And now for some less ridiculous and much more real sightings.
First, I spent a week hanging with the Swaziland delegation here for the U.N. And by "hanging with" I mean I walked past all of their cars and drivers each day on my way to work. They were all staying at the Mandarin Oriental across the street from my office, and, I'll tell you what, their drivers seemed like a great crowd. So I bet that the actual delegation (those from Swaziland and elsewhere) were pretty great too. And you KNOW how I feel about political scientists.
LOVE them!
In the park, back in September when it was actually fall not winter, we spent an afternoon sitting on a bench next to the Park Bench Philosophers. This is a group of old-ish men who spend their weekends in Central Park brown-bagging it with Coors Lite, discussing all of life's greatest questions, and making fun of people that pass by. Our kind of people.
One such passer-by was a dude with so much hair that he had to carry it around in a garbage bag slung over his shoulder. As he approached, we were like "Awesome. Another guy carrying around a bag of trash." But then he got closer and it was clear that the bag was in fact full of the hair still growing out of his head.
It really doesn't get much better than that.
Monday, October 26, 2009
Monday, October 19, 2009
A Raw Deal
Brace yourselves- this is another All You Can Eat Sushi tale. If the last horrifying recounts of absurd amounts of uncooked fish, seaweed, and sake left you feeling squeamish, you are not alone. I, too, required many months of recovery time before I dared to allow another piece of spicy tuna to pass through my lips. And don't even SAY the word sake or I can pretty much guarantee I will throw up on you.
Fear not- this sushi adventure was much less overwhelming and, basically, was just much... less. But (isn't there always a but?) I am ashamed to say that it wasn't smooth sailing. I made what every All You Can Eat Sushi afficionado would call "The Rookie Mistake."
Everything started just great- we were bopping right along, Eric munching politely on his teeny cucumber rolls and me stuffing my face with Fancy, Fancy Rolls. And it was all just extremely tasty! So OF COURSE after round 1 I HAD to order a round 2. I mean, hello, it was ALL YOU CAN EAT. Why can I never just leave well enough alone? I mean really, it's not like I was competing against Paul this time. I already had Avocado Boy beat at this meal.
But, alas, I decided to order 2 more rolls. And I picked the innocent enough sounding Y2K and Spider rolls.
And then the horror show began.
What arrived in front of me was 16 pieces of the largest sushi I had ever seen. Both were approximately the diameter of my fist and both were enclosed in mountains of rice. And one of them was wrapped in HOT PINK SEAWEED. Not joking. My sushi was neon. I took one bite, and suddenly, I was so very, very full. And these rolls were not so very good. And yet, I had 15 pieces to go.
Here's where we get to "The Rookie Mistake"- you see, before my Spiders and neon Y2K's arrived, I was feeling so confident and smug. Like, now I know the secret, just order a couple at a time and get hand rolls because it's the rice that kills you and I'm so smart and so good at eating contests and this is so great and blah blah blah. Stupid, stupid girl. Your sushi was COVERED IN RICE. Oh, and it was NEON.
15 pieces to go, and gag reflex firmly in place, and you're not feeling so confident anymore, are you?
I choked down a few more pieces, and I knew this was getting serious. After all, I had never failed an eating contest, and certainly not at All You Can Eat sushi. I mean, I didn't even know what they did to you if you couldn't finish but I knew it really could not be good.
So, I brought in the big guns: Eric.
I bet you didn't see that coming, did you?
Yes, Eric, my dear sweet vegetable loving Eric, took one (actually two!) for the team and ate two of my not-tasty-at-all-and-if-I-have-to-eat-those-I-will-vom-or-at-least-cry Spider rolls. He soaked them in soy sauce for approximately five minutes, but he did it. And didn't even cry or vomit.
By then, I was down to about 8 rolls and I was seriously considering Failure. I could hear Paul's laughter in my head, wondering how I got myself into this, even as I attempted to swallow bite after bite after bite. Eventually, I made my way down to 3 and was ready to accept the Big Fat Fail.
Oh the shame...
So, because my competitive spirit cannot be stifled by an eager gag reflex, I rallied. With Eric cheering me on and taking pictures and mocking my pain, I pushed through and willed myself to swallow that last bite of tuna wrapped in neon seaweed. Out of the goodness of her heart, the waitress did not force me to eat the last piece of shrimp on my plate, and, thank goodness, because that would have been the end of me.
