On Wednesday morning, I woke up to a rainy, dreary Manhattan. And as soon as I walked out into it -- after a fabulous night that would've made anyone wish they lived in that damn city -- my umbrella went from right-side-out to inside-out in about 2.5 seconds and I thought to myself: If this is supposed to be my reminder of why I hated living in New York, IT'S WORKING. Now cut it the eff out.
When I arrived for my first panel (on the future of music PR), I was soaked and in desperate need of an enormous coffee beverage. What's bigger than a venti? Swimming pool? Or is it just intravenous at that point?
After the panel I walked to Union Square, where I went to one Starbucks and then promptly left and went to the Starbucks across the street. Yes. It happened.
Apparently the decidedly nasty weather (it is entirely possible that I used a swipe from my MetroCard just to walk underground across Union Square) had created a distinct lack of places to park your ass in any indoor location on the island of Manhattan, but I was able to get some real estate at the second Starbucks to try to get some work done. Unfortunately this particular Starbucks was having wifi issues, so when I was finished with my latte I packed up yet again and headed back for Ashley's apartment where there was not only wifi, but also a couch and dogs to cuddle you while you work and ALSO no one with a questionable bathing history trying to occupy the same space as you.
Well, except for the dogs.
Anywho. After I was satisfied with the state of my to-do list, I headed out again for a day party and then to see Zola Jesus at Le Poisson Rouge. That turned out to be one of the best things I saw all week, and you can actually take a look and a listen to all of my favorites over at Loudersoft by clicking here.
I managed to get to bed at a decent hour that night in a feeble attempt to make up for the 4 a.m. tater tot extravaganza and related 24-hours-of-AWAKENESS that had happened to me the previous day. Thursday I had a solid schedule of sessions I wanted to get to, plus the Paste Magazine Day Party and dinner with old friends.
Thursday night I headed to Brooklyn for a DJ set and ended up catching a Datarock show at Brooklyn Bowl and getting awkwardly hit on by a balding 40-something guy whose name is lost on me now, but was probably Perry. Or Alvin. Or maybe Reginald.
Yes. Yes, Reginald. That was it.
cheers,
elizabeth
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