Model Behavior

Thursdays have officially become my "me" day - you know, as opposed to all the other days of the week when I'm stamping out world hunger. Today, that meant another visit to the hair salon, and a trip downtown to meet Brad for lunch - in the Google NYC building. That was bizarre - because instead of going to the 4th floor as I've done many times to head up to Google, I went to the 3rd floor, where the Acumen Fund is located - and where Brad works.

There are notable differences between the Acumen Fund office and the Google office:

1) Lack of dudes walking around wearing headsets and swinging golf clubs.
2) A kitchen with no actual food products.
3) Shared bathrooms that are located in the hallway and require a key (sometimes, you're just going to have to hold it).

After mingling for a bit, we headed to lunch at Pastis, where the best steak sandwich on earth resides (and, coincidentally, a "refill" is actually a free additional beverage!). And as we sat there, it hit me - this part of town is FULL of models. Everywhere you look, there's a tall, skinny chick wearing expensive-looking layers of crap on a 90-degree day that feels like 100 degrees. Their arms nearly break as they carry giant tote bags that hold their portfolios. Frankly, I have no idea what they're doing in Pastis, since that's an actual dining establishment - and as I discovered later in the day, they all drink their meals at Starbucks.

Post-lunch, I made my way down Washington to 14th to spend some time with my good friends Diane (von Furstenberg) and Scoop - and then wave at, but not actually talk to, Stella (McCartney). As I'm walking along the quiet street, I hear, "Model! Model!" I keep walking, thinking, "Yes, yes, they're everywhere...sigh." Then again, "Model!" I turn around to spot someone, and I just see the guy calling out. He looks at me - I look at him. "Are you?" he asks. Realizing his implication at this point, and finding great humor in his enthusiasm and lack of subtlety, I placate him and nod. What comes out of his mouth next is priceless:

"Naomi Campbell?!"

I can't roll with this one - she's a violent, assistant-beating, cell phone-throwing, community service-mandated lunatic. I shake my head. And then, seemingly in an effort to prevent me from developing a complex about the mix-up, he reassuringly yells, "Gettin' there!"

I'll take that.