[Breakfast: Breakfast sandwich. Iced tea with a splash of lemonade]

I was finishing up brunch at Joan's on Third today when the paparazzi literally jumped out of nowhere. They should really be called the poparazzi since they pop up whenever a celebrity appears. They are like those undercover policeman and FBI agents you see in movies who appear to be regular people hanging out, but then shape shift as soon as the deal goes down. I did not do a good job of Name That Celeb Game today. One of the busboys informed me that the woman crossing the street (jwalking) was Sharon Stone. WTF? She was not as tall as she seemed and I thought she was a younger actress. Stone came off more like a scruffy thritysomething TV actress than The Sharon Stone

It appeared that she was driving a C series convertible black Mercedes--very low-key--I like that. Her destination was the button store next to Joan's which I always pass and wonder how it stays in business, but try and etch it into memory so that when I need a button, I'll remember. Ms. Sharon Stone was spending quite a bit of time there and was apparently being very interesting because the paps kept on shooting her and there was even a videographer. I guess it was a slow day. I was surprised that the chick paps weren't dressed nicer and both had huge purses. One pap was wearing black leggings, Ugg boots and a T-shirt and no, she wasn't a teenager. I realize that being a pap isn't glamorous, but these ladies could at least brush their hair and wear a pair of nice fitting jeans and a decent shirt. Oh, and wouldn't a petite messenger bag be more appropriate than a large shoulder bag? Another busboy pointed at one of the chick paps, “I know her. She gave me her card and told me to call her whenever a celebrity comes here, but I threw it away.” Yeah, ‘cause you need to take some pride in your appearance, pap chick.