Dinner tonight, with a vodka stinger in honor of Elaine Stritch. My first boyfriend and I went on our best, most expensive (by a factor of like 25), and only sportcoat-required date at the Cafe Carlyle to see her show and I have him to thank for introducing me to such an uncompromising, singular legend. We really played the part that night, with martinis and wine and multiple courses and dessert. The asparagus spears were fat, buttery, and good, and we shook her hand after the show. This was all a big deal because I believe I was 22 or 23. Thanks, Elaine, for giving us such a good occasion to feel classy and for making New York so special.