Ok, I’m pretty sure I just saw Jon Stewart running in Central Park.
He runs so gay (not that there’s anything wrong with that). He just reminds me that the next time I go running, I should practice in front of a mirror first.
They say Manhattan is a city of doppelgängers. I swear I’ve seen Camille at least three times since I’ve been here. And the other day, I was walking up Broadway from Trader Joe’s and who do I see? This guy:
He’s on his mobile in the middle of the street and he’s yelling, “I can’t believe you! You can’t take any fucking constructive criticism! You always have to fly off the handle! I can’t fucking believe you…”
And yesterday, I was standing on the corner and who do I see? My DAD. I was getting my coffee and there he was. I had a total nutty. I couldn’t breathe. I started to shake. Oh jesus… what is he doing here? Oh no… (dread) what if he sees my apartment? He’s going to think I still live like a grad student. (and he would be right). See below:
(I am too short to reach the top shelves)
He’s going to try to buy me furniture… except it won’t be the furniture I want. It’ll be a barcalounger or something of that ilk. And I won’t be able to adequately explain that I have made a vow… a solemn vow to only buy artful, authentic pieces that I love (even if I can’t afford them, even if I am not a Rockefeller–I’ll wait. I will wait for the genuine article).
Alas, it was just a dude… aye. Thank god this is still a city of doppelgangsters.
xoxo – gg