May Xenu strike me down!
I just can’t stop cruisin’ for a bruisin’. I know that this is a stale topic, but I still want to share my thoughts about Tom Cruise’s interview with Diane Sawyer. ABC Primetime delivered yet again. Although it was obvious that Team Tom screened all of the questions and had final cut approval this time, that doesn’t mean that the interview didn’t have its moments.
Let’s just say this: As someone who doesn’t know Katie Holmes from a hole in the wall, even I could’ve done a better job pretending I know her. At one point, Diane asked Tom: “So what do you love about Katie?” He stuttered and stammered his way through a response that haphazardly started with, “…Well Diane, she’s like you.” I’m sure if Tom hadn’t replaced his publicist in recent months, Diane Sawyer would’ve surely retorted, “What the fuck? How is Katie like me?” Anyway, the best he could come up with was that he just loves Katie’s habit of sticking her tongue out when she smiles. But coincidentally, Katie’s fans also celebrate that same exact attribute of hers …only because she’s filmed and photographed doing it all the fucking time.
But I’d like to momentarily put all of this animosity aside and personally extend my belated congratulations to Tom and Katie on the birth of “their” daughter: Blanket Holmes-Cruise.
A House Without A Home
I routinely peruse the real estate section of the New York Times online. Obviously, I’m in no position to own property. But nonetheless, I search the house market in Brooklyn Heights and dare to dream. I once had my heart set on living in Carroll Gardens, my mother’s neighborhood, but that community has since become infested with hipsters. And after witnessing the drama of selling my grandmother’s federal colonial home, I have set my sights on Brooklyn Heights. I’ve determined that I would rather live amongst old money than reside with self-entitled transplant yuppie motherfuckers who are subsidized by their parents. But I digress…
So during one of my regular searches, I noticed a listing for Cranberry Street. This immediately caught my eye because Cranberry Street is the Brooklyn Heights street featured in Moonstruck. After looking at the accompanying picture, I put two and two together and realized that the Moonstruck house is for sale!
In true stalkery fashion, I’ve actually admired that house in person for years. I’ve loved it not only because it was in the movie, but because it’s located near the promenade and it’s situated on a corner. The house also manages to pull off a Mansard roof really well, and believe me, that’s hard to do.
No Eve Harrington’s Here
Last weekend I caught Martin McDonagh’s play The Lieutenant of Inishmore with assorted acquaintances. The play was like a Voltaire-style cultural/political satire, but I believe it would’ve had more resonance had it been produced over a decade ago. It was filled with long-winded dialogue that made it needlessly long. The characters constantly talked circles around each other, and their conversations often seemed like mere showcases for clever Irish witicisms. But I was somewhat amused in the second act when a particular character turned into a one-man Greek chorus and constantly bemoaned, “This story just keeps getting’ worse and worse!” In short, I think that two hour play could’ve been condensed into a one-caption political cartoon.
The play was staged at The Lyceum, and last time I was there I saw the original cast of Proof. I don’t think The Lyceum has seen a building renovation since the 1930s. The women’s room is the size of a pantry and, as usual, there’s always an infinite parade of ladies waiting to use it. And while everyone’s on line, the ushers relentlessly yell, “Okay, ladies! The show’s about to start! We’re going to lock the bathrooms!” I actually managed to use the facilities during intermission, but when I made it there, a few ladies started to take the ushers’ threat seriously. As soon as I locked myself into the stall, a handful of busybody theatre-goers piled themselves into the diminutive lavatory. The fact I could still hear the ushers yelling already gave me a fierce case of bladder shyness, but now I had company. And things only got worse when a few of the women tried to chat with me, an anonymous stranger occupied in a bathroom stall.
All in all, my favorite part of the play was when I was waiting on the ticket line and spotted Michael Musto biking down West 45th Street. | 
