So I was at work last night, as usual, and I was talking with some guests. We discussed restaurants, and they decided they wanted an Italian restaurant. I called the restaurant and proceeded, in Italian, to have a conversation with the maitre d' to make the reservation.
Then the guests asked about some churches in the area. I ended up telling them about an Episcopalian church near the hotel, and I said I knew it was nice -- even though I'm Jewish, I had gone there for Christmas services once. Then I mentioned something about their schedule and used the phrase, "Choral Eucharist."
They said they were suprised that someone Jewish would know that.
I replied, "Hey, I speak Italian, I speak Episcopalian, it's all good."
It was covered with names, and small American flags were mounted on either side of it.
The seven-year old had been staring at the plaque for some time, so the Rabbi walked up, stood beside the boy, and said quietly, "Good morning, Alex."
"Good morning, Rabbi," replied the young man, still focused on the plaque.
"Rabbi Bernstein, what is this?" Alex asked.
"Well, it's a memorial to all the young men and women who died in the service."
Soberly, they stood together, staring at the large plaque.
Little Alex's voice was barely audible when he asked:
"Which one, Rosh Hashanah or Yom Kippur?"
On that note, all the best to you and your families for the coming year.
OK, we all knew that everyone out there is really weird, but what on earth can explain the fact that crazy people are viewing my blog and posting really strange comments on old entries? I mean, they would have had to go out of their way just to find this blog entry, but find it they did, and post random comments they did, too.
There are three, count 'em, three, things that make The Boy From Oz worthwhile:
1: Isabel Keating channeling Judy Garland
2: Hugh Jackman taking his shirt off
3: Hugh Jackman kissing Jarod Emick live onstage
Other than that, well, I didn't see the point.
One reason is that I am sick and tired of "new musicals" where there is not a single original song which was written specifically for the show. The three songs you will most remember from this evening of theatre are:
1: "Arthur's Theme" (The Moon and New York City) - as a duet between Liza Minelli (Stephanie Blcok) and Peter Allen (Jackman)
2: "Don't Cry Out Loud" (remember Miss Melissa Manchester?) sung by Peter Allen's Mother, played by Beth Fowler (well, it explains why he keeps any feelings inside himself, except his incessant desire for flouncy jazz hands)
3: "I Honestly Love You" (remember Olivia Newtown John?) which Greg (Jarod Emick), Peter's lover, sings to him in an all-white costume after having died of AIDS.
Really, the only time the show is fun, aside from when Isabel sings as Judy, is the final number: "I Go To Rio." Which is so over the top and cheesy, and is the first time that there's any dimensional scenery onstage: a full stage, light-up staircase made of giant piano keys.
How gay is that?
The problem that I have with this is that in general, I hate reactive solutions. Find a pro-active solution. (Pro-active solution # 1, to ALL you parents out there: Pay attention to what the fuck your children are doing, you stupid fucking breeders! If you're going to spawn them, accept the damn responsibility.)
I mean, it's terrible that people are sick enough to want to "prey" on children, but you know, they didn't stop the shipping industry just because of a few instances of piracy, or because of a mutiny or two. The proper response to stuff like that is to prevent it from recurring, not from eliminating the situations in which it occurs.
Whatever.
In other news, this article in the Times on the succulent exotic mangosteen reminded me of my recent trip to Bangkok and had me salivating in a somewhat Pavlovian way. By all means, go to Asia and eat some mangosteens. They are incredibly delicious.
And much more fun than child molestors.
Does this scare you as much as it scares me? I never knew deep fried food could be so scary. But this is deep fried food that comes from a lab.
Not.
Just so you know how exciting everything in The Jon World is right now, here's what's going on.
1: The hotel is 100% sold out the next three nights.
2: The traffic in the city right now is the worst I have ever seen. My cab ride to work yesterday, normally $5 or $6, including the tip, was so long and slow and delayed that, even though I got out a block early, it was $8.
3: Our staff is going to be swamped with almost twice as many limousine orders as we usually have tomorrow. Note: Tomorrow, the day of George W. Bush being in the city and so traffic being reduced to a standstill, especially because we're just blocks from the Waldorf -- where the President stays when he's in town.
