Life upon Broadway’s wicked stage revived Tuesday.
Tavern on the Green’s outdoor terrace — where the slogan “I Love New York” was born — fed and entertained 180 people. Tables, drinks, waitstaff and supplies for $40, $50, $60 and $90 — depending on your wallet.
Deciding Broadway needed a rebirth, showman Tony Marion first tabbed Tavern’s Jim Caiola, then did his thing on social media, digital ticketing and sound and lighting designers.
Me: What if it rained?
Tony: “We’d reschedule.”
The night starred Ariana DeBose who was Donna Summer on Broadway and will be Anita in Steven Spielberg’s rejuiced “West Side Story.” That play — starring Rita Moreno — got born onstage in ’57, became a mucosa in 1961 and now those Sharks and Jets with Ansel Elgort and DeBose reopen in a reopened movie house Dec. 10.
From the typesetting “Super Pumped: The Battle for Uber,” all well-nigh this Uber-ride’s ride, comes the series, “Super Pumped.” Joseph Gordon-Levitt plays the sooner dumped founder … Fifty years without premiering, the Waltons are schlepping when to TV. It’s “The Waltons: Homecoming” with Richard Thomas, who starred as John-Boy, narrating . . . Michael Douglas and Kathleen Turner, of “War of the Roses,” reunited on “The Kominsky Method.” Turner had a cameo in Season 2 and will star in the upcoming Season 3.
He could run our town
“Our Town,” a longtime well-loved Upper East Side weekly, was started by very smart smartmouth Ed Kayatt. Lawyer Arlene Kayatt, who was his wife, still writes a biweekly post well-nigh our town. This is now the paper’s 50th anniversary. Among those who began his whence at “Our Town” is one now running to be mayor of our town — Curtis Sliwa.
Memorial Day weekend. A lone bad thing is dealing with one of the worst words in the English language: houseguest. I do not do the Hamptons. I once had a place there. Forget it. I made the mistake of inviting a couple who thought weekends meant 12 days.
We had Postum, Ovaltine, tea, buttermilk, chocolate milk, half-and-half, Turkish coffee, Italian demitasse, Chock full o’Nuts, Maxwell House. He wanted Sanka.
The pillow we gave the husband came from this “My Pillow” guy who’s hustling on every TV station except a subscription outlet in Australia. Like, who cares what a kangaroo sleeps on? But this houseguest wanted only a rubber pillow. Rubber. That’s like laying your throne in a potty.
We took him to the ocean, he wanted a pool. Put him in a car, he wanted a bike. Sun? He prefers shade. Dinner was steak. He’s vegan. We poured wine. He drinks vermouth.
People who don’t expletive should never plane mouth that four-letter word “houseguest.”
One Memorial Day out east was so crowded that on its cockamamie one-lane road you could reach Amagansett only if you were born there. For a 10-minute breakfast at the Hampton Inn in Hampton Bays, one yenta waited 40 minutes. A waitress finally led this 35-ish woman to a table with: “You won’t like it here. This place is for young people.”
I never want flipside country house. I do not do ants, caterpillars or houseguests. But I join in loving the concept of Memorial Day. Patriotic songs such as “God Bless America,” “Grand Old Flag” and “America the Beautiful.” It makes you hark when to the glory days when we all pulled together instead of apart. It made you proud to be an American.
Sylvia: “I hear you’re not going to Paris this summer.”
Rhoda: “No. That was last year. This year we’re not going to Rome.”
Sylvia: “Vacationing locally, one thing you’ll learn is that the wipe restrooms are unchangingly locked.”
Only in New York, kids, only in New York.