing hardball with its own employees:

The Lower East Side Tenement Museum’s tour guides, educators and costumed interpreters — those who don early 20th century garb to tell the stories of the immigrants who lived at 97 Orchard St. — demanded yesterday their employer recognize their union, Local 2110 UAW.

Workers said that the museum’s operations and budget have increased in recent years, but most of them have received little or no pay increases, according to the union’s recording secretary Eden Schulz. Most workers are hired on a per diem basis, receiving no benefits or guaranteed schedule of hours. More than a majority of the 40 workers signed membership cards, Schulz said, and a group of them met with the museum’s executive vice president Barry Roseman, handing him a letter asking the museum to agree to a membership card count — which is when a neutral third party certifies the majority status.

Yup, I think it’s an example of real irony! And the Post eats up this kind of story like cancer:

One of the city’s biggest homeless-advocacy groups is on the verge of kicking a sickly woman out of the Manhattan apartment where she has lived for more than 20 years, court papers charge.

Under any other circumstances, Luz Bonano, a cancer survivor, could appeal to the nonprofit, Manhattan-based Coalition for the Homeless for help if she ended up on the street.

But it’s the coalition itself that owns her building on West 77th Street — and it’s gone to court to try to get her out.

“They’re supposed to be housing the homeless,” said Bonano, who has lived in her apartment for 22 years. “So what are they doing evicting people?”

. . .

The coalition claims Bonano owes more than $30,000 in back rent — money it says could help other people in need.

Bonano has been battling non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma for nearly five years and lives off a $710 monthly disability stipend.

Among New York Magazine’s Reasons to Love New York (in 2006, at least), the hot waitstaff:

If New York is the flame to which scores of the world’s most beautiful, multiracial, multiethnic youth are drawn, then the city’s waiter and waitress ranks are its red-hot center. Where else in the world can you look up from your fatty-toro sashimi or cheeseburger and find yourself staring into the eyes of a ruby-lipped Botticelli Venus? Or a porcelain-skinned John Currin? Or a Mapplethorpe subject? Brunch and a gallery crawl? Why bother. It’s redundant.

And one reason we can’t stand dining out is because of the totally incompetent waitstaff who, although sometimes “hot,” are dumb as shit . . .

He won by a landslide, so what more can he want? Why not immortalize the campaign in a photo exhibition for posterity:

Eliot Spitzer will take over Grand Central Terminal next month with a photo exhibition of images from his campaign.

“The Making of a Governor” will chronicle the stump speeches, handshakes, autographs and exhaustion of running for office — in a series of large black-and-white photos intended to evoke the iconic images of the Kennedy years.

The exhibit is to run Jan. 7-23 at Vanderbilt Hall and may then tour the state.

Photographer Marius Muresanu said he approached Spitzer with the idea after seeing one of Jacques Lowe’s famous images of President Kennedy campaigning.

. . .

He said he spent eight months on the campaign trail and was granted full access — even though the governor-elect has been “known not to love photographers.”

Muresanu is still scouring through thousands of negatives to decide which prints make the cut.

MTA officials said the Spitzer campaign paid $37,500 to rent the space.

Sometimes it seems like the world needs electroshock therapy. First the 9/11 conspiracy theorists, now Son of Sam as a religious figure:

At first, MaryAnn explains, David was not a person for her but a number. “The Lord had given me, shot into my spirit and I could never shake it, the number 44,” she explains. Years before she met David, she’d even named her dog 44. “Periodically I would get the number 444, which was like the perfection of the number.” MaryAnn didn’t understand at first, but later the meaning became crystal clear. She says, “It was the identification of David Berkowitz.” Initially, the press called him the “.44-Caliber Killer,” because his six murders were committed with a .44-caliber pistol. Then two years ago, she ran into a guy she knew at the local Shop Rite, a Christian like her. They started talking, and soon he invited her to visit David in prison.

“When David walked in [to the visitors' room], I knew,” she tells me. . . . “There’s nobody bigger than this guy. Oh, my God, this guy is an apostle of the Lord.”

. . .

Son of Sam was sentenced to 365 years in prison, which should have kept him out of the public consciousness for several lifetimes. But in prison, an amazing thing happened. The infamous serial killer became a holy man, holier because of his evil past. He’s now at the center of a growing Christian mission. His humility, his piety, his charitable, Christlike heart inspire Christians around the world — one African is even named after Son of Sam. (He’s Kwaku Berkowitz.) Fellow Christians overwhelm him with letters. They pray for him and crave his advice, his spiritual insight, his fatherly guidance. He produces videotapes and journals, gives interviews to Christian radio shows. David — he hates the words “Son of Sam” — works as a pastor, walking the prison halls with a Gideons Bible and a calling from God. He’s battling Satan, he says, his old friend. And David is sure Satan’s afraid of him, because David knows all his tricks. The monster who terrorized New York is now apparently on the road to redemption. “I’m heaven-bound and shouting victory,” he tells Christian audiences.

*And the soundtrack plays “Hold On, I’m Comin’”. Ba-dum dum.