from Facebook:

Just Googled to see if three of my favorite restaurants still exist. The Original in San Antonio is no more, but there’s a replacement paying tribute to the original Original. Mammy’s in Atlanta is gone. But Nirvana in NYC is still there. Wish I could have dinner there tonight.

Ah, Gaylord in New Delhi is still there, too. Another place I’d love to have dinner tonight.

“Inigo Jones was converted from a stained glass factory — hence the decorative pieces of coloured glass which stand out against the walls of red brick and polished wood, creating a fanciful setting.” Ahhh, London.

I was reminded today, on a much less significant level, of Simon Cowell telling Danyl Johnson “that was single-handedly the best First Audition I have ever seen.”

I say to Barrack Obama, “that was single-handedly the best first State of the Union address I have ever heard.”

Bravo!

Memory is such a strange thing. I was sitting on the front porch just now trying diligently to recall what my first real memory is. It’s confusing because there are so many things I’ve been told that happened. But no, in truth I don’t really remember them.

But then, yes, I am certain the first real memory I have was when I was about six years old. My babysitter, who at least at that time seemed a very old lady, would sit on the floor with me. And we would take those little brown paper caps that chocolates come in, pretend they were houses. And we’d put marbles in them, pretending they were people.

Facebook has an outrageous thing called “Friends for Sale” and I just spent over $1 million for this one:

I suppose if I weren’t constantly yakking all day in Facebook, I’d write more here.

from Facebook:

Deb asked for a NYC story. In my first week there, a stranger offered me $50 to see “Breakfast at Tiffany’s” at Radio City Music Hall with him. He loved movies but didn’t like going alone. Of course I accepted. Loved the film, was awed by the theatre. Never saw him again.

[Gotta watch such stuff. The weirdo constantly bores me with yarns from his past, often not knowing he's told them to me before.]

The joys of old age.

“It’s not about adding years to your life, it’s about adding life to your years.”

Exactly.

I dreamed last night that I had a little plastic tub of Valium and my landlady was nagging me to renew my prescription. Oh baby, that’s one scrip she wouldn’t need to nag about.

Give me a tub of Valium and a brick of hashish and I would think I’d died and gone to heaven. My kind of heaven.