The New York Times is on a democratic kick lately. Now anyone can ask critic Sam Sifton and Florid Flabrikan questions. Needless to say the Times doesn't publish every query. Some, naturally, aren't fit to print. We—who don't know what print means beyond it's a synonym for "dead"—however, do! Below a selection:
Q. Hey Mr. Critic! My aunt has asthma and my daughter is an idiot. My brother has hives and my uncle's a Moslem. Once last week, I raged so hard I ended up being sick in my toilet (from the wrong end.) I don't understand jazz music. Pigeons are alright but sparrows scare me. My question is this: Is that Gray's Papaya still there on like 6th Avenue or something and like 8th or 9th Street?
This one was addressed to Florence Fabricant:
Q. Dear FloFab,
I was recently at this press lunch. It was more like a press conference with a buffet involved. Anyway, this woman cut in front of me and smelled of Altoids and naphthalene. So, I felt weird asserting myself because a) she was relatively aged and b) she was you. Any advice on confronting you when you do things that are rude?
Q.Dear Concierge, My wife thinks getting a happy ending at the end of a massage is cheating. I, however, have worked out a formula which proves it isn't. This formula considers a) the movement of the hand job receiver (in inches) b) whether an orifice is entered (not usually) and c) the difference in age between giver and receiver. Anyway, so I got this handjob and you know how it is, I kinda smelled like baby oil after. And she guessed what had happened and got mad at me. Now I want to take her out to a nice dinner and explain my theories to her so that she will not file for divorce. So I guess I'm looking for a nice quiet restaurant where we can discuss issues surrounding fidelity and handjobs but that won't overtly remind her of handjobs. Preferably, no one will have hands at this restaurant. Do you know of any quiet bistro-type restaurants in Cobble Hill that hires only people without hands?