B & W

Last night was a catch-up dinner with a friend, who somehow managed to bring a cold front from Arizona, insisting that it was charm. Sushi was followed by a birthday party at Black & White, in which the hostess was the only person wearing black and white and the guest of honor showed up two hours late. How our table managed to win the trivia contest, I do not know. Oh wait, that’s right, we cheated. But how were we supposed to know David Bowie’s real name off the top of our head? Our prize, free beer, was much appreciated but hardly warranted at that point.

As two very white girls left Black and White, a conversation, that they have been continuing for almost a decade now, proceeded about the fact that human relationships are never, ever black and white.

This morning, after hitting the snooze button five times- with each three minute interval, hoping to wake up to a Saturday morning- I listened to a voicemail from a concerned friend:
“toby,it’sme,getdowntomadisonsquaregardenrightthisminute,there’sanafterpartyandtheROLLINGSTONESaregoingtobethere.hurryup!youCAN'Tmissthis”

There you have it, I missed something!

Oh and it seems to be the general consensus, between the four people who frequent this blog, that I should sever all ties with Toby Shuster, of Jerusalem. Apparently, that gimmick got old ten posts ago. So I’m letting you go, Ms. Shuster, and I will no longer be riding your coattails. Fare thee well, Toby Shuster of Jerusalem, fare thee well.