Waiting to Get There. Usually on the A/C/E in Chelsea, New York City.

When I grow up, I would like to be a geriatric scarlet. Iris Apfel will act as my godhead in this pursuit. I waffled briefly— one time I drifted off for a second, dreamt I was Helen Mirren and felt incredibly calm and collected. But as Iris Apfel says, "More is more, calm and collected is a bore." Actually she doesn't say that. As a geriatric scarlet, I intend to pursue the following activities with great vigor: 1) When I arise in the morning, I will part heavy midnight blue velvet draperies. The tassels will be brocade. Obviously. 2) All meals will be eaten on china. I'd like to dine on a pattern featuring small fluffy foxes with keen eyes. Foxes are overlooked when it comes to decorative dishware. I saw a taxidermy raven encased in a thousand sparkling crystal marbles at the Met. There will be one of these about. 3) My friend Stuart told me the other day, "When you're retired, somehow you can spend the whole day going to the post office." Perh...

Imagine a few mildly porny terms. A word or two you'd find on packaging at the Ben-Wah Balls  Sex Emporium. Back in the spicy section. Now picture your grandma. Now picture looking over your grandma's shoulder and seeing these words printed on cards she is holding in her hand.  So that happened. It was all my fault but I'm going to blame it on Tom anyway. I had separated out all the more depraved squealing hog kinds of " Cards Against Humanity " playing cards. Except I didn't include Tom in my plan. He saw a bunch of loose cards lying on the table and put them back, all tidy in the front of the box. And then I dealt Grammy those first cards with no visual inspection.  She  laughed so hard she choked on a piece of potato knish. S tay street, Grammy. Meanwhile my mother, on the other side of game table, somehow managed to get dealt 20 cards and refused to give any of them up. She hoarded "Helplessly giggling at the mention of the Hutus a...

Let us begin with the review in question.  It is a one-star review of Sleep No More by Amaria M : "I'm hot, sticky sweet, from my head to my feet." - Def Leppard A few weeks ago, Tom and I slipped onto a 1 train uptown. Tom sat down next to a saucy minx with an enormous quilted tote bag nestled in her lap. She twisted like a corkscrew in her plastic orange subway seat, squeezed some savage duck lips, lined up her Android and snapped a selfie. With the flash. Her hair swished left, her ample flesh went right, a re-duckeling of the lips. Another selfie. With the flash. Sexy squirming. Repeat. 17 glamour selfies in the time it took to get to West 72nd. Most of the humans in the subway car who were not blinded by the strobing flash were extremely busy taking Vine videos of our MTA starlet. Mostly, I was just confused. Such activity simply could not be happening without " Pour a Little Sugar on Me " blaring like the voice of god. I think it...