There have been huge advances in shower caddy technology since I last bought one (2005?). We bought one yesterday and I thought the tiny hooks in the middle were just extra loofa hangers until Lane blew my mind and hung a fucking razor on one.
On Saturday I mostly lounged around in my new PJs that make me look like a Kennedy and feel like Jason Schwartzman. I did leave the house for food and a mani/pedi (Essie Clambake).
Sunday, we slept in, read the Sunday Times, had brunch at Prospect (surprisingly cheap!) and saw Jiro Dreams of Sushi. I highly recommend both Prospect’s brunch and Jiro Loves Sushi. We inadvertently turned the meal into a reception planning meeting and had to sit next to some vapid and hungover broads using a Groupon, but the monkey bread made the brain rotting conversation at the next table sort of worth it. I do have one bone to pick with the filmmakers — where the shit was Jiro’s wife? He basically admitted to being an absentee father while his kids were small because his sushi came first, so why doesn’t she get some screen time/credit? Otherwise, it was beyond charming and made me super hungry. I watched Mad Men by myself because Lane is going through it while trying to quit smoking for good. He’s using this book and it is endorsed by Ellen so it must make you fart unicorn glitter.
We ordered dry fried chicken wings and other sundries from San Tung for dinner and I woke up to a gnawed chicken bone in the middle of the hallway. Max turns into a cross-eyed raccoon when he gets a whiff of chicken wings or dairy. Of all the things he’s left in the middle of the floor for me (mostly poop), a chicken wing ain’t no thing.