MISCELLANY FROM LAST WEEK

Monday: Did a 1 hour interview by a Rutgers sociology grad student who is doing her thesis on "Sex Attribution"--how people determine the sex of other people. She thought it would be a good idea to start by canvassing TGs, who probably have given the subject more thought than average.

Wednesday: My friend Wendi and I went down to the LGBT Center for a reception for the newly-elected speaker of the New York City Council, Christine Quinn. She's the first openly gay person in that position--as well as the first woman, and the first Irish person also (the first Irish person?--amazing!).

There were some hors d'oeuvres (I really have to learn how to spell that--I have to look it up every time) and wine. Quinn was delayed, so there was plenty of time to mingle. I ran into Paisley Currah, the Brooklyn College political science professor who heads up CLAGS. I hadn't seen him in a while--maybe not since the Lammy Awards last summer. I got a hug from Matt Foreman, the executive director of the NGLTF. I did a very brief interview for the Center's public access cable TV show (I wonder when it's on?). I ran into a woman who had worked with me on setting up the Name Change Project of the West Village TransLegal Clinic. She mistook me for my friend Joann Prinzivalli, the head of the New York Transgender Rights Organization (NYTRO). We figured out that she didn't recognize me because I only presented as a man at those meetings.

Someone in the crowd--I'm pretty sure it was the guy who writes the Homo Dish column for HX Magazine--complimented me on my outfit, or at least its color: I was wearing my red business suit. Maybe I'll see my name in print again.

I was talking with one of the guys from the Stonewall Democrats, I think, when he spied Rosie Mendez, the new City Councilperson who took over Marguerita Lopez's seat. There was an evening last fall when she was campaigning, going from event to event--and ran into me at two different ones. Mendez remembered me from that (politicians really need the ability to remember everyone). She was saying how she was honored that Quinn had passed on her own physical seat in the Council chamber to her, as the newest lesbian on the Council--and how she was kind of overwhelmed with all the new things to learn about being on the Council. She didn't seem to have any staff person with her.

Eventually Quinn arrived, there were some introductory speeches, and she spoke a bit, after having all the other elected officials join her on the stage. Nothing remarkable in any of it, except that one of those officials was Congresswoman Carolyn Maloney--my representative. I hadn't heard of any particular connection between Maloney and the LGBT community (I don't think the Center is in her district), or with Quinn, but there she was.

Anyhow, the speeches ended, and after a bit the gathering started to break up. Maloney happened to be walking by me on her way out, so I said hello, telling her I was a constituent.

I left a short time later, to get to my other event of the evening, the annual business meeting and interim election of Crossdressers International (CDI). I had to give my treasurer's report, and I wanted to let people know what was happening with the website update project. There were elections for three positions (all but mine), because there had been resignations in all of them last year. What was really unprecedented, was that two of the elections were being contested--there had only been one contested election in the history of CDI before this.

Anyhow, S. Kristine James, the CDI founder (who calls herself the chair--though the position is not in the bylaws), brought the meeting to order--announcing it was a joint meeting of CDI and the Greater New York Gender Alliance, an umbrella organization with only one member--CDI. It really exists only on paper, but it is incorporated (unlike CDI), which makes it useful at times. We did the minutes of last year's meeting--mostly from my memory, as the secretary had resigned. I gave my reports.

Then Kristine conducted the election. There was only one candidate for president, so that went by acclamation. Then, for some unknown reason, she skipped to the office of secretary. This turned out to be practically a non-contest, as one of the candidates endorsed the other. A vote was taken, though the totals weren't announced. Kristine appointed the loser "assistant secretary"--a position as non-existent as her "chair."

Finally we got to the office of vice president, where there were three nominated candidates. It was announced one had withdrawn, but the other two were quite serious about wanting the job. Each gave a speech, and the vote was taken. One candidate was declared the winner--we were only told the vote was close. Kristine again appointed the loser the assistant.

She then turned the meeting over to the CDI president, and we got into a big discussion about money--dues, charges for the open house and for the holiday dinner, and charitable contributions. All kinds of opinions were offered. Some people wanted big incentives to become members, some wanted large charitable contributions to be made, some wanted no contributions to be made. I was not at all surprised by the lack of consensus--the only thing the CDI members have in common is an interest in crossdressing. Otherwise you have huge differences in income, education, political view, everything.

Eventually it was decided to raise the dues a little for 2007, raise the open house charges (but make it free for first timers), decrease the big discount for the holiday dinner, and leave the question of charitable contributions to the officers and an advisory committee. I was very happy when the meeting was adjourned. I was even happier when some of us went up to Dave's Tavern and I had a nice gin and tonic. And there was a huge bucket of peanuts I could munch on.

