The GOP carousel is spinning. The hobbyhorse going around? What if Biden coughs?
The man’s now hermetically sealed in his basement with statistics, logistics, cathartics, antibiotics, everything but cryogenics. But if maybe unforseeingly something happens and he forgets, let’s just say, where he put his BVDs, and maybe can’t continue, types who ponder these things are pondering these things.
Political termites would then gnaw their way through the woodwork to be the presumptive candidate. Should such occur, President Donald cannot be unprepared. He couldn’t be geared to disassemble one person and then, suddenly, unprepared, have to vaporize another.
A thought is to be prepared. To dredge into the maybes: Like California’s Gov. Gavin Newsom. Cory Booker they know will make noise. Bernie Sanders, they figure, is a forget it. Andrew Yang? Oh, please. Buttigieg, nobody cares about. The lady candidates.
Voices say Andrew Cuomo’s a winner. Pelosi could stay Speaker into eternity and Schumer wins majority leader. Mouths also say: But if not now, then for sure he makes the next go around.
There’s Hillary or Michelle. Loving the money she’s coining, Michelle says no. But if they put to her that she — and she alone — and only she —can save the entire United States of America — who knows? Her ego could kick in.
Smarties on Team Trump are thinking it’s now smart to kick those tires.
What’s in fashion?
Dennis Basso’s temporarily shut Mad Ave. fur shop dressed famous bones like Meryl Streep’s in “The Devil Wears Prada” and Irina Shayk’s in W Magazine.” So what’s fashion’s future?
“It’s on hiatus. Luxury’s a tough crawl back. When things open up, you’ll see six tables away European types back in wardrobe. That group will continue. New York, wear anything you want. Doesn’t matter what you wear. In Europe, the fancy types can’t wait. They aren’t going to hit future events without shirts, ties and beaded dresses.
“The charities, weddings and galas black-tie thing for now is just on hold.”
Amid our fashion damndemic I stumbled upon Amy Allen’s book, “This Little Piggy Went to Prada.” Stuff like: “Hey Diddle Diddle/The skirt fits my middle/Mummy is over the moon/Giorgio laughed/To see her size halved/She’ll be back in Armani soon.”
At least I’m not on a ship
A CV story: February. A cruise ship was halted halfway. It then tried to dock in Chile. It was not allowed. Then Argentina. It was not allowed. At the Falklands, passengers disembarked. After days in quarantine, the cruise line chartered a flight to Miami.
It next steamed for Costa Rica. It was not allowed. April it made California’s coast, a location shared by other stranded ships.
There its crew and female captain continue to be detained. They are not permitted to leave. They’ve tried everything for a way home. It’s now months.
Yum & yum
Saturday I made a cold call to fabulous Benjamin Steakhouse. Manager Mario then prepared a full menu with several excellent courses and hand-delivered it. Having had
enough of my housekeeper’s Guyanese rice, I’m just saying I’m grateful.
A true conversation:
A grandma: “I left a carton of lemonade at your door.”
Her daughter: “Don’t want lemonade. Wait . . . can you mix that lemonade with vodka?”
Daughter: “OK, I’ll take the lemonade.”
Only in New York, kids, only in New York.
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