This week, on Wednesday, my close personal friend Milton bade farewell to the coveted 18 – 49 age demographic six days ahead of his obvious counterpart in the hairline department, Tom Cruise.
Milton.
Milton had a good day. He had entered the ticket lottery for one of the handful of front row $26 seats to the matinee performance of Wicked, the always sold out musical on Broadway. He won!
Milton loved the novel written by Gregory Maguire that is the basis for this show, Wicked: The Life and Times of the Wicked Witch of the West, but he was certain it would be watered down. During intermission he emailed me. I asked:
Me: How’s the show?
Milton: It’s empty, but has its moments.
Me: Oh, it’s the story of my life!
Afterward, when we got together at Bettibar, an adorable theater district pub upstairs from the Hourglass Tavern, Milton admitted that he was very impressed with the show’s overall production. Had he seen it when he was nine he thinks he would have been in such a state of bliss he would have instantly become obsessed with Broadway shows. He seemed pretty happy about it at the half century mark or maybe it was the shot of tequila he had just pounded talking?
Initially, Milton was afraid to get together with me for he was with a few other dear friends the night before celebrating at the Cheesecake Factory in Westbury, Long Island. They arranged to have Happy Birthday sung to him. He was now irrationally worried that I might subject him to the same fate, something he could not endure twice. What could I say to assuage his fear?
Me: Are you insane? Do you know me at all? Is this the first time we’ve met?
Only if faced with the prospect of torture that would lead to certain death would I ever subject anyone near and dear to me, or even someone far and loathsome to me (yes, I’m referring to you Dick Cheney), to that dreadful public humiliation. I would not want to be subject to that pain myself so why would I inflict it upon one of my VIP-level friends? If I had past lives, I highly doubt that any of them included me being a sadist.
Yet, I will admit I did have one noisy trick tucked in my satchel. When we had moved to a table, I gave him the sound effect birthday card that I bought for him three years earlier in anticipation of his milestone. One glance at those glitter-coated Audrey Hepburn eyes and I knew this was the perfect card for him.
Audrey Hepburn eyes.
I had no choice but to get it then and there and proceed to wait over a thousand days to give it. In the intervening three years I misplaced his card twice and I lived in fear that when I would finally present it to him on his natal day proper the battery would be as dead as Rafa Nadal’s 2012 Wimbledon hopes but fortunately, Papyrus uses some fantastically long shelf-life ultra battery. When Milton opened his card to read the caption, “The Big 50!”, our corner of the establishment was consumed with the sound of a woman shrieking in terror at the top of her lungs.
He liked that.
I was not feeling so confident about his gift, a DVD of one of his favorite films, Fellini’s Casanova.
A slender slice of snafu?
Although he frequently lamented about it not being available on disk, he is a blu-ray aficionado. Right now it’s not being produced in blu-ray so I anticipated one of two things – he already had it since it’s release last November, or he’d be disappointed that it was not in his preferred blu-ray format. Much to my surprise he wasn’t even aware that it’s now available on DVD, and he didn’t care that it was not on blu-ray, he was so elated to finally have it. Score!
I will end this post with a trademark Miltonian observation he shared with me last weekend. Milton was expounding on one of his favorite topics, the male animal, after reading an article in The New York Times called Normal as Folk written by David M. Halperin. Halperin expounds that the current generation of gay men are blending in more in mainstream society as opposed to their elders. Milton observed:
Milton: Gay people are not less gay. Straight people are more gay. They know it’s sexy so they’re now embracing it. You can’t tell who’s gay … You can’t ask anyone out any more!
The next day we were in Greenwich Village waiting for the Pride parade to start when Milton discreetly confided to me:
Milton: Look at that guy over there. Oh my God, he’s so gay! But he’s not; he’s straight — with his girlfriend. Exactly what I was talking about.
I dyslexically looked in the wrong direction at the wrong gay-looking-straight-guy that was standing with his arms wrapped around a woman wearing a sundress.
Me: He sure looks gay to me. I feel for his girlfriend. What’s that about?
Milton: You’re looking at a woman!
