* Hands up how many people's skirts were blown up by the crazy wind today, revealing perhaps more of their hidden personal infrastructure than they really felt like sharing with folks in this city? Oh dear. I am thinking about having weights sewn into my hems as the Queen (liz) reportedly does.

* More proof of a personality composed in part of fussy old lady, outside of my handkerchief collection: I NEED SWEATER CLIPS. And they are not to be had! At least, not new. There seem to be a lot of antique ones on eBay, but what oh WHAT is the point of sweater clips with unenthusiastic, antique grip to the clips? I was sure the Vermont Country Store would have them, but they don't seem to carry them anymore. What can I say, I've gotst the most narrah shoulders in the history of the sartorial world. Sweaters don't stay put.

* I was at an art supply store recently and suddenly transported back twenty years in my life to my first job, selling extremely expensive fountain pens for $6 an hour (the fact that I actually ran into an ex co-worker from that job who worked at this store probably helped). Working at an art supply store is hard. Endless hours standing, a vague but constant toxicity in the air, intense customer service, no matter what kind of customer. I think it was sometime during my fifth six-figure fountain pen sale of the day during Christmas rush that I started to think...$6 an hour! Fug this. Still love fountain pens, though. And art supply stores.

* Sometimes in my neighborhood they film 2nd unit/interstitial stuff for the shows that tape around here: Judge Big Meany, Dr. Whatever--reality shows. Interviews, walking shots to use with voiceovers. Yesterday I was sitting peacefully in the sun by the river when suddenly out of a van piled a Subject, a Producer and a Cameraman/Interviewer. They sat down about three feet from me while he plied the subject with questions about a personal tragedy in a prodding, leading fashion, and she responded in very practiced, clear tones, and the producer's cellphone rang every 30 seconds. It was really odd. I felt eye-rolling but curious, and thought about the stickiness of actual tragedy and how easy it is to be cynical and...whatever. If you hear a fat girl sighing ever-so-slightly in the background of an interview on a show like that, it was me.