We went to Johnny’s birthday party on Sunday. In case you don’t know, Johnny is a huge black Newfoundland —11 years old, which I’m told is quite elderly for this breed. When she deigned to drag 
herself out from under her table, Johnny chowed down on hamburgers, hotdogs, dog biscuits, and treats of all manner—many of which were given to her (Johnny is a female) as gifts—and gnawed on a brand new stuffed beaver and rabbit. And then of course there was her birthday cake: a cheesecake, of which she had two large slices, the second of which was given to her so we could photograph the event. Alas, Johnny scarfed it down before I could even snap the picture.
(At a previous party Johnny had stolen a wheel of blue cheese from the table and ingested it, so they knew she would like the cheese cake—though of course she upchucked the blue cheese later, as Willem’s estranged (he says “strange”) wife assured us would occur later on in the day with the cake as well. Too bad we had to leave, or else we would have certainly photographed that as well.)
Among Johnny’s dog friends, a pair of skinny wiener dogs showed up— in addition to Rex the Wonder dog, a wooden lawn ornament on a metal pole, which Willem’s welder friends--who have been 
working on Willem’s boat, and who were reportedly on their best behavior since Willem owed them money--had drug into the city from a lawn in New Jersey. Willem’s boat, by the way, which he’s been working on for ten years, is coming along nicely, and should be finished sometime before he goes to meet his reward. Willem says it will be his last boat on this plane of existence and so he’s determined to do it up right. He has painted it bright yellow and christened it the “Sea-Banana.”
“Everybody is always telling me about these blogs,” one of the welders—perhaps getting a bit tipsy despite his desire to collect his money--said to me at one point, “but I never have been able to figure out what the hell they’re talking about.”
I explained what a blog was: “It’s a web-log,” I said, “You know, kind of like a ship’s log where you have an entry each day, or like on Star Trek when Captain Kirk says, ‘Star Log 2352,’ or whatever year it is.” I 
figured the nautical metaphor would appeal to the seafaring man, and he seemed satisfied, but then he asked me again later in the afternoon, almost the exact same question. So maybe it was the beer, or perhaps the farout reference to Captain Kirk.
Anyway, to get back to Johnny’s friend’s, the daschunds refused to play with Johnny—hiding between their keeper’s legs when she came out to greet them, but then started barking when they saw that Johnny got hamburgers and hotdogs when they didn’t--and then to top it off, cheesecake! Boy, that really burned them up.
Willem was grilling Hamburgers out on his balcony and throughout the party the smoke drifted back through the apartment and into the hallways of the hotel, finally prompting the staff to send a maintenance man in search of the cause. Then right after that we heard fire trucks out on 23rd street and went out on the balcony to see if they were coming to the hotel to put out the grill.
While we were out there, a lady (whose name I don’t remember) told us about the last time she came to a party at Willem’s. She said that somebody had lit the drapes on fire, and that, as the room 
filled with smoke, the guests stampeded for the exit. Johnny, of course, had no idea what was going on, and so just lay there under the table as usual, but her husband came and got the dog and led her to safety. “Oh my God, are these idiots just going to let the place burn down?” the lady said to herself, and so she jerked the drapes down and threw them out onto the balcony where she was able to stamp out the flames. She then went back and sat down on the couch and when the firemen came she said, “See for yourself, I already put it out.” Later she told her husband, “Thanks for putting the dog’s safety ahead of mine.”
Nothing like that happened this time, however: the fire trucks sped by the hotel and went on down the block, stopping in front of the theatre—no doubt summoned in response to an epidemic outbreak of vomiting induced by the latest Hollywood blockbuster.
Talk about vomiting, in addition to a bag of healthy dog treats—which Johnny devoured indiscriminately, but which the wiener dogs turned their noses up at (I don’t blame them when there was actual meat to be had!)--we contributed a bag of French “Bio-Chips”—which sound like they’ve been 
reconstituted out of compost or something—which were left by Fabio and Claire, tourists from France who contacted us after they had seen Legends, to thank us for showing them around the hotel. (Just kidding, Claire and Fabio, thanks for the treats!) Who says web-logging doesn’t have its rewards? -- Ed Hamilton
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