Me: Huh? [focusing my myopic eyes better on a very androgynous butch lesbian with her femme girlfriend] You’re right!
Pictured below is Milton’s straight metrosexual guy that personifies someone who’s embraced the gay male style.
“Does this French sailor shirt make me look fat?”
Happy birthday buddy!
Lame Adventures 
Excellent! Excellent! Excellent!
Thanks,
R.
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Glad you enjoyed the post Robert!
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Felicitations to Milton for having made it to the other side of the mound. Or as we uses to say when we were younger, dude you’re over the hill. I know you guys are denizen of Manhattan so car ownership is such a royal pain. But if he wants to keep his gay-ness from fading, can I offer him a slightly used white Kia Soul that should be delivering tacos and Dos Equis?
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I more recall saying, or at least thinking, a variation of, “Dude you’re over the hill,” to members of my parents’ generation. Now I think that 50 is the new 40 and since 40’s the new 30, I might have gotten Milton the wrong card. Is the family vehicle you’re referring to the flaming one with the Tinkerbelle sticker?
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Yepper-doodles. It’s looking FABULOUS.
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If staunch Manhattanite Milton ever decides to get his driver’s license, I’ll remind him that you have the perfect set of wheels for him.
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Happy Birthday Milton! … good tribute Lame.
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Thanks Frank!
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Happy Birthday Milton! That card is the BEST!
I couldn’t believe how on fire Rosol was yesterday! Nadal played well, but he played out of his mind! I know. I should have been working… 🙂
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I was working so I didn’t see the match but that’s for the best for I probably would have suffered a stroke had I done so. Rafa’s my guy! Milton worships Roger. Between Nadal’s early exit from Wimbledon and wonderful Nora Ephron buying her rainbow, Milton’s birthday was the sole positive event of this otherwise tragic week.
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Two words: Forza Italia
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I know … Errani is playing very well thus far. She kicked my girl, Stosur’s ass at the French, too.
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Okay. But I was thinking Azurri who kicked the Germans’ butts yesterday.
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Uh … I don’t follow soccer.
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On behalf of all fans of “the beautiful game” you’re forgiven.
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My pal Coco, whose Italian (American), was a trophy-winning soccer terror in her teens, but her mother feared that she’d become a lesbian if she continued to pursue her inner Mia Hamm, so Coco hung up her cleats, stayed straight and just became close pals with a lousy lesbian.
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Oh yeah and these three: Adfordable Care Act.
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You’re SO RIGHT about that!
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Affordable Care Act. Anyone want to buy an iPhone on the cheap? Or does anyone have a good plastic surgeon who can shave an inch or so from these fat Italian thumbs?
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Milton keeps photographing his thumb by accident with his.
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Luddite alert: haven’t asked daughter #1 how to take pictures with this thing yet.
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I think the thumb in the shot is more of a male affliction.
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Both events were so shocking! I have to say that this kid (Rosol) was so calm. He looked like he was playing a USTA match except it was the best tennis I have ever seen. The balls he hit were like missiles!
Rafa is my favorite too! And he didn’t cry like Roger did when he lost last year…what a sore loser! That’s when I lost all respect!
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Actually, Milton cried too when Roger lost last year.
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All I could think was, “What a baby!” 🙂
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I felt sorry for him. As the curtain starts lowering more and more on your illustrious career it has got to take a toll on your head. When he retires I know I’ll miss him. It will be the end of an era. Hey, I have yet to get over Andre Agassi, another sensitive bawler I miss a lot.
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I can safely say that in January 2017 when my playing days in the world of Homeland Security are done I am not going to be crying. Then again the multi-million dollar earnings won’t be drying up…
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Good thing you signed that endorsement deal with Kia.
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Hahaha! I am seeing your sensitive side you hard core tough New Yorker!
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Look hard for it is pretty easy to miss most of the time especially this morning on the subway train when I informed a space hog-ette that would not let me pass, “Clearly, common courtesy eludes you.” I wanted to beat her with her Kindle.
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Hahaha! And then strangle her with her ear buds!
