LALA Land

If you're keeping tabs, you know I've been away more than normal or necessary this past month. Palm Beach, Las Vegas, and now Los Angeles. If you catch me complaining about the New York winter, you have every right to slap me across my slightly sunkissed face, as, well, I've managed to escape it. (Although it was FREEZING in LA, I swear.)

John, Pam, and I just returned from a weekend getaway at The Standard Downtown LA. Ashley met us there, and had you a lens on our weekend, you would at any given moment find us dancing to John's pop mixes, laughing at something undoubtedly vulgar, or jumping on our perfectly stationed king sized bed.

We sipped complimentary champagne, bumped elbows with movie stars, and found ourselves cutting line at big Hollywood Oscar parties. We saw the best worst movie at the best movie theater in the city, and I broke my shoe on Hollywood Boulevard. We dined at Jar and BLD, and fell into bed exhausted each night (morning?), pinching ourselves over this new found reality.

But I'm back now, in Brooklyn, for a long while and as much as I'd like to make up for the sleep I didn't get in Lala Land, its Art Week here in NYC so that will all have to wait. If you need me, I'll be boosting art dealers' egos just past the West Side Highway at Pier 94. The art is good, by the way-- I love this time of year. More on that later.