She spent nearly the entire first act in a silk slip. I was weak. You’d be, too. I’m talking to BOTH genders. I don’t care where you think your proclivities lie, you’d have considered it. Once again, I was in back of the house. This time, the second last row of the orchestra, which is an embarrassment, but it’s all I can afford. The spidery, silver threads of imaginary love leapt across 26 rows of seats and wrapped my heart in a cocoon of want. Do you know what’s great about binoculars? You don’t have to be a gentleman and mind your manners.

She ain’t no Liz Taylor, but she’s not some Hollywood hack, either. She killed last year in Arthur Miller’s A View from the Bridge, so there was reason to believe she could handle this. Maggie the Cat is a woman who exudes longing, unfulfilled desire and, above all else, lust, lust, lust. She sure as hell looked the part, but she played it kind of shrill and desperate. And desperate is not hot. It’s no wonder Brick was trying to drink himself to death and could only muster an indifferent erection. It wasn’t a bad production but I expected better. The reviews come out tomorrow morning so I’ll know better what I’m supposed to think then.

No matter what the critics say, I’m dedicating myself to Scarlett. I’m sorry Katie. I know you’ve had a tough year. Hounded by the paparazzi. Your Broadway show closed early due to lack of interest. The father of your child believes in a religion based on events that occurred 75 million years ago in a Galactic Confederacy ruled by the tyrannical overlord Xenu. But you’re strong. You’ll rise above it. By any chance, would you be up for a threesome? You don’t have to answer right away. You can think it over. You know where to find me. I’ll be in the dressing room filled with orchids and lilies over at the Richard Rogers Theater.

There are some decorative art nouveau posters hanging where I work. They’re authentic pieces, not the poorly framed examples you see in the mall poster shop with washed out colors and inferior paper. Someone went to a poster auction with a serious corporate decorating budget and splurged. This is one of my favorites, but not because of the aesthetics of the artwork. I actually think it’s kind of ugly. But you can’t beat the content. Look at that poor baby! Is this for real?!

Did they really strap babies to the handlebars like a loaf of bread, restrain their right arms and go out for a ride? Can you imagine if you saw someone do this today? I’ll bet she wouldn’t have a big smile on her face, as is depicted here. And imagine if the nursemaid hit a big stone took a tumble! I love it.

Here is fluffy, cuddly, cute-as-a-teddy Coco:

Here’s the same dog after we picked her up from our insane dog groomer:

Katie Holmes is my new pretend girlfriend. For a long time, Mary Louise Parker was my pretend girlfriend. Mary Louise has the pretty face and girl-next-door looks I swoon over. I saw her in a few plays. Sat damn close to the stage, too. On more than one occasion, we made eye contact. I’m sure of it. We had a moment of mutual understanding. I was hers. She was mine. It’s no matter that she had a baby with that barbarian Billy Crudup. That boy. That oaf. We still had an understanding about each other.

I once had a brief flirtation with Marisa Tomei. She tried to steal me away from Mary Louise. Same modus operandi. We locked eyes when she was on stage and I sat in the second row. It was an electric moment. For a while after that, all I thought about was being with Marisa. But I went back to Mary Louise. Crudup abandoned her for bony old Claire Danes. While she was pregnant, no less! I couldn’t abandon her, too.

But I’m sorry, Mary Louise. I just saw Katie Holmes in a play and I belong to her now. What a face! I love her crooked little smile. Her button nose. We couldn’t lock eyes because I sat in row P. I had to use my theater binoculars to even see her eyes. But the feeling was absolutely electric, absolutely present in the house and absolutely correct. She is mine.

Her hair is long now. Did you know!? Three quarters of the way down her back. Throughout the play, her hair was in a ponytail. In the last scene, she wanted to make her desire known to some idiot boy on stage, so she whipped off her ponytail band and fluffed her hair through splayed fingers. She shook it out and although it didn’t happen in slow motion, that’s how I replay it in my mind’s eye. I think she did that just for me. Don’t you?

I was so smitten that it wasn’t until an hour after the final curtain that I realized the play wasn’t very good. Her acting was serviceable if not, dare I say?, a bit flat. That evening, they had announced an early closing date due to mixed-to-poor reviews and declining ticket sales, which would account for the dispirited performances.

Earlier in the day that rag, the New York Daily News, splashed across its front page the fact that Tom Cruise was dating some hatchet-faced skank who lives out in Queens. They made a big deal out of him dating someone “…right in Katie’s back yard!” That, plus the early closing of her play? She needs a sympathetic ear. Someone to bring her a cup of hot cocoa with a marshmallow on top.

Happy New Year, bitches! At 6:40 a.m., Times Square was already in semi-lockdown mode. As usual, I’ll be hiding under my bed.

Look at this poor old General. He bought one of those wedge devices that tilt your laptop keyboard towards you, making it easier to type, but he’s using it backwards. So sad.

If he thought he had carpel tunnel before, just wait about six weeks. He won’t be able to grip that coffee cup to his right.

I can’t believe Christmas is less than a week away! The season flew by, much to my utter dismay. I like the holiday season very much and will be sad to see the lights and spangles come down. Here a brief photo montage of 5th Avenue.

This is the jeweler Harry Winston. Nice color palate here, don’t you think? Quietly stated.

As long as we’re on jewelers, this is Bulgari with a sparkly serpent wrapped around the building.

Sticking with the jewelers, this is Cartier. This is always my favorite. They wrap the building with a big, red bow. It looks like a pretty package.

Needs no introduction. The 30 Rock tree is usually photographed dead-on and full-framed. I was trying to find an atypical angle that accentuates the art deco design of the building and treats the tree as an ornamental accessory.

Even the homeless dude on 5th and 49th gets into the act! I have absolutely no idea where he plugs his tree in. I gave him a couple of bucks and asked permission to take a picture. It seemed like the right thing to do.

Mrs. Wife, The Daughters and I wish you and your family a merry Christmas and a happy New Year. Thanks, very much, for reading over the past year. I should probably be more Zen and detached about all this but the fact is I really enjoy writing and taking photos and it means a lot to me when people stop by. Come to NYC in 2013 and I’ll buy you a tony cocktail at a place with a magnificent view! I’m a pretty good tour guide, as some fellow bloggers will attest to. I come with references.

He looked so irresistibly pleasant, in a word, that three or four good-humored fellows said, “Good morning, sir! A merry Christmas to you!” And Scrooge said often afterward, that of all the blithe sounds he had ever heard, those were the blithest in his ears.