Like an incestuous college dorm, this alternadesi hothouse of a ‘hood keeps yielding interesting hookups.
This past summer, I wandered home late one Friday night, sharing the building elevator with a gaggle of desis heading to the roof. I dumped my stuff in my room, walked upstairs and stumbled into a large yet strangely chill party: an indie rock band, a DJ rig, beer, Christmas lