When there’s nothing to do in this pathetic excuse for a town and the Giants and Jets are out of the hunt and baseball is still three months off and our teeth hurt and our joints ache and TV is stupider than ever and people who watch and like TV even stupider than that and people get more pissed about Barbara Boxer dissing Condi Rice than they do over dead Iraqi babies and a new gazillion dollar “science” museum is opening that shows humans and dinosaurs lived at the same time and it’s summer in January and people actually think Dreamgirls is a good movie and it’s Sunday night…then it’s time to shop at Fairway, the greatest supermarket in the universe. Not just a decent substitute for sex, Fairway is a riot of sublimely-stocked aisles bursting with Beethovenish passion, Mozartian romance, and Stravinskyesque dissonance. Now, for those Fairway junkies, there’s a Fairway Blog. Snippy, but fun.
We bought pricy olives and roasted artichoke hearts. Screw our 401Ks. We gotta eat.