Those of you who have been wise enough to visit me here will recognize my favorite thing about my block--the crazy animal control old tyme ambulance. After nine months, I've still never seen who drives it or its companion pick-up. You can't see the warnings about live animals inside, or bumperstickers such as "Kids who hunt don't mug old ladies", but you can see what a magnificent spectacle it is.

And sadly, I'm accepting the possibility that I'll have to move soon. My lease renewal is up and I wrote a letter saying I want to renew, but only if they're going to work on solving the flooding problem, which they haven't done since November. You know what, though? Even if I have to move, it feels better to accept that fact and start looking forward again, rather than feeling helpless paralysis, which I seem prone to. I know now that money can be thrown at most of the work.

I said I'd go back to the Food Bank tomorrow. Get me out of the rat race!

I'm listening to my '80s music cable channel. Milli Vanilli rules!

I put in [almost] a full day's work. I answered the call from the Food Bank and worked in their office on Pearl Street in the financial district from 9:30-4:30 today. First I audited a bunch of files, then I made 60 phone calls to children's programs on Staten Island. I hate to admit I saw why the Islanders are looked down on by we of the major boroughs, people there seemed ill-mannered and kinda dumb. I'm going back next Monday and we'll see if the receptionists of Jamaica Plain know what their agencies do.

Yesterday, I finally went to the Brooklyn Museum of Art. (That would be the second largest museum in the U.S. Comment if you know the first--it's a heartbreaker.) It's pretty cool. Lowbrow that I am, I tend to like gigantic stuff that wasn't really meant to be art best (see Pergamonmuseum in Berlin), and BMA has totem poles and two houses. Yes, a colonial and an 1830's era house, both once belonging to the Schenck family of Brooklyn. I'm telling you, it's the second largest museum in the country.

But what I went to see was Judy Chicago's The Dinner Party, a tribute to 29 women who did stuff and then, often, faded away in the fashion appropriate to women. (My grandpa used to say "whistling girls and crowing hens always come to some bad ends".) There are those who think this exhibit is just a bunch of va-jay-jays on plates. You judge, Emily Dickenson's is pictured above.

So reading an adjacent wall o' women, I got to wishing I would do something that would make someone want to commemorate my junk in ceramic. I think I'm a "freethinker".

So you all will never guess what I did today. I've been in a pretty foul mood, first from the weeks of computer virus battle, well, probably first from Mom's heart attack and recovery, then I got my lease renewal letter last week and they're raising my rent, and then yesterday, I had another significant flood. So I was considering whether to move and that was putting me back toward my catatonic state from last fall.

This morning I decided I had to do something different. Something other than fretting about the apartment/flood situation, and after buying seven doses of entertainment (five plays and two movies) last week, something other than just buying distraction.

So I went to the "lion" library on Fifth Ave and actually wrote! It's a pretty cool place to be, cool and quiet and interesting-looking. I outlined the first act of the musical, read over my notes for my stand-up routine (don't know if I told you about that) but didn't write anything, and read over the Grandpa play. I still love it for the girls' relationship, but I see now it doesn't have a plot. This renews my hope that I can make it better and maybe the world is still a rational place where it was rejected, not because nothing good is ever going to happen to me, but because it needed work.

Then I went to a little cafe deal I'd scoped out on the net first and had a salad and a hunk of salmon (South Beach is going well). This is kind of what I pictured my days would be like before I moved here, and I'm pleased to report that I'm feeling strong like bull again!

Oh, and here's something I overheard Saturday, from a woman who was leaving her dog with some elderly bench-dwellers, "Galvin, you have to quit barking. You have to be quiet, I have to go buy blueberries." Then the bench-dwellers were so old, they started talking about Rin Tin Tin!

Finally, it was announced today that the City Paper was sold to Atlanta chain Creative Loafing. Now the question I was asked about our history of EEOC complaints (none on my watch, baby!) makes all kinds of sense. Did I dodge a bullet or the gravy train? Have to call Amy tomorrow to find out!

