Sunday, February 21, 2010


Sunday morning.

It started at 8am with a little Meet the Press. I love David Gregory but the guests were miserable. General David Petraeus with nothing new to report on an aimless mission in Afghanistan. The man's hair is awful - it looks like he had it cut by the janitor at Supercuts. How can we, as westerners, ever hope to win the respect of the muslim world with haircuts like that?
Then we had a lame political panel with among others Peggy Noonan, who may win the award for most frequent self-indulgent pauses per sixty seconds, narrowly beating out a friend of mine and Vic's*. Peggy, you have very little insight to share with us- let's get it over with quickly. There were two corporate representatives posing as congressmen there to pour forth a little drivel. Last but certainly not least was EJ Dionne, the lone sane (albeit lispy) voice, clearly outnumbered despite David Gregory's best efforts to keep him included. A big letdown overall.

A little guitar practice after that, which is bringing me a lot of pleasure. I'm currently working on Don't Dream It's Over by Crowded House and A Case Of You by Joni Mitchell. Beautiful song. I've long believed that anyone who dislikes Joni Mitchell simply cannot be trusted. Having said that, from what I've heard Joni Mitchell doesn't much like Joni Mitchell so maybe there are exceptions to that rule.

I have to make the trek to Whole Foods now - on a Sunday. That's not going to be pleasant. It reminds me of the Christmas eve when I stupidly decided to pick up some last minute stuff for dinner that night at the Fairway market on the Upper West Side in Manhattan. Now, anyone who's ever been there on a quiet day will understand the trauma I experienced. One could literally not move more than two feet at a time. I got into a wrestling match with a very old Jewish lady for the last jar of Gelfite fish. She kneed me in the balls and made off with it. Despite what Fox News might infer, us Jews don't always stick together. As she stole away, I heard myself screaming in resentment from the slimy Fairway floor, "DEATH TO ISRAEL!". She flipped me the bird as she rounded the corner, her cart screeching. That's the last I saw of her.

The main reason for my trek today is that Victoria's nose is stuffy . Or sniffly. One of those 's' words with 'ly' on the end. Snuggly? No, that's not right. Maybe snuffly. Please leave suggestions in the comment box so I can get this right. At any rate, she seems to think peppermint oil may do the trick. I'll keep you posted on this gripping development.

We went to see The Hurt Locker at the Egyptian cinema the other night. A fascinating place if you're into Hollywood history, which I am. We didn't see the film in the grand old theatre, unfortunately. It was down in the screening room below. Another letdown. The film was good but once again we had to put up with people who don't seem to realize that having a lovely old chat in the middle of a cinema usually bothers the people actually trying to take in the picture. So, for the three thousandth time in my life I was forced to tell them to shut it- semi-politely, of course. I was especially emboldened by the fact that there were eleven people in the theatre and seven of them were in my posse. Actually there were only six of us to start with, but we decided to allow a very geeky film buff nearby to be the seventh member of our gang. So we outnumbered this daft couple who seemed to be stunned by our outrage. Maybe it was their first time leaving the house to watch a movie. I still didn't feel completely comfortable, however; there's always the possiblity of a fight in those circumstances and our gang was, shall we say, untestedin physical combat. Let me list the members:

1. Aforementioned film geek. The closest this guy had probably come to a fight was watching a 1030 am showing of Rocky IV by himself at his local theatre on a lonely saturday morning in 1985.
2. Our friend Katie. She's an architectural historian. Nuff said.
3. Lucas. He's probably got the best credentials. Rides a motorbike. Used to be in the Air Force, where he flew helicopters. Unfortunately, he has no arms- forgot to bend over one time when he exited the chopper. We call him 'stumpy'. He loves that name.
4. Erin. Something of a wordsmith. Good at pictionary. A big MMA career beckons.
5. John. Chews tobacco, which is a promising sign. From PA, which looks good as well. He likes to sunbathe and swim in the pool in winter, too. A hard man. Could be our go-to. Likes to make his own comic-book sound effects at random moments. Hang on. That last part troubles me.
6. My beautiful Victoria. She once hurt her hand lightly slapping my rear end. Yes, it's firm. Not that firm. I must ask her if there's a word for 'wussbag' in German.
7. Finally, yours truly. Uh... the guy watching Rocky IV that saturday morning was me. We're in trouble here.

Luckily, the two cave dwellers, as shocked as they seemed to be, were quiet after that and left without a peep. Now we just need to name our gang. Ideas, anyone?

*Our self-indulgent pauser's name has been omitted to spare his feelings. This is a compassionate blog. Just don't talk while someone else is reading it.

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