4: My department is currently understaffed. (We're hiring, but it takes a while to find the right person -- and don't ask me if I'll hire you unless you've worked in a hotel for at least 5 years.)
5: One of the guys in the department we oversee has a dad in the hospital -- who may die any time -- causing us some temporary understaffing in that department too.
6: I have no clean underwear left.
7: My bathroom ceiling caved in over the weekend due to a leak in the plumbing above. I now have a gaping, 2 foot hole with little flecks of the crap that accumulates between floors and ceilings falling into my tub on a random basis.
Aren't you glad you're not me?
When I was watching TiVo yesterday, I noticed more than once that the ad for Woody Allen's new film had an egregious typographical error in it.
They used "it's" instead of "its."
When will people learn?
Yesterday, I went out to do a couple of errands, and on the way home, I passed Popeye's Fried Chicken. I thought, gosh, that sounds really yummy, but I'm not real hungry at the moment. (I had recently picked up a latte and coffee cake at Starbucks...)
But I decided to pick up some fried chicken anyhow, and eat it later on. So when I came home, I just set the chicken on the coffee table and sat myself down on the sofa to watch TV.
And I realized, the warm, fried aroma of Popeye's chicken makes a wonderful, albeit bizarre, air freshener.
this comes to us from my hometown. And it's not just any religious institution they're discussing here -- it's the synagogue where I had my Bar Mitzvah.
Damn... I'm sort of at a loss for words on this one, so just click on the link and enjoy.
When I got out of the hotel tonight, there was a yellow cab just sitting there waiting at the intersection.
Perfect timing.
The driver spoke clear, concise English. In fact, his name was Richard.
He drove smoothly, over the exact same roads that those other guys lurch and squeal. It was an even ride.
He even made most of the lights, a feat I thought not possible under the current laws of physics.
He had classical music playing.
When he got to my intersection, he turned off the music before asking if I wanted the near or far corner. I said far. He proceeded to go exactly as far down the block as I specified.
He offered me a receipt.
I declined, but gave him a very good tip ($6 on a $4 fare, rather than the $5 I usually give).
He gave me a lollipop.
Richard J----, you are the best taxi driver ever.
It's depressing when you haven't had a date in over 8 months and yet you keep getting emails about friends or relatives getting engaged, having babies, etc.
Of course, the fact that I'm at work every Friday and Saturday evening of my life probably doesn't help.
And, of course, someone (rightly) accused me of planning the remainder of my "social" life as a way of avoiding the fact that I don't have one: I have this (antisocial) way of buying a lot of theatre tickets (but only seats for one) in advance, such that between work and the theatre or opera, I only even have six free evenings between now and the end of October.
But at least I'm seeing a lot of fabulous things. Small price to pay for a lack of a social life.
(Sorry to sound like a lame-o, but I just got another one of those "Our son just got engaged blah blah blah" emails forwarded by my mom from one of her cousins. On a Sunday. When I have to go to work. In a business where our national honorary association is hosting a gala benefit tomorrow evening. Which I don't get to go to, because.... I have to work.)
In other news, I had pastitio for dinner last night. Yum.
At the hotel today, I had two separate, unrelated guests tell me they felt "gay." It's strange to hear that old, fairly archaic use of the word today, and even though I know what it means, it's still sort of disarming.
The first woman said, "I'm feeling rather gay this evening."
I wanted to reply, "So am I."
Instead, I gave her an inquisitve look that was sort of a blank, "How can I help you" type of expression.
In other news, I took the blanket I knitted for my new baby cousin to the hotel so that I could box it up and ship it off. Of course, I showed it off a bit, too, and everyone thought it was gorgeous.
I went to the Duane Reade near work to buy a card to send with it. Why are all the new baby cards for the parents, only? I wanted to find one to send that was something like, "Congratulations on being born!" They don't make those. I did find one that was a picture of a baby on the outside and on the inside it said, "You did it!" So wrote something cute on the inside with that, and hopefully it will be appreciated. I got another card for the parents, but the hope is that someday, you know, when he can read, the card just for the baby will be shown to him and he will enjoy it.
In other, other news...
Who would have ever thought that Johnny Cash and John Ritter would have died within hours of each other? As another Jon, I've been a teensy bit nervous as they always say these sort of things come in threes.