HEADLINE OF THE DAY

Humuhumunukunukuapuaa Dethroned in Hawaii
It may not be much of a story, but it's a great headline.

DON'T ASK, DON'T TELL, DON'T STAFF YOUR ARMY

The army is now investigating some paratroopers in the 82nd Airborne Division for appearing on a gay pornography website. This would be a violation of the Pentagon's "don't ask, don't tell" policy, which deems any action by a member of the armed forces that indicates he or she is gay to be a violation of the code of military conduct, and would require them to be discharged from military service.

This policy is contributing greatly to the staffing problems the military has seen since Bush, Jr. decided to invade Iraq. Many badly needed Arabic translators have been discharged because of it. Recently a report came out that a great many doctors and other medical specialists have been lost to "don't ask, don't tell," resulting in bad shortages there. Now they are going after paratroopers, some of the best-trained, most-needed combat soldiers the army has.

The policy is illogical, idiotic, stupid, ridiculous, imbecilic and dumb--besides being discriminatory and unfair. Having gays and lesbians in the military would not be a problem if the military didn't make it one. They should have the right to serve their country in the military the same as everyone else. Moreover, they are needed in the military. When are the homophobes in the Pentagon (and their congressional backers) going to face the facts?

STUPID (alleged) CRIMINAL OF THE DAY

Alleged Crack Dealer Uses Business Cards

I GUESS NOT ALL OF THEM COME EARLY IN THE MORNING

I just got a hit on my blog from someone looking for "india uncovered ass sex." Someone in Dubai. At least I was all the way down on page 24 for this one. Which means this guy (I'm assuming) went through 100's of sites before he got to mine.

I guess there's not much to do in Dubai.

(Isn't that where Michael Jackson is living now? Hmmm.)

HAPPY BIRTHDAY WOLFGANG!

Today is the 250th anniversary of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart's birth. Classical music fans around the world are celebrating the child prodigy who managed to write 626 works of music in his all-too-brief 35 years. He revolutionized opera, and I'm sure not an hour goes by when his music isn't being performed or broadcast somewhere in the world. Even Google has a nice logo modification in his honor.

I'm listening to a live broadcast from Salzburg, Austria, Mozart's birthplace. WQXR's own Jeff Spurgeon is on the broadcast team introducing the selections back to America. The Vienna Philharmonic under Ricardo Muti and several great soloists are performing. At a carefully timed intermission, all of the churchbells in the city will ring, to mark the exact moment of Mozart's birth (known because his father, Leopold, recorded it in a letter).

I can't say Mozart is my favorite composer--I prefer later works written for larger, more varied orchestras--but I still find his music wonderful. So happy birthday, Wolfgang! Thanks for all the great music. Somehow, I think they'll still be listening to it in another quarter millenium.

YET ANOTHER EARLY MORNING WEIRD WEB SEARCH

chelsea law and order run by nuns cafeteria

BLOGGING WITHDRAWAL

Blogger.com announced a 30 minute maintenance shutdown for 4:00pm PST yesterday. When I got home early this morning it was still down, just a screen announcing the 30 minute outage. Not good. I couldn't blog.

It was still that way today, and I got scared. Did something major happen? Would my blog be coming to an end? Would I have to start over? There were no direct news reports, just stuff about AdSense and a quarrel with Google (which owns Blogger). Had Google cut off Blogger? I thought not, since that certainly would have made the news.

But still I was scared. The blog itself was still working, so I backed up everything as best I could. Then everything came back a few minutes ago. Big relief.

So I now I can blog. Except I don't have any time now--I've got to got get ready to see my friend in A Midsummer Night's Dream--with flying donkeys!

CATCHING UP: NAMOLI BRENNET AND GRACE MILLO

Last Thursday I went to hear Namoli Brennet, a transgender singer-songwriter I first heard last year at a Stonewall Democrats fundraiser at Fagapalooza. I had known for a while she was coming out east from her Tucson home for a tour, but there wasn't a NYC concert on her schedule. So I was delighted when she inserted a little "house concert" in Brooklyn.

I was even more delighted to see it would be at the home of Ed Mannix, a guy I used to run into frequently at the Monster Bar, five or six years ago--but I hadn't seen him for a long time (or had I? He said he was at Fagapalooza also, but I don't remember seeing him there).

