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!
Fantastic seats to a Rangers v. Flyers game at Madison Square Garden, a great fight, an exciting finish, beer, nachos and extra jalepenos. What could be better? Oh yeah, the $130 ticket was free! Thanks, Jack! I take back all the bad things I said about you. I look forward to many years of dutiful service in your command.
Between periods, the “Junior Rangers” entertained the crowd by zipping around and falling down a lot. These boys are so small, I’m surprised any parent would let their youngster play such a rough contact sport. There’s no way I would unless I invested in a very lucrative accidental death policy. “Well, Johnny, I don’t know where your helmet is. Oh, you don’t need one you little wuss, get out there and fight to win! Win dammit, win!” I could wear a team jersey and too-tight jeans, and scream profanities from the bleachers and taunt the other mothers. This hockey mom thing could be fun!!!
On Tuesday while I was busy writing about a 1963 musical, Greg was busy meeting Harriet Harris. She is an excellent actress who happens to be from Texas and seemed interested to learn about Tex in the City. Further, she was pleased to learn that she was even listed on our company’s website. These Texans are everywhere and we have great potential. I just wish we had capital in the form of millions that could set this fast rolling ball down the path of success.Why can’t I be one of those women who marry for money? Why did my parents have to be so poor that they could only give me morals and Chic jeans instead of a sense of entitlement and Gloria Vanderbelts like I wanted? Who wants stupid morals anyway?! Wisecraking earlier today, I threatened to marry a frail and decrepit billionaire a la Anna Nicole Smith but would do it better because I wouldn’t splurge my fortune on painkillers and tacky dresses. Maybe Anna’s not such a dumb bunny after all…..Naaahhh!
Girl #1’s side of the conversation to Girl #2: “I don’t want to be greedy and take the whole kit and caboodle. I’ll settle for just the kit or maybe even the caboodle. Hell, I’m sure I’d be fine with just the caboo. Oh, forget it. Just never mind. I don’t want it. You take it. No, really, I’ll be fine. Are you sure? Really? Gee, thanks!!!!”
Girl #1 seen scampering away with the whole kit and caboodle.
Girl #2 mumbles to herself: “Selfish b*tch.”
What is the lesson of today’s story?
Last night at the fifth successful Tex in the City party, I spoke to a recently converted New Yorker from Houston, Texas. We were having a very lively discussion about Dick Cheney and Haliburton, which segued into Enron. He said, “Enron did a Trade Center, pppfffffttt collapsed, gone.” This clever little ditty even included a hand gesture. In the same vein that “going postal” is used to describe crazy behavior, will “Trade Center” come to mean the end of something? Is an onslaught of tacky jokes soon to follow? Ohhh, I shudder at the thought.
Tattoos. Now what, just what I ask, would possess someone to get a tattoo on their bicep of a kama sutra position? Yes, this monstrosity of a choice was spotted by yours truly on the train the other day. Egads! The horror! Three questions sprang to mind:
(1) Why a sexual position on your arm for all the world to see?
(2) What do you do when visiting grandmama a hot summer day?
(3) When was the last time you attempted that position let alone accomplished it?
Regarding item #3, this man has never pulled off this act. Ever. Impossible. His stomach protruded like he had just swallowed Pluto. There is no way he could persuade a woman to do this with him let alone maneuever her into this tricky position. If he could…well, now that I would pay money to see!
After what I considered to be a pretty manic Monday, I headed towards my business partner and high school friend Greg’s apartment. I had only walked a block when I spotted none other than Trey Anastasio carrying a Banana Republic bag of all things. Trey and I are leading parallel lives. I know what was NOT in that bag — a sleeveless silk, off-white, cowl-necked sweater! He was walking the exact same direction as me (northwest) and I followed close behind him as we passed the premiere screening of Minority Report at the Ziegfeld Theater. It was a bit too early to see Tom Cruise or Steven Spielberg walking the red carpet, but the fans and press were ready and waiting. I was in a bit of a hurry, so I sped up the pace and passed Trey. In doing so, I told him to have a great show tomorrow. He smiled broadly, said his thanks and we parted company. I’m certain I’ll see him again in the very near future. I wouldn’t be surprised if it were at Marina Cay. He frequents the beautiful little island where I happen to live two weeks out of the year. Vive la Cuervo!
It seems difficult to find a starting point to this version of my site. For years I’ve used manual HTML coding and shorthand to keep a log of my goings on. I wish I had started with November 18, 2000 — the day I moved to New York City — so my entries wouldn’t have been lost. Since I can’t turn back time, June 12, 2002 will begin this online diary.
Tonight I will venture to Don’t Tell Mama to watch a cabaret performance of Kevin Farr, et al. It is interesting that I’ve become acquainted with Kevin as I first met him when I was 15 years old and had not seen him since. Kevin played “Blifil” in the play “Tom Jones” for his tiny high school in Boyd, Texas. I played “Miss Western” in the same play for my large high school in N. Richland Hills, Texas. My drama teacher, David Michael Hall, sponsored a workshop in which Kevin’s school performed their play for us and vice versa. It was a fun learning experience and I still remember vividly how different our interpretations were of the same play. I never could have imagined that I would know Kevin all these years later.