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Hey, she was wearing earbuds too! Were you secretly on my crowded train?
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Hahaha! I am not that good…. 🙂
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Well, you are a mom whose nonsense-o-meter must be a fine tuned machine by now.
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Nonsense-o-meter! I am going to remember that one! Lol
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Oh please do!
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I coached both my daughters in soccer and softball. Definitely more Sisters of Sappho among the latter. I used to joke with my wife when the girls were little that I hoped they’d be gay so I could avoid having to pay for 2 weddings. Thanks to my good friends at the HRC I guess that plan is out the window. Never mind out of the closet.
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No matter what you do or think Mike, this life will not cut you a break, pal!
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Contrary to popular belief, that is NOT me on the drums:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4zJWA3Vo6TU .
One disclaimer, since I cannot access youtube on my computer I apologize if this video doesn’t actually contain the drum playing hamster.
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There’s one on the congas. You sure that’s not you?
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Just my doppelgänger . A great many people have mistaken me for him. I just wish I was receiving his royalty checks. Maybe if I went to my SAG local…
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Some years back eople used to mistake me for Daria all the time. I feel your pain … Well, not really. It’s worse being mistaken with a conga playing hamster. Sorry Mike.
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We all do, indeed, have our crosses to bear. Everyday I’m shufflin’…
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At least we can count on you to keep us safe Mike!
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Your Italian soccer guy does sound pretty cool.
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Have you seen any highlights? The dude can play. He’s also a bit tightly wound. He’s seen more than his fair share of red cards. Most delightful is the tightly woven blondish Mohawk on his otherwise shiny pate.
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No, I haven’t seen any highlights. I’ll check him out later though. Thanks for tipping me off about the Mohawk, but I imagine his playing would be another clue as to who he is.
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That’s a man?….
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Apologies for double post. iPhone malfunction. Yeah, right.
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Yes, I figured. I deleted your dupe knowing it was the ghost of Steve Jobs personally harassing you.
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If it were only that simple!
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At this moment I’m sure someone somewhere is creating an app to solve all your iPhone woes.
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I am sure it is going to be called stupidass. (lameass already spoken for?)
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Both names work. It will score a big hit with almost everyone I know with an iPhone.
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I love reading your Milton stories. Happy birthday, Milton!!!! And tell him he’s right— straight folk ARE gaying it up more these days, at least in NY. Because it’s trendy and hot. But it’s really throwing off my gaydar big time. Good thing I’m already married because it would be a nightmare now trying to figure out which guys bat for which team.
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Hopefully, Milton is feeling the love. Straight guys gaying it up throws off Milton’s gaydar, too. In the case of straight women sporting my soft butch lesbian Larry David Collection look, I just assume they were born without the sense of style gene.
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I have a friend who decided to relocate to Maine several years ago, in large part because of the number of women wearing plaid and Timberlands. She thought she was in lesbian heaven. Until she realized that they were all straight, it’s just that that’s how they dressed up there.
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For me that alone would be enough to move out of Maine faster than the speed of sound.
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Rolling laughs today! Loved this post & Milton’s exquisite quote!
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He aims to please!
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yet another great post. hon, please put a pinterest bug on your blog so I can pin it. thanks.
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Thanks Jules! Your wish* is my command.
*Just don’t ask me to sing publicly or wear a dress.
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Especially not at the same time.
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That would equal getting water boarded.
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If you want tips on that, I think I know some people.
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Hey, I can suggest lame methods of torture! I’m sure that introducing me to your bigwig bosses will guarantee you getting on the fast track to promotion (or kicked out the back door)!
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We had this special agent who was/is so mind numbingly stupid–I mean painfully stupid–that we always held him in reserve when interrogating suspects who were less than complian.ten minutes in the box with Matt and the most hardened thug would promise to testify against the Medellin cartel just to get Matt to shut the fuck up. I am NOT kidding.
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Mike … Time to fess up, buddy, I am Matt. I just found this broad’s picture off the Internet.
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Impossible. LA woman can type.
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Can’t get anything past you Mike!
