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When Bert told me he was into klezmer music and had attended a five-day klezmer festival in the Catskills, I knew he’d know Dave Tarras’s name, and of course Bert said that Uncle Dave is revered as a god in klezmer circles.

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As I walk to my studio, I pass a tree with one group of leaves that have already turned russet and golden; I gathered some leaves and plan to mail them to friends in the city as a harbinger of autumn. I looked at the plaques (“tombstones”) on my studio today and saw that my immediate predecessors there were Glenda Adams and June Jordan. Yoko Ono stayed there in May 1971.

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He was in a car accident and got AIDS from a blood donor, a gay man who didn’t know he was infected. In turn, he infected his girlfriend, who now hates him—a feeling he can understand, he said. What he most wanted was to meet a heterosexual woman with AIDS who would hold him in her arms.

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Teresa and Michael seem pretty comfortable in their relationship. At times, he can be nasty to her, but he does it in a playful way. “Isn’t he mean?” she asked me. “No, I’m cute,” said Michael. “He’s cute,” I said. And Michael said, “Sure, he’s not going to say I’m mean because he doesn’t want to spend the whole summer with you.” The man is correct.

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At break, I chatted with Mark outside. We’ve gotten almost to the flirting stage. I told him about the People assignment and talked about my publicity campaigns, and he remembered once seeing me on the TV news. I could tell I was getting more attractive to him.

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It’s bizarre how many people have told me that being a Cash Cab contestant is on their bucket list.

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I’d gotten his number from a man who used to book him for speaking engagements. He told me: “Harvey’s real cool, just give him a call.” So I did. The phone rang a few times, then Harvey picked up. I heard that same voice I came to know from his days on Letterman. It was scratchy and distinct, loaded with character.