Elie Wiesel Has Far Too Much Attitude!

DAHLINGS -


Sunday night I attended a wonderful seance, even if it was in the Bronx. There was my dear dead friend Lana Turner, lovely as always, tonight in a white crepe gown trimmed with black (I think it was black...the dead tend to be a tad monochromatic). She brought along the FABULOUS Clark Gable! In the afterlife, he doesn't need to wear false teeth. Oh, they don't make them like that anymore. "Frankly, my dear, you have really big tits," he said, gazing into my eyes. At least I believe it was my eyes. I nearly SWOONED.




(Here is a picture of my dear friends Lana and Clark in their first film together, "Honky Tonk".)

But then, who should turn up but Elie Wiesel. The fellow was in a state of high dudgeon, because I had compared the anorexic Fashion Week models to Auschwitz survivors. "The Holocaust is nothing to make cheap jokes about, Miss!" he snapped. "My wife and I started a foundation, I'll have you know! I have devoted my life to the truth!"

I merely stared back at his spirit languidly. "Oh dear, oh dear, Elie dahling, if you can't make jokes about the Holocaust, what can you make jokes about? I have devoted my life to fashion. Really, Elie, I'm far too superficial for such a deep thinker--and a good-looking man--as you to worry about."

Well, my dears, the man just melted. Intellectuals love to be told they're sexy. Oh, yes, the Nobel Prize is nice, but they think girls really only date them for their awards. Elie gave me a big smile. "Perhaps I was a bit harsh," he said. But then, I had the most ghastly surprise. I unthinkingly laid my hand on his lapel. And Elie was ALIVE! He was a GUEST, not a GHOST!

I let out a shriek. Lana and Clark promptly disappeared, and our hostess switched the lights on. Accusing eyes were upon me all around the room.

"I'll let myself out," I said quickly, and strode out the front door, grabbing my Mr. John wool cloche hat (so chic with its multicolored rhinestone pin!).

How could I know Elie Wiesel was still alive? After all, nobody knew about Noam Chomsky. I was so distraught that I stumbled out into the rain, and ended up in a cemetery!

The rest of the story? You'll have to find out on (ugh) Ebay.

Ciao,
Elisa & Bucky the Wonderdog

Late At Night With Joey Reynolds, the Italian Stallion

DAHLINGS -

The telephone call came Thursday afternoon, shortly after I published my last post. A slightly gravely voice was on the phone. It was a lovely woman I know, Myra Chanin, who sees everything in New York and books whoever she can seduce into coming down to WOR during hours when sane people won't step foot into the street. She books "The Joey Reynolds Show," an overnight radio program heard coast to coast.

"Are ya Jewish?" she asked.
"No."
"Good. You're gonna be on The Jewish Hour tomorrow night. Be at the studio at 11:50."

Myra's logic escaped me, but midnight found me at WOR Radio, along with a large number of Jewish people. A large number of large Jewish people, I should add, including one rotund fellow who never spoke a word the entire time I was there. Nor did he go into the studio, just sat in the outer office, smiling and eating sandwiches. And Mark, Joey's sweet personal assistant (FAR more competent than mine), a photographer whose work you have seen on the front page of The New York Post, especially if it has recently exploded.

And best of all, a man I adore, The King and Queen of Cabaret, Sidney Myer. Dahlings, until you have seen this man perform "Pheromones," you cannot say that you have Lived.

Joey Reynolds, who is quite trim, is not Jewish, so I am at a loss to explain the origin of The Jewish Hour. Appropriately, a deli catered an enormous amount of lox, corned beef, bagels, and other food that Borat would never touch.

The interview went quite well. A very pretty woman named Goldie DVer explained (off the air) what it means to have a "Jewish ass." (Apparently a pronounced lack of flesh.) According to Myra, Goldie's husband Paul is too cheap to buy her an extra vowel for her name. Curious. And Joey was a complete gentleman, as well as quite amusing. He even asked me about Bucky the Wonderdog, and I told the story of taking Bucky to Marc Jacobs's party.

The wizened gentleman sitting next to me, however, fell out of my favor by immediately telling fat jokes at my expense. His name is Mickey Freeman, I believe, and he did a lot of work in television in the black and white days. As much as I admire the history of Borscht Belt humor, personally I'll take my borscht cold, with sour cream. However, I ignored the man and carried on as best I could. I related my encounter with Eli Weisel (cf. an earlier post, "Some Ghosts Have Too Much Attitude,") and discussed spring trends in fashion.

After it was over, I allowed myself a few delicate bites of lox and some chopped liver. I would not have minded taking a bite out of Joey Reynolds...he really is quite handsome in person. Just another night in my fabulous life.

Here is a link to his WOR site:
http://www.wor710.com/pages/46370.php

And yes, I PROMISE to get those beautiful satin robes listed, size 6X and 8X! After all, Valentine's Day will be here soon.

Ciao,
Elisa and Bucky the Wonderdog

Some Ghosts Have Too Much Attitude...

Dahlings,

Sunday night I attended a wonderful seance, even if it was in the Bronx. There was my dear dead friend Lana Turner, lovely as always, tonight in a white crepe gown trimmed with black (I think it was black...the dead tend to be a tad monochromatic). She brought along the FABULOUS Clark Gable! In the afterlife, he doesn't need to wear false teeth. Oh, they don't make them like that anymore. "Frankly, my dear, you have really big tits," he said, gazing into my eyes. At least I believe it was my eyes. I nearly SWOONED.


(Here is a picture of my dear friends Lana and Clark in their first film together, "Honky Tonk".)

But then, who should turn up but Elie Wiesel. The fellow was in a state of high dudgeon, because I had compared the anorexic Fashion Week models to Auschwitz survivors. "The Holocaust is nothing to make cheap jokes about, Miss!" he snapped. "My wife and I started a foundation, I'll have you know! I have devoted my life to the truth!"

I merely stared back at his spirit languidly. "Oh dear, oh dear, Elie dahling, if you can't make jokes about the Holocaust, what can you make jokes about? I have devoted my life to fashion. Really, Elie, I'm far too superficial for such a deep thinker--and a good-looking man--as you to worry about."

Well, my dears, the man just melted. Intellectuals love to be told they're sexy. Oh, yes, the Nobel Prize is nice, but they think girls really only date them for their awards. Elie gave me a big smile. "Perhaps I was a bit harsh," he said. But then, I had the most ghastly surprise. I unthinkingly laid my hand on his lapel. And Elie was ALIVE! He was a GUEST, not a GHOST!

I let out a shriek. Lana and Clark promptly disappeared, and our hostess switched the lights on.

"I'll let myself out," I said quickly, and strode out the front door, grabbing my Mr. John wool cloche hat (so chic with its multicolored rhinestone pin!). How could I know Elie Wiesel was still alive? After all, nobody knew about Noam Chomsky until a week or two ago. I was so distraught that I stumbled out into the rain, and ended up in a cemetery!

To find out what happened next, you need to read my Ebay auction, 'Vintage Corpse Bride Costume.'



Ciao,
Elisa and Bucky the Wonderdog