Dear, dear Sadie: It's been a year and a day (and even that's an understatement) since we drank gimlets on Kimbank Avenue and went to see Elaine Stritch. I still remember what you said after the performance, that it is essential to take a taxi home from the theater--in case the reality of the subway pulls your spirit down!
Well, that certainly strikes me as the sort of asinine thing I might have said at 21, so I'll take his word for it. In any case, I'll certainly go see him perform at a piano bar one day soon.
In sweeping statements: my mom has defiantly declared the divinity of Christ a diminution of his message. Meanwhile, two friends told me they're over Brooklyn (neither has plans to move.)
My parents, speaking of them and of moving, sold their house. To their favorite couple of all, who have an adorable, well-mannered and bespectacled three-year-old boy and an 8-month little girl.
My friend Ruby gave me a wonderful birthday gift: a Mets pin from the 1960s.
And in other news, finally found "Mambo Italiano" on a karaoke machine, at Montero's on Atlantic. I sang it largely for the benefit of an old man at the bar, who seemed unimpressed, yet riveted.