My friends have been doing so good lately and I feel so lucky to be surrounded by such a crew. KP is up in Woodstock making a record with Monuments, there's a new little baby Catbird in town, Amal and Kamara sung back up for Shooter Jennings on Conan O'Brien on Friday, Tom's being represented by a commercial production company, Liz has been making more star paintings, Rachel's designing women's knits for DKNY, Andrew's Cutman, a musical about a Jewish boxer that my Uncle Bernie would've just loved, is being developed into a full scale production, my refined and lovely Cape May-mates are cavorting, collegiate style in European capitals, and Peter is introducing a line of modern, fresh Vietnamese food to grocers near you.
It's really such an embarrassment of riches. I can't help but brag. Add to the mix the achievements of such imaginary friends as Oscar winner Marion Cotillard and the Mitford sisters, subjects of yet another book, and I really do feel like quite the social butterfly. All right, that last statement was a big lie. Truly, I'm deeply beset by cabin fever and am desperate for spring. Desperate. The only consolation I have this time of year, is that I feel very comfortable wearing a uniform of vintage slips and natty sweaters with a clip on mink collar while I work at home. Sadly, though, not an appropriate ensemble for the days that this vagabond stationer is lured from her lair. While waiting, I'll be reading The Annotated Secret Garden,burning Lemon Sake candles by Voluspa, and drinking Greyhounds.