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I got cornered by this guy at an office Christmas party in 1995. I tried to kill myself by first trying to shred myself in the classified document shredder. Unfortunately he’d talked to so many people that afternoon that the frigging machine was jammed. Then I tried jumping out of the 5th floor window of WTC 6 only to find the windows didn’t open. I settled for getting so blind drunk that I convinced myself that he was actually an office plant. That helped me get through the next couple of years until Matt was, mercifully, transferred to Eagle Pass or Falcon Dam, TX. I shit you not.
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So during the W administration he got promoted?
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Undoubtedly. Wouldn’t be surprised if, after the merger of INS and Customs that he is in charge of building that fence across the SW border. Then again, maybe we just blare his voice over loudspeakers 24/7. Kind oh like what we did when Noriega was holed up in the presidential palace so many years ago.
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He does sound like the go-to guy for money-pit projects. Comforting to know that my tax-payer dollars are so well spent.
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After 26 years working in the USG I can only cry when I think of what we’ve spent money on. Think: Men Who Stare at Goats, but with less success.
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That observation makes me laugh even though the appropriate response might be to throw up considering that I’m paying for that!
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Try seeing it from my perspective. It’s pretty much a metaphysical conundrum the likes of which can best be described visually by that famous print of the ant crawling along a mobius strip. To wit: I pay federal income tax as well. So when I am being less than productive (read goofing off) I am actually cheating myself. That realization would make Joseph Heller just want to scream.
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Would it make you feel better to report yourself for insubordination the next time you goof off on your Federal Gov job? There could be a Darwin Award in your future for that.
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The ironic thing is that I work for an internal affairs unit. So that thought crosses my mind nearly every minute of every day.
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Are you suffering an existential crisis here at Lame Adventures?
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Nah, I was trained by the Jesuits at Georgetown University. Look up casuistry. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Casuistry. I can handle anything.
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How convenient.
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To reiterate from an earlier post: “everyday I’m shufflin”
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“Chill with Daffy,” I say!
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You need a house to go with this door knob? priceless! 🙂
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You can also use that one at work!
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Speaking of the Darwin Awards I am reminded of my first and only trip to The Vet to see the Eagles some 15 years ago with my late father-in-law. Looking at the cretins populating the upper level section in which we were sitting I remarked “there isnt enough chlorine for this gene pool.”
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Since you survived to share that bon mot it’s safe to assume you were not completely suicidal and wearing your Patriots hat amongst those restless natives.
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DAMMIT! THAT WAS MY NEXT REQUEST!
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I knew my intuition was sound!
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Sweet tribute to Milton. I love the photo of him beneath the Ethnic Hair Care sign. I agree with Milton and the Times piece, straights are dressing more like gays. It IS harder to tell who’s plays for which team.
Strangling the subway ignorant with her Kindle earbuds is good.
I see my friend Robert (commented above) was up bright and early reading this. He finds the subway comment hilarious.
Sad about Nora Ephron. A great loss. She was just my age, too. Scary. I regarded her as a generational/writing compatriot.
The bright spot is Milton’s b’day celebration. Happy Birthday, Milton!
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Milton’s b-day and the SUPCO holding up the Affordable Care Act (as Mike G brilliantly reminded brain frozen me) were the positive highlights of this week. Nora buying her rainbow was a bummer. She was in a league of her own, and what a class act during that grave illness. I get a hangnail and I’m yammering about it endlessly as if I could lose that digit. Always great to hear from you Samantha!
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Oh, thanks! It’s always great to visit. And, yes, I forgot to mention I was quite pleased and actually surprised by the Roberts/SUPCO decision.
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Ditto!
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Tell Milton “Happy belated birthday” (love his photo—what a sweet face!) and that he shouldn’t feel too bad about turning 50. At least he’s not being sued for divorce by Katie Holmes. 🙂
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Milton does not mind being 50 at all. I’m sure he’ll love it when he reads that you think he has a sweet face. If Tom had only married Milton in the first place that union would have been the one with staying power.
