A Dilemma

Today was kind of a challenge to dress for. I have two events: lunch at Da Silvano with Sterling Lord, the eighty-eight year old founder of my company, who still wears fedoras and linen suits. And a Bruce Springsteen concert.

I settled on a blue denim skirt, a tomato red top (that shows my bra straps, nice 'n Jersey). With big dark glasses, I fit right on in at Da Silvano. Which, by the way, was hilarious. Sterling was a hadn't-been-there-in-a-while regular, and he and Mary and I were settled at a nicely-positioned regular. Silvano stopped by to say hi a couple of times (and grated my parmesan cheese, oddly). But the best view in the house was of the other patrons.

Most everybody looked like they were camped out, there to stay through the afternoon, with wine and food enough to see them through it. There was a fellow dressed like Jay Gatsby, who I honestly could not look at without giggling, and the group of Germans next to us ordered enough food for many more Germans than were there (antipasti, pasta with truffles, and steaks about the size of the whole cow). Bleached and tanned blondes would stop by a-kissing and a-begging for tables, and scowly West Villagers would glare at the down-from-the-Upper Eastsiders.

I had the gazpacho, tagliatelle bolognese, and creme caramel (hey, why mess around). Was it the best pasta I've ever had? No, but it was delicious, and it was very fun.

And now I have to get my head someplace completely different. Burgers, Nikki. Beer (well, not for me, but for other people). Cars that are fixed up and American, not shiny and flashy and German.

Check.