Ed has been hosting a series of musical events in his high-ceilinged living room for three years now, his website says. He calls them "A Circle of Berdaches," believing Berdache is a good name for LGBT people like him. Well, I must say I don't particularly like his appropriation of this term, and I might like it even less if I were Native-American--though they prefer being called two-spirit people, there are still some real berdaches today. Anyhow, regardless of the name, Namoli would be singing at Ed's.

Getting there was not half the fun, however. A stalled subway train converted a one-change trip to a mini-nightmare of four trains (five if you want to include the one I got off of before it moved, because they announced a change in destination) and a very aerobic climb at 4th Av-9th St. Of course, when I got there Ed informed me of a much easier alternative route. Oh, well.

Anyhooski (as Namoli wants everyone to say), I did get there, and got a big hug from Ed, who joked about the "cow" skirt I used to wear (It was pony, not cow!--faux, of course). He introduced me to his roommates, and some other people, including the opening performer, Grace Millo, and her friend, Nicole, who is a bartender at RubyFruit. I talked a bit with Nicole, about how we used to go there more when Michael, a friend of the CDI president, was the chef.

We talked for a while, drank some wine and munched on the food Ed provided--the hummus and the stuffed potatoes were great, and the pear salad was very nice also. We listened to some songs he liked, both on CDs and on the internet. He was waiting for some people who had RSVP'd--and for Namoli. Eventually she showed up. She said she had been leaving messages all day. Ed then checked his voice mail, and found hers--explaining that he had been home all day, and she must have called while he was on the phone with someone else.

After Namoli got settled a bit (and accepted Ed's offer to stay over--she hadn't even thought about where she would be sleeping!), the show began with Grace Millo. I had never heard of her, though I had heard of her sister, Aprile Millo. In fact I even had actually heard her sister, singing at the Metropolitan Opera. (However, I had neither heard, nor heard of, their brother: punk rock pioneer Rick Wilder of the Mau-Maus, and the Berlin Brats.) It was clear from the start that the family's singing talent did not skip over Grace (the parents were both opera singers also). One of the problems of many singer-songwriters is that they are much more the latter than the former (think Leonard Cohen). But Grace has no shortcomings here.

She has no shortcomings on the songwriter side either. I particularly liked "Quicksand Ground' (the title track of her latest CD), and "Get It Right."

Her 45 minutes ended too soon. It was an unexpected treat. I was happy I could buy a CD so I could hear her songs again.

Then it was Namoli's turn. It took her a few minutes to tune her guitar, so I had a chance to get some more wine (and buy Grace's CD). I even managed to eat a nice piece of roast chicken, without messing up my make-up.

Namoli sang some songs from her new CD, Chrysanthemum, including the title track. "What I Wouldn't Give" brought a smile to my face, with its tale of a grandparent wishing for half the energy of an ADHDD grandson. "Between the Furrow and the Roses" was sad--a father, near the end of his life, giving his burial instructions to his daughter. "Faceless Men with Cold Hands" was even sadder--a song of sexual abuse. Few of her songs are really happy. Her lyrics are not always easy--you really have to think sometimes. But when you do think, you feel what she means.

She sang some old songs. She took requests. She even sang the title song of her first CD, "A Boy in a Dress." She sang and sang and sang, having a great time. And I had a great time listening.

But all good things must end, the saying goes (why is it only bad things get to go on and on indefinitely?). I bought a couple more CDs, which Namoli eagerly offered to autograph. My purse was stuffed. I arranged to take the subway back to Manhattan with someone, then waited while he and Ed had a long discussion, about Outmusic, I think, or maybe that was a previous discussion. Whatever, it was mostly a monologue by Ed. He does like to talk.

Eventually we extracted ourselves, and walked the couple of blocks to the subway. A train came quickly, and we were on our way. I was really glad of the company though, because a stop or two later a somewhat bewildered homeless guy and his huge plastic bags of stuff boarded the train. He sat down and joined our conversation, while the bags contented themselves with spilling their contents on the floor. We humored him--he didn't seem dangerous. But he couldn't quite grasp what day it was.

Unfortunately, my escort's destination was a couple stops before mine, so for a couple uncomfortable minutes I was left alone with the guy (there were a few other people in the car, thank goodness). When we reached my stop I dashed past him out the door. He called after me, something about how I reminded him of Dustin Hoffman in Tootsie.

Oy.

BOY MEETS GIRL

My friend Helen Boyd has just sold her next book. Tentatively entitled Boy Meets Girl, it will be published by Seal Press. I'm so happy for her.

