-
Life is a Cabaret, My Friends!
I’ll give you three guesses where my boss had drinks tonight. He went with two friends that actually invited li’l old me. I couldn’t go, though, since the Cabaret is only two weeks away and there are things to do, places to go, people to see! Have you purchased your advance tickets yet? Did I tell you Andra Mitrovich is the featured performer?
Ancient Chinese Secret, Huh?
“A light heart carries you through all the hard times.” Oh Confucious, you wise old devil. So good of you to point it out. How did you know? By the way, thanks for letting me know that my lucky numbers are 3, 7, 17, 37, 41, 45. Wise indeed.I’m #1, I’m #1!
As I was leaving work yesterday, a middle-aged, heavy guy wearing headphones pointed at me and said, “YOU are the one!”Damn straight!
-
Oct 24, 2002
I had drinks at the Rainbow Room Friday for Leslie’s birthday and let me tell you, I am po’. I felt so schlumpy and ugly in the midst of all that wealth. A cotton blend skirt from Limited sure looks cheap next to all the fine linens and polished silver and tuxedoed waitstaff. The view is breathtaking and my apple martini was $17, but as a Rockefeller Center employee I paid a mere $8.50 which is more appropriate given it’s size and strength.
Last night I convinced my boss he needed to take us there for drinks. He thought it was a great idea and we had a fun time listening to him being him. He enjoyed himself so much, I think it might be his new regular after work spot. Yeah! I love that place even if I look like the help. I left at 7:00 and passed Harvey Keitel downstairs…he was waiting for his car. Was he on Conan last night? I then headed towards Mischiko Rehearsal Studios to meet up with the cabaret performers and killed some time talking with Greg.
I brought up the topic of how dooce got fired for things she had written in her blog. I wondered if I’m putting myself at risk. The thing is, I love my boss. I think he’s hysterical and over-the-top and I’ll tell him so all the time. He’s very demanding, but in a good way. I love my job (dooce didn’t). I think (hope) that if he were to ever read my blog, that he wouldn’t mind being referenced since I don’t say anything on here that I have’t said to him already. So, Jack, if you’re reading this, you know I think you’re the best boss ever even if you are crazier than a goat in heat!
Real Life New York Quote of the Day:
“If you get paid, you represent them. That’s Jewish Law” -
Those Who Work Together Pee Together
I just saw two guys chatting and laughing and then go into the bathroom together. Something about it just weirds me out. In a bar it’s foreseeable, but in the office it’s just creepy. Especially since I know how small the bathrooms are in this place. And why do men still have to pee in the open right next to one another? What’s that all about?
-
The Glass is Half Full
I’m all for looking on the bright side of things. Like what if your name was Englebert Humperdinck? It’s better than Engledinck Humperbert.
Early Birthday Gift
Jack is so generous. Today at lunch he pointed at two very obese men and offered, “Which one of those two guys do you want to see naked? I’ll have it arranged for your birthday.”
Water Cooler Convo
I took a trip to the office water cooler and was so excited when I saw a little group chatting away. “Is this the proverbial water cooler conversation I always hear about but never partake in?!? So, did you see who got kicked off Survivor?” Turns out they were talking about the ballet. I need to switch firms. What happened to good old fashioned skirt chasing and gossip and after hours boozing? You know…the good old days!Another hysterical episode of Different Strokes. This one had me laughing so hard I wanted to puke! Da Dum Dum!
181. Bulimia (01/17/86 – #811)
Arnold suspects that Kimberly has an eating disorder when his slender sister is secretly gorging herself, but not gaining any weight. Arnold seeks Drummond’s help in confronting Kimberly with her problem and the family comes together to help her fight the eating disorder, bulimia. -
Gospel of Jack, 10:17
Jack, in attempts to be helpful and out of fear that I couldn’t possibly figure out anything without aforesaid helpfulness, calls me to aid in my search for a hotel in Santa Monica and says, “Yahoo has all kinds of directories and stuff like that.” I respond, “Thanks, I’m well-versed in the internet.”
This is the same man I’ve had to instruct on the complexities of copying and pasting text . . . five times.
This morning, the shouting of Howard Stern blaring through my tiny alarm clock speaker awoke me from my dream that I was Carl McCall’s illegitimate daughter. Maybe this could explain my ghetto booty or my Pam Grier afro.
I know it’s not Spring, but I have the urge to modify, consolidate and purge everything in my apartment. In doing so, I’ve discovered an abundance of nail clippers. I have no recollection of ever having purchased one nail clipper let alone six. I certainly would have no use for the extra large sizes as seen on the right, so how did I come to own them? It’s just like that red umbrella. There must be some fairy that comes and deposits new shiny clippers in exchange for old nail clippings. Not to hurt fairy’s feelings, but I think I can garner a bundle on Ebay. Any bidders?
-
Oct 14, 2002
I was at a bar mitzvah Saturday night at the Lighthouse at Pier 61 in the Chelsea Piers, the same place where Sam Fox, son of Michael J. Fox and Tracy Pollan, had his bar mitzvah. At yesterday’s party, Peter Gallagher, his wife Paula and their son happened to be guests as Peter’s son is friends with the bar mitzvah boy, Scott. Peter found a spot next to me in which to mingle giving me the best view of him fielding off numerous compliments and questions. It was painful to witness. He was so gracious and friendly but hardly had a chance to get a drink or nosh. A part of me felt bad for him–there was no point in which he could let his guard down. He was the only recognizable guest there, so it seemed as though all eyes were drawn to him.
Mostly, I felt bad for his wife. At one point the DJ instructed, “All you women in da room, git out der and find yo man and git out on dat dance flo!” I could see her on her tippy toes searching for Peter with no luck, then later the two of them meandering to their table but being stopped by a woman introducing herself to Peter, so obviously awestruck at his mere presence. All the while a subtle yet distinct look of frustration on Paula’s face as she’s holding his hand, pulling him towards their table. Her reluctantly sharing him with adoring fans and him stuck in the middle of what he wants to do and what he has to do. They must have been exhausted; they left before the main course.**
I, however, left after my coach turned into a grey minivan and my coachmen were Marc and two guys nicknamed Bluto and Slinky–so designated for some obvious and some not so obvious physical attributes. I did manage to gain a lovely henna tattoo, a box of Krispy Kremes, a bag of bagels and a beautiful floral centerpiece which I’ve dismantled into seven, yes, seven, different arrangements.