Another near-perfect day in The Ap! First up was a matinee of Xanadu, which was hilarious. You may recognize this as a play I ridiculed as reflecting the dearth of originality on Broadway, but which I decided to see because I saw book writer Douglas Carter Beane talk about it and he sounded funny. So the show is campy, energetic, and funny, as one line goes, "children's theater for forty year-old gay people". And in the ladies' room afterward, I saw my first Toni Pony hair piece. (Go to hsn.com if you don't know what it is.) Seriously, this do was a brunette Sharon Tate.
Then I had a couple of hours to kill, so I walked over to the 25 screen multi at Times Square and saw "Talk to Me". I liked it a lot, but please, someone explain to me why thy used 215 as the area code for the DC radio station! That's Philly, y'all. I know, cause I still be representin' the 202. In the bathroom, they were test marketing the new Dyson 12-second "hand squeegee" blow dryer, which worked great. I think my Dad needs one in his garage.
Anyway, I'd considered going to the library before I went into the movie, and I'm glad I didn't because when I came out, there was smoke down the street, which turned out to be from a steam pipe explosion a block from the library. What the hell are steam pipes for? The calliopes?
I'm starting the South Beach diet tomorrow and decided on Thai for my last supper. There are Thai restaurants slightly below ground level on every block of Times Square between Broadway and 8th Ave, and I keep trying to go back to one I've been to before, but always get a different one. Well, Blue Chili on 51st was the best Thai meal I've ever had, and reasonably priced. I had a delicious meal of steamed chicken and peanut dumplings, garden salad, tom kha gai, and iced Thai coffee. Really fantastic.
Then it was up to Studio 54 for 110 in the Shade. I wanted to see Audra McDonald, and she was terrific. Can't say I thought much of the book, though. Which is surprising, because the theme of the show is how you might as well be dead as a spinster. Audra's dad basically pays a grifter $100 to boink her so that her life will have meaning for at least a couple of hours. Anyway, as I said, Audra was worth it, especially since I hit a new record low price for a Broadway show--$28.
Yes, a perfect day, but did I do anything other than allow myself to be entertained and eat good food? No. I've been avoiding this computer business, but it's top of the agenda, starting with making sure my laptop's ready to step in as a backup in case I can't get Whiskers III (the desktop) running. I looked into new computers, and once you look at paying someone $150 to come to the house, you might as well just buy a new box. They'll be like toasters soon--cheaper to replace than repair.

I bought the most gorgeous bunch of basil yesterday and made this sandwich, which was amazing: on a Portuguese roll, lightly butter one side and cover with seeded tomatoes. Salt and pepper, add mayo, and coat with chopped basil. Then add a layer of cucumbers, and smash the whole thing down a little so the stuff doesn't pour out. The flavor profile, as we say in TV cookery, was spot-on!

How could I have forgotten to mention I finished Tristram Shandy?! I'm going to read it again in another couple of years, because I want to read it in one stretch, instead of over the about two months it took me this time. It really is an amazing book. My favorite bits were Mr. Shandy's "beds of justice" where he conducts scheduled fights with his wife, and the three main groin injury plot twists. It's the 18th Century's answer to "America's Funniest Home Videos".
On to Erasmus!
I booked about five nights of theater today--there are at least two festivals going on at the moment, and you know nothing cheers me up like bad theater!

Doesn't this look like the shop where Michael Jackson went berzerk in the Martin Bashir documentary? I think that was at Caesar's Palace, is there one of these overstuffed rich grandma's attics in each casino? There was another shop at Bally's that seemed to only sell stone globes. Is that a traditional Vegas keepsake?
The virus continues to breed. I think we're looking at a total reformat, folks. I called Brian at the CP who confirmed that reformatting is actually the only way to make sure you kill everything. The last time I did this was about twenty years ago with a DOS 5.25 inch floppy. On one hand, I think I have CDs that came with the computer which hopefully will do everything. On the other, that was a simpler time when I really knew what I was doing. And you know what else? Everything cost a nickel.
Tonight's hot date: "Confessions of a Matchmaker"!

