like a moth to a flame

So a fair amount of celebrities representing all letters of the alphabet come to my restaurant. I usually don't write about them because they don't usually do anything terribly interesting, and also I am a New Yorker and therefore way too cool to care about such things (did you know Lucy Liu is only, like, 4'8"? and Jacquetta Wheeler smokes 56 cigarettes per hour? and David Lee Roth thinks we have the best espresso in New York?)

Anyway, I'm used to seeing people I see on TV in real life, but I had a new experience the other day. I'd just finished my marathon Project Runway catchup with Ellen, culminating in the doggie epidsode. The next day as I approached the restaurant, whom should I see in the window but Angela! It took me a while to process who she was, because I think she looks a lot like (a less hot version of) that chick from Crossing Jordan, and also because the show's still going on. I'd always liked to imagine that reality show contestants were kept on some secret island, witness protection program style, until the final episodes had aired.

I tried my darnedest not to stare too much, but her baggy plaid patchwork clownpants proved a force to great for my eyeballs to resist. Some of you will be pleased to know that she was not sporting any of her "signature rosettes," though I did not get a good enough look at her nether regions (thank heavens) to confirm the absence or presence of her other signature, the intentional butt panel that conveys that sexy just-peed-my-pants look (scroll a li'l).

My GOD I love television.