If people in a pool are swimmers, why aren't people in Liverpool... Liverswimmers?
So today is a friend of mine's birthday.
What a shitty day to have for your birthday.
He called me up two years ago at about 9:00am. I was sleeping, because I'd been up late the night before as is my custom. My machine picked up.
"You have reached the Jon Apartment. Please leave a message."
BEEP!
"Jon, wake up!.... Jon! WAKE UP!..."
I groggily found the phone.
"What the fuck do you want? I'm trying to sleep."
"Turn on your TV."
"Why the fuck should I turn on my TV? I'm trying to sleep here."
"Just turn it on. You'll thank me when you do."
"Fine. Fuck you, I'll turn it on. What channel?"
"Any channel."
"What do you mean, any fucking channel? I'm trying to sleep here, you call and wake me up and tell me to turn on my TV and it doesn't even matter what fucking CHANNEL!?!?"
"Someone flew airplanes into the World Trade Center, you fuckhead. Turn on your fucking TV."
"Holy fucking shit."
The world has never been the same, and I forgot to say "Happy Birthday" to him.
(He didn't die or anything. It's not that kind of story. I just now called and left a "Happy Birthday" message on his answering machine.)
It's been a rough time at work. The hotel is much busier than we expected it to be, and unfortunately since we didn't expect business, there are still people on vacation. This means the hotel is understaffed. In many departments. Not to mention the fact that the hotel has downsized the staff in general since 9-11-01, but we're busy on a sort of pre-9-11-01 kind of level. This means overtime and lots of stress.
So last night when I walked out the door, I shouted, "Freedom!" in a slightly overwrought reaction to having two days off.
So tonight I'm going to see "Little Shop of Horrors" and tomorrow I'm going to try and get some laundry done.
It's so fun to be me.
Like this man, who shipped himself in a crate from the Bronx to Dallas.
Now, the stupidest part of it, besides that the man volunarily got into a crate, was that he could have spent less money to simply buy himself a plane ticket.
Speaking of people in boxes, what the fuck is up with David Blaine? He's locked himself in a box above the Thames River and plans to stay there, without food, for 44 days. I am of the assumption that the "water" they're giving him has to be Gatorade or something like that. There's no way... I mean, folks, we're not talking Gandhi here.
You see all sorts of bizarre things when you walk home on a Saturday night in NYC. And you hear interesting quotes, too. A few higlights:
The man who said "I can't remember where the fuck I parked my car..." and then said... "No, I had way more to drink than you did."
A lot of ugly people standing around smoking...
A bunch of frat-y type guys with a stretch Hummer outside of Scores Strip Club
An ugly, middle aged man with a really rather gross looking bulge in his too-tight slacks outside same strip club
A super-stretch Cadillac Escalade. Aren't those tacky?
More ugly people standing around smoking.
Not enough cute guys. Hmm, I guess that's the difference between the East Side and Chelsea.
I have to tell you, I thought the mice were gone. I hadn't seen one for a couple days and my traps have been clear...
But I was just in the bathroom (luckily, wearing shoes) and one skittered out from under the toilet.
Egads.
That did not make me happy. It's about time to call in the pros.
Who would have ever thought they would give the name "Fabian" to a hurricane? It seems fucked up to me.
Have you ever watched "Everybody Loves Raymond"? I watched one complete episode without laughing at all. In fact, I found it really boring.
Why does this show exist? I want to know.
After I stopped off at PC Richard to pay the balance on my new TV, I stopped off at every New Yorker's favorite spot, Krispy Kreme.
Those are really the best donuts in the universe. God must have been smiling the day he invented donuts.
In other news, I spent a good portion of the afternoon at a knitting store on the Upper West Side. It's strange to be the only man in a shop like that, a sort of bastion of woman, but they were very friendly and welcoming. And they thought the blanket I made was gorgeous.
Yay me!
Mmmmm :)
43 inches of HDTV wide-screen goodness are comin' my way.
The only drawback (besides the fact that I am going to have to re-arrange most, if not all, of my furniture) is trying to fathom how, precisely, exactly, the experience of 43" of HDTV porn will confuse my sex-deprived brain.