Do Nothing
I was talking on the phone with a gardener and then I just went down to SoHo to get some cheese and salami for dinner in bed tonight. On the way, I ran into Ben Widdicombe, the suddenly now-former Daily News gossip columnist. He couldn't be happier. He quit his job. He is going to Turkey. He looks fantastic. He joked that I was his role model. I went to Dean and DeLuca. The cashiers were laughing at the women who buy tiny sandwiches for $3.50 just because they find the sandwiches cute. But they are cute, said the woman cashier. I went back through NoLIta. There were so many people from not here. I ran into Scott Kidder, one of Gawker Media's business guys. He was typing on his phone, and coming from the office. He looked sleepy. You should start a blog about doing nothing, he said. That sort of defeats the point of doing nothing doesn't it, though. I went back up to the East Village, past the playground at Houston and First Avenue. A man in an expensive green sweater was pushing his two-year-old on the swings. His wife peered into her BlackBerry. A yellow cab plowed into a blue livery cab on First Avenue. There was a man in front of me whose neck creased in the form of an "X." You should quit your job too.
