LUCK
Oh, you’ll hear us bitch, here at Mango Pudding Blues, about Ottawa, the city in which we are momentarily stuck. But Ottawa has an orchestra devoted to 20th century classics, which not every town can boast. And we have a girlfriend who digs 20th century classics, which, let’s face it, very few men can boast. And we live in a stunningly beautiful heritage building, the landlord of which is a sponsor of said 20th century orchestra, and who recently slid a pair of tickets under our door for an upcoming performance, gratis. We don’t know why; maybe just because he saw us there a time or two.
And furthermore, one of our girlfriend’s co-workers has now twice had to give us her tickets to the opera because she’s been unexpectedly out of town. Coming up in March it’s Rigoletto. Hot dog!
Sunday, December 21, 2003
FOIE GRAS
Um, who was it who, at some point in the early part of the 20th century, died in Europe on the train on the way to some chi-chi fat farm after eating an entire pound of foie gras for lunch? Winston Churchill? Noel Coward? Cole Porter? Fats Waller? Fatty Arbuckle? Who?
