And once again I wonder how it is the tabloids and gossip columns don’t follow my every move, as, here I am, settling in with my Helene Hanff Omnibus, my reading specs, my Clairefontaine Pupitre top-spiral-bound notebook, my Uni-Ball Vision Elite Extra Fine Black pen, and, of course, my cigarette case (to help me keep count). I can’t go to New York, so I’m reading Hanff (and Mrs. Parker) this week to take me back to that imaginary New York where I lived (only in my head) as a child. I would arrange furniture in the empty rooms of the unused “wing” of my grandfather’s house and pretend I was a sophisticated Manhattan-ite. I’m still pretending. So what? A person can dream, right?