It's 2 A.M. and I'm waiting for Amy Winehouse in the lobby of the Soho Grand wearing a slice of tomato on my head. She bet me $100 that I couldn't walk to the bar across the street without it falling off, but just as we were leaving, she made an unannounced detour to her room. That was a half hour ago, and to be honest, I'm starting to feel like an ass.