Sweet Dreams are Made of This


Flavorpill @ The Guggenheim

Came into the office this weekend. I leave for a conference in San Antonio on Wednesday, which means that I'm trying to clear things up a little for the next few weeks. I can't help but feel the mournful (albeit dramatic) echo of Sidney Carton's "'Tis a far, far better thing that I do than I have ever done" speech in the background, but hey, I'm just a publishing scrub who was once in the ignominious position of being called "Blackie" by a homeless man in Philly. Wow, don't know where that came from. The point being that though NO ONE else is here at work, there's too much to do, and I have to suck it up.

So, of course, here I am blogging.

Vanessa's birthday was this past week. I made her a big birthday door -- rather silly, I know, but I liked it -- and stuck 33 candles on a cake. We then went out to "Soonja Cafe" for Japanese food. On Friday, I bolted from work and ran for the train to the city. Anthony, Vanessa, Rich, Echo, and yours truly got together for a rather busy meal in Chelsea. The atmosphere was nice, but it got a bit stressful, what with all the wine ordering, and shuffling around of plates. We got to the Guggenheim at 12 -- two hours later than projected, but it was amazing!

Flavorpill is this great company that one of Vanessa's friends, Sascha, started a few years ago. For the first friday of the past few months, they've been hosting a huge party at the Guggenheim, wherein a DJ spins on the floor, wealthy hipsters get to relive the crazy 80s, and everyone else explores the galleries with techno/island/house/tribal/R&B reverberating in the rotunda.

View From Above


V & Me


Although there was no dancing on my end, it was a really fun evening. We were originally on the VIP list, but it turned out that even the "Royalty" had their own endless queue. Just as the five of us planted ourselves at the rear of the line, I saw a girl from Columbia walking around, and gave a small wave. Five minutes later, armed with paper bracelets, we swooped past the outraged people in line and entered like the real royal family...I've got to say, though neither that girl (bless her!) nor I knew one another's names and liberally called each other "sweetie," I felt a bit like a rock star.

But it was when the DJ (Diplo) spun "Blue Monday" that I decided the party unequivocally rocked. People were break-dancing and cheering, and it was just amazing to see preppies, hipsters, and eurotrash collide. It made me feel good to be young, good to be part of some kind of NYC collective. But Annie Lennox gets the last word, just as she did on the dancefloor:

"Sweet dreams are made of this
Who am I to disagree?
Travel the world and the seven seas
Everybody's looking for something..."