http://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2014/06/23/id-girls

She and I were wandering through Chelsea Market. Glazer was on lunch break from the writers’ room. She stopped at a grocer’s for some peppers and other veggies, which she loaded into a sack. She likes to cook and to work out, but finds very little time these days to do either. In my presence, she was reserved, thoughtful, solicitous. She said hello to people—a guard by an elevator, a man stacking pineapples—and ran ahead to open a door for a woman pushing a stroller. She told the woman seating us for lunch that she admired her earrings, and the woman, blushing, explained that they were cufflinks—family heirlooms. “Good job, dude,” Glazer said. She got preoccupied by a preteen girl who was having lunch with her parents next to us, and who was quietly crying. She often notes children, dogs, and old people when they walk by. Willa Paskin, in Slate, compared her to Bill Murray, for the combination of deep-seated kindness and insouciance, devil-may-care mixed with we-are-all-God’s-creatures.
She says that she wants women to like her. “Men, I don’t care.”