End of story- my All You Can Eat Sushi dignity is still intact- barely. We still don't know what the Penalty is for failing at this game though. Do you have to wash dishes? Do they charge you for a second All You Can Eat dinner? Or is it just the humiliation of having the cute little Japanese people point and laugh at you because you were stupid enough to order that much sushi rice and tempura shrimp?
I'm going to guess that last one is a given, even if you don't fail...
Fear not- this sushi adventure was much less overwhelming and, basically, was just much... less. But (isn't there always a but?) I am ashamed to say that it wasn't smooth sailing. I made what every All You Can Eat Sushi afficionado would call "The Rookie Mistake."
Everything started just great- we were bopping right along, Eric munching politely on his teeny cucumber rolls and me stuffing my face with Fancy, Fancy Rolls. And it was all just extremely tasty! So OF COURSE after round 1 I HAD to order a round 2. I mean, hello, it was ALL YOU CAN EAT. Why can I never just leave well enough alone? I mean really, it's not like I was competing against Paul this time. I already had Avocado Boy beat at this meal.
But, alas, I decided to order 2 more rolls. And I picked the innocent enough sounding Y2K and Spider rolls.
And then the horror show began.
What arrived in front of me was 16 pieces of the largest sushi I had ever seen. Both were approximately the diameter of my fist and both were enclosed in mountains of rice. And one of them was wrapped in HOT PINK SEAWEED. Not joking. My sushi was neon. I took one bite, and suddenly, I was so very, very full. And these rolls were not so very good. And yet, I had 15 pieces to go.
Here's where we get to "The Rookie Mistake"- you see, before my Spiders and neon Y2K's arrived, I was feeling so confident and smug. Like, now I know the secret, just order a couple at a time and get hand rolls because it's the rice that kills you and I'm so smart and so good at eating contests and this is so great and blah blah blah. Stupid, stupid girl. Your sushi was COVERED IN RICE. Oh, and it was NEON.
15 pieces to go, and gag reflex firmly in place, and you're not feeling so confident anymore, are you?
I choked down a few more pieces, and I knew this was getting serious. After all, I had never failed an eating contest, and certainly not at All You Can Eat sushi. I mean, I didn't even know what they did to you if you couldn't finish but I knew it really could not be good.
So, I brought in the big guns: Eric.
I bet you didn't see that coming, did you?
Yes, Eric, my dear sweet vegetable loving Eric, took one (actually two!) for the team and ate two of my not-tasty-at-all-and-if-I-have-to-eat-those-I-will-vom-or-at-least-cry Spider rolls. He soaked them in soy sauce for approximately five minutes, but he did it. And didn't even cry or vomit.
By then, I was down to about 8 rolls and I was seriously considering Failure. I could hear Paul's laughter in my head, wondering how I got myself into this, even as I attempted to swallow bite after bite after bite. Eventually, I made my way down to 3 and was ready to accept the Big Fat Fail.
Oh the shame...
So, because my competitive spirit cannot be stifled by an eager gag reflex, I rallied. With Eric cheering me on and taking pictures and mocking my pain, I pushed through and willed myself to swallow that last bite of tuna wrapped in neon seaweed. Out of the goodness of her heart, the waitress did not force me to eat the last piece of shrimp on my plate, and, thank goodness, because that would have been the end of me.
End of story- my All You Can Eat Sushi dignity is still intact- barely. We still don't know what the Penalty is for failing at this game though. Do you have to wash dishes? Do they charge you for a second All You Can Eat dinner? Or is it just the humiliation of having the cute little Japanese people point and laugh at you because you were stupid enough to order that much sushi rice and tempura shrimp?
I'm going to guess that last one is a given, even if you don't fail...
Saturday, October 17, 2009
Recent Sightings
Like the previous 9 months of this year, October is passing us by in a flash. It has brought what seems to be an early winter (the first Nor'easter of the season is upon us right now, but so far it's a pretty lame one.) While Eric is the one crying about putting his shorts away for the year, I'm the one who actually seems to be resisting the change in weather the most. Case in point- last week most of the city busted out their heavy duty winter clothes. Instead of t-shirts and shorts, everyone was suddenly decked out in in Northface and Uggs (a little extreme for 45 degrees, if you ask me). I, on the other hand, decided the best thing to do would be to wear a dress and flip flops (and a scarf, for warmth, duh.) NOT SMART. VERY COLD.
