Meat Loaf. I speak not of dinner. I speak of a rocker. Born Marvin, the singer/songwriter changed that name to Michael. How that then became Meat Loaf is not my problem. Mine is not to reason why. Mine’s just to report or try.
This guy does heavy metal stuff. Earlier this month, he fell off the stage in Dallas, was rushed to a hospital and is just now coming into being A-OK.
Before breaking his collarbone, he was scheduled to do something called a guerilla concert — whatever that is — with stars of the upcoming musical “Bat Out of Hell,” based on his album of the same name.
Kindly note, nothing seems to be a normal garden – variety name with him.
Anyway, the thing’s postponed. Between that, his songs, his guerilla concert, and this coming musical’s name — the whole thing is beyond my pay grade.
I only know a big NYC hoo-hah was prepped for him. A bus trip for some reason to start around Times Square and go where, I don’t know for why, I also don’t know.
He’s still not quite able to get here today. All has to reschedule. So wait. Calm yourselves. Apologies. Meat Loaf will be served up to you shortly!
Dr. and Mrs. Kissinger are giving a reception to celebrate Ambassador Winston Lord’s book “Kissinger on Kissinger: Reflections on Diplomacy, Grand Strategy and Leadership.”
While the world awaits any words from Henry, everybody else is doing political books knocked out by nobodies. Everybody’s peeing on somebody. Per a top publisher: “Nothing’s sticking. These quickie pamphlets hit the list for one week, then crash and burn. All over, gone, finished. In seven days, nobody cares. The life span of each is a week.”
More freak than fancy
Anna Wintour’s creative triple-A, four-star once superelegant Costume Institute Gala at the Metropolitan Museum of Art has turned into Halloween.
Originally a brilliant idea — a magnificent display in this fabulous museum, in the world’s best city, showing off its grandest in their finest — deteriorated into a freak show.
After Gaga, who needs p.r. like Bezos needs a sex manual, osmosed into her fourth costume at this year’s Met Gala, a pro photographer caught Wintour wincing then walking out.
Someone — less docile, genteel and kindly as I am myself — said: “This freak show began the minute Anna invited the Kardashians.”
Once politics had more Bushes than Central Park. Now it’s Catsimatidises by the yard. John ran for mayor. Daughter Andrea was recently elected as our local GOP vice chairwoman and just gave a rah-rah dinner. The nearest Democrat was in Glendale, Calif.
While Barfie Sanders looks like an unmade bed, Beto Shlumpo’s donations could buy him a jacket, and there’s one who spouts like she’s Sitting Bulls - - t, Andrea’s speaker Donald Trump Jr. was a GQ ad. Tailored blue suit, crisp shirt, tie, spit-shined shoes. He recalled an elderly white-haired grandma hobbling over to tell him: “You Trumps have (and mentioned a specific part of a gentleman’s anatomy). The New York Athletic Club ballroom is still laughing. Emcee Mark Simone: “Joe Biden wanted to be here tonight but he couldn’t find it.”
Sir Patrick Stewart, seven seasons as Jean-Luc Picard on “Star Trek: The Next Generation,” treks again. A new series, based on Jean-Luc’s ongoing life, will shortly be on CBS All Access. Filming in Canada, it’ll appear there, also in French, on Bell Media. Amazon Prime Video picked up the global rights, every place except North America. In real un-TV life, His Sirship is also the show’s co-producer.
From the mouth of a bigmouth: “I’m a pessimist. I carry a card that says, ‘In case of any problem, I’m not surprised.’ ”
Only in New York, kids, only in New York.
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