The Vast Haze Of Disco

To every generation a dance floor is born.

Matty pointed up at the spray of antlers (painted white and tangled together) that hung overhead. "Remember when they used to have disco balls up there?" I died a little inside. "They don’t have discos anymore." Matty is too young to have studied at Studio 54 or dined out of Danceteria. His baited questions were less about the subtle changes in nightclub decor over the decades and more a naked bid for blog attention. "I haven’t been on a dance floor since before mobile phones had cameras," he lied after a group photo flashed by an iPhone.  But I indulged. "No one calls them mobile phones, either."

Model Home

"Why are you here so early?" Ryan Hahn's voice rang out across his empty apartment as I dodged three eager waiters desperate to put a drink in my hand before I even had a chance to dispatch my coat. This is what happens when you show up at 9:05 for a very fancy holiday party that started at nine. Apparently, Ryan and our mutual friend Brian Gianelli (aka the only other person I would know at the party) had already decided Brian should come closer to eleven, when the party was in full swing. Information that would have been important to know.

As it was, I happily unloaded my junk at the coat check and grabbed a hot apple cider from the hot tasty bartender. I discovered the big-armed bartender with the heterosexual hair (see below) and equally hot waiters were no mere coincidence, but had been hired from Marc Levine, the owner of Model Bartenders. I came by this juicy secret from Marc himself who had come early to make sure everything was going well, which might explain the aggressive lords-a-leaping as I walked in the door. 

"Would you like to try on that Santa suit? It needs a bottom." - My Best Line of the Night