Speaking of cold weather, last Monday was a day off (HALLELUJAH! COLUMBUS DAY!). Because of said non-warm weather, I spent most of the day curled up with my favorite furry friend. I did, however, venture outside because rumor had it that they were filming the second Sex and the City movie just up the street! Though you'd think I would be completely unfazed by this now that I live in the big, exciting city (you mean another film crew? Please, give me something more exciting than that), obviously, this was not to be missed. So I half-bundled up and set out into the brisk and freezing wind. Sure enough, the streets around Lincoln Center were packed with movie trailers and clusters of paparazzi were huddled on corners, cameras in tow.
At last! I had actually stumbled onto a movie set where I might see someone famous! But, despite the Hollywood lot surroundings, there were no skinny, beautiful, heavily made-up starlets in sight. So then I was forced to make a big decision- should I keep my hand tightly clenched on my camera and pal around with the paparrazzi, waiting all day in the cold to take a picture of SJP, like some kind of crazed fan (which I may actually be, somewhere very, very deep down inside), or do I behave rationally and go back home to my nice cat and warm apartment?
It really was a tough choice, and I'm not even kidding.
But, in the end, normal behavior won out, and I circled the block for one last hope of a glimpse of TV's most famous foursome, and then headed back home- satisfied that I had tried to be a crazed fan, but held myself back for the sake of remaining a respectable person. I did see Pat Field, who designs all their ridiculous costumes, smoking a cigarette and yelling at someone on the phone, and I saw a lot of limos by the Empire Hotel, AND I saw very skinny, beautiful, heavily made-up people dressed in ridiculous fashions filming inside PJ Clarke's. I couldn't see faces, but I know they were in there, so actually I pretty much was part of the action.
Totally successful Columbus Day, I say.
Speaking of cold weather, last Monday was a day off (HALLELUJAH! COLUMBUS DAY!). Because of said non-warm weather, I spent most of the day curled up with my favorite furry friend. I did, however, venture outside because rumor had it that they were filming the second Sex and the City movie just up the street! Though you'd think I would be completely unfazed by this now that I live in the big, exciting city (you mean another film crew? Please, give me something more exciting than that), obviously, this was not to be missed. So I half-bundled up and set out into the brisk and freezing wind. Sure enough, the streets around Lincoln Center were packed with movie trailers and clusters of paparazzi were huddled on corners, cameras in tow.
At last! I had actually stumbled onto a movie set where I might see someone famous! But, despite the Hollywood lot surroundings, there were no skinny, beautiful, heavily made-up starlets in sight. So then I was forced to make a big decision- should I keep my hand tightly clenched on my camera and pal around with the paparrazzi, waiting all day in the cold to take a picture of SJP, like some kind of crazed fan (which I may actually be, somewhere very, very deep down inside), or do I behave rationally and go back home to my nice cat and warm apartment?
It really was a tough choice, and I'm not even kidding.
But, in the end, normal behavior won out, and I circled the block for one last hope of a glimpse of TV's most famous foursome, and then headed back home- satisfied that I had tried to be a crazed fan, but held myself back for the sake of remaining a respectable person. I did see Pat Field, who designs all their ridiculous costumes, smoking a cigarette and yelling at someone on the phone, and I saw a lot of limos by the Empire Hotel, AND I saw very skinny, beautiful, heavily made-up people dressed in ridiculous fashions filming inside PJ Clarke's. I couldn't see faces, but I know they were in there, so actually I pretty much was part of the action.
Totally successful Columbus Day, I say.
Sunday, September 27, 2009
The Great Outdoors
Inspired by our kayaking, wine-tasting, peach and apple-picking, and generally very un-Manhattan-y adventure up the Hudson Valley with Nancy a few weeks ago, Eric and I broke the Manhattanites' Creed yesterday and took another venture off the island.After a failed attempt to do this last weekend (monster blisters and a man-cold brought us down), this Saturday we tied on our hiking shoes, boarded MetroNorth towards Port Jervis, and headed out in search of fresh air. Our journey took us first to the great "junction" of Secaucus, New Jersey (look- don't even THINK you can buy a magazine there- the only thing for sale there is donuts.) Then we sped past towns like Suffern (of Sex and the City fame- you know, "sufferin' in Suffern"...), Garfield, and my personal favorite, Ho-Ho-Kus. Although the towns leave a bit to be desired (particularly if you would be in the mood for, say, all you can drink brunch), the scenery only continues to get more beautiful the further you travel.
