In which I sit on a dirt mound somewhere in Brooklyn with my ears pricked, waiting for New York Times head restaurant critic Frank Bruni, who I imagine to be a Venetian count in a huge ruffled collar, to dole out stars from the inside breast pocket of his brocaded chamber robe. This blog is predicated on the suggestion that every Wednesday, in the Times Dining Out section, Frank lays a huge faberge egg of hilarity.
I am fiscally irresponsible, which means I have weak bones and a dorsal fin. And a penchant for dining out, even though I am, in the words of many rich people, a "poor people". I make a different face when speaking each of the foreign languages in which I am shittily proficient.
I'll be reading tomorrow at the Ritalin Reading Series at Mo Pitkins at 8:30. No one gets to take up more than 4 minutes, so if your attention span is as hopelessly eroded as mine, this is the show for you. Click the above link to check out the awesome lineup, or buy tickets in advance.
Bonus: Mo Pitkins is home of the much-publicized manishevitini. A definite improvement over the short-lived Manishevitatorade sports drink.
posted by Jules | 4:48 PM
3 Comments:
i'll be there in manishevitinian spirit...all 4 minutes worth.
are the wiggles supposed to be semitic signifiers?
"4 MINUTES IN HEAVEN...." That's how I used to describe my love-making to my ex-wife.
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