I'VE BEEN GOING TO WOLFGANG PUCK'S EXPRESS IN THE BASEMENT OF MACY'S A LOT LATELY BECAUSE THEY HAVE TERRIFIC CHICKEN FINGERS. AS I SIT THERE -- USUALLY ALONE -- I PRETEND IT'S 1984 AND THAT I'M AT THE ORIGINAL SPAGO IN BEVERYLY HILLS AND THE TONS OF TOURIST-SHOPPERS SWARMING AROUND ME ARE REALLY COKED-UP EIGHTIES HOLLYWOOD POWERBROKERS. AND THAT PAYING $9.50 FOR LUNCH IS AN ASTRONOMICAL SUM OF MONEY ... BUT YOU KNOW WHAT? I'M WORTH IT.

THE FLAVOR OF MY NEW DISHSOAP IS ALPINE PURITY. SOUNDS VERY ARYAN NATION, BUT THAT DOESN'T BOTHER ME BECAUSE I KNOW MY DISHES WILL BE CLEAN.

YESTERDAY WHILE I WAS AT THE AIRPORT I REALIZED THAT MARTHA STEWART WAS IN JAIL. I STARTED TO CRY. REALLY.