So Nice I Got Her Twice

There is something otherworldy about a supermodel, that preternaturally perfect six-foot-tall woman with the face and hair of a Homecoming Queen Skipper doll who won't get out of bed for less than $10,000 a day (copyright: Linda Evangelista), and when you're blessed with the chance to see one in the wild you stand back in awe and bask in the glamor, all the while suppressing your desire that they suffer some malady like bulimia, bankruptcy or a messy public breakup as karmic retribution for their genetic superiority.  But as Carol Alt strode down East 67th street like it was the Perry Ellis runway circa 1982 there was no schadenfreude, because on top of being radiantly beautiful and looking far younger than her 56 years, Carol is one of the nicest models I've ever met, always taking time to chat, take photos and sign autographs for anyone who recognizes her and even the losers passing by on the street who see you taking a picture of "someone famous" and want one too, which explains why I have not one but two pictures with her over the last two days.