I’m so happy the writer’s are back, I don’t know what to do. I just watched Real Time with Bill Mahr and The New Rules have returned. It’s the funniest shit I’ve heard in a long time. Thank God for witty mofos who can flip a phrase, make parallels and allusions and just blast all over people so intelligently they’re not even sure it just happened. Long live writers!!!
Now, on to today’s blog.
I went to a very official Brooklyn houseparty on Saturday night at a very fabulous loft in Bed Sty. It was huge-- not even by just NYC standards. It was a birthday party for a dear friend and former mentor (one of my first editors (Vibe), who now, as life would have it, writes for me :-) He and a fellow Pieces rented out the space for their party, brought in a host of amazing deejays, and 500 of their closest friends, colleagues, and associates to celebrate. I have no idea how old he turned, but he brought in his next year of life quite right.
As it would turn out, the loft —newly renovated, I believe-- is up for rent. As I was ravving about the space and inquiring about the owner, I was told there was a sign by the entrance advertising for it. My curiosity got the best of me and I went to see how much a gorgeous space like this would go for. I figured it would give me something on which to set my sights for the future.
Three THOUSAND motherfucking dollars. Per MONTH. RENT!
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