HOLIDAY: HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME, 2013!!!

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HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME, 2013!!!

 

It’s my birthday today! It used to be my happiest day all year, with all kinds of fun activities planned, but the previous two have been sort-of crappy. (No one can win ‘em all, after all, so I’m fine with it.) I don’t have higher hopes for this one, but, with the world being what it is, I’m just grateful to still be here and celebrating in even the smallest way.

Cathy Rigby as Peter Pan at the Pantages. Photo by Isaac James.

This is actually looking up a bit because tomorrow night is my real celebration; in a wonderful coincidence that coincides with my birthday—I’m going to see the story of me at the Pantages! That’s right—Peter Pan is back!!! Even starring Cathy Rigby again! That woman is in her sixties and, kena hura, she’s going to still be flying and dancing and singing around that stage! I can’t wait!

And, it gives me the opportunity to tell the story of one of my funnier b-days, that has a tie-in to tomorrow, so it’s a full-circle kind-of thing.

I actually can’t believe I never told you guys this one before, but I definitely regaled the viewers of my show, Karen’s Restaurant Revue, with it when it happened. [Note: it’s a much easier story to tell verbally than to write. I was planning to begin a video element to select columns on here, starting with this story. But, I wound-up with a hair and lighting situation, and I didn’t want to freak anyone out visually, so, sadly, the vids will have to wait just a tad longer.] So, I’m going to try my best to tell you the story in writing now. Here ’tis:

When I was in New York eleven years ago, right after the awful 9/11, everyone seemed overjoyed to see me; I still believe that’s because they were all so shell-shocked that they were grateful for any distraction. When it came time for me to go back to L.A., my pals were practically clinging on to me, beseeching me to come back soon and demanding to know when that would be, so they’d have something to look forward to. (My, how times have changed!)

So, I came up with a fun plan to entertain them all, mainly my little mo, who I knew would be grateful for some life in the house. I said I’d be back in January, which never happens, to have my birthday party in New York that year! (No fears—I had one in L.A., too. I never want to let my friends here down, after all.)

So, off we three went—Mr. X, Clarence, and I. The party was in my mother’s house, and I planned it with all of my favorite Brooklyn foods, except for the White Castle burgers that Mr. X talked me out of, which I still regret to this day, eleven years later. (One of my friend’s husbands surveyed the table and declared, “The only thing missing is White Castle!” I hate that I let someone down.)

There were over a hundred Nathan’s hot dogs, all kinds of flavored knishes from Jay and Lloyd’s, (which is a famous Brooklyn deli,) eight (count ‘em, eight!!!) Spumoni Gardens pizzas, and assorted other fare like homemade lasagna and salad, snacks, a cheese appetizer made with my own little hands, and the pièce de résistance—not one, but two Carvel ice cream cakes!!! (I am a fabulous hostess, if I do say so myself.)

So, this is the story of those cakes. My party was on a Saturday night, and the Carvel near my house was kosher, so they are closed on Saturday. I ordered one all chocolate, and because my mother thought she was allergic to it, (which she really wasn’t, but that’s another story,) I ordered a second one that was all vanilla ice cream with crunchies in the middle that were other than chocolate.

Knowing that no one there was exactly an artiste, I chose a simple theme, with what I knew they could do. (One featured a rainbow and the other had balloons on it.) Since it may or may not have been my twenty-fifth birthday, (but that’s what the invites said, anyway) I told them to just do a big “2” on one cake and a big “5” on the other, along with those easy aforementioned designs. Simple enough, eh?

Not so fast. When we picked them up, the two numbers were different sizes and placed differently on the two cakes! It was a mess! And, their “decorator” wouldn’t be back until Sunday! It was just the two young guys who scoop out ice cream cones! I was practically crying. I didn’t know what to do. I finally calmed down and realized that we could scrape off the number “5” that was tiny and off to the side on the bottom of one, but the “2” was large and in charge, smack dab in the center. It was pink and thin, though, so, I asked if they could turn the 2 into a capital “P” and write “Pan” on that cake, and then, with the same flourish, “Peter” on the now-blank other one. They said, “No problem,” and told me to give them a few minutes.

Not wanting to make them nervous on so delicate, and important, an operation, Mr. X and I waited in the car, wringing our hands, but happy with the decision. I went in alone and when I saw what they had done, I started crying. Only not from happiness. They made the “P”s look like “R”s! It looked like “Peter Ran.” I was beside myself. So, I did what I always do—ask Mr. X for his opinion. I called him in, distraught, and asked, “Does that say ‘Peter Ran’?” He assured me it did not. Repeatedly.

Pictures of the finished cakes. Do you see what I mean?

So, we paid and thanked them and took our cakes, and as we saw them shut-down the place behind us, I asked Mr. X one more time, “Are you sure they don’t say ‘Peter Ran’?” He answered, “I’m sure they don’t say ‘Peter Ran.’ They say ‘Reter Ran!’” In shock, I started crying and laughing at the same time. I was miserable. And Carvel was now closed until after the soiree.

So, we brought them home, Mr. X teasing me the whole time. We showed them to my mother, who didn’t see the problem. Ever practical, she said, “Come on, Karen, no one will notice. Who’ll care? They’ll just eat them!”

So, we have the party the next night. It’s going great. I have friends from Rhode Island, New Jersey, three of the five boroughs, and from all areas of my life. We’re all loving it. And then I proudly present the two Carvel ice cream cakes! Who ever has two? I’m cooking with gas. Until the guests start trying to read them. And all I hear is many confused readings of “Reter Ran? What’s Reter Ran? Who’s Reter? What does that mean?” And Mr X is hysterical. He can’t stop laughing. And I’m laughing so hard that I start crying again.

But now it’s become a famous story in New York. Every time I went into that Carvel, that I had been to hundreds of times anonymously over the years, the guys great me with a big, “Reter Ran!!!” All I have to do is mention the cake to any of my pals, or Mr. X, and they break out in peels of laughter.

And, best of all, even my little mo had to admit that she thought it was “crazy.”

So, today, I hope I have as fun a cake as I did then. But, even without it, I’ll be getting my birthday wish by taking this Peter Pan to see the real one tomorrow night. And I can guarantee you that, numbers to the contrary, neither one of us will be growing up anytime soon. Amen to that, Reter, amen!

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5 Comments

  1. Pingback: TELEVISION/KAREN’S RANT: THE RUINATION OF PETER PAN BY NBC

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