Remember those words? I sure do, and they’ve come back to haunt me. The expression is so ingrained in pop culture that it’s even a listing in Wikipedia: “a famous catchphrase of the late 1980s based upon a line from a U.S.-based television commercial.” Think Clara Peller’s “Where’s the beef?” but with a broken hip.
In My Humble Opinion
Those three words, and the accompanying abbreviation (SRO) are what every performer wants to see posted outside the theatre prior to a performance, even though they might jangle one’s nerves on opening night.
Anticipation was the name of the game over the last few days, as the excitement surrounding Resorts World Catskills (RWC) built to a crescendo and its doors were flung open for the first time last Thursday morning.
Let’s face it: Valentine’s Day can be rough, and not just for the single folks out there. If one is in a committed relationship of any kind, there’s an inherent expectation of flowers, candy and jewelry sparkling in the candlelight of romantic dinners being held all over the world on February 14th.
For the third year in a row, the folks at the Roscoe Beer Company have thrown a party of epic proportions, proving once again that Trout Town is (IMHO) the place to be.
As I sit at my desk, the rain spatters against the windowpane, eroding the ice and snow that had built up just a few short days ago. Feeling pensive, I can’t help but reflect on the past week, which was both entertaining and thought provoking—centered, in a way, around water.
“Curiosity killed the cat!” my mother used to warn, wagging one of those finely manicured fingers in my face. “Face it,” she’d say. “You’re too nosy.” Hmmph. “I am not!” I would shoot back.
So far, 2018 has been a rollercoaster that knows only one direction—and it ain’t up. I might have mentioned having contracted the flu, which began Christmas day and hung in far longer than anticipated, but that issue seems to be fading away.
Sitting at my desk trying not to listen to the drip, drip, drip of the kitchen faucet (you all know why) behind me, my mind wanders as I steel myself for the task at hand… cleaning up the desktop files from the previous year and preparing to begin anew.
The instant that I picked up the phone I knew I was in trouble. “Go out on a Monday?” I barked into the receiver. “What, are you crazy? It’s a school night!” The caller was gal pal Jamee Schleifer and the reason for her inquiry was simple.