Bitter Patter

ARE YOU SMARTER THAN

We're on YouTube!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HvaxQfQgto0

It's summer
and you know
what that means:
RERUNS!

THE ELEVEN STAGES
OF PACKING
AKA:
I'm Packin'

BRING COLACE!
AKA:
Trouble in Paradise

FABULOUS FOURTH
AKA:
Fireworks 'R Us

CIAO, BABY!
AKA:
Oh, You're Supposed To Toss COINS!

THE ELEVEN STAGES
OF PACKING
AKA:
I'm Packin'

"A WEDDING
       TONIGHT!"
  "Another bride,
        Another June
       Another sunny
       Honeymoon
       Another season,
       Another reason
       For makin' whoopie."
Or, for revisiting my
W-W-W-Wedding.

Attn: Oliver Clark
Check out
The 13th Floor

WHAT'SWITH
"THE WEIGHT?"
Click the link on the post to see TheBand on YouTube

One-word
Movie Reviews
Past & Present:
The Secret In Their Eyes: "Wow!"
SATC2: "(What) City?"
Crazy Heart: "Heartwarming"
Up!: "Uplifting!"
Hurt Locker: "Nerve-wracking"
The White Ribbon: "Brilliant"
Precious: "Semi"
Ghost Writer: "Engrossing"
A Single Man: "Poignant"
Julie & Julia: "Delicious!"
It's Complicated: "Scumptious!"
Whatever Works: "Doesn't"

Because when I am not blogging, I sometimes cook,
and because woman does not live
by martinis alone,
I like this blog:
grapesandgreens.blogspot.com

A little look at life in the city:

ARREST THAT WOMAN!
Incident in the ER
at New York Hospital

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PAT'S FAVORITES
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Pat's Favorites

The Letter You Can't Refuse
FIREWORKS 'R US
Nothing Is Simple: Wedding Bell Blues
Decorating Disaster: It's Curtains For Me!
MY LIFE ON POST-ITS
My Night At The Pussy Cat Lounge
Yo, Universe!
Oh! You're Supposed To Toss COINS!
Life By Lottery
Men In Skirts
I've Lost It! (AKA Law and Disorder)

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The Eleven Stages of Packing
You're smart to pack quickly because no matter how...
The Eleven Stages of Packing
I pack for trips so last minute and quickly I can'...
The Eleven Stages of Packing
Oh, Mr. Poole, if only it were that easy for us go...
The Eleven Stages of Packing
Hi Pat, Try packing like a guy. Begin with underwe...
BRING COLACE!
H'mm. Solace with Colace. Why didn't Mad Men think...
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Jul

2010

The Eleven Stages of Packing

Written by Pat Fortunato

Yes, yes, I know. Grief has only seven stages. But this is more complicated.

Stage 1: Regret: Why am I taking this trip?

Why? Because it's a cruise on the Queen Mary 2 (a dream of mine), that's why, and it leaves from Brooklyn, a cab ride away. No plane! No security lines! No being trapped in a flying sardine can with people who mess up the bathroom in unspeakable ways!

It does seem pretty petty to complain about having to pack. But for me, packing is always traumatic.

Stage 2: Oh come on, it can't be that hard
In Mad Men last season, Betty accompanied Dan to Rome at the last minute, and arrived looking as if she had stepped out of a "beauty parlor," with a stunning outfit for every occasion. Characters in fiction tend to have little luggage and unlimited wardrobes, and spend mere minutes throwing things in a suitcase and getting on with it.

True, on Sex and The City, Carrie does agonize about packing for Paris (how does a girl chose between all those Manolo Blahniks?) and ends up with a lot of luggage. But the sheer number of ultra-chic outfits she wears couldn't have fit in all the suitcases at Bloomingdales, or on the plane itself, even if the other passengers voluntarily offered to give her their spaces.

Stage 3: Panic.
I realize that this is The Real World, not TV or the movies, and it IS that hard . . .

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Ciao, Baby!

Written by Pat Fortunato

Ah, Rome, the Eternal City. Forget about San Francisco: you can leave your heart here faster than you can say, "Ciao, Baby!"

I, however, held on to my heart, but left my underwear. Let me explain!

I was in Rome with my business partner, Diana, and we went shopping for tennis outfits at this really nice store near the Trevi Fountain. They had good prices (that was back in the day when a dollar wasn't worth 35 cents), and we had a ball trying everything the cute Italian clerk handed us through the curtains of the teeny little fitting room. (He did seem to be lingering a little too long, and leaning a little too far in, but we'll get to that later.) We each bought a few outfits, some of which I still use til this day, and so, mission accomplished, we hurried off in search of gelato.

