“The walls of Rubulad have a peculiar archeology. Every square inch is covered with scraps of paper, textured fabrics, shiny baubles, little lights, or rough paintings. From that chaos of decorations you can start to read the history of the space. A banner reminds you of heaven and hell, a piece of tinfoil recalls the Kiss party, a xeroxed hunk of cheese has something to do with cats and mice, and there’s a candy cane from Christmas. There’s art everywhere. Urban folk art. A diorama in the window-well outside the bathroom. A topiary rabbit at the front door. A big tree that begs you to climb inside. You see all this at once, jumbled and confused, overwhelming, the same way you remember the parties… ” “…It’s sort of hard to say what makes the parties so good. At first you think it’s the space, wonderful and baroque. Then you think it’s the people, who dress up, follow the themes, and wear costumes. At one point you start to be impressed by the performers: the bands, a puppeteer, some guy showing old films, a groovy band that gets everyone dancing. And finally you realize that there’s a consistency to each party that isn’t an accident, and it’s the people who host it who give it that consistency. In a way, Chris and Sari are pretty much responsible for all of it, or at least for setting the framework that allows it all to happen…”

After a huge ordeal of losing our keys, locked out of Alexia’s apartment, finding places to stay and then ditching them, we ended up just staying out and hitting up a diner around 9am. Really confusing riding the trains with the Wall Street suits on their way to work.