Weekend update

Somewhere in Little Italy is a restaurant that serves mammoth portions of food for their $19 prix fixe. I was thisclose to declaring the restaurant A Tremendous Bargain until I saw the automatic 20% gratuity.

To get a similar saturation of Italian restaurants without the tourists or sneaky tip additions, go to 56th St., between Broadway and 9th. Along this strip, you will find 6 Italian restaurants: Basso 56, Patsy's, Joe G's, Bricco, Ralph's, and Puttanesca. Bricco is rated in the Michelin guide, and high-end tourist trap Patsy's is the reported favorite of Frank Sinatra (and, more infamously, J. Lo). Ralph's will make you ralph and Joe G's is so greasy, not even the steeliest Midwestern tummies could keep that linguini from heading "straight down" in a matter of minutes.

Basso 56, my culinary shout-out of the day, is the spot to hit. Hundreds of wines. Get the lobster crepes. Be nice to Alex (the manager) and he'll give you complimentary bruschetta. 4:30 to 6 is happy hour, $4 sangria.

And Security Was Instructed to Shoot Anyone Who Shouts "Freebird"

Did anyone know that Andrea Bocelli was signing at the Lincoln Center with the NY Philharmonic on Saturday? Apparently not, since the performance was not advertised to the general public, but the show was sold out and the legendary tenor performed 4 encores.

Pour A Little Out For Our Fallen Homies

[Insert here "stock" sentences on rememberance, grief and patriotism, minus political mud-slinging.]

Shortly after the attacks, I received an email about an allegedly true story about one man's survival. Since five years ago yesterday, I have heard many peoples' stories about "near misses" and "I should have been theres". But this one, for its uniqueness, is always the first that comes to mind. The story goes like this: The morning of 9/11/01, a husband is fucking someone not his wife. His cell phone rings. It's the wife. She is frantic. Shit, he thinks. She knows. "OHMYGOD! OHMYGOD! YOU ARE OK! ARE YOU OK? ARE YOU ALIVE?" she half-screams, half-burbles. "Yes, honey, everything's all right", he replies, and comes up with what he thinks is an air-tight alibi. "I'm at the office."

The husband's office was in the North Tower, which, by this time, ceased to exist.

Songs That Will Change Your Life

As for proper indie, the Guillemots are a band that you have to try. This song, "Trains to Brazil", just makes you want to jump up and dance bad swing with the quirky, questionably gay fat dude in the office next to you. And i think of you on cold winter mornings, darling they remind me of when we were at school...