brunch jerk

For the second time in my entire entree life, I dined at Barney's Greengrass on the roof of Barneys this weekend. And also for the second time ever, I saw Steve Martin there. This leads me to believe one of the following, or maybe a mash-up:

a) He's a regular [but the last time I saw him it was on the 3rd floor in the actual department store area, not at the restaurant, and I was running and I passed a rack of dresses and he was standing there in an orange pullover and a blue baseball cap, like all the rich men of comedy (Seinfeld, The Cos, etc.) likely wear when they're off-duty/casual, and he smiled as I almost plowed into him. Don't run at Barneys].

b) I'm his predestined Shopgirl and we're supposed to copulate? Thing is, I'm definitely not one of those Martin martians who wants to whisper funnies into his ear over martinis (ok, stopping that now), but I did once love a boy who sang "I'm Picking Out a Thermos For You" for me.

p.s. Todd, this is not a (brag). This is an investigation into cosmic (comic! oof) forces.

p.p.s. Italo Calvino's Cosmicomics = one of my dearest friends had her boyfriend read it to her in bed, and since he couldn't pronounce half the whimsical words, he just made stuff up.

p.p.p.s. Beverly Hills does not create anything.

fell on 2004-11-14 at 6:45 p.m.

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