feat. guest blogger, gretchen (new york city)

It's been wonderful to rediscover life with Chuck after having had to do without it for so long. For some reason, during the time we spent sharing space in the physical and metaphysical realms, there were a lot of towels involved. Tonight has involved far fewer towels, unless you count napkins, which Chuck enjoys torturing. Dinner at Angelica Kitchen was interrupted by the realization that he'd once again committed this small domestic abuse, wholly inappropriate in this whole food, vegetarian sanctuary. (Who knew it was the East Village cafeteria? Dining hall days came rushing back.) I took advantage of the opening to swipe a forkful of his marvy Roots of Spring pie. Mmmm, tofu cheese. So glad he had a fresh tube of Italian toothpaste from Ricky's, where fabulous Latino stock clerks spritzed us with Votive room spray, serenaded us with "Blow That Whistle" and ushered us to a wall of Tom's of Maine's finest -- unavailable in the Hilton-on-Sixth gift shop. (It's just past the doors where a rather lost Dee Snyder -- yes, that Twister Sister -- asked me for directions to Warner Center. Alas, I couldn't help him besides offering a sotto voce "thanks for the music.") Keeping to the Italian theme, we repaired to Bar Veloce to swap Ciaos and loaded glances with the loaded Fernet Branca fans next to us in this slip of a bar. Only the nutella panino was more delicious. But posturing wit aside, man, it feels good to laugh again.