Last Christmas before I knew Bone well I could describe him almost perfectly. Now it’s more difficult. He has so many different sides that I look one dimensional. Plus he can write great song lyrics that he thinks are nothing. Would be jealous, but….
However, if he doesn’t change his screenname soon, I’m not going to charge him rent or a pimping fee. I’m going to make really really bad Bone jokes. And there are so many I can think of offhand. I said “bad,” not “good.”
Bone however is very good, and this is still another side to him. Though I’m so tempted….
Oh nine years ago tonight, I passed my Coop interview. I was probably the only person in history to truly over prepare. But it was the shortest ten minutes of my life, and they kinda let me know on the spot. New Yorkers endure everything to be able to say something like this.
Okay, Bone, you can continue your visit. Didn’t think that you would mind. the telethon tote thing Bone mentions is in sea blue, and very pretty.
I walk slowly along, gazing at the directions I printed off and then back at the buildings, talking to myself. “I know that’s Riverside Park. So… this must be right.”
I am shocked to see a plaque by the door that reads: “Home of World Famous Blogger Pia Savage.”
Wow, I think. Impressive.
I ask the doorman, who looks exactly like Ralph on The Jeffersons, just as I pictured he would.
“Miss Savage has been expecting you, sir.”
The lobby is filled with pictures, press clippings, even a lifesize Courting pin-up poster. As I walk to the elevator, I swear I overhear some lady saying, “That’s the third different man she’s had over this week.” I turn to see who said it, but everyone is tight-lipped, staring at me. Finally, I’m in the elevator. I look for the correct floor. Ground… two.. three… four… five… Pia… what?
And finally I’m there, on the other side of the door, from her. Famous blogger. Lifetime New Yorker. My unwilling mentor. I hesitate for just a moment, nervous. Before I can knock a Chinese deliveryman pushes me aside. “Hot and sour soup for Miss Pia?” he says, almost inquiringly, as if he expects me to confirm. So I do. He knocks. I notice his nametag reads “Ping.”
“Who knocketh there?” I hear from the other side of the door.
“Chinese food,” Ping says.
“Just a moment, I have to tie up Toto,” the voice says.
In the next thirty seconds, I hear noises like furniture being moved coming from inside. A voice says, “Toto! Behave!” Did I just hear a dog bark? Finally, the door cracks open. I see a kind, almost elegant face, which for some reason makes me think of some famous actress who hasn’t had a major part in ten years.
“Oh, I wasn’t expecting you, my dearest Bone.”
“Here you go, Ping, my dear.”
“Thank you, Miss Pia.”
“Come right in, Bone. Have you eaten yet?” she asks as the door opens wider and I step inside.
“Um, yeah, I just had some mulligatawny from the soup kitchen.”
I look around. It’s bigger than it sounds on the blog, but still small.
“Nice Karl Rove dartboard,” I say. “Where’d you get that?”
“You donate enough to the DNC, they’ll give you anything.”
There is a big thing which looks like a telethon toteboard over by the computer.
“What is that?” I ask.
“That’s my current Technorati,” she answers. “Won’t you have a seat?” She smiles.
She has amazing teeth.