Eight Miles High

Friday was yet another Seattle reunion and one more Finger on the Pulse party, where I discovered reason number 57 why I prefer going out in Brooklyn to Manhattan: people talk about Proust on the dance floor. Saturday, we went to the Natural History Museum to see some dinos then hopped a tram to, of all places, Roosevelt Island, where we saw abandoned buildings and a whole slew of freaks mixing with sunny retirees. That's my kind of weekend.