I guess I have to weigh in on the Saint marching into Union Square, since even my friends outside this incestuous little world reacted to it. One, a cynic in Philadelphia, noted that the shilling for the book “served as one of the more prominent personals ads I’ve seen in a long time (Currently, Ms. Waters is not in love, though she longs for ‘a good pal to be in the world with’).” My by-multimedia-possessed consort got me to watch the lurching video, and I greatly enjoyed the interaction with my favorite go-Cheney-yourself vendor. Talk about a reality check against a table covered in countless small piles of produce in separate bowls waiting for the muse to alight. Of course the market, when I got there midmorning, was swarming with video crews and other digital aggressors; I watched one Hispanic witness with child being led into saying the prices are higher than in supermarkets. Oddly enough, it was also overrun (well, overwaddled) with the most seriously obese women I have ever seen in one place in Manhattan. (I hope they weren’t looking for love.) Her place in history is assured; there’s no reason to come down off the pedestal and get everyone stewing about what she’s done for us lately besides put out a book to buy. That aioli was pretty damn good the first time she had it written up.