We finally arrived at our destination: a quaint little town called Tuxedo. We stepped off the train into a rockin' farmers market (complete with Banjo Man, Mozzarella Man, and Pickle Man) and realized fairly quickly that we really didn't know how to get to this alleged state park. The directions "behind the train station" turned out to be not quite specific enough. Strange.
Luckily, Eric is unafraid to ask for help, so someone told us to go over the train tracks and then keep walking. Helpful?
Luckily again, those directions weren't half bad, and after a few minutes of walking past some cute houses and some very strange houses (imagine a giant stuffed panda, a small teddy bear, and a headless torso having tea in someone's front yard, and you'll basically get the picture), we stumbled across what looked like it could be a hiking trail and (hooray!) some other hikers with (hooray!) a little better plan than ours.
We were instructed to follow the little red dots on the trees and head on up- as long as you could see the red dots (or blue dots, or red lines, or some other symbol), you were on a trail. Good enough for us!
The hike took us through some amazing, varied terrain and to several beautiful vistas. We found only one dud of a trail (don't go on the Flying V trail- b.o.r.i.n.g.) and never got lost!
Success!
We wound our way back down the trail and, like good Weekend Warriors, grabbed a hard-earned beer at the local watering hole- the Taverna Tuxedo (sadly, it was too early in the day for any salty locals to be watering)- before catching the train back to Organized Chaos (the city).
It was a fantastic new adventure, and one that we hope to take a lot more often. The leaves were just starting to change and the air beginning to cool- this adventure is sure to have a reprise as we delve further into the East Coast's most magnificent season of the year.
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Twice??
Remember that time when we saw a Wizard? Like a real, live Wizard sitting and learning his Wizardry in the library? Like an actual Wizard in Wizard Clothes and pointy shoes?
Well, guess what--
We saw him again.
This time he was just strolling through the park, all la-di-da, just wearing his Wizard Suit, waving his magic wand. A few key differences from the last sighting, however:
1. He was not wearing pointy, Wizard Shoes. Rather, he had on ratty old running shoes. Lame, I know, but our theory is that he either cannot wear his Wizard Shoes while walking through the park because clearly that might hurt his Wizard Feet OR it was Wizard Off-season and pointy shoes can only be worn during peak times for spell-casting OR his shoes were being repaired by the Wizard Cobbler. Yeah, definitely one of those.
2. He had an apprentice with him. Which mean, that we should be on the lookout for another West Side Wizard.
3. He was actually PRACTICING those Wizard Spells he was learning last time we saw him. I swear I heard him try to turn someone into a toad. I'm not lying, Scout's Honor.
The day we saw the Wizard the first time was one of the greatest days ever in New York (for obvious reasons).
The day we saw the Wizard AGAIN was also the day we went to the circus, which means we also saw people bend themselves in half the wrong way. And also Doogie Howser sat in front of us at the circus. I'm not even kidding.
So, CLEARLY that became the greatest day ever in New York. No contest!
Well, guess what--
We saw him again.
This time he was just strolling through the park, all la-di-da, just wearing his Wizard Suit, waving his magic wand. A few key differences from the last sighting, however:
1. He was not wearing pointy, Wizard Shoes. Rather, he had on ratty old running shoes. Lame, I know, but our theory is that he either cannot wear his Wizard Shoes while walking through the park because clearly that might hurt his Wizard Feet OR it was Wizard Off-season and pointy shoes can only be worn during peak times for spell-casting OR his shoes were being repaired by the Wizard Cobbler. Yeah, definitely one of those.
2. He had an apprentice with him. Which mean, that we should be on the lookout for another West Side Wizard.
3. He was actually PRACTICING those Wizard Spells he was learning last time we saw him. I swear I heard him try to turn someone into a toad. I'm not lying, Scout's Honor.
The day we saw the Wizard the first time was one of the greatest days ever in New York (for obvious reasons).
The day we saw the Wizard AGAIN was also the day we went to the circus, which means we also saw people bend themselves in half the wrong way. And also Doogie Howser sat in front of us at the circus. I'm not even kidding.
So, CLEARLY that became the greatest day ever in New York. No contest!
Friday, September 18, 2009
Assimilation
Whenever I leave the city, I can't help but take note of all the differences between the daily pleasures and routines of those on the Outside (also known as the Real World) and Manhattanites.
