Setting the stories straight
Last week, our gov and I had dinner. At Neary’s. On East 57th. Great Irish food. Been there probably since that country’s original potato famine. Some of its regulars stretch back to then.
One sweet grandma hobbled close to our table. Stood nearby. A few feet away. Alone. Silent. Staring. Then, closing the gap, she toddles right up to Kathy Hochul, who’s stunning in a spring suit. We look. The woman points to her and says, “Aren’t you the mayor?”
Another story. Once, a car had a dashboard, wheel, brake, gas gauge and the thing went. Now everything’s electrified, magnetized, computerized. To drive a new car today you have to enroll in MIT.
Friends waited a year for their Maybach. Mercedes-made, it’s the price of an apartment. Everything’s in it but a dishwasher. They took it for a quick spin. Nice. Next day on a short neighborhood ride the thing stopped 100% dead. In the middle of a crowded highway.
Forget the aggravation. Nobody, not the salesman, not the dashboard itself informed the driver it was about to be out of petrol — 100% empty.
Jam session
ONE more New York story. Congestion pricing, yes. Congestion pricing, no. And NYC’s traffic stays backed up to New Hampshire.
A friend was coming for dinner. A 45-minute drive. In a Rolls-Royce yet. I got her calls from the LIE, The Bronx, Bruckner Boulevard, East River Drive, even Second Avenue. The Rolls was out of style by the time she got here. Took 3 ¹/₂ hours.
She said a traffic problem en route had exacerbated the problem. The “problem”? Finally one single hardhat had actually eventually showed up to work.
Pay attention
ONE more. Under New York’s 100-year-old “wrongful death” statute, if someone’s killed by another’s negligence, damages calculated on his occupation, age and prospects would be the money she/he might’ve earned during their lifetime.
Legislature’s trying to change it, so not only can the decedents’ estate recover, but also cousins, uncles, dog walkers and anyone for the “grief caused.”
Under the radar, this legislation probably gets signed one way or another. If yes, watch insurance rates rise and litigation relating to “wrongful death cases” with it.
Bunch of Tonys baloney
COMES now the who-cares Tonys. April 6, 1947 — first-ever awards. Names: Ray Bolger, Bert Lahr, Walter Huston, Marlon Brando, Katharine Cornell, Ethel Merman, Victor Moore, William Gaxton, Orson Welles, Jean Parker, Bobby Clark, Carol Bruce, John Gielgud, Judith Anderson. The productions: “Show Boat,” “The Voice of the Turtle,” “Candida,” “Around the World in 80 Days,” “Annie Get Your Gun.” Beats some short-lived merde we’ve had since.
Today? Nobody’s thumping about anything maniacally stellar. Remember “Give My Regards to Broadway”?
Shove “The Who’s Tommy.” Up for Best Revival 55 years after the rock opera came out. Even ushers are staying home. Result? The theater holding the awards is so small that Kanye West’s mattress is larger.
Tune in for this year’s shindig Sunday.
TODAY everyone’s scratching together a play. Sing one song, then write a musical. Fail one job, then write a one-woman show. You knock out a script in five days — and think nothing of it — and neither does anyone else . . .
Only in New York, kids, only in New York.