**It was their second bar mitzvah in one day. First at the Rainbow Room in Midtown then the Chelsea Piers on the LWS. Who can blame them!
-
Act I – Scene I
Enter Jack’s office. I’m on my knees crouched on the floor behind his desk. My right arm is moving back and forth quickly and repeatedly. He is sitting in his leather chair moaning under his breath while fiddling with his mouse. Camera scans behind the desk to reveal that I am alternating between scraping and rubbing ice on flourescent blue peppermint gum which is embedded in the carpet that was put there by the sole of his shoe. He is grunting out of frustration because his computer is on the fritz since he knocked it over with his head when he bent down to remove his gum-ridden shoe.
What did you think I was doing at work all day?
Here’s the telephone conversation that took place regarding how things were falling apart for him:
Jack: …And there’s gum on my shoe and on the carpet, I hit my head on my computer, spilled an entire cup of coffee on my desk and now “Michael” is laughing at me.
Me: Why? Are your pants unzipped?Slam! Dial tone.
Conversation of the Day (Already at this hour?):
Me: Mr. SoAndSo is on my line and wants to speak with you.
Jack: Do you mind listening to me be brilliant? -
Oct 14, 2002
I’m back! I still can’t breathe out of my nose, but I feel a million times better. I hate feeling sick and being on the subway. The close quarters magnify my sniffling sounds and I feel like I can’t just blow my nose the most effective way out of consideration for my fellow passengers. It would be easy in this city to forge ahead with disregard and blow snot to my heart’s content or cough without covering my mouth, but something inside restrains me.
I always think back to the afternoon I was treated to the sounds of a pleasantly dressed older woman sucking air / spit through her teeth. There was the other woman that I heard sniff at least once per second—quick, short little sniffs over and over and over and over again. No sound of snot to be heard. What the hell was she sniffing?! Then the man who, despite being thin enough, managed to take up the space equivalent to two and a half people. While he read his paper, he lifted his left butt cheek and let out a “pppppffffffffttttttttttttt” without batting an eyelash. The fact that we shared the same bench meant that not only did I hear his flatulation, but I felt the vibration. If it weren’t for my being freaked out that molecules from his ass were now in my nose, I would have been laughing.
Anonymity gives one balls.
-
Oct 9, 2002
My boss had a cold and thought it would be funny if he sneezed and coughed at me. He was shuffling around in his designer shoes and perfectly tailored suit, loudly hacking up phlem, coughing, tossing his tissues on my desk, then chuckling at his own sophomoric sense of humor. Now, today, I am miserable. I have sneezed 52 times, and have blown through 28 tissues and it’s only 3:36.
Jeff in a sarcastic, syrupy sweet tone: I appreciate all the hard work you’re doing even though you have a weetle cold. Would it make you feewl bettuh to go home?
Me with childlike innocence and pathetic brown eyes: Yes, it would.
Jeff back to his old self: WELL YOU CAN’T! NOW GET IN HERE! NOW!What a punk!
I am showing lots of pushed up cleavage to avert wandering eyes away from my crusty, red, nose that always seems to have shiny snot on the verge of dripping. So far, it’s working.
-
Lesson in Word Origins:
Scott: At Oxford University, young men were assigned as aides to the seniors. Part of their duties was to gather bundles of sticks also known as “faggots” and you know what they would do?
Me: Um, stick ’em up their butts?
Scott: Well, no. But they would perform sexual favors for the older boys and it evolved into the derogatory meaning of “faggot” as we know it today.So, now you know.
-
Oct 7, 2002
Saturday was a lovely day and Scott’s birthday. Had it not been for his Lo-Tea gathering at Alphabet Kitchen on the Lower East Side, I would have surely stayed cooped up in my apartment nursing my slightly aching muscles from Friday night’s wipe out on the slick pavement as my flimsy excuse. Thankfully, his *ahem* 28th gave me reason to venture out and enjoy the weather as well as acquaint myself with the most adorable outdoor patio. I highly recommend this restaurant for sangria, tapas and great service, but their patio is just the best. After our meal, we all gathered on the sidewalk where the last of the street fairs was closing down shop. That’s when a gust of wind blew into a tarp and made a sail out of what had been the roof of a vendor’s booth. This giant steel and plastic contraption was aimed right at our impromtu gathering. From this, I learned Ehren shrieks just like a girl and Asians talk and move really, really fast when they’ve almost seriously injured someone and need to remove all evidence.
This trek also meant my inaugural trip on the “L” train. When taking a subway line for the first time, I suddenly feel like a tourist all over again. A really dull, drab, dorky tourist. Granted when going to the L.E.S. I will always seem very white-bred no matter how I’m dressed. I mean come on, that part of the City smells like patchouli 24/7! Try as I might, I will never look cool down there.
-
Oct 5, 2002
On the way to the Tex in the City party last night, I was in a rush and anxious to get to Serena as it was drizzling and humid and I had plenty of pre-party business awaiting my arrival. Umbrella in one hand and cell phone in the other, I was the classic picture of a New York entrepreneur. Then, woosh! Down I went. “SHIT!” I screamed without even thinking. My right hand, still clutching my cell phone, landed in a potted plant filled with damp, fresh soil. It’s what saved me from real disaster. Instantly I hopped up, unfazed, dusted off my phone and resumed talking, “You there? Sorry, just fell. Anyway, I’m on my to Serena…”It wasn’t until I recounted the story later that I thought how ridiculous I must have looked to the dozen or so witnesses to my spill. They all looked quite concerned for my well-being, but I couldn’t be bothered or slowed down in the least. ‘Tis just a flesh wound!Just where was I going in such a hurry? To a party, of course!
Tequila was free flowing from 6:00-7:00, so the crowd came early. These three party guests (left) live in Austin and were here in NYC for a long weekend. They heard about our party and came to check it out. Excellent! Jason promised me some CDs compiled with all Texas music and even taught me how to two-step. For the record: I’m the world’s worst dancer. Oh, I can shake my groove thang alright, but when it comes to having a partner and moving in step with another human, well, that human had better be wearing some steel-toed boots.Prior to my dance with Jason, I had only one two-stepping experience to reference.
Flashback to 1987 when I was a 15 year old sophomore dating football player and senior, Brad Booth. As my escort to the annual football banquet, Brad gave me the first and only corsage ever which I still possess. Dead, dried, petrified, pressed between two pages of a scrapbook, packed in a box, stuffed in various closets for 15 years, the once pink and pretty thing takes me back.
