hey, you look kind of familiar.

a few weeks ago, my office moved from the east village to the west village. this isn't particularly notable for any reasonsave that i now get to ogle a new crop of whichever moronic celebrities are out and about during the plebians-on-the-streets times, which are: 8-9am, 12-1pm, and 6-7pm. instead of marc jacobs trudging his cankles-and-white-gym-shoe-attired self home from the gym, or britney spears leaving her apartment building, or jared leto wearing eyeliner at the pizza place, i now get to keep my eyes peeled for hilary swank or julianne moore or (holy of holies!) anna wintour.

this is not the important thing, though. the important thing is that on halloween evening, i was routed far far away from my usual subway stop thanks to the stupid greenwich village halloween parade, and wound up outside of Babbo. Babbo, of course, is my favoreenie restaurant in new york, and for a couple of years there i was nursing a pretty huge celeb i-want-to-be-you-not-do-you crush on Mario Batali, its chef/owner/mascot. In fact, i almost dressed up as him for halloween last year. And this is how my thoughts went:

yo, how incredibly awesome would it be to run into someone who i almost dressed up as for halloween, on halloween?!?!?!
you can see how the mind might boggle.*

Anyway i didn't run into Mario, because he is inconsiderate of my narrative requirements. BUT. But but but but but. the next day i was wandering around on my lunch break and I saw sleazy mustachioed photographer Terry Richardson sitting on a park bench. And i have dressed as him for halloween. So, you know, mission accomplished.

*stop making fun of me now.


Kat said...

my faith in humanity and your blog is restored.
good work.

Naugler said...

Welcome back H, I've missed you.

Leila said...

How happy am I that you're blogging again? ANSWER: so happy that it's really entirely embarassing. Resolved: let's hang out next week.