For months I enjoyed the strange and unusually woodsy flavor of some dark amber honey that I was given during the holidays. I put it in my tea, on my oatmeal, and even right out of the belly of the familiar plastic bear it came in.
Savoring its unique aroma, color and flavor, I wondered, "Where is this luscious honey from? Africa? Southeast Asia? No. It says on the label on belly of the bear: BearFest." I had to get some more! I had to find out about this Fest of Bears.
I inquired from the gift-giver about the delectable treat so I could stock up on it and make all sorts of fancy honey-based treats ... honey ham, honey mustard dressing, honey baked beans. Oh, the list of possibilities was endless.
Only ... I soon learned ... that it wasn't honey at all!
It was maple syrup. Maple syrup posing as honey in a little plastic honey-bear container.
I ask, could you tell the difference?
This Italian joint called Mozzarelli's on 23rd & Park has Gluten Free pizza, and my agent is close by, so I eat there once a week.
Yesterday, I had a hankering for some of their awesome Artichoke pizza, so I stopped in for a quick bite.
"I'll take a slice of the Gluten Free Artichoke, please. No need to heat it up. Just pop it on a plate and I'll eat it here", I said.
"Are you sure?", said the co-owner.
"Yup, just throw it on a plate. Looks great!"
"You don't want it cold."
"Well, I kinda do, actually."
"Nah. Lemme put it in the oven just for a minute ... "
"But, you really don't have to, I just ..."
"No. It tastes better warm," he said putting the $5.00 slice in the oven. "The crust gets crispier in the oven."
I wasn't happy. "If you insist. But, I was really in the mood for a slice of cold pizza."
He says, "Yeah, we tried to sell slices of cold pizza a while back, but no one wanted them."
"Not even college kids with hangovers?", I asked.
"Huh? What? No. It didn't sell."
"Well, I was just really in the mood for cold pizza and kind of in a rush", I lied.
The pizza came out of the oven all bubbly and toasty.
"Enjoy", said the proud co-owner.
"I will." And I did.
After I let it sit for 5 minutes to get cold.
Lady Liberty and her brother, Brady Liberty, have resorted to handing out tax preparation pamphlets on 8th Avenue.
Hey, now! Turn that crown upside-down!
Dear Grilled Cheese Sandwich,
I don't see you often. Maybe once every few months. But, I wanted to thank you for never letting me down. You're a reliable friend, and you make me feel good every time I'm with you. I've been out of touch with your pal, Tomato Soup, but quite frankly, I like you more on a one-to-one basis.
Stay warm and don't ever change.
Much Love,
Peter
... celebrated American actors had to go to all the way to Japan to make commercials?
Times is tough.
Many companies make great bike locks. Problem is, some bikers use the lock on the tires and not on the bike.
As evidenced here --
I sent my DVD player back to a factory in New Jersey for repairs. Today, I checked the tracking status on UPS and the guy who signed for it was named "Tony" ... yeah, which Tony? It's a freakin' factory in Jersey for chrissakes!
This was a great experience ... as you can tell by the confused/shocked/amused reactions. Enjoy! See you with your pants down next year!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UxI46nl9pkc
An elderly woman and what I can only suppose was her granddaughter were stopped in front of a Sabon shop on 6th Ave in the West Village. A salesperson holding a basket was handing out colorful little slices of something resembling Listerine breath strips.
The old woman took a few and asked, "What kind of candy is this?" as her young charge began to place the orange sliver in her tiny mouth.
"Oh! It's not candy. It's soap!", said the panicked salesgirl.
Grandma knocked it out of the girls hands and shuffled away, clearly sad that she wasn't getting a free sample of something she could eat.
If the little girl had said, "Fuck!", then her Granny would have had a good reason to use that soap sample.
I was having drinks with an old Buffalo State College alum, and the young man seated next to us at the bar kept looking our way.
Finally, I caught his eye after I said some witty Buffalo-related dig. He introduced himself and apologized for eavesdropping, but he had just graduated from Buffalo State as an interior design major and couldn't help but hear us say "Buffalo" a hundred times in our conversation.
As I've been working on a pitch for a TV show that needs a fun, young, hip, gay interior designer, I gave him my card.
He looked at it, paused, laughed -- and then told me that his boss was none other than Peter Marino, the famous architect and designer.
You seriously can't swing a dead cat in this town without running into someone from Buffalo ... or named Peter Marino.