Richland High School alumn Gary Morris was the surprise guest banquet speaker. At the time, he was Country Music’s Artist of the Year, was set to star in the Broadway version of Les Miserables and had scores of my teenage classmates drooling at his feet that were decked with the gawdiest high top sneakers. Not that I was a trendy fashionista. Oh no. No, no, no.
So, to cap the evening off right, the announcer informed us that Gary was to select a *lucky* girl to dance with him to the sounds of his current #1 hit to which everyone present in that Texas banquet hall knew the lyrics except me. While all the older, beautiful, rich cheerleaders held their breath in anticipation of being picked, I was praying, “Please, please, please, not me, not me, not me.”By now, you know who Gary picked. Ah, yes, he chose me. Headbanging, big haired, Ozzy loving me. And I have never two-stepped since.
(Note the orange streaks in my hair that were painted on with a color stick and Gary’s high tops. Very avant garde. Very chic. Oh, and, umm…yeah that’s my mother’s dress. Lord knows I couldn’t have gotten a new one for my first real high school dance. There’s those wacky mutton sleeves making their zillionth comeback. P.S. This is a photo circa 1987 which is not to be used for press as noted in my August 18th entry. Thank you.)
-
Oct 4, 2002
The dog is wimpering while she’s playing fetch! I kid you not. Things are falling apart. I’ve been coming home late from my day job and working till past midnight every night on who knows what. Time really does fly on this computer thingy.
Tex in the City’s 6th party is tomorrow night and it’s the second time we’ve gotten a tequila sponsor. This time, though, it’s a Friday and the sponsor is interested in future ventures. So, let’s hope it is a smashing success. I also sold my first ad for our cabaret program. You too can advertise with Tex in the City. Just drop me an email. For a few bucks, you can get website exposure, an ad in the program and inclusion in a few emails that are sent to a database that is over 1,000 strong and growing. Yee Haw!
Okay, enough of the sales pitch crapola. That’s all that has been running through this head of mine lately. I panicked yesterday realizing that I am supposed to know about marketing because of the parties I’ve hosted in the Caribbean for Jose Cuervo and my promotional work with Stoli, Winston, Camel, Pepsi and Lipton, blah, blah, oy vey! I do know about crowd pleasing and hosting parties and trademarks and logos and brand imaging and target marketing. I’m great at that. But I panicked nonetheless. With a cabaret production premiering in a month and rough-cut press releases staring back at me, I rushed to Barnes and Noble. Dumb. Rudy Giuliani was there so it was a mob scene, so I grabbed the first book I saw. It was a piece of crap. So, I go back today to return it and Sarah Jessica Parker and Cynthia Nixon were there so it was a mob scene. So, I’m going back tomorrow when Christy Turlington is scheduled to be there and there won’t be a mob scene. What’s with all these damn book signings? Christmas isn’t till December people!
-
Oct 3, 2002
“A mother of two, allegedly murdered by her lover, may actually have been suffocated by her own massive breasts, a jury heard yesterday. A pathologist said 238-pound Yvette Dow of Leicester, England, was found face down, with her head enveloped by ‘her very large breasts.’ Professor Guy Rutty told a court in Nottingham it was possible she may have collapsed and smothered herself…”
I knew I loved my 34C’s sometimes B’s. Now I can scratch that off my list of possible freak accidents that could cause my early death. Whew! Anyway, Marc gets home tomorrow, so I’ve made sure Paquita has enough Science Diet to last her before she would resort to eating my rotting corpse. I should have been a Boy Scout. I’m always prepared.
-
Sep 30, 2002
One afternoon I found myself watching a documentary about an ex-cop turned entrepreneur. It seems he found a societal need that wasn’t being met and seized the opportunity. And so began his trauma and crime scene clean-up career. The one hour special followed him and his crew on three different assignments and outlined the circumstances surrounding each. The first was the home of an elderly woman who had been beaten to death in her bedroom by a robber. Her family was going to sell the house once the cleaning was complete. The second I don’t recall. The third was a black man named Dwayne in his 40’s who lay dead on his bed for weeks before anyone realized it was death they were smelling. His death.
Dwayne’s family disowned him upon learning he had AIDS, and so he was all alone. Alone, dying and too sick to care for himself let alone his apartment. So newspapers had piled up in some corners, trash had piled up in others. The refrigerator was open and roach-infested, dishes were stacked high in the sink and on the counters and his clothes were strewn about. The ex-cop began the daunting task of cleaning this mess that had been Dwayne’s so called life. Left and right he tossed Dwayne’s belongings into garbage bags and hauled away any evidence that Dwayne had ever existed. An old photo album revealed a healthier happier time in Dwayne’s life. The camera focused in on orange-tinted family pictures depicting Dwayne’s family as they were in the 70’s wearing their Sunday best before they decided Dwayne wasn’t worth the risk or embarrassment or hassle. Then, poof, the album was gone, the apartment was restored to a gleaming white and the credits rolled. May Dwayne rest in peace.
Marc is in Las Vegas this week visiting his friend Andrew, a wheeler-dealer type who grows medical marijuana and has all new porcelain teeth that he paid for with some cash but mostly by trading jewelry and services. So, I’m occupying my time with non-stop internet surfing, blog hopping, and reading weird but true news blurbs while slowly going bonkers from boredom. I haven’t heard from my family in weeks, haven’t received a single phone call from anyone–not even a telemarketer, and the only email I got was from myself reminding me to take out the trash before I go to work tomorrow.
Need I say it? I’m in a funk. I’ve envisioned myself having a terrible accident and lying in my own filth while Paquita eats my flesh to stay alive until Marc gets home. Then he’ll hire the ex-cop to clean my waste and toss my old photos. I’ll see Dwayne at the bottom of some dumpster and wonder if it would be inappropriate to ask him for his autograph.
Or maybe I’ll take Paquita for a walk so I can bask in the wake of her mass appeal.
-
Roots
Okay, I think my mom might be Pam Grier. I’m at least part afro-american with emphasis on afro. This humidity has me sportin’ curly hairs all over da place. What the hell?!?! I’m gonna have to find me a pimp daddy and some jerry curl to tame this foxxy ass! That’s what I’m talkin’ bout, yo! Nubian World here I come!
