Apparently one thing they like is posting pictures of themselves and their "credentials," whatever those credentials are, and since I'm hardly above that kind of pandering, why not, right?...and I will say I am indulging in a kind of pride, because the head shot on the press pass was taken in the spring of 2000, and I now actually look like that guy again, after many years of having looked like Raymond Burr, fat Laird Cregar, and, by N.P. Thompson's lights, William Frigging Conrad. I'm also proud because, and you can't see it because of the crop, today I'm wearing the same Armani Exchange jacket that I was wearing at the head shot photo session, and if anything, it fits better now than it did back then. So I'm all excited and shit.
I'm at this Starbucks on 60th and Broadway catching up on e-mail and stuff and I was waiting at the pickup station for my coffee and marveling at all the Fashion Week spillover people on line to use the bathroom. "You guys actually defecate?" I stage-whispered, probably a little too loudly. Two nice fashionista ladies overheard me, or rather overheard and misunderstood me, because they were just like, "So are you here for Fashion Week?" "Not me," I said. "I'm here for Unemployment Year." It took them a sec to get that, but they did, and laughed. "But I look good," I said, as has become a rather obnoxious habit recently. "You do," one of the ladies agreed, which made me feel lovely. "You look very relaxed." Indeed; starting with that demolition job last month, I'd been getting a terrific if largely inadvertent tan. Then we commiserated on how things were tough all over, and so on, and one of them said, "We're all in it together," and while I usually bristle at such sentiments, I had to shrug and say, "In a sense." Or was it "After a fashion?"