Later that day, around cocktail hour, we were gathered together with Diana's husband at the piano bar of the very chic Hotel Hassler. I know, I know, that's a German name, but trust me, it's a very fancy Italian hotel at the top of the Spanish Steps.

So anyway, there we were, the three of us, working on drinks of Campari or Scotch or whatever, on my last evening in Rome - they were staying a few more days. As the piano quietly tinkled in the background, and elegant Italians (elegant Italians are really, really elegant) talked politely over cocktails and delicious little nibbly things, I asked my friends if they thought they'd be going back to the Trevi.

If so, I wondered, could they stop in that sweet little store and see if anyone had found my underwear?

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BRING COLACE!

Written by Pat Fortunato

The e-mail message from Rome said simply: Bring Colace.
The reply from NY was equally succinct: Relief is on the way!

If this isn't the most the most effective communication in the history of the Internet, I'll eat my cappello.

But wait. What's behind these messages between the Old Country and the New World? Isn't Italy famous for great gelato and naked statues? Pizza and piazzas? Pizza in the piazza? What does Colace have to do it?

Aspetta, my friend, aspetta.

We're talking about the indignities of travel. And when the travelers in question are not twenty, Colace is not the only indignity. It begins with the irony of the luggage. You can lift less, but you need more. Your little kit with aspirin and toothpaste has slowly evolved into a bewildering assortment of items, including . . .

Your reading glasses and your other glasses for TV, so that with your sunglasses you have three pairs to lose; your contact lenses, their case(s) and solution(s); your prescription medicines plus the painkiller of your choice, maybe that new stuff that you rub directly into your forehead.

Of course you need shampoo and conditioner (your hair is dry too), and something for sleep. But wait! Don't forget the Tweezers for Geezers, an absolute necessity since you've taken to sprouting hairs in places other than your eyebrows.

If you're a woman . . .

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Fabulous Fourth

Written by Pat Fortunato

If there are no fireworks in your relationship, you're in trouble.

I was in trouble.

The guy I eventually married — the key word here, folks, is "eventually" — and I were about to have our first Fourth of July together. Yes, that SUCH a girly thing to say. But I take these things seriously and I wanted there to be, well, fireworks! Literally.

Macy's has great fireworks every 4^th of July in NYC, and I heard that the River Café would be perfect for viewing them. So even though it was kind of last minute, I called to make a reservation for dinner. Wow! I got it! A table for two by the window! This must be a sign of good things to come, hopefully involving fireworks. Right.

The River Café is romantic and beautiful, set just under the Brooklyn Bridge. The only problem was getting there from Manhattan. We probably should have taken the subway, but I was in my prime taxi taking days. Besides, I have what is known as Kab Karma: I can get a tax just about any time, any place, any weather. Not that night.

When we finally got one, the highway had more traffic than the 60% Off Sale Rack at Macy's (I feel I owe them a plug here) and even though we had left early we were lucky to arrive before dark. But we did. Phew! A few sips of a very dry martini, stirred not shaken, and some nice piano music later, I casually asked the waiter where was the best place to see the fireworks. He rewarded me with one of those looks I have come to know only too well in the course of my life: What the hell is this woman talking about . . .

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Are You Smarter Than Betty White?

Written by Pat Fortunato

Nobody doesn't like Betty White.

Hell, she inspired an unprecedented Facebook campaign to get her on SNL, where she said — with wide eyes and perfect timing — that before all this she didn't even know what Facebook was. And now that she does, it sounds like "a huge waste of time."

She's saying worse things than that:
She blames technology and our "over-reliance on gadgets" for making people unable to play Password anymore. CBS tried to revive the gameshow recently, upping the ante to Million Dollar Password. Well, inflation and all that.

Ms. White says that "kids today," and I take that to mean all of us, can't keep up with the fast pace of the game because we've created a generation who "can't think on their feet." In other words, unless we can look up the answers on Google we're dead.

To those of you who actually are kids, Password was a really popular game show in the 60s and

70s hosted by Betty's husband, Allen Ludden. A contestant would feed clues to a partner who'd try to guess the secret word.

Odd Couple Alert: there's a great episode called, appropriately, "Password" (Show #58, first aired in 1971), where Felix gives really weird clues like "Aristophanes" for "birds." Huh? Well it's clear to him: Aristophanes wrote a play called "The Birds." Everybody knows that. Really? Not the steamed and frustrated Oscar, who lost the game — to Betty White and her partner.

That was a long time ago, and 99.9% of the audience wouldn't have gotten the ancient Greek playwright/bird clue then either. Felix, the original metrosexual and know-it-all, was always more learned than the rest of us. But to Ms White's point: Is technology making us dumber?

I'm not so sure . . .

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The Eleven Stages of Packing

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BRING COLACE!

Fabulous Fourth

Are You Smarter Than Betty White?