10 or 12 years ago I was seated next to Paul Morrissey at a Peggy Siegal luncheon in some plush Manhattan eatery. I recognized him right away, but even if I hadn't I would've felt instantly at home with the sardonic attitude and the seen-it-all, slightly pained facial expressions. I love guys like this. They've lived long enough and have met enough people of consequence to know that much of what constitutes modern life (even in a first-class town like New York City) is distasteful or disappointing or phony. And yet they soldier on with their squinty smiles and witty asides.
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