Seal says:

The author of MY HUSBAND BETTY writes about her husband’s crossdressing and the possibility of his undergoing a sex change, which frame her commentary on the pressures (both emotional and sexual) that traditional gender roles can bring to our relationships, marriages, and partnerships.

My only problem: it won't be out for another year.

ONE FOR THE LOCKING THE BARN DOOR DEPARTMENT

W.Va. Legislators Take Up Mine Safety Bill

SOME HAPPY NEWS

Parents of Missing Penguin Have New Egg

I'M A HAPPY BLOGGER

Yesterday broke my record for the most visitors to this blog in a single day: 56. Thank you all.

NYJFF III: CAMILLE & QUEEN ELIZABETH

My second and last session at the Lincoln Center Film Society's 15th annual New York Jewish Film Festival consisted of a pair of French films made in 1912, La Dame aux Camélias and Les Amours de la Reine Élizabeth (English titles: Camille and Queen Elizabeth). Question: What are these doing in a Jewish film festival? Answer: They starred Sarah Bernhardt. Question: How does that make them Jewish? Answer: Though she went to a convent school, and was a practicing Catholic most of her life, Bernhardt was born Jewish--at least on paper. She never made any mention of her mother ever practicing Judaism, only that her grandmother was an "Israelite," as the French called Jews back then.

I call this the "Jewish Museum Syndrome." There, even the most remote connection to Judaism is a valid reason for including something an exhibition--or even mounting an entire exhibition about it. And indeed, the Jewish Museum is currently showing Sarah Bernhardt: The Art of High Drama, and the showing of these films was connected to it.

In reality, Bernhardt's connection to Judaism was not quite as tenuous as that. Regardless of her religious practices, she endured a great deal of anti-Semitism at the hands of the popular French press. While she downplayed her Jewish ancestry most of the time, Bernhardt did use it to her advantage when it was convenient: During the Franco-Prussian War, she reminded people of her Jewish roots when she was suspected of being disloyal to France, just on the basis of her Germanic name. (Actually, she had changed it from Bernard, though it's not clear just when.) She was also a staunch defender of Alfred Dreyfus, the Jewish French army officer wrongfully convicted of espionage--not that one had to be Jewish to support him.

Anyhooski (as Namoli Brennet wants everyone to say--I think it's Namoli), tenuous connection or not, Bernhardt was in the NYJFF, and I wanted to see her. Also, I wanted to hear the live piano accompaniment (by Donald Sosin) that was presented--just the way silent films were originally shown. I don't think I had ever seen one that way before. For my college film course we just sat in silence--even for the 3 hours of D.W. Griffith's Birth of a Nation. And I saw a couple of silents in Radio City Music Hall with a full orchestra accompaniment: Abel Gance's Napoléon, and Flesh and the Devil with Greta Garbo. But never the old-fashioned way.

The program had the co-curators from the Jewish Museum exhibition to introduce the films and take questions from the audience afterwards. Carol Ockman, Professor of Art History at Williams College, and Kenneth E. Silver, Professor of Fine Arts at NYU, explained some of the Bernhardt's history, as well as film's role as a fine art a century ago.

Sarah Bernhardt was the superstar of her time--without being the best actress or the most beautiful. She promoted herself ceaselessly, always looking for publicity--her temper tantrums were trumpeted, her private life was a public affair. She endorsed all sorts of products, and served her country in both the Franco-Prussian War and World War I, and was inducted into the French Legion of Honor in 1914. Besides acting on the stage (while producing her own plays, often in her own theaters), she was a writer and sculptor.

She was always on the forefront using the latest in technology. Born in 1844, just five years after the invention of photography, she used it to disseminate her image far from the theaters where she appeared. When Edison invented sound recordings, she was there in Menlo Park, NJ to have her voice preserved. And in 1900, she filmed the brief duel scene from Hamlet, as she was touring Europe playing the title role. It was more of an experiment than a serious effort, but she was obviously intrigued by the possibilities. Six or so years later she made a two reel Tosca, a role written for her for the stage. (A two-reeler ran roughly 25 minutes, depending on how fast the projector was cranked.) She disliked the results so much she tried to buy up all the copies to destroy them--fortunately she wasn't completely successful.

It was several more years until she was lured in front of the motion picture cameras again. $30,000 was a big enough lure. Camille, another two-reeler, was a great success, and made film into more than a cheap popular entertainment mainly for the working class. Bernhardt, as a serious stage actress, changed all that. Within a few months she followed it up with a four-reeler of Queen Elizabeth, which proved to be an even bigger success. As big as it was in Europe, it was even more important to the American film industry. Adolph Zukor brought it to the Lyceum Theater here in New York, and made a fortune on it--enough to bankroll what became Paramount Pictures.

