Why do I go and say things like "tomorrow I'll tell you a great story about pee" when I know I might not? And now I'm a big liar? I'm not a completely pathological liar or anything. There really is a pee story in your future; I'm just busy of late and weirdly exhausted. (There's this thing happening where I stay up too late, then have trouble falling asleep, despite my enthusiasm for the project. In the morning, the Upstairs Baby wakes me an hour or more before my alarm [not cool, UB] so I put in earplugs and continue sleeping, but have vivid dreams about the Upstairs Baby. This has been happening every day for weeks. It's not restful, is what I'm saying.) Still, I didn't want to flake out completely. So here I am. Hi.
Last night I went to see All Through the Night at the Roxie. Have you ever seen a Humphrey Bogart movie that you never even knew existed? It's very exciting. It's a helluva picture. The one-liners don't quit. Plus, a bunch of hoods take down a bunch of Nazis in New York. One of them, of course, is Peter Lorre. It was my idea of a large evening.
On my way smilingly back to my car, some guy slightly ahead of me on the sidewalk, riding a scooter (the kind you stand on and push with your foot, not the kind the belle regazze putter through Rome on) said to me, "They were really letting that guy get into it." "Who?" I asked. "That drummer back there?" "No. The guy at that table. They were all leaning in and he was going, 'I mean, the universe is relative.'" He went on imitating the guy for a bit. "Usually I notice stuff like that," I told him. "But, I missed it." "I find the scooter is really good for that. I listen really intently--and then I'm gone." "Yeah. That sounds like a good eavesdropping strategy," I agreed. "Plus," he said, "I'm a stand up." He swung his scooter around. "I'm going to go back there and hear some more." And off he scooted into the night. If you frequent the comedy clubs, stay tuned for that bit. It'll knock 'em dead.
Tonight in an effort to Be a Grown Up, I addressed myself to the slowly expiring vegetables in the refrigerator. I sauteed a pound of mushrooms with some garlic and red pepper flakes. I steamed some asparagus and topped it with meyer lemon juice. I put on the water to boil for the pasta that would bring the whole thing together and...had no pasta in the pantry.
And so, as circumstances dictated, I had two hot dogs and a glass of cabernet.
Speaking of knockin' 'em dead, I am killing it over here--seven days a week, y'all.