Mr. Rogers is so named because, well, he lives on my street. ON MY STREET, people.
This is a city of 6 million people or wtf ever it is, with like 80 million different neighborhoods. This dude writes to me and as it turns out, we’re neighbors. And it’s a wonderful day in the neighborhood, could you be mine?
Please won’t you be My Neighbor?
So our first phone call went like this:
Mr. Rogers: So, will you be walking your dog tomorrow morning?
A: Uh, why?
Mr. Rogers: No reason.
A: No, I wont.
Mr. Rogers: So, do you want to meet at Prizzi’s in a half-hour?
A: Not going to happen.
Mr. Rogers: So, when can I see you in real life, then?
A: You come up with the plan, and then I tell you if I want to do it or not. That’s how it works.
Mr. Rogers: So you get veto power?
A: Yes, but you get to legislate!
And so on.
He suggested meeting at the Bourgeois Pig and I said, “OK,” but must have hesitated, because then he asked, “What, you don’t like the Bourgeois Pig?” I said, “No, it’s fine. It just has a bad track record.” If you’ll recall, I met AgeLiar there, who should be renamed JustPlainOldLiar, since he made a big show of saying he would call and then never did. Back to Mr. Rogers.
Then he said, “Oh, OK, well I’m superstitious, so let’s go to the opposite of the Bourgeois Pig–La Poubelle.” Then he started laughing. La Poubelle is at the end of the strip of restaurants near my house. It is also the site of yet another ill-fated Date Zero (AllBusiness) and the food looks dodgy at best. At any rate, we are going to reconvene and plan a date for this weekend. More to follow.