New lows in blog narcissism. Subtitle: Groundhog's Day

In honor of Groundhog's Day, a look at my mornings:

I am nothing if not a creature of habit. Out the door at 7:45, insert iPod buds, dig for $1.25 on the way down the street, give $1.25 to Ahmed at Optimo Cigars for the Times and the Post, swipe MetroCard at 7:53.

From here I snag a seat and open the paper (The Post. Eat dessert first.) I make it through everything in the Post except the TV page (skipping sports). I get to Penn Station at 8:22 - I don't know how that happens, but it's always the same time. About once a week, I'll get a bagel (everything, plain, not toasted) at Zarro's (motto: "Send a challa to walla-walla"). There's an escalator to the street, but I take the stairs with pride in the training from my fifth floor walk-up (penthouse).

I emerge Punxsutawney-Phil-like on 34th Street and walk to my magic Starbucks (no lines! always seating!) where they begin to prepare my drink (medium-I-mean-Grande-skim-no-whip-peppermint-mocha-thanks) before I reach the counter. My breakfast companions are Guy with Buzz Cut and Besuitted Man with Laptop. Everyday. I feel like it'll be weird if I don't send Christmas cards next year, or at least saying "hi" soon. I read the Times through the page 2 corrections (the best part of the paper besides metropolitan Diary and Alessandra Stanley's articles. Most of the latter end up being referred to on the next day's page 2 anyway.)

I leave Starbucks at 8:45, heading due south. In the eight or so blocks I walk, I'm offered two other chances to refill my Starbucks cup, three shots to buy a halal kebab from vendors, no less than three opportunities to rent a porno/and or inappropriate outfit to nanny in and seven chances to buy flowers wholesale. I love the flower shops because every morning they pile their trees, plants and flowers on either side of the sidewalk and it's a nice way to mark the seasons: orange and white pumpkins, mums, ivy, pine wreaths and trees, 8-foot branches sprayed white and silver. Up next, roses. During New York's two-week winter 2005-06 the wind was blowing hard enough to make my eyes water, and one of the flower guys thought I was crying and slipped me a flower from a bouquet he was loading in a van.

I love Chelsea.