The Bruni Digest

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.

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Location: New York, New York, U.S. Outlying Islands

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.

Friday, March 31, 2006

My Momma Raised Me So So Wrong

Just kidding! My momma raised me really well, but how RUDE of me not to thank my guest blogger, Michael Barry, for his two outstanding weeks of service. If I could find a gay enough pole, I would hoist him up on it and salute his tight, talented shorts. Mmm, mmm, mmm.

Speaking of panties, tonight is the last night of our two-month run of "Doody Calls" at the PIT, and it's going to be 1) a full house, 2) insane, and 3) I'ma be real drunk. After this, I'm taking a "hiatus from performing" for a while to "focus on writing" (for those of you at my high school alumni magazine, that's code for "going to Tijuana" and "coming back as a man named Bradlee.")

Since I've gone organic, I'm getting my new "business" made of all-natural pinewood!

For advance tickets and more info on the show, click here.


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