WALKING THROUGH the Puck Building ballroom at 10 o'clock on Friday night, I was nothing but smiles. The dance floor was packed, the bar was still serving and half a dozen SuicideGirls were offering shots to admiring drinkers. I'd caught up with several old friends, even made a few new ones, and I hadn't seen a single fight, seizure or molestation. Even Christopher X. Brodeur was behaving himself. As best he could, anyway.
No other newspaper in town throws a party like we do.
Which is why I'm awfully annoyed by recent legal developments. Smack dab in the middle of compiling our victorious Best of Manhattan issue came word that the New York Post was threatening to sue us. According to Michelle V. Francis, a vice president of the Post's general counsel, the new New York Press logo, as introduced on March 31, 2004 and featuring a large "NYP," violates a trademark held by her employer.
In order for a trademark dispute to hold water, the accuser must demonstrate that a reader or consumer or advertiser or whoever will confuse one brand for the other, and that by allowing this to happen (if not encouraging it, which Francis' letter alleges), we would be liable for damages.
Do they honestly believe that anyone would confuse us for them?
We've always thought of the Post as an older cousin we've never met but whose life is discussed at Thanksgiving in sad, ashamed tones. A cousin caught touching an eight-year-old boy and forced to join the army—only to be court-martialed for smoking weed and swiping extra desserts—he now lives in a world of regurgitated talk-radio soundbites and box scores, where fashion is gleaned from reality tv and fancy words suggest faggotry and sedition. This cousin is not so much a bad-ass as a misguided, unimaginative rube.
Sure, we were flattered to be taken seriously by Rupert Murdoch's chronically 'tard tabloid—as run by his chronically douche son, Lachlan—but we were also annoyed by the allegations. Especially when we discovered that the Post's "NYP" trademark had been granted just weeks earlier.
Our decision to use "NYP" was an esthetic one; we were modernizing our public face, cleaning up a bit, going for a bit of maturity and grace. We don't refer to this paper as "NYP" in any editorial capacity—not even in casual correspondence or conversation. On the street, we are "the Press," just as they are "the Post." In short, it is my position that New York Press and the New York Post have nothing to do with each other.
But it is also my position that this company's money is better spent on rent, printing, salaries, benefits and the occasional free lunch for my department—not lawyers. It's also now my position that modernization and maturity and grace were foolish attempts to rise above our station.
So. Fuck it. New York Press is proud to roll out its seventh logo in 17 years. That's not as bad as, say, Fader (six different logos in their first 15 issues), but it's a far cry from the New York Times' 2000-year run. We're also taking this opportunity to re-tool the cover, taking a cue from our busybody friends at the Post: larger text, more items and pack that shit in!
I actually quite like tabloids.
We wish we could've waged a legal battle against our lackwit hick cousin, but the guy behind the scenes is a rich motherfucker Australian with deep, deep pockets. It's all yours, Rupert.
And yours too, Lachlan, you spoiled little Aussie bitch.
Jeff Koyen
Editor-in-Chief
P.S.: And yes, we'll also give up the name "Page Two." You pricks.
