Dream Job

I always thought being a movie critic was the ultimate dream job--watch movies, eat popcorn, get paid. Then I realized, not only do you watch the good movies, you have to watch the really awful ones as well. On top of which, you'd have to stay to the bitter end in order to say the ending was predicatable or lame or whatever. Torture! How do they stand it?

(From Mo's reception at Ray's Boathouse, Seattle.)

I've decided the ultimate dream job is really Restaurant Critic. Food for self and friends on the newspaper's dime, check out all the new restaurants, order some of everything, no need to finish if it's nasty. My dilemma when eating out is always what to order. I invariably wish I'd chosen what someone else has by the time the food arrives and end up salivating over their food and disappointed with my own. Where was I going with this? Restaurant critic, multiple menu items, gastronomic satisfaction.

Comic Genius

Grainy, alas. I recommend re-runs of The King of Queens, Jerry Stiller is a comic genius! Plus, as I am fascinated with body proportions, his arms seem unusually long and I can't quit looking at them. Simian-like.

Speaking of simians, I went to see Elton John and Billy Joel last night and Elton John was kind of like a funny little monkey scurrying around and hopping up on his piano. Kind of reminded me of Mike Myers prancing around in his BVDs in Wayne's World--only Elton John was fully clothed. Maybe that's rude. Maybe I won't be getting any free concert tickets.

The concert was great save for the fact that we seemed to be sitting in the large-view-obstructing-head section. It was like some weird dance: He shifts forward, we shift left, he leans back, we lean right. Maddening.

Update on my life: Lots of unusual people in the Emergency Room. I saw a guy who kept talking about demons and asked if I could see them. Trying to maintain a professional demeanor, "Uh, no, I don't see demons." Somebody? Help?