My love for the Outside is not a secret: It could be nostalgia, it could be my rarely released, yet unbridled, passion for all things found in a Target or Safeway store, or it could simply be a suppressed love of a giant fried plate of chain restaurant deliciousness all for the low, low price of $7.99. In any case, while I have a HUGE place in my heart for Manhattan's parks, bars, and restaurants (five words: All You Can Drink Brunch), I have a permanent soft spot for the oversized comforts of the Outside.
Except for one.
Driving.
This last trip to Colorado, I not only got the pleasure of RIDING around the Best State in the Union in a big steel scary-mobile, but I managed to DRIVE. Twice.
Both auto-related challenges were met with great success- I did not run into any wildlife. I obeyed all traffic laws and posted limits, much to the chagrin of my fellow drivers. I didn't get lost in my hometown. And I brought both the Hyundai AND the Mercedes back to safety without even hitting the sides or front wall of the garage. See? Success.
However, as I steered my way through the treacherous streets of Cheyenne Mountain, I couldn't help but ask- they let TEENAGERS do this????
(No offense to my darling and, I have no doubt, extremely capable teenage cousins.)
But seriously, there are just so many things to navigate- we're talking obeying the speed limit; turning into the correct lane; staying in your lane; not running out of gas; not hitting anything made of metal, flesh, wood, or any other material; keeping your hands firmly at ten and two on the steering wheel while also pressing the gas/brake, but never both at the same time; remembering to continue pressing said gas, even when a car is coming your direction in the other lane... and this is just in the neighborhood! Do not even get me STARTED on the freeway. It boggles my mind to think that people drive over 40 miles an hour. And to think that I used to do this with the same ease that I now press the up button on the elevator 17 times a day is perhaps the most mind-boggling of all.
So the moral of this anti-ode to driving is this: I am not ready for assimilation.
While one day I will have to re-join the rest of normal, well-adjusted Americans behind the wheel- comfortably cruising to work or play, windows down, radio blasting- for now, I'll just hide out here, thanks.
My love for the Outside is not a secret: It could be nostalgia, it could be my rarely released, yet unbridled, passion for all things found in a Target or Safeway store, or it could simply be a suppressed love of a giant fried plate of chain restaurant deliciousness all for the low, low price of $7.99. In any case, while I have a HUGE place in my heart for Manhattan's parks, bars, and restaurants (five words: All You Can Drink Brunch), I have a permanent soft spot for the oversized comforts of the Outside.
Except for one.
Driving.
This last trip to Colorado, I not only got the pleasure of RIDING around the Best State in the Union in a big steel scary-mobile, but I managed to DRIVE. Twice.
Both auto-related challenges were met with great success- I did not run into any wildlife. I obeyed all traffic laws and posted limits, much to the chagrin of my fellow drivers. I didn't get lost in my hometown. And I brought both the Hyundai AND the Mercedes back to safety without even hitting the sides or front wall of the garage. See? Success.
However, as I steered my way through the treacherous streets of Cheyenne Mountain, I couldn't help but ask- they let TEENAGERS do this????
(No offense to my darling and, I have no doubt, extremely capable teenage cousins.)
But seriously, there are just so many things to navigate- we're talking obeying the speed limit; turning into the correct lane; staying in your lane; not running out of gas; not hitting anything made of metal, flesh, wood, or any other material; keeping your hands firmly at ten and two on the steering wheel while also pressing the gas/brake, but never both at the same time; remembering to continue pressing said gas, even when a car is coming your direction in the other lane... and this is just in the neighborhood! Do not even get me STARTED on the freeway. It boggles my mind to think that people drive over 40 miles an hour. And to think that I used to do this with the same ease that I now press the up button on the elevator 17 times a day is perhaps the most mind-boggling of all.
So the moral of this anti-ode to driving is this: I am not ready for assimilation.
While one day I will have to re-join the rest of normal, well-adjusted Americans behind the wheel- comfortably cruising to work or play, windows down, radio blasting- for now, I'll just hide out here, thanks.
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Back to Business
As typically happens when I go home to my beloved Colorado and spend time with my beloved family, I have once again been inspired to resurrect the beloved Blog. So, here we are, with yet another promise to keep it up. After all, in the words of my mom, "How are you going to write a book if you can't even write a blog?" Touché.
I think part of this dry spell can be attributed to my hardening as a New Yorker. Over the past few months, it has occurred to me that I no longer find New York's ridiculous weather, female inhabitants that need to eat (a lot) sandwiches and wear pants (please- I'm begging on this one, ladies), or even fully made-up old women wearing gold lamé housecoats at 7 am, fascinating enough to blog about. Which means that I think that this sort of behavior is normal, ordinary, mundane even... And THAT, my friends, is the saddest realization I've had in quite some time.