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I avoid horizontal stripes at all costs. That’s all I’ve got for now. I’m visiting my parents right now and we’re far too engaged in a an onging, continual discussion about the temperature in the house (too hot? Too cold?) for me to focus on anything else. Dear God almighty.
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How about discussing with your parents the price of gasoline at every station in a 10 mile radius? My dad is 91 and drives 20 miles per week at most. How much gas does he go through in a month?
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Your Dad is 91 and still behind the wheel?! Mine is 91 and housebound. Last time I visited all we talked about was how to work the TV remote and which day of the week it was. Now it’s all about how cold or hot it is in the house. The other day, he complained that the thermostat wasn’t working. It was set to HEAT.
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All I want to know is what’s the status of Pere Snoring Dog’s chocolate stash down there in the Lone Star State — that’s where you are, right?
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My Dad acts as though there’s a worldwide shortage of chocolate, therefore the massive supplies all over the house. My Mom even has stashes, which she forgets about and stumbles upon later. On this visit, I found a huge chocolate Easter egg in an upper cabinet. It’s all chocolate all day!
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🙂
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I thought you were sired by Willy Wonka.
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That’s better than your dad ripping you a new one over your gay Kia … or maybe not. My dad is forever carrying on about how much he loathes Tiger Woods. The elderly tend to fixate on topics.
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What’s at the root? El Tigre’s philandering or ESPN’s near deification prior to the Thanksgiving Massacre of 2009?
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His inability to keep the tiger in his pants leashed.
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My daughters feel much the same. I guess I am possessed of a deeper reservoir of forgiveness than most because he’s the only reason I still watch golf…which I am about to do now–third round at Congressional.
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When my father spouts off about him I keep quiet. I think artists, athletes and our dumbbell (male) politicians play by a different set of rules.
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How perfect that I just turn on Golf Channel and what do I see: Cialis commercial. On an odd aside, my wife (who just butt dialed me from Thessaloniki ) represented the company that developed the drug in a merger 15 years ago. No, no free samples!
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HAHAHAHAHAHAAHA!!!!!!!!!! I’ve yet to meet a guy who’d ever admit he’d pop that, even though I openly admit I’ve been on lesbian Viagra (Aleve) since hitting 50. Hey, whatever works. They’re both effective little blue pills.
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HAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!!!!!! That is hilarious SDS! Right now it’s sweltering in the Big Apple. I don’t have a/c so it’s definitely far too hot here in Casa de la Lame. My 85-year-old father’s house is always too cold come to think of it …
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Not that I’m philosophically opposed to the med, but if did take it I’d probably (in the words of George Costanza’s mother) be treating my body like it was an amusement park. I do recall your advising against the Seinfeld references but I tell you that I’d be less productive at work than I am normally.
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Where I work as long as I show up and find things that we’ve misplaced or we assumed were long lost my boss is content with my performance. Elsbeth could care less if I dropped acid at my desk as long as I continue to reliably come through when she needs me.
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Happy Birthday from me too!
I never sing happy birthday, and hope that others will always return that favour!
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That’s why you fit in with the Lame Adventures posse Tom.
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My mom is ten years younger, but she’s the one who’s losing it. I guess it’s really all about genetics.
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It’s all about genetics, Mike. I’ve been essentially mother-less since 1990 (she suffered a long illness that robbed her of her personality until she checked out in 1999) but luckily, I’m still father-full.
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I hope your pre-1990 memories of her are rich and wonderful.
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They are! She taught me everything I know about snark. She was a pistol!
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Curious whether this post generated the largest #of comments in LA history? If so I would say it was aided by the weather, my wife being in Greece and the Res Sox playing late games on he left coast.
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It did and I say it was due to all the above and you being bored out of your mind.
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I prefer to think of it as my being suboptimally engaged in more mundane matters. Aside from grocery shopping and changing 3 light bulbs the only other thing of substance (LA commentary excepted) was to Angllicize and marginally de-gay the Kia Soul. Enjoyed washing the car Saturday morning to get the decorative red and green finger paint off. Note to parents of similarly aged daughters don’t wait 10 days, especially I’d the car is white.
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Okay, that, too.
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