This was just a crappy day. No, I didn’t get splashed by a puddle, I did have an adequate umbrella, my work was productive and manageable, but something is amiss. I tripped on my own pant cuff going up a flight of stairs, but I caught myself. There was no line at Subway, but I got someone else’s sandwich. I’m sporting what seems to be a perm a la Barbara Streisand in A Star is Born, yet I used my straightening iron. Nothing major–just a tad bit off kilter. Enough to throw my hands up and say, “I’m going home!” So, I did. I watched *zero* television, savored an apple martini and completey revamped my website. Whatcha think?
-
Sep 24, 2002
Conversation with my boss while heading to lunch at the Brooklyn Diner.
Me: “Mmmm, I’m gonna get a Mr. Softee for dessert.”
Jeff: “You already have one at home. His name’s Marc.”Extra bonus, we got to sit in “his” booth. For those not familiar with the Diner, their practice is to put brass name plates of their best (mainly famous) customers. Here’s his:
Trekking back to the office, I was sorely disappointed that Mr. Softee was on the fritz. “You’re killing me!” I screamed before sulking back to the office to face the rest of my day. Then Super Model called. Nothing like chatting with a super skinny gazillionaire to make you not regret having processed chemicals and lard for dessert. If only she called me during every meal.
-
Sep 21, 2002
For those of you not familiar with Marc, let me enlighten you with his deft skills at handling salespeople or cashiers. Example:
Scenario: Candle Shop in Vermont
Marc: “Yeah, ummm, do you sell, uh, those wax things that have wicks…ummm, damn, what are they called?”
Salesperson: “Candles?”
Marc: “Yeah, candles! Do you know where I can get some?”This is always funny and easily adaptable to any store. Just find the most ridiculous tchotchke they sell within the salesperson’s sight lines and ask if they have any in stock.
This morning at Dunkin’ Donuts Marc exchanged these words with the barely English speaking girl behind the counter:
Marc: Two small coffees, cream and two sugars in each.
Girl: Medium coffee, milk and two sugar?
Marc: No, two small coffees, cream and two sugars in both.
Girl: Two small coffees? You want milk and sugar?
Marc: Yes, two small coffees, but cream not milk and two sugars.
Girl: Okay, two medium coffee, two sugar, no milk.
Marc: No, two small coffees, cream, seventeen sugars, a goat, a cat and a live chicken.
Girl: Blank stare.I walked out of there. I have never had a normal Dunkin Donuts experience when I’m with Marc. We did get our coffee and finished our walk to the vet laughing the whole way about how even though he is there nearly every day and orders the same exact thing, they still try to push the Medium coffee on him. They must get some incentive pay based on Medium cup sales.
-
Arctic Chill? Global Warming?
To anyone traveling to Manhattan from Queens via the N Train, this post is for you. When facing the front of the train, look out the window on your right just before you round the corner approaching the Queensboro Plaza stop. If you do, you will see in a virtually empty lot of grey gravel, a penguin. Yes, a penguin. It’s about four feet high and I suspect it is made of wood. If anyone else has seen this anomaly, please let me know. Otherwise, I fear I may be hallucinating.
Gawd, I’m going to stab my ears with a Q-tip!
Marc called during one of those ridiculously loud personal phone conversations I’m forced to suffer through.
Me: You hear her?
Marc: Yeah.
Me: Isn’t that ridiculous?
Marc: Yeah. Okay I’m gonna go.
Me: No. Let’s listen to her conversation.
Marc: I don’t want to.
Me: Neither do I.
Marc: You’re getting paid!
Me: Bye.Blog Obsession
I am reading an inordinate amount of blogs these days. It is so easy to get sucked into the vortex of someone else’s life. My favorites will be listed under “Links” found on the left side of this page. The latest addiction…uh, I mean addition…is “A Girl Named Bob”. It seems everyone and their brother links to her page, so why shouldn’t I? The fact is, she’s a great read. The best part is she lives in my neighborhood (Astoria), so many of her exploits involve locales within a short walk from my apartment. -
Gospel of Jack 9:19
On the way back from lunch while passing an diners eating al fresco, “Jack” says loud enough for the guilty: “I love watching fat people eat. It’s so fun!”
Just when I thought this was my quote for the day…he gives me another one. Rounding a very busy street corner, Jack nearly collides with an old, tiny and frail (and I’m talking really old, tiny and frail) blind woman shaking her coffee cup full of change. He shouts, “Hey lady! You’re blocking the whole sidewalk! Get outta da way!”
-
Gospel of Jack 9:18
Jack: “NO! It’s the memo dated August 14th. Know what? I’ll show it to you. Just come in here, I wanna see your little t-shirt.”
Me: “It’s a sweater.”
Jack: “I don’t care! I just wanna see it, so get your ass in here.”At my office, there seem to be an abundance of long, barren corridors. In order to accomplish critical office functions—getting coffee, going to the bathroom, seeing how everyone’s evening was spent—one is forced to walk down these hallways that seem infinite in length. Alone, this is not so bad. Discomfort and agitation is met when one rounds the corner to see a co-worker coming from the opposite direction. Suddenly the simple task of walking becomes extremely uncomfortable. It’s office chicken. Avoiding eye contact at all costs becomes imperative. Weird glances at the floor, adjustments of my hair, shirt, anything. If lucky, I have something in hand. Then it’s easy to appear very concerned and engulfed in the importance of my paperwork which of course means nothing to me whatsoever.
-
Sep 17, 2002
Smartest thing Jack shouted out loud today, “I love Kambri. Love her!”
It’s true what they say that as one gets older, one gets wiser.
-
Here is a Cliffs Notes Synopsis of Sweet Home Alabama:
The plot centers around a small town girl who moves to the Big Apple and snags a handsome, rich & famous guy. She returns to her roots, in Alabama of course, to request a divorce from her high school sweetheart. It’s then that she rediscovers her love for him and her hometown. Do I give too much away? Oh, that’s right, that’s the preview! Even the tagline says too much: “Sometimes What You’re Looking For Is Right Where You Left It.”
It’s not just movie trailers giving up the goods, reviewers jumped on the bandwagon long ago. Gene Shallot was kind enough to save me time and just told me the ending of Cast Away during his review on NBC. Gene didn’t just give a vague idea of the ending, no. Gene told me the exact details of the ending. So detailed, he should have just showed the damn clip!
I still watched Cast Away. I will still see Sweet Home Alabama. I suppose, like life, the joy is found in the journey.
