Prophecy and Petits Fours

Dragged myself to the gym today in the rain and grey cold while my roommate is in Hawaii learning how to paddle-surf in paradise. I appease my jealousy by convincing myself that standing up and rowing on a surfboard looks like a superhero flying in a standing position. This of course came to mind as said roommate has been working out like a fiend and now actually LOOKS like a superhero... And he has blue eyes... and his hair all goes in the right direction. I know, I know... Envy makes you fat. I feel like a chorus boy in Annie Hall, The Musical...
So. It's off to Planet Fitness, so deep in Queens, I think it might actually be near Iceland.
Then to a gig at Carnegie Hall in which--as I am running from my rerouted V Train, I hear a homeless bum in the middle of a babble and in stereo with the loudest fart I have ever heard say, "A sex SCANDAL is when ya ain't gettin' any". A Savant Prophecy from this ersatz Fisher King and then a mad scramble to Carnegie Hall to cater a dinner for some folks who actually have more money than France, yet don't know enough to not leave a disgusting plate with half eaten food on the actual serving buffet. There I am... standing in my lovely blue Nehru jacket trying not to look judgmental as I feel my blood teeth begin to shoot out of my gums.

And then home to the wine and muscle relaxers to plan Thanksgiving dinner which I am fearlessly cooking with a little help from The Wise and Powerful Martha...

Another perilous day in Gotham...