In the review of "Pieces (of Ass)" in the New York Post, the writer manages to talk more about himself than the play, which is "a monologue parade about the pains and pressures of being a beautiful woman, as told by pained and pressured beautiful women." But there was something of interest that I can only assume is a complete lie:
I went cliff jumping in Jamaica once during a college spring break, stepping off a dizzying 60-foot ledge into the sea. But the biggest plunge I took that day was on the way to the cliffs.
My buddy Kevin and I stopped at a mini-market, and while he ran inside to buy water and beer, I sat and waited on my idling moped - right next to the single hottest woman I'd ever seen. There she was, a golden-haired goddess sitting on the back of a brawny, bad-ass Harley-Davidson, waiting for her man.
And there's me, on my candy-ass little scooter. Bleak odds, at best. So, naturally, I gave it a shot. "Want to go cliff jumping?" I asked. She smiled and winked. Then Lou Reed came out of the market, got on the bike, gave me a nod and motored away with the girl of my dreams. Lou Reed, I swear to God. It was a Hall of Fame whiff. And so worth it.