-
Sep 15, 2002
Standing at the refrigerator eating pepperoncini out of the jar, an image flashed into my head. What would a senior citizen version of me look like in this scenario? Dentures retrieved from the nightstand, housecoat zipped up to here, stained slippers scuffing on the floor as I venture to kitchen in search of a snack. “Ah, pickles!” I clumsily twist open the jar with arthritic hands and proceed to scarf down a dozen sour dills. Bathed in the light of the fridge, the chilled air finds its way to my wrinkled, puckered skin.
Old Me is quite the sight to behold. I hope she’s happy.
At what age will I kick the habit of eating cake for breakfast? Is swilling olive juice as an octagenarian inappropriate? Will Hershey’s Syrup straight out of the bottle still taste as bitter sweet? When will having a Mr. Softee for lunch become out of the question? Will whole lemons be bettered enjoyed without teeth?
So many things for me to wonder.
-
Sep 13, 2002
In case the date header didn’t clue you in, today is Friday the 13th. So if anything remotely bad happens to anyone, now the date can be blamed. So if this applies, then my getting stuck underground on the 5 train for an hour had nothing to do with someone pulling the emergency brake and all to do with bad luck. This makes me feel much better.
Favorite thing said to me today:
Me: “Boy, he’s fast!”
Him: “That’s what his wife keeps telling me.” -
Sep 12, 2002
Two favorite things said to me today:
(1) Me: “So you have people who agree with you.” Him: “They’re called Disciples, honey.”
(2) I peed green once.Well, just like last year, we ended up NOT going to the Peninsula. Instead we had cocktails at The Oak Bar in the Plaza Hotel. Two round of drinks, $120; time spent with friends, priceless. Okay, so the drinks are a wee bit overpriced. Yikes! But, it is the Plaahhza after all.
After drinks, I decided it would be best to watch a light-hearted movie rather than sit in front of the television watching depressing images. So I met Marc at the Ziegfeld Theater where we watched “My Big Fat Greek Wedding”. The Ziegfeld is a great place to see a movie. It is a massive theater decorated in art deco styling, accented in plush red velvet and amazing crystal chandeliers. The curtains are drawn over the single screen as the lights are dimmed adding to the theatrical experience that can never be matched in any giant, modern multiplex. We laughed our faces off and tried not to feel sad for at least 2 hours before heading home to our little baby Paquita Borgito Borgato Chorizo Jimenez. She makes me laugh in her innocence and simplicity. Her main worry is the location of her “buried” pig ear and her one true love is a blue squeaky ball. She’s got it good.
Favorite thing Marc said during “My Big Fat Greek Wedding”: “So, do you think they’re gonna get married?”
-
Sep 11, 2002
On a day of mourning and rememberance of those lost in the attacks one year ago today, I am on edge. The last few days I have had moments of deep, aching sorrow and also moments of panic and fear. I nearly broke down at the Starbucks counter yesterday just because they were giving away free red, white & blue ribbons. My throat clenched, my pulse raced and I couldn’t breath. I just had to get out of there. Fast. I just want today to be uneventful and for nothing unexpected to happen.
So needless to say my brush with death that came just a few minutes ago was NOT welcome. I’m walking back to my office from getting a bagel at Scott’s. The path takes me by the Today Show taping where I walked alongside the building which houses Dean & Deluca. That’s when I hear a bunch of shouting, “Hey, hey, hey woah!!!” Then BAM! A huge chunk of bent metal lands about two feet from me and four other people. They all stopped and looked up to the sky to see from where this metal originated. Not me. I don’t think I’ve ever moved that fast except for the one time when my friend almost stepped on the head of a rattlesnake and I ran to get help as she stood frozen in her tracks. I darted out of there like a supersonic car! Once I crossed the street, I gazed up at the building which looked the same as it ever did. No construction workers or window washers to be seen. It’s very windy today, so I’m assuming the metal came from the rooftop. I don’t know. I’m taking it as a sign to count my blessings.
Noon
At noon my office observed two minutes of silence. Just like the falling metal, BAM, it was there–the raw emotion. In the silence, I wept and hoped that somehow we’ll rise above the hatred and find ourselves on the other side where peace does reign. Honestly, I don’t know what I can do to truly honor those lost and the sacrifices their families have unwittingly made. Two minutes of silence certainly doesn’t seem enough, it did, however, make me put the victims and their families in the forefront of my thoughts. It was then that I realized I have not dealt with the very real emotions I have from that day. I didn’t want to have an “oh woe is me” attitude because no one close to me was killed or seriously injured, I don’t live with the horror of having been in the Towers, and I made it home safely that day. The attention belongs to those who didn’t make it home, their families and the survivors. So, I have been purposely pushing the events further and further out of my mind, intentionally avoiding news reports and images in order to evade the feelings. At what point will I face them? I don’t know that I ever truly will.Shopping list: Kleenex for desk. A single napkin from Emerald Planet does not make good tissue paper.
Late Afternoon
Lunch time I wandered around with no appetite. I got to the doors of the “Faces of Ground Zero” free exhibit that has transformed Rockefeller Center into an outdoor museum. I couldn’t bring myself to go inside. It will be here until the 23rd, so I think I will go next week. Instead, I sat in my usual spot facing 5th Avenue and watched a caravan of police cars and secret service vehicles zoom past. Too early to be President Bush, so I’m curious as to who it was deserving of such protection. Bloomberg?My boss came back from lunch with news that debris from the AOL Time Warner Building blew into the Trump Tower and hit and seriously injured someone. So this wind is fierce today. After work, the four of us (me, Mitch, Rich & Jeff) will trek to the Peninsula Hotel where one year ago today we all walked together in hopes of I don’t know what. The Peninsula was closed that afternoon, of course, so we parted and took our separate ways home. It took me around 3 or 4 hours for such a short walk in a black suit and high heels. I’ll never forget the lonely vulnerable feeling I had, planes flying above, knowing that I would have no where to run if a plane were to hit the bridge I was crossing so slowly. Today, I brought a change of shoes in case I have to walk home again. I hope I don’t need them.
-
Sep 9, 2002
“Biff” is a model citizen. He loves his wife and his job. He has two lovely daughters whom he sent to an elite NY private school. Biff is the ideal husband and father. He really is. Really. He also happens to be an avid speaker phone user and deals, on a regular basis, with supermodels. Personally, if I were rich and famous paying for Biff’s very expensive time I would insist on being taken OFF speaker phone, but hey, that’s just me and I sho ain’t R&F. Biff is all business when talking with these ladies. He is a straight-talker, a bit long-winded, but tells it like it is. No B.S.
