Back in 1999, after I had left my first law firm I worked part time at Dean & Deluca in Soho.  During this time I was also actively seeking a public interest legal job, but was in deperate need of some time for introspection. The people at Dean & Deluca thought I was crazy to take a job serving prepared foods and making crepes when I could be off in an air conditioned office somewhere making much more money.  Perhaps I was, but at the time it was exactly what I needed. I was surrounded all day by food designed to dazzle the senses, I learned how to make crepes (which took a great deal of practice, so my co-workers and I just ate the mistakes), and I thoroughly enjoyed it every time a former law firm colleague or law school classmate came in, saw me in my chef’s jacket and dopey hat and did a complete double-take. One of my dad’s friends, realizing that one should always take advantage of personal connections, used to call me to set aside one of their delicious rotisserie chickens for him, since otherwise they’d be gone by the time he stopped by.

Working there also inspired me in a few other ways.  It was the first time I considered doing creative writing. This was long before I started this blog, and I thought that somehow I should capture some of the utter ridiculousness that I encountered at Dean & Deluca in writing. Maybe they’d publish it in the New Yorker Talk of the Town or something.  It was also during this time that I got my tattoo.
It was something that I had wanted since college, but knowing that I’d be stuck with it forever, I made myself wait before I actually got it. Not wanting to make a hasty decision, I ultimately waited over 5 years fom the moment it occurred to me until the moment I began researching tattoo parlors.

After a long and detailed search process that involved my going to a half dozen tattoo parlors in the East Village and asking them a litany of annoying questions, I settled on a very sterile looking spot called Inkline.  As the date of my appointment approached, I must have mentioned to my co-workers that I was quite nervous about the prospect of having ink jammed repeatedly into my body  with sharp needles. Vinnie, a then 18 year old kid who worked the prepared foods line with me, offered to come and hold my hand. And so I took him up on it.
I hadn’t seen Vinnie since 1999 on  my last day at Dean & Deluca shortly after the tattoo had healed, at least not until the other day, when I bumped into him on the street. I recognized him immediately.  We exchanged greetings, I showed him my tattoo, and told him again how grateful I was that he had come with me to help endure the pain.  Although he was never a close friend, I will always be reminded of Vinnie when I think of my tattoo, and it made me think about all the people I’ve encountered over the years and how each has touched me in some way, large or small.

And thus concludes the long-winded story portion of my post this evening.  Stay tuned for the weekend recap — spa treatments, rooftop parties, swine, crustaceans, and afternoon cocktails.

Sometimes I really do feel like my world is much smaller than I realize.  Over the past few days, I’ve had so many small world moments.  I discovered that a former work colleague (who now works at a law firm where I had an interview a while back) is married to one of my new co-workers.  I got an email the other day from a woman who knew me and my family when I was growing up.  She had somehow stumbled upon my blog ("the only one I’ve ever read!").  One of my friends I met through my work at Pro Bono Net who went off to law school is now an intern for one of my beach house friends at the public interest legal project he runs (the Street Vendor Project of the Urban Justice Center).  Finally, while getting dreadfully lost and sweating my ass off trying to find my friends at the Philharmonic last night, somehow managed to bump smack into another lost soul trying to find the same group, even though we were both completely on the wrong part of the Great Lawn.  Crazy stuff. 

So tonight, Chef Adam Perry Lang of Daisy May’s BBQ was kind enough to invite me and Jen from Gothamist to an intimate soiree with a pretty impressive guest list including Florence Fabricant, Jean Georges, Jeffrey Steingarten, Zac Posen, and Star Jones, not to mention peach-inspired barbecue and cocktails made with Stoli Persik (there’s a peach theme going on).  Can’t wait!

There are very clear rules at the subway station at 53rd and Lex.  They’re not posted anywhere, and some might argue that it’s merely common sense, but that would be boring.  The rules are as follows.

1) during the a.m. rush hour, when both escalators go up, stand right, walk left.
2) during the p.m. rush hour, when one goes up and the other down, the same rules for standing and walking apply, with the additional caveat of #3, below.
3) do not make eye contact with anyone going the opposite way on the escalator.

Offenders will be chastised with an "excuse me" that, while tame on the outside, comes across with the intensity of "get the fuck out of my way and go stand on the right where you belong, lazy ass."

I generally take the left-hand route, unless I’m carrying luggage.

I went running this morning (how is it possible that two miles was so hard?!), and guess what?  That guy was back.  First spotting this summer.  Weird.