Who doesn't like a nice hearty dinner of tartar cheval? Me, for one. In case you are too uncultured to speak the language of diplomacy, cheval means horse, and tartar means raw, chopped up. I was offered this meal when I was in Montreal. It was part of my whirlwind tour last week, where I went down to LA three times (and back three times) then to Montreal, then NYC.

But of course I am leaving out a million details, and it is really the details that make the telling worth it.

Like about Barry, the squirrel, who ate through the ceiling and kept staring at me, even though I threw stuff at him. Or the Arnold Kuz Memorial Obsequy, which was a big hit all around, and even made three people weep. Which was worth it, since I silkscreened aprons at great personal difficulty for the occasion. Then there was Melvis, who fell in the lake in Central Park and was all shivery for a while. Even though it was May it was still chilly at night. The Dogwoods and Appletrees were lovely in bloom.

I also went to the premeire, at Tribeca Film Festival of a film in which I make a very brief appearance, which is deceptive only in that my part in th efilm is wholy incidental. Nevertheless, it is all true.

Then there was Peg, a woman I met on the plane whose husband of 50 years just died and who talked to me about her life in great detail, including her four children, one of who was a bipolar acupuncturist in Hillsdale, and so on, until I put on my headphones and watched the excreble King Kong. Which, even in the context, was so awful I had to go back to reading Our Man in Havana and hear Peg tell of the Cambodian children her daughter adopted right before getting pregnant, etc.

In general when I fly I try not to talk to anyone, when I am on a plane or anywhere else, but I couldn't help it when I ordered a seltzer and the stewardess didn't know what that was. So the woman next to me clarified what I meant by saying sparkling water, which I resented.