I am in a cab that seems to be careening up Sixth Avenue. I am going to write until we hit 30 Rockefeller Plaza. Reading and watching the stories about Haiti and holding thoughts for everybody there. It's too sad to believe.
Just as I was starting to read A Prairie Tale by Ms. Melissa Gilbert (thanks for the book, Liza), that book about the election (Game Change?) comes out and I have to now hunt down a copy and put Missy on the to-do list. Sorry Missy, (and Liza). Shoot.
On my way out the building last night, I rode the elevator with Dr. Oz, who I realized is actually quite handsome. (Yes, I guess I'm late to this party). I tweeted wondering if it is creepy to be attracted to him, or if it is acceptable. I got an overwhelming response and the prevailing attitude seemed to be that it is indeed OK to be attracted to Dr. Oz. Do you agree?
It is freezing in NYC to the point that you walk out of the house literally not giving a damn about what you look like. It's essentially anarchy, and everyone seems to understand. I am, however, wondering how I chose what seems to be a thin summer suit today. I look more foolish than normal, but if I were in L.A. or Florida I would be seasonal. Hmmm.
I, Like everybody else, am obsessed with the story of NBC's late-night situation. I thought Conan's letter was like nothing I've read before. Fascinating — the whole thing. I will definitely (insert lame use of old tagline) watch what happens.
Ok, we're at 30 Rock. The fare is 9 bucks and I am tipping 2 dollars.