All this is background, of course, most of which was related by the two professors doing the introduction. I think they were a tad over-enthusiastic for the films, particularly Ockman. The films may have changed the history of the medium, but that doesn't mean they were all that good, certainly not by contemporary standards. Intertitles, full screens of text, were used to explain each scene, but they rarely contained the dialogue. It was filmed pantomime, basically.

In 1912 Bernhardt was 68 years old. She had been playing the Lady of the Camelias on stage for decades--maybe 3,000 times by that point. It took a ton of make-up, and no close-ups, to make her the least bit believable as a young courtesan. Her over-acting, while not totally ridiculous, was a bit excessive, though from what I understand was the way she was on stage also. Her death scene was not overdone, and it did show her acting abilities, as Ockman had said.

Bernhardt was more believable as Queen Elizabeth. In this film I was impressed by the costumes and scenery, which were, the film noted, from Bernhardt's own company--this was what they used on the stage. Since the film was nearly twice as long as Camille, it had time to really develop the story.

The films are fairly well preserved, though there are a few parts with significant deterioration. One intertitle was visible so briefly it couldn't be read. The piano accompaniment was not nearly as important as I expected it to be. It was fine as background music, but I don't think it really added very much.

Although I think one can get an appreciation for Bernhardt's acting from the films, I don't think one gets a notion of her beauty, nor (of course) her personality. The films are certainly more important to the history of the medium than to the history of her. I do want to see the exhibition at the Jewish Museum--I think I'll learn a lot more about her there than what I learned at the film festival.

THIS IS A BLOG FOR CHOICE

Today is the 33rd anniversary of Roe v. Wade.
See Bush v. Choice.

VARIATIONS ON A (SPAM) THEME III

Babes in your area
Babes in your neighbourhood!
Babes in your region
Babes inside your area?
Babes inside your district!
Babes inside your region?
Babes inside your region!
Babes within your area!
Babes within your city
Babes within your city!
Gals in your area?
Gals in your area!
Gals in your district?
Gals in your neighbourhood
Gals inside your city!
Gals within your area!
Gals within your district
Gals within your region!
Girls in your area
Girls in your area!
Girls in your district
Girls inside your area?
Girls inside your city!
Girls inside your neighbourhood!
Girls inside your region
Girls inside your region?
Girls within your district!
Girls within your neighbourhood
Ladies in your district?
Ladies within your area
Ladies within your area?
Ladies within your city
Ladies within your city!
Ladies within your region!
Women in your district!
Women inside your area!
Women inside your city?
Women inside your city!
Women inside your district
Women inside your district?
Women inside your region

If you like this sort of, er, inventiveness see my previous installments, starting with this one. I update them (and this one) continually, as more examples arrive.

A DINNER PARTY--FRENCH STYLE

I don't really remember ever being at a real dinner party, at least one in someone's home, not a restaurant. I guess last evening was a first for me. I mean, who actually has the ability and the time to cook these days?

Well, Frenchwomen do--at least the ones who are living in New York because their husbands' employers sent them here. My wife, who is always looking for an opportunity to practice her French, got to know our hostess in one of the various French clubs my wife is in--I can't keep track of them all.

So that's how I ended up at a dinner party with a half a dozen French people, all but one of whom are in New York just temporarily. I can understand French somewhat well. I can put together a phrase, sometimes even a full, grammatically correct sentence, as long as I stick to the present tense. Past and future are very iffy, and the subjunctive--not to save my life. Basically I was counting on the wine being good to get me through the evening.

Now we're not talking about your formal dinner party here--there wasn't a tie in sight, much less a tail coat, tuxedo or evening gown. No butlers, footmen or maids, no servants of any type, though the building did have a doorman, a concierge and an elevator operator. The last wasn't really necessary to operate the automatic elevator, but we did need him to point out which apartment we were going to, because there are no letters on the doors--I guess that's how it is in some fancy, "exclusive" buildings. And it's certainly in a fancy location, overlooking St. Patrick's Cathedral.

I don't ever remember being in an apartment with a polished marble floor in the living/dining room--not to mention a full wall of floor-to-ceiling windows with an excellent view of the Empire State Building. The floor was so noticeable because there wasn't a rug. In fact, the furnishings were very sparse--these are people who are here only temporarily (I noticed a whole shelf full of rolls of bubble wrap in the closet).

