Stuart took me to dinner. This was an auspicious event as I seldom get any one on one time with him other than when we are sleeping. Stuart needs to have an entourage about which is often fun, but it can also be exhausting to constantly be sharing your time with others.

We were going to go to a tapas place in our hood, but they are closed on Mondays. We wandered down the street and found an Indian that looked nice (and it was, we will certainly be going back).

There were a couple of men two tables away that were using their loud outside voice even though they were inside in a tiny Indian.

“Didja see Casino Royale.?”

“Yeah.”

“Whadja think of it?”

I immediately got the sense that the person asking the question would base their opinion depending on how his mate responded.

“I liked it. I mean it’s a different character really. It was starting to become a caricature.”

“Yeah,”

“Like when Sean Connery was doing it. Cartoon.“

Stuart leaned across our table. “I’m going to go over there.”

“Please don’t.”

“Sean Connery was doing double 0 seven thirty years ago.”

“I know.”

“I’m going to go over there.”

“Please don’t.”

“If they mention David Niven, I’m going over there.”

“I would rather you didn’t, but I understand.”

A half hour later the loud talkers had moved on to politics.

American politics.

“So 1988 there was Bush. Then Clinton. Then Bush, now there might be a Clinton again. There could be twenty years of a Clinton or a Bush.”
“It’s like Maggie Thatcher.”

Stuart leaned over our the table, “Don’t go over there.”

Loud talker babbled on. “They’re going to try and get Arnie in. Pass a law so he can run.”

I mumble, “It will never happen.”

There was fear in Stuart’s eyes. “Thomas! Don’t go over there!”

We didn’t go over there. Marshall McLuhan wasn’t available to tell them that they were idiots.

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