A Twist of Manhattan's Elite I'msomewhat tardy in reporting on the Mother's Day festivities at the MUGGERhousehold, but with good reason: a 24-hour virus no doubt caused by a batchof beef lo mein fried in rancid oil. That Sunday morning started off just swell.I awoke with MUGGER III and we played until Junior awoke and dialed up Nintendo64's Zelda, which was far more interesting for my younger son than the makeshiftwrestling matches we'd been having. Meanwhile, Mrs. M slept in, but when shemade her entrance, the boys quickly gathered a bunch of gifts. And what a haul:a collection of MAD comics from the 70s, some homemade flowers Juniormade in school, a few framed pictures and three photo albums that chronicledthe past year's holidays and our trips to Bermuda, Los Angeles,London and Paris.
My troublesdidn't start until five minutes into the splendid production of The Wizardof Oz at the Garden; it was a whiz-bang show, with dramatic pyrotechnics,and the story moved along briskly with no intermission. Jo Anne Worleywas a convincing Wicked Witch of the West-the boys' favorite-andMickey Rooney proved he still has about 15 steps on Bob Hope andother geezers from his era playing the hapless Wizard. When we left, we raninto NYPress' Kim Granowitz, along with her mother andnephew, while Junior bought cotton candy with a cool rasta hat, and MUGGER III-orrather, Dad-got snookered on a $20 plastic replica of the Tin Man.