We started with an aperitif, as they do in France, while we waited for the remaining guests. I had a Pastis, an anise (licorice) liqueur, which is quite nice when diluted with water and chilled with ice. There were bowls of hors d'oeuvres--two kinds of olives, some delicious cherry tomatoes, cashews--and pistachios, still in the shell. We sat and talked--well, I mostly listened. The man we were talking with would switch to excellent English when he saw I didn't understand.

Eventually everyone arrived. Our hosts' son was also there--he's here in the U.S. for post-doctoral studies--though he left before dinner. Three middle-aged couples, plus a man and a woman. The man's wife, who my wife knew, was away visiting their daughter--in a warmer climate. So the hostess (I assume) found an unattached woman (perhaps she was a bit younger than the rest of us) to balance things out. I believe it's a requirement for dinner parties to have equal numbers of men and women. Well, at least for heterosexual dinner parties.

The women were casually, though nicely, dressed, two in pants, two in skirts. Both of the skirts were ankle-length, though one woman's had a slit up the side that revealed a lot of sheer black pantyhose-covered leg when she sat. All wore a little make-up, and had nicely done but not fussy hair. The men wore an assortment of sports jacket, sweaters, uncovered shirt.

The cocktail hour stretched a bit overtime. The conversations covered all kinds of things, but travel seemed to predominate. One of the men related how he periodically has to go to North Carolina to see a factory his employer owns. He was surprised by the number of churches in such a small town, and he was astonished when a company luncheon was preceded by someone saying grace. In France religion is a private thing. French people are amazed when politicians here mention God--that is never done over there.

Eventually we did sit down to eat at a narrow table tucked in the corner, after the hostess lit six little candles in glasses arrayed down the middle, three toward each end. The hostess was careful to arrange the seating so that it was man, woman, man, woman, but no one was seated next to or across from one's spouse (two more dinner party rules, I believe).

The meal started with a trio of vegetable mousses: zucchini, carrot, and beet, my favorite. They were served in little, narrow glasses, with sticks of toast for dipping. A nice red wine was poured by the host. The hostess brought out a huge platter of breads--five different kinds! I chose a roll with cranberries and nuts. The man closest to the hostess helped clear--no sexism here. The main course was a simple whitefish filet of some sort, mildly seasoned and steamed in foil. Very lightly buttered new potatoes and thin green beans with a bit of garlic were served on the side. No traditonal heavy French sauces. All very nice, though I would have preferred to add some salt. But I thought it would be impolite to ask for it.

The dinner conversation turned to movies and art exhibitions, which I mostly understood, and could add a bit here and there. Then, don't ask me how, the talk turned to malaria, dengue fever and worms! I stopped even trying to follow it at that point. I was rather glad I couldn't easily understand what was being said.

After we finished the main course (with a second platter of vegetables offered around), it was time for the quintessentially French cheese course. Four kinds, two goat, two cow, with another selection from the bread platter--I chose a plain bread this time. A second bottle of wine was opened at this point.

Dessert followed: a very nice, light strawberry purée served in martini glasses, accompanied by the best meringue concoction I've ever had--it had thin almond slices coating the inside of a meringue shell, and was filled with something soft and sweet. Somehow the meringue remained chewy, not hard. I had two of them.

In France they do not have their coffee with dessert--it's separate course (I have a friend who absolutely will not start her dessert until her coffee comes. I think she would have a big problem in France.) We adjourned back to the living room area. I was very glad to get off of the hard plastic chair--we had been sitting at the dinner table for about 2½ hours.

The coffee was French roast, of course, just a demi-tasse. That was to be expected. What I did not expect was that the coffee was instant. Individual packets of regular or decaf, which the hostess deposited in the little cups, which she then filled with hot water. It was amazingly good for instant.

The conversations went on, though I was sort of out of it. It was just too much of an effort to try to understand what was being said--the wine and food had taken their toll (not that I was over-stuffed--in France they have a way of serving a dinner that leaves one just full). I spent a good bit of time staring at the Empire State Building--when I wasn't nodding off.

Eventually it was time to go. My wife was amazed that it was after midnight. She had had a great time, and I had survived--the wine was good.

YAWN OF THE DAY

Oklahoman Crowned Miss America in Vegas

HEADLINE OF THE DAY

U.S. Navy Seizes Pirate Ship Off Somalia
Well, shiver my timbers. They should make them walk the plank!

WEB SEARCH OF THE DAY

"caprice lost 12 pounds in 5 days"
I wish.