Egregious assault. Car had to be moved. Law & Order SVU has taken over our street. 6am tractor trailers. Food tents. Shoot across Central Park West. Ice-T they tell me. Another actor I don’t know. Do you? Anyway hope they’ll have a good day. Then. Bye!
Not a fan of lunch with just ladies. Have to dress up. Makeup. Pink tablecloths. Perfume-permeated rooms. Boring menus. Power business lunches used to be de rigueur. With women. And men. That was fun. When I was young. There I said it. Hate shopping, too.
However, 150 years ago women couldn’t go out to lunch unaccompanied by a man. Right, Mike Pence? Until Delmonico’s held a luncheon for women in 1868. This week Gabrielle Hamilton has created a menu to commemorate this milestone at Delmonico’s for a Ladies’ Lunch.
Nice. But. No. Won’t be going.
Blood, Bones & Butter, Gabrielle Hamilton
Hamilton’s book is a Glass Castle-esque memoir. She was a line cook at Curtis & Schwartz Café in Northampton while at Hampshire College. She’s the acclaimed chef-owner of Prune in the East Village today. BOOK-TREKS.com
It’s 4/20. So if you get the munchies today. Check out re-vamped
Meat Street – Veal, Pork, Chicken, Beef, Lamb
Surf Side – Fish & Seafood
Via Veggie – Hearty dishes, Salads, Soups
Road trip through the Great American South West. Summer of 2002. Grand Canyon. Sedona. Troon North. Scottsdale. Las Vegas. All the usual stops. But. True destination was Pahrump, Nevada. To find Art Bell. His double-wide. Where he broadcasted his overnight radio show. UFO’s. Militias. Ghosts. Witches. Crop Circles. Chem-trails. An insomniac’s aphrodisiac.
Arrived in Pahrump after a ridiculously long drive from Las Vegas. Every saloon, casino, convenience store, gas station had the same name. Terrible’s. We went to each one asking customers and management alike if they knew where Art Bell lived. They all gave us a disinterested or ignorant fake-shake of the head. Some provided directions. Which were all different. So. We drove around a while and finally gave up.
Godspeed Art. Midnights in the Desert will never be the same. Apologies to Crystal Gayle.
Speaking of terrible. Crying Comey makes Trump look like an adult.
Comey? Criticized by both sides of the aisle. Salacious self-serving book. Okay. He was canned ignominiously by the Kakistocratic Capo. Of course. He. The always despicable petulant adolescent President. Now in a sandbox fight with taunts and tweets right out of the elementary school playground. Assad? Genocidal autocrat. Putin? Comrade.
Makes you want to take the weekend off. Will do.
Un “friended” Mark Zuckerberg today. Deactivated Facebook page. Who knows what that even means? Data is out there. Can’t put private info back in a box. Yes. A purely symbolic gesture. Sure my 10 “friends” will be devastated.
There are so many other platforms where personal data is monetized as well. It’s called business. And now. They’ve become vital for companies to grow. For job recruitment. For charitable and political communities to mobilize. For families and real friends to connect. Unfortunately ISIS and Neo-Nazis use them the same way.
Put a cap on this year’s Masters. Wrong about Rory. Jordan & Rickie did show up on Sunday. But. Patrick Reed was solid as a rock. The jacket fit. Deserved the “W”.
Meanwhile, it’s windy and chilling outside. Too much tube. SNL continues to stink. Except for Alec’s perfect take on the Trumpster-in-Chief. Cold open then plink. Bill Hader’s Barry is strange. Hit-man gone thespian. He is so good it works. Homeland too close to home.