Prez asleep at the wheel
Factoid: Reigning presidential wives mostly usually regularly sleep best when not — even temporarily, or even weekly — under or alongside their own legal husbands.
The himself chief of state naturally gets the chief executive’s mattress. The first wives usually get their 40 winks or whatever they’re set to get while beddy-bye in the Lincoln bedroom.
Knowing my usual modesty, no need to thank or anoint me for my vast knowledge.
So ask not what your columnist can do for you. I just thought I’d share this. As sung in “Guys and Dolls”: More I cannot tell you. More I do not know.
Tape player
Rudy Giuliani. Recording. Known to only the fuzz — and me.
On it he talks about his perennial girlfriend about whom he has perennially denied. She’s already met half of civilization.
We’ve also heard her, partied with her, dined with her. Perennially. Eternally. Boringly. For YEARS. And sheets. I know her. Heard her wiggle in on his talks. She intends to be introduced as “doctor.”
And maybe only Fauci knows exactly what she’s healing.
In private recordings he and she burble.
Rudy recalls Maria Ryan saying she and Rudy could get MARRIED.
Understand, she’s already longtime long-term married — and that she and Bob Ryan — her legal longtime husband — could — actually live with them since he and she and Rudy get on so well.
On tape Giuliani says sweet Maria told him, “If we get married, could Bob — my husband — live with us? The two of you get along so well.”
Great idea. If this works out I may send my uncle Ralph — who’s temporarily out of work the last 35 years — to move in with them. He could get the attic. And Rudy’s old pre-prison suits.
So far, Rudy — who has enough problems — lacks plans to marry Maria — with or without her legal husband.
On the road
Through Oct. 10 — from an army base near Gaza — Sid Rosenberg, who’d flown before to border-side kibbutzim, will broadcast from Israel.
He’s already interviewed a female survivor whose hostage son Hersch was shot dead, plus American podcaster Siggy Flicker.
Sid, whose WABC radio show is daily 6 to 10 a.m., said, “I need to be there.”
Move it along
Broadway’s Booth Theatre. “The Roommate.” 100 minutes. Two ab-fab stars — nobody, nothing more — are the whole cast: Mia Farrow and Patti LuPone.
It’s like when my needy grrring Yorkie growls endlessly, OK. I know he wants my veal chop. But, down, boy.
These magnificent unbeatable broads are so great, they could do with 10 less same refrigerator doors opening and closing plus six less screen door go-throughs.
Enough. We get it. You can’t cram a lifetime into one stretched-out act. It’s repetitive. And no intermission.
Farrow tested positive for COVID Saturday, so yesterday went on with Marsha Mason in her role.
“The Rocky Horror Picture Show” marks its 49th anniversary by touring 50 cities. When Fanny was a girl’s name I was its emcee at Circle in the Square. Co-star guests were Dick Cavett, Robin Leach, Gilbert Gottfried, Jerry Springer, Sally Jessy Raphael, Penn & Teller. I still have that poster.
Could only happen in New York, kids, only in New York.