Biff, as straight and narrow as one can be, transforms when he talks to others about these models. Biff warps into a giddy school boy; his excitement barely contained as he makes sure to mention that there are nude photos of these models available online. Desire and delight drips from his every pore and it’s entirely beyond his control.
What I have learned: I should invest large sums of money in any company that produces testosterone based drugs, for testosterone is potent.
-
Sep 7, 2002
I have become obsessed with a random, anonymous girl’s blog. One day I read every entry including all archives start to finish in one sitting and now I check it about a gazillion times daily waiting, hoping there will be a new entry. Hoping and waiting. Waiting and hoping. All day. Refresh, refresh, refresh. Nothing. Sick.
I mention this because this girl is seems so cute, funny, smart. I like her self-degrading humor and honesty. I think I want to be her friend. I envision us as Carrie and Samantha. (Of course she’s the sexy ho and I’m the cute level-headed one–not flawless, but forgiveable.) We have tons of money and shoes. We share laughs and drinks but never men. This is how I imagine it.
Well, the other day, this faceless, nameless girl provided a link for her photo. I thought twice about checking it out and then followed it anyway. Needless to say, she was nothing like my mental picture. She had been 100% accurate in describing herself, so I wasn’t too surprised. It just left me a little disappointed. It’s akin to watching a movie after having read the book. There’s just no substitute for the imagination.
I will still read her blog. I’m still rooting for her to find her man. I’m just not as curious anymore. The mystery has gone and now I’ll be out scouring the web for a younger, sleeker model to replace her. Back to the blogging board.
-
Sep 5, 2002
A few short days in the suburbs was all it took for me to be reminded just how awful it can be living there. They are stifling and unimaginative. Rows and rows of identical homes in various shades of browns, creams and yellows are separated on occasion by an odd colored abode just to provide a directional landmark. “Turn right once you see the big blue house.” Or… “We’re the fifth house on the right. If you see the purple house, then you’ve gone too far.” Neighbors make themselves seem unique by planting more shrubs or mowing lawns in checkerboard patterns.
Luckily I escaped before I began wearing muu muus or started thinking pantyhose with open toed shoes were acceptable. Can you imagine? Whoo…I just got chills.
-
Aug 30, 2002
Off to Missouri, or as pronounced in New York City: Misery. A wedding and $400 later, I’ll be back. That’s Tuesday in lay terms.
-
Aug 29, 2002
I called off from work for the first time today. Even though I’m given the days as part of my “benefits” for being a corporate wage slave, I can’t help but feel terribly guilty and responsible when I actually use one. I wasn’t sick. No, I left my good umbrella in a cab last night and realized it just as the cab was pulling away. I screamed, “HEY! WAIT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” No luck. The little red brake lights just got smaller. Damn!
So this morning I was stuck with this old-timey red model that I don’t even know how I acquired. I would never own such a thing. First, it has a wooden handle, one has to open it manually and it’s red. When buying umbrellas, I always get an auto open black jobbie. Always. But somehow, there in my apartment, rest a lone red, archaic umbrella.
Once I stepped foot outside I knew I was in for one heck of a commute. That was before I opened Carrot Top. I struggled with the contraption and managed to open it only to discover it covered nothing. Well, nothing except my head. No wonder its original owner abandoned it. In a drizzle it would have been fine. Today, it was not. Everything except the uppermost portion of my scalp was drenched in less than a block. I forfeited. Turned around and worked from home out of pure guilt till noon.
You’ve heard of someone burning a candle at both ends. Well mine happens to be a wee little tea light with about eight wicks. I’m this close to a nervous breakdown.
-
Kvetching
Shoes that make flip flop sounds should be banned from the office. Flip flop flip flop flip flop flip flop flip flop flip flop flip flop flip flop flip flop flip flop flip flop flip flop flip flop flip flop flip flop flip flop flip flop flip flop flip flop flip flop flip flop flip flop flip flop flip flop flip flop flip flop flip flop flip flop flip flop flip flop flip flop flip flop flip flop flip flop flip flop flip flop flip flop flip flop flip flop flip flop flip flop flip flop flip flop flip flop. All day long. It’s water torture 21st Century style. I’m going to start confessing things that aren’t even true. “YES! It was me who finished the coffee and didn’t start a new batch! It was me! Now make it stop…pleeeeeeezzzzzze!”
Can I just say for the record: I HATE SPEAKER PHONES! Am I yelling? Why, of course, because that’s what you do with speaker phones, you yell…everybody yells!Discretion must be a thing of the past; like the days of mutton sleeves and ascots. Seriously. Actual telephone conversations on speaker or otherwise that I shouldn’t have heard, but did:
* I’m spotting and in the early stages of menopause…yes, I did and that medicine gave me diarrhea which is worse than the other medicine which made me constipated.
* You say it’s not unusual for you to touch and hug your employees? Right. And you have touched and hugged *so-and-so* on numerous occasions without complaint? On these occasions was it usually with or without porn visible on your computer screen?
* You effing *&%#@ you can’t do this to me! I am divorcing you, so you are no longer allowed to use my country club account! Sadly, I do not lie. -
Aug 28, 2002
In the hopes that it is true that what comes around goes around, I returned the favor bestowed unto me as reported in my August 13, 2002 post. I moved from my usual lunchtime seat due to two MTV reporters –like omigod, they are SO young!– needing my coveted space in the Channel Gardens of Rockefeller Center. I then parked myself on the bench facing Fifth Avenue and Saks–an excellent spot for people watching. On an average day, one can spot someone of note amidst the tourists and fabulous New Yorkers. My most recent sightings have been Michael Richards looking extremely dazed and confused and Stone Phillips ever-so-politely rebuffing a female fan. Today, however, I saw a woman get crapped on by a pigeon. Her instant and involuntary reaction was to put her hand on her head and touch whatever had just landed there. Not a good idea. She stopped in her tracks and let out a small scream which caused her male companion some obvious angst. The pair stood there frozen in their tracks unable to think of exactly the best way to handle this. They had nothing with them to clean her hand and were looking for a place to go in the very, very well-trafficked area. In that instant, I dipped into my purse and whipped out a trusty Lever 2000 anti-bacterial and moisturizing wipe for her use and volunteered this note, “You may think it’s just pigeon sh*t, but that’s good luck!” I hope for her sake it’s true.
