We were doing it before we had a name for it

One Kimber VanRy was ticketed to the tune of $25 for sipping a beer on his stoop (not a party, not a nuisance, just sitting out there quietly enjoying a beer in the great urban out-of-doors).

Clyde Haberman reports on the long-term outcome of that event while simultaneously showing us how serious journalism is done:

[VanRy was sitting on] the short stoop of the four-story co-op building on Sterling Place in Prospect Heights, Brooklyn, in which he owns an apartment. The stoop is set well back from the curb, but does not lie behind a gate, as some other stoops on that block do.

There Mr. VanRy sat, on what was private property — minding his own business, working his BlackBerry and nursing a beer. For the curious, it was a 12-ounce bottle of Sierra Nevada.

Twist top or crown cap?

Anywho:

Last week, a judge tossed out the case on a technicality. The matter had dragged on too long, he said.

For Mr. VanRy, the victory was less than satisfying. Larger questions about stoop sitting and sipping were not addressed.

Agreed.

I can only assume editors cut out the explanation of Mr. VanRy's fucked up last name capitalization schema. Perhaps he's big into R (or perl, perhaps) and wanted his name to reflect a delightful air of utterly random and insanity-making camel-casing conventions. Haberman does mention:

Neighbors drinking beer on their front steps get these “quality of life” summonses, but not people sipping wine at New York Philharmonic concerts in Central Park or knocking back frozen daiquiris at summer movie screenings in Bryant Park.

Rest assured, these people will be the first against the wall when the revolution comes.