And, so, I've decided to reinvigorate my childlike sense of wonder, my obsession with the curiosities and rather freakish habits of the island natives, and my duty to report these musings on a (semi)regular schedule. I'm still me, you know- unlike my reliable ability to eat a huge meal at any time of day or night, being on schedule is not one of my most noted qualities.
Despite my earlier confession of growing numb to New York's constant whirlpool of potential material, I have collected a few gems over the past 6 months. I'm loading them up now, and they will be delivered straight to you, and that's a promise. And now that I've rounded the corner to the ripe, yet tender, age of 26, I bet I'll have even more of my deep thoughts on life in general, both inside and outside of New York, as well. The kind of insight that graces someone who is blessedly out of their early twenties (the new puberty, if you ask most twenty-somethings these days...Go ahead, ask them) and is still WAY below that looming THIRTY mile-marker...
Alright- to start us off, let's go with something from the ever-popular Brushes With Fame category. Aaaaaand, we're back!
Kyra Sedgwick (maybe? let's pretend?)
A few weeks ago, a very lovely, very thin, very tiny, very blonde woman who LOOKED exactly like Kyra Sedgwick and TALKED exactly like Kyra Sedgwick stood next to me in yoga class. In fact, she even made jokes with me! And so, while I have no proof (namely a formal introduction, papparazzi sightings, or a peek at her photo ID), I have come to the conclusion that a very lovely, thin, tiny, blonde woman who both looks and talks like Mrs. Kevin Bacon must have actually been Mrs. Kevin Bacon! And now, obviously, we are new BFF's.
Tyler Florence (this one's totally real)
I think part of this dry spell can be attributed to my hardening as a New Yorker. Over the past few months, it has occurred to me that I no longer find New York's ridiculous weather, female inhabitants that need to eat (a lot) sandwiches and wear pants (please- I'm begging on this one, ladies), or even fully made-up old women wearing gold lamé housecoats at 7 am, fascinating enough to blog about. Which means that I think that this sort of behavior is normal, ordinary, mundane even... And THAT, my friends, is the saddest realization I've had in quite some time.
And, so, I've decided to reinvigorate my childlike sense of wonder, my obsession with the curiosities and rather freakish habits of the island natives, and my duty to report these musings on a (semi)regular schedule. I'm still me, you know- unlike my reliable ability to eat a huge meal at any time of day or night, being on schedule is not one of my most noted qualities.
Despite my earlier confession of growing numb to New York's constant whirlpool of potential material, I have collected a few gems over the past 6 months. I'm loading them up now, and they will be delivered straight to you, and that's a promise. And now that I've rounded the corner to the ripe, yet tender, age of 26, I bet I'll have even more of my deep thoughts on life in general, both inside and outside of New York, as well. The kind of insight that graces someone who is blessedly out of their early twenties (the new puberty, if you ask most twenty-somethings these days...Go ahead, ask them) and is still WAY below that looming THIRTY mile-marker...
Alright- to start us off, let's go with something from the ever-popular Brushes With Fame category. Aaaaaand, we're back!
Kyra Sedgwick (maybe? let's pretend?)
A few weeks ago, a very lovely, very thin, very tiny, very blonde woman who LOOKED exactly like Kyra Sedgwick and TALKED exactly like Kyra Sedgwick stood next to me in yoga class. In fact, she even made jokes with me! And so, while I have no proof (namely a formal introduction, papparazzi sightings, or a peek at her photo ID), I have come to the conclusion that a very lovely, thin, tiny, blonde woman who both looks and talks like Mrs. Kevin Bacon must have actually been Mrs. Kevin Bacon! And now, obviously, we are new BFF's.
Tyler Florence (this one's totally real)
Earlier in the summer, I stood next to (and, more importantly, ordered the same drink as) Tyler Florence, Ultimate Chef on the Food Network, at Starbucks! For those of you who don't watch the Food Network, this is clearly meaningless so I'll try to have something more interesting for you next time, and for those that do, you can understand my excitement to share a latte order with someone so Ultimate. And this time, I do have proof because A) he LOOKED and TALKED exactly like Ultimate Tyler Florence. And B) they called his name when he picked up his drink: Tyler.
Done and done.
Done and done.
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