I went to Cilantro for dinner the other night. Fabulous mussels (the sauce was out of this world) and salsa and plantains and, oh my, just everything was dee-lish. What I liked most was the corn that came with Heidi’s dish. It had been cut directly off the cob so that some kernels were still attached in perfect little rows. It reminded me of childhood summertimes when I stayed with my mom’s parents in Tulsa and my grandpa would take his knife and shave my cob for me. So deft and quick he was. I would stare intently as though he were performing delicate vegetable surgery. His corn always tasted better and always will.
I sure picked a stewpid time to change servers.
After much frustration, all seems to be in order. I’m still not pleased with the blog page colors and such, but—now brace yourselves, as this might come as a shock to some of you—everything can’t be perfect. ACK! I know, I know…you’re saying, “But you’re perfect, Kambri.” Alas, I am not. Don’t be upset over this news, I don’t want you to get all addicted to Xanex over this, but it is true. I am not perfect either. There. Said. Done! Now let’s get on with our lives. -
Aug 20, 2002
Watching a free outdoor screening of “Bye, Bye Birdie” at the lovely Bryant Park, I couldn’t help but compare our pre-movie game of Uno to the battles George Washington and his troops once fought there against the Brits in 1776. The scheming and plotting, the small victories and defeats along the way surely rivaled those of our forefathers. The park was also once a potter’s field but now it is the NY Library’s books that reside six feet under….hmmm…what happened to those dead paupers’ corpses? Anyway, back to George and his men. Because of them, strangers and friends in the thousands gathered freely and peacefully to watch a giant sized Jesse Pearson bump and grind in an embarrassingly revealing gold lame’ jumpsuit. Surely Jesse fired his agent after that fiasco. Egads!
Job Security
If I were hunched over my desk babbling incoherently and drooling on myself I would either be fired for drug use or sued for sexual harassment depending on your sight lines and how you look at it. Either way, I’d be out of a job. Lucky for him, there is no provision in Church law to remove a Pope who works this way. I need a new career! And while I’m thinking of it, how ’bout one of those bullet-proof-glass-mobiles? Those are pretty nifty. -
Aug 19, 2002
How many crops of wild oats can one person sow before they run out of seeds? I’m rounding out the eighth year of being a divorcee with no sights set in mind for changing my tax status. I’m just bad at planting crops. I’m a city girl not a farmer. I enjoyed a weekend of fun and friends, some new and some old, and the conversation came up about marriage and children. I’m not so opposed to long term, monogamous relationships, but babies just don’t interest me.
I know, never say never, but I just don’t want to carry all that stuff. Their accessories are too bulky and they take way too long to train. Can’t they be streamlined to require only one toy and a snack? How long is it before science or evolution will pop them out of a pouch capable of making mommy a drink and fetching her pearls? When that happens…well, now you’re talking!
-
Aug 18, 2002
If I were to have a new career, one of my top choices would be medical detective. Words like Luminol, medicocriminal entomology, secretions, blood spatter pattern and tissue sampling really set my heart racing. Many hours have been logged watching forensic science programs and TiVo has learned my predilection for anything to do with homicide. In fact, count me out during August 26th through September 1st when Court TV hosts forensics week! Break out the Cheese Wiz, cuz it’s a Par-tay!
What I find most disturbing about these shows is not the crime scene or autopsy pictures, but rather the photos of the victims when they were alive and well. Who says that when you’ve died a media-worthy death that you can’t have a decent press release photo? For instance, when Jennifer Stahl was killed in her apartment above the Carnegie Deli, the media ran a grainy snapshot of her with her eyes squinting, cheeks sunken and lips puckered into an “O” as she inhaled a joint. This is the same woman who performed on Broadway and was in Dirty Dancing and that’s the photo they run? Surely she has a headshot or a video clip of her dancing or at least a family member willing to preserve some shred of dignity for this woman.
I’m going to put together an “in case of emergency, submit this to the press” package to derail the possibility that any photo circa 1987-1989 be used–except of course in the event I’m featured on an episode of “Before They Were Stars.” With hair as tall as an average dwarf and makeup you’d need a chisel to remove, I can only hope that someone would step in on my behalf and say, “Hey, she was young and it was the Eighties!”
-
Aug 6, 2002
Since my father is out of commission, I am so thankful to have a friend like Jim Hall. I’ve know him since 1995 -oy!- when I worked in Akron, Ohio -double oy!- and have shared so many good times with him. He has seen pretty much every mood of mine that I can pull out of my hat and still talks to me! Bee-zarre! I love that he is 52 years old and so young at heart despite the fact that his bedtime is 10:00.
He, the ye olde Amish boy that he is, has crossed into the 21st Century and gotten himself that new-fangled cable channel called HBO. I’m so happy for him, but it’s really a selfish pleasure for me. See, now when I call him we can chat about Sex and the City and Six Feet Under rather than Caeser’s Gallic War and The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire Vols. 1, 2 & 3. Not that Constantine the Great and the Byzantine Empire aren’t just fabulous, zzz…zzz…ZZZ…ZZZ…zzz…zzz, oh, I’m sorry, did I just fall asleep? Silly me. Anyway, Jim is the best!
-
Aug 5, 2002
Speaking of freak shows, did anyone catch the Anna Nicole Show on E! last night? Woah!
After leaving Coney Island, I was feeling pretty good about my rank in society. Compared to the average Boardwalk stroller, I am in decent physical shape, successful, well-spoken, intellegent and courteous.
After watching the escapades of Anna, I’m not so sure these qualities make a difference as far as gaining riches is concerned. She was very obviously on some sort of drug during much of the episode. Humping inanimate objects, talking to her “breasts”, seducing the camera she called “Big Boy” and climbing into empty tubs were just a few of the ridiculous goings-on in the life of the former Guess? model. You know E! has a smash hit when they advertise the show like this: “It’s not meant to be funny, it just is” and “Entertainment, yes…educational, no.”
I was gaping with lips curled and mouth open in pure disgust as I added it to my TiVo Season Pass. God bless America.
-
Jul 26, 2002
Look for a six page spread about that book I mentioned back on July 13th in the upcoming September issue of Vanity Fair which hits stands August 6th. Why it’s not the August issue is beyond me. Pretty soon we’ll be getting July issues in April. How annoying. By the time my horoscope is valid, I’ve tossed the issue in the trash. Just how do those publishers think I am going to function in life without my star chart to guide and shape me? Hmmpph! I guess I’ll have to turn to fortune cookies. At least those are edible.