My French is a little rusty, can anyone make out what this area might be?
I have a confession to make. I blamed the wrestling boys for my computer virus (which I continue to battle) when it really happened a day or two before, when I foolishly, and even as I clicked, I thought 'I shouldn't have done that', downloaded "free" sudoku puzzles. What an idjit.
Last night I saw Gypsy with Patti LuPone. It was directed by the author, Arthur Laurents, who declined to bring anything new to it or reimagine the show in any way. It might have been a play based on the movie. (Have I mentioned that I have a ticket to Xanadu next week?) However, Lupone was adorable and formidable and if we didn't have Rosalind Russell on film doing it, it could have been her signature role. I don't regret seeing it, but the evening was, please don't get upset, or do, and tell me about it, like the best dinner theater production imaginable, without the food. What I mean by that is you get a well-known workhorse of a show, full of songs you know, with the impossible good luck of seeing La LuPone in it. But if you're getting your theater and food in separate buildings, that's not enough. Maybe this is an unfair comparison, but last year's Sweeney Todd was the ultimate example of what a revival should be--even if you've seen the show before (and I had, and furthermore, hated it) you are seeing something brand new and challenging.

I'm back from Vegas and this is where I stayed, at the so-wrong-it's-right Bally's Paris. (I'd have gotten a better picture in the afternoon, but because the high temp was never less than 110, I got all my needs met inside the Bally's complex.)
Freedomfest was everything I hoped it would be and then some. There were lots of choices of stuff to attend, and I sent myself to a balance of philosophy, economics, investing, artistic, and political events. Oh, and the one disappointing waste of two hours, a marketing "guru" who promised 17 life-changing ideas, of which I only heard one: end your price points in a 7. When I signed up, I did not expect to hear how diet soda causes bladder cancer and I should be taking 63 dietary supplements a day like this dude. Oh well, I'm concentrating on the bad, as is my wont, when everything else was really good.
The sessions went all day, the first day without a break until the 6pm cocktail hour in the exhibit hall. So the hours I put in (and I was determined to get my money's worth) were: Thursday 10-8 (I took a poker lesson at 9), Friday 8-10pm, and yesterday, 7am (the orgainzer, Mark Skousen, wanted to make an announcment at 7:07 on 7/7/07) till 6:15, the end of a rousing debate on the Iraq war between Ron Paul and Dinesh D'Souza. There was a gala after that, but I caught the red-eye. I've never been a gala gal.
I must remember to tell you about my one-night-stand-on-the-plane, Garard.

Here are Chris and Heather Morgan Shott, on the occasion of her thirtieth birthday. Aren't they cute? Chris was a staff writer at City Paper, and Heather freelanced for us a bit even as she edited at National Geographic. Chris is now with the Observer, and Heather's travel editor for Wine Spectator. You may remember them from my dinner party. This party was at a wine bar on the LES, 10 Degrees, and their friends were really interesting, and I had a very good time. On the way home, though, I confess to stopping at Whole Foods for a piece of cake with gluten in it.

Damn those wrestling boys! I only found out about Chris Benoit, the "Rabid Wolverine" murdering his family and killing himself last Wednesday, as I was walking down Broadway with Annys Shin and her baby. When I got home, I jumped on the net to read more about it, and somewhere along the way, I picked up a nasty computer virus. Bitdefender and I have been fighting it ever since then, and today's been blissfully almost free of the mysterious goings-on, but nothing's happened to make me think that the virus is not just gathering strength to strike again. Boy, I miss the days when I could just email help@washcp and some interesting fellow would run down to my office and not only fix my shit, but carry on an interesting conversation while he was doing it. I hope I don't have to call the Geek Squad. Who knows what shows those guys watch?
So, yeah, it's almost as bad as what happened to the Benoit family.
I asked Annys what hopes she has for her baby twenty-five years from now. I promised to write it in my notebook and remind her of it a quarter of a century hence if we still bump into each other. Here are her two ambitions for her daughter: that she not develop schizophrenia, a good wish, given that it runs in Annys's family, and that she not be a goth.