Sure, most people resolve to improve themselves at the outset of each year. But we gather here today to ask, what is “improvement” really? Is it not relative? Is your life not improved by, say, ingesting a five-pound sandwich? Ours is not to judge. Ours is to present your 2014 anti-resolutions.
Here’s what $130 mil will get you these days: private riverfront gardens, an indoor pool, a private screening room (Imax quality, naturally), tennis and squash courts, a full spa and... a poker room. Just a modest little piece of land to call home.
It’s been 11 years since you could smoke in a bar here. And yet, somehow, no one’s converted the whole experience (well, the good parts) into a cocktail. Until now. This one’s got smoked honey, sherry vinegar, tobacco and porter. The de Blasio era looks bright.
This sandwich: fried chicken, bacon, ham, melted pepper jack, cheddar and muenster, kale, tomatoes, cherry peppers and two cornbread waffles covered in syrup and nestled between two pieces of grilled sourdough. On the side: roasted fingerlings and housemade pickles. It’s five pounds of food. Good luck making it to ’15.
Now presenting: your road to a number-one hit single...
Step 1: Tell the guys at Pop Star Parties what genre and style you want your song in.
Step 2: Wait a few days while they work their musical and lyrical wizardry.
Step 3: Record it (potentially with a massive amount of Auto-Tune) in Mary J. Blige’s
studio.
Step 4: Clear some Grammy space on mantel.
Tuesdays are rough. The three more days in the week. The lack of any distinctive feel. The pansexual escapades that happen after you leave the office. Oh, right, that’s just if you make it to Bowery Bliss’s weekly post-work swingers party. Which, come on, you should.