Last night my boss attended the NYC premiere of Austin Powers in Goldmember. Sadly he had no good dish to share this morning. I’m sorely disappointed. After all, Verne Troyer (“Mini-Me” and noted in my June 14th entry) is Marc’s spokesperson for MicroPets. If I had gone in his place, I’m certain I could have had some MicroTales at the very least.
-
Jul 24, 2002
I had hearts of palm in a salad the other day–mmm mmm scrumptious! But it got me thinking, who figured out that it was good to eat the center of a tree? It’s analogous to those stupid human tricks. Exactly how does one learn that they can stick a 20-penny nail into their sinus cavity and burst the balloon they previously swallowed? When was it determined that eating rattlesnake won’t kill you and that lady realized she could bug her eyes out of her head?
-
Jul 23, 2002
I don’t think I have an excessive amount of pet peeves, but the ones I do have seem to center around bathroom etiquette. Particularly my office bathroom. It’s becoming a fixation of mine. I’ve considered posting a sign, writing to the Managing Partner, handing out fliers…something to stop the horror I deal with each time I pay a visit to the Ladies Room and I use the term “Ladies” loosely. In no particular order, here are my peeves:
(1) Urine on the seats. Now, ladies we are not male felines spraying our territory and marking boundaries. The idea is to urinate in the toilet. That’s IN the toilet.
(2) Unflushed toilets. Trust me, no one–I repeat: NO ONE wants to see what you’ve expelled. I don’t care if we are in a drought, flush twice if it didn’t work the first time.
(3) Using the stall adjacent to mine when there are other options. My office bathroom is small. Tiny actually. It seems the stalls were built when women didn’t grow taller than 5’4″ and if she did, she was in a sideshow living in rusted mobile home with Jo Jo the Dog Faced Boy. There are only three stalls. When someone is in one of the end stalls, why not allow that someone a little extra space by going to the other end stall. Don’t pop a squat next door. Please, I’m begging you!What a whirlwind week! Wednesday was The Full Monty; Thursday was Love, Janis; Saturday was Endpapers; and Sunday was a matinee of I’m Not Rappaport. All of them were fantastic with my favorite being The Full Monty–and since I work on the same street, it will be very easy to stalk the guys who star and get *ahem* nekkid. The best part is that I saw all four shows for a grand total of $88! Strike that. The best part was that I saw them with some of my best friends who also happen to love theater.
-
Jul 12, 2002
I am surely being punished for enjoying myself and relaxing so much in the Caribbean. I have returned to my usual state of stress accompanied with itchy eyes, congestion, a perpetual tickle of a sneeze that sometimes comes and sometimes just teases and lingers long enough to make me squint, get teary and have an absurd look on my face. I am the homo sapien female species version of Rudolph.
Can any one tell me if this can be attributed to the haze that blanketed NYC from the Quebec wildfires?
-
Jul 10, 2002
Some sights and sounds and such upon my return from the Cuervo Nation:
Furniture being moved in the apartment above me as I drifted off to sleep late last night; the smell of curry mixed with the aroma of stale urine and body odor wafting through the hallway as I left for work this morning; the beads of sweat that formed on my upper lip before I had even left my building lobby; melted gum stuck to the bottom of my shoe adhering me to the pavement with every other step; the sound of donated change clinking in a coffee cup, while the owner blindly stumbled on the train silently demanding more funds; the flattened giant corpse of a cockroach stuck to the gum that is stuck to my shoe; and, finally, my desk, cluttered and demanding my attention.
Ah, there’s no place like home!
-
July 2, 2002
I had a dream that Ricky Schroder and I were having dinner with our respective mates in tow. It was a rather intimate affair…low lighting, bottles of red wine. I noted to Rick (that’s what he likes to be called these days) that his daughter is also named Kambri. I told him, “We’re not so different you and I.”
Marc once did a television appearance with Rick many moons ago. There’s a blurry, faded photograph of the two of them buried somewhere deep in our apartment. Ricky with his bright white hair perfectly combed and Marc with his signature smile and bushy mop of brown hair. Who knew then that the two of them would have a Kambri to love in their lives? They are not so different those two.
Except that Marc is Jewish and Rick is not and Rick is rich and famous and Marc is not (yet) and Marc is funnier and not married and Rick is married with four kids and Marc has no kids and Rick lives out West and Marc lives in New York. But other than that, they’re not so different those two.
-
June 14, 2002
While I was at home taking it easy and turning in at 9:30 (ugh!), Marc was chatting it up at a bar mitzvah with Kevin Kline, Phoebe Cates and their two children. Phoebe was so charmed by Marc, she requested his card for future parties. I guess that’s better than hanging out with Verne Troyer as we were supposed to do. Plans changed and I was just too tired to venture out.
-
June 13, 2002
I left work yesterday at 5:30 knowing that I had a full hour to find my way to Don’t Tell Mama. With time to kill, I decided to venture into Banana Republic in search of a sleeveless silk, off-white, cowl-necked sweater I had seen the day before but did not buy even despite the sale price. I wasn’t sure of the practicalities of it in summertime, but I knew it would be a perfect match for a silk skirt I own but never wear. I still didn’t buy it. After all, they had about 25 of them on the racks and I work next door. I was convinced I could take the time to think about it, examine the skirt again and buy the sweater at my leisure. Needless to say, they had none left. Only twenty-four hours had passed and they were completely sold out. Lesson: Supplies do not last in New York City. Now I’m certain to be on an obsessive quest to find a top to go with this skirt. Funny how I can buy a chihuahua or a convertible at the drop of a hat, but hesitate on a sale-priced sweater.
Disappointed at my inability to spend money, I continued on to Radio City Music Hall box office to pick up a pair of tickets to the sold out Trey Anastasio concert. A friend of a dear friend of mine happens to work for Radio City and was kind enough to use her power to get me two seats at face value in the 18th row! Marc will be so pleased. It was only a month ago, May 2nd to be exact, that Marc and I spent the afternoon watching Trey perform live on the Late Show with David Letterman. Marc’s friend used to work for Letterman and was able to score us tickets knowing that Marc is the most devoted Trey/Phish fan in the world. These two triumphs give credence to the old adage that it’s not what you know, but who you know.On to the cabaret…Kevin was great and made great choices in songs. Being musically retarded, I can’t tell you what songs they were. I can tell you that he was very entertaining and I’m glad I was able to see him perform. I look forward to next time.