We had a classic moment last night. Carly, Red and I had plans to meet up for dinner. Red and I get out of work before Carly, so we decided to meet at 4:45 for a drink and wait for Carly to arrive at 5:30. I got to the restaurant a few minutes early and sat in my car listening to Jay Severin until he went to commercial.
Side note: I love Severin. He is shrewd, well-informed, provocative, honest, sometimes misogynistic, often obnoxious, but always informative. I love listening and learn a ton on my homeward commute. My criticism for Jay: free speech is a wonderful thing, but your disparaging comments about women only serve to diminish your credibility. Insinuating that we are poor drivers, talking about Asian women as fetishistic objects, making rude comments about Hillary Clinton’s ass... why would you demean yourself and the Best and Brightest by resorting to such weary cliché? It’s not funny. It’s disrespectful. Please stop doing it.
Another side note: Poor Hillary. Why do people think it’s OK to publicly comment on the looks of female political figures? John Spencer, Hillary’s opponent in the New York Senate race, has referred to her as ugly, remarked that he didn’t know why Bill married her, and said that she must have had “millions of dollars” worth of plastic surgery. He also suggested that she’s a lesbian. How inventive; she's outspoken, a Wellesley graduate, and a liberal - she must be a dyke. If that's the kind of stuff he says in earshot of the press, I'd love to hear him at home. There was also all that crap about Condoleezza Rice's dating life and the flak about her helmet hair. And I think it was Severin himself who suggested that Kerry Healey “show some leg” to help her win the Massachusetts gubernatorial race. Ugh.
Anyway, that's all tangential. Severin went to break and I went inside. I sat down in the foyer to wait. I had a bag of books with me because we were all going to lend each other new material. Fifteen minutes passed, then twenty. The maitre’d kept checking on me.
Him: “Are you waiting for takeout?”
Me: “No, for a friend.”
Him: “Still waiting?”
Me: “Yup.”
Him: “How late?”
Me: “Going on twenty-five minutes.”
Him: “That’s late.”
Him: “At least you have something to read.”
Me: “I might get through them all.”
I called Red: voice mail. Called Carly: voice mail. Called Joe: not much he could do from his office. Wondered if I had the wrong night. Flipped through one of my books. Sat. At 5:30, Carly came through the door. “I can’t believe you’re here first!” I said. I got up to hug her. The maitre’d watched our reunion with a smile.
“Nope. This isn’t even the late friend,” I told him.
“I’m the on time friend,” Carly clarified.
We decided to go to the tavern, have a beer and wait for Red, wondering what the hell happened to her and hoping she was okay. We sat at one of the tall tables and ordered.
Then, from the direction of the bar: “HEY! LOOK WHO IT IS! SUP GUYS!”
Loud guy in a sweatshirt. Bellowing. Drinking a pint glass of vodka. Holding our friend hostage.
Our friend, who was nursing a glass of white wine for an hour, wondering what the hell happened to ME. Yes. Twenty feet apart the whole time, and neither of us thought to get up and take a look-see.
We. Are. Awesome!
Dinner, though, was fantastic as usual. You want scintillating conversation? Witty banter? Riotous laughter? Sit with us. I could spend countless hours with my BFCs. Everybody should be lucky enough to have friends like these.
Side note: I love Severin. He is shrewd, well-informed, provocative, honest, sometimes misogynistic, often obnoxious, but always informative. I love listening and learn a ton on my homeward commute. My criticism for Jay: free speech is a wonderful thing, but your disparaging comments about women only serve to diminish your credibility. Insinuating that we are poor drivers, talking about Asian women as fetishistic objects, making rude comments about Hillary Clinton’s ass... why would you demean yourself and the Best and Brightest by resorting to such weary cliché? It’s not funny. It’s disrespectful. Please stop doing it.
Another side note: Poor Hillary. Why do people think it’s OK to publicly comment on the looks of female political figures? John Spencer, Hillary’s opponent in the New York Senate race, has referred to her as ugly, remarked that he didn’t know why Bill married her, and said that she must have had “millions of dollars” worth of plastic surgery. He also suggested that she’s a lesbian. How inventive; she's outspoken, a Wellesley graduate, and a liberal - she must be a dyke. If that's the kind of stuff he says in earshot of the press, I'd love to hear him at home. There was also all that crap about Condoleezza Rice's dating life and the flak about her helmet hair. And I think it was Severin himself who suggested that Kerry Healey “show some leg” to help her win the Massachusetts gubernatorial race. Ugh.
Anyway, that's all tangential. Severin went to break and I went inside. I sat down in the foyer to wait. I had a bag of books with me because we were all going to lend each other new material. Fifteen minutes passed, then twenty. The maitre’d kept checking on me.
Him: “Are you waiting for takeout?”
Me: “No, for a friend.”
Him: “Still waiting?”
Me: “Yup.”
Him: “How late?”
Me: “Going on twenty-five minutes.”
Him: “That’s late.”
Him: “At least you have something to read.”
Me: “I might get through them all.”
I called Red: voice mail. Called Carly: voice mail. Called Joe: not much he could do from his office. Wondered if I had the wrong night. Flipped through one of my books. Sat. At 5:30, Carly came through the door. “I can’t believe you’re here first!” I said. I got up to hug her. The maitre’d watched our reunion with a smile.
“Nope. This isn’t even the late friend,” I told him.
“I’m the on time friend,” Carly clarified.
We decided to go to the tavern, have a beer and wait for Red, wondering what the hell happened to her and hoping she was okay. We sat at one of the tall tables and ordered.
Then, from the direction of the bar: “HEY! LOOK WHO IT IS! SUP GUYS!”
Loud guy in a sweatshirt. Bellowing. Drinking a pint glass of vodka. Holding our friend hostage.
Our friend, who was nursing a glass of white wine for an hour, wondering what the hell happened to ME. Yes. Twenty feet apart the whole time, and neither of us thought to get up and take a look-see.
We. Are. Awesome!
Dinner, though, was fantastic as usual. You want scintillating conversation? Witty banter? Riotous laughter? Sit with us. I could spend countless hours with my BFCs. Everybody should be lucky enough to have friends like these.
2 Comments:
Classic! I got some mileage out of it, too.
I already miss Carly having an alive-and-kicking bloggity blog. Damn it all.
Also, I agree with much of what you said about Jay. Couldn't respect him more when he eludes to all the anonymous sex he'll be having that weekend. Because most unattractive men in their 50s score young Asians all the time. I imagine his personal life is pretty sad. I picture pizza bagels, gin and the flickering light of the TV.
And good point about the pool, buddy.
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