Better homes and croissants

If I could move into any space anywhere, it might have to be Buon Italia in Chelsea Market. Sure, the pasta costs more frozen than it does served in a nice restaurant, and fine, most of the cheese is prepackaged, and really, who needs a $40 container of Nutella? OK, maybe we all do, but regardless, any place with that many gorgeous, hard-to-find Italian groceries, with the massive, massive chunks of parmesan and not only buffalo mozzarella but also smoked buffalo mozzarella is completely awesome. Plus, Chelsea market is, as a space, really fantastic. The "cafe" (basically just a couple tables) overlooking the store is maybe where my bed would be, on the side opposite the espresso maker, so that I'd be close enough to have a cappuccino upon waking, but not so close that I'd bang my head into the milk-foaming nozzle. Chelsea Market also seems to house a modeling agency, for better or worse. (Better being the male models, worse being the female ones.) The people walking around in Chelsea Market are ridiculously good-looking, and made me somewhat less excited than I would have been otherwise about what was a remarkably good hair day.... Close contenders to Buon Italia in terms of where I might like to live are: the building above Poilane in Paris; the police academy domed building below Spring Street (not far from Ceci Cela); and some yet-to-be-determined location in Tel Aviv near the beach, adjacent French pastries optional if increasingly likely...

In other, equally important news, another man was staring at both me and my book today in the train. Just to preempt any comments to the effect of, "Weren't you reading Operation Shylock on the 3 train this evening?," yes, I was. And it was a sight to be seen, not by Chelsea Market standards, but perhaps by MTA ones.