I go to Fashion Week

Actually, I didn't go to Fashion Week—but my name did. In the last episode of Gossip Girl Blair comes up with a seating chart for a fashion show, and eagle eyes spotted me in the third row. This, my friends, is madness! Anybody who knows me (or has just seen me) knows that Fashion Week is pretty much the last place I'd check out in New York. It does make the sighting even more delicious, I have to admit. In fact it's even better than when some anonymous tipster suggested to a gossip site that I was leading a double life as an escort (and a 28-year-old escort at that). Have I become a meme?

As far as the seating chart goes, I was intrigued by the fact that I was right behind Vogue editrix Anna Wintour but in front of New York magazine's Adam Moss. It feels as if the show's writers had pulled names out of a hat—well, my name.

It's actually ironic that I'd make a guest appearance on Gossip Girl as I've only watched a couple of half episodes; the machinations of spoiled Upper East Side children aren't that interesting. Not to mention that like Dirty Sexy Money and 90210, the series' slavish fascination with the lifestyles of the rich feels a little…out of touch these days. I love escapist television as much as anybody (more later about my infatuation with Grey's Anatomy) but there's something too calculating, too cynical about Gossip Girl and its ilk. I'd rather watch the show's clear inspiration, Cruel Intentions, again. Sarah Michelle Gellar, Reese Witherspoon and Selma Blair, plus lesbionic action? Clearly there's no contest.