It was the type of party that I always imagined people in New York attending when growing up so far from here, reading the third chapter of The Great Gatsby so many times the pages fell from their bindings. They dress that little garden in twinkle lights and hang paper lanterns from those dripping willow trees JUST like Jay Gatsby did every summer, I swear.
It makes for a stunning evening-- so much so that you might just mistaken Midtown for East Egg, Rodin for Eckleburg, and Maps for a love song. (It isn't. It's a terrible song about a rockstar who travels the world sleeping with his fan base. Everyone knows that, but it STILL made me gasp into happy tears.)
Don't be fooled, though, into thinking that my life really looks like that, with those silly people, under those tricky stars. In the end, I have more in common with Nick Carraway than Daisy Buchanan, and one day from now I will be floating down the Loup River in Nebraska in a cow tank with a cooler. I'll be wearing mud shorts and a baseball cap, with the Yeah Yeah Yeah's blasting from my boom box. Can't wait :)
PS, Wish I had a better photo than the blur of Karen O above taken with the camera on my phone. I was apparently too busy dancing to take anything of the garden itself, whoops. And thanks again, J, for inviting me. It was just lovely.