For the last two weeks, I've wanted to stop by The Ace Hotel's Liberty Hall to see Q-Tip in his DJ residency, but for the past two Fridays, I've been too tired.
Sitting on my bed last night, energy sapped, I started thinking about how much I wanted to go, and how it was so easy to bail on something that happens every week. "There's always next week."
And that's when I seem to miss out on things the most. When someone lives down the street, you've got so much opportunity to see them, you don't make much of an effort, and so you never see them. But when they move away, they feel so far, so out of reach, that you make every attempt to spend time with them, taking days off from work and paying fares for buses, trains and planes.
So recognizing this quirk, last night I rallied, put on fishnets and my sparkly flats, and braved the hotspot's weekend crowds, the throngs of celebrities and poseurs and wannabes that clog the lobby bar and The Breslin, and the bouncers who turn you away if you're not a hotel guest.
It was easy enough to get into Liberty Hall, paying no admission charge and showing no ID. I got a club soda and cranberry quickly enough at the bar. And I found a spot to stand against the wall to watch young, drunk girls with buckling legs rub up against their unhandsome dates.
Because it was Q-Tip's birthday and he took the night off.
Clive, the security guard, reported this as he complimented me on my glasses and bemoaned not being allowed to dance with me. "But usually it gets real crowded in here, and they open up that wall over there," he said. "You should come back next week, and maybe we can dance then."
With the promise of next week, I left to go home. I was glad I went, because I was able to find out exactly what I was missing out on, which was exactly nothing.
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