This is it, baby, the 200th blog (mine, anyway). Everyone was at my apartment for the celebration: Sir Ian McKellen, underground casino owner Martinson Agunga Agunga, night club owner Ukrainian Hank, Gwen the Cappie, Matty the Mainer and his son Goodtimes, Patrick Stewart, and former Red Sox second baseman Marty Barrett, just to name eight. The party was planned by Martha Stewart, and catered by chef Ming Tsai. It was a regular happening.
It all really came together when Mads showed up. It felt like old times to have my Norwegian companion back with me. I had him on my team in a game of Beruit against Matty the Mainer and Santino from Project Runway. We killed them, and considering I hadn't won a game since Mads left, the whole thing just seemed right. (Matty will tell you we won so easily because he had to hold Goodtimes, and Santino wasn't very good.)
As the party wound down, Mads and I went out on my terrace and shared a cigarette.
"I'm thinking of moving back here," he said.
"You know your room's just as you left it."
"All right then."
We gave each other a firm, manly hug. Then we heard:
"I thought you'd never ask."
It was Patrick Stewart. Sir Ian McKellen had suggested they blow this pop stand (my party) and go grab a drink at his hotel. I never thought I'd hear one of my events referred to as a "pop stand", but I guess if anyone would do it, it would be him.
1 comment:
Hello from almada - Portugal
Have a nice day
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