You mean you read 10 pounds of sports pages and missed the touching photos of Darryl Strawberry’s (current) wife, Charisse Strawberry, tossing out the ceremonial first pitch? “He’s a little weak and sore,” she reported, and “still very hungry, as he could not eat solid food.” Funny, I thought she was describing his last wife, who was too busy filling out assault and battery reports to do anything as poignant as pitch baseballs at Yankee Stadium. (Now, I’m going to get a whole ration of shit from Yankee fans, who I sure hope can spell as well as the Jesuits.)
Well, I had a truly gratifying morning, after tuning in to Good Morning America and learning that someone has written a sequel to Casablanca. As if this wasn’t enough good news, there was my L.A. galpal Lisa Beach, a casting director, being interviewed by Joel Siegel, re: who should play Rick and Ilsa in the sequel. The last time I saw Beach she was dirty-dancing on top of the bar at I Tre Merli in Soho, to “Under My Thumb,” in a short black dress and stilettos, to celebrate her 40th birthday. (It’s a chick thing, Dan.) I’m told she had the greatest legs at Harvard. But Bruce Willis as Rick?
What I need to know about the Bertelsmann/Barnes & Noble deal (and of course, we’re still stiffing Sloan) is whether I should still buy those books I’m too embarrassed to purchase in public from amazon.com? I actually found the most interesting bit of financial news in the Metro section today. George Pataki is out trolling the New York suburbs, handing out $232 checks to constituents. He says its just a coincidence that a million refund checks from the Long Island Lighting Company (attached to glowing letters thanking the Governor) were cut in the middle of his campaign for re-election. I hope he’s in Dutchess County today, Dan. You have twins to feed.
In other good news for New Yorkers, they’re thinking of passing a law requiring us to wear seatbelts in taxicabs–“a potential solution,” says the Times, “to the persistent problem of cab riders slamming their heads into the bullet-resistant partitions that separate the front seat from the back.” Something that I only do voluntarily after being edited at George.
(Just kidding, John!!!)
But about the sad demise of the Letterman stalker. Throwing yourself in front of a moving train seems a little extreme, doncha think? It would be easier to take a cab.