Thursday, August 30, 2007

Our Miss Brooks (Or, Shut Up Louise)

I ate at a newish Italian restaurant in the East Village last night with a group of friends. (I would identify these friends by name, but I never know how they'll react.) The scene was beyond straight and, upon first glance, the crowd had exactly two tones: banker and bitch.

We were seated outside next to - remarkably - the only non-banker/bitch group there: a solo gay, a solo straight female, and a solo-so-close-to-sex-change-operation-you-could-smell-too-much- estrogen-in-the-air asian tranny.

All was well and good throughout dinner until the straight female announced to the waiter - loud, loud, loudly:

"OMIGOD. I mean...the food was amazing. I mean....the textures went so well together. I mean...there was just the right amount of contrast with everything. I mean..."

I mean...maybe she was just really into the food...but consider the following:

Did I mention this was an Italian restaurant?

Did I mention the food was barely-cut-above-average-Italian?

Did I mention such orgiastic, Times review praise was unnecessary and - perhaps - completely insane given the quality of the food?

Did I mention the woman had an extremely extreme tight dyed-black bob of a hairdo?

As we sat overwhelmed by her multiple foodgasm - waiting for some sort of calm to return, I said through clenched teeth:

"Would someone tell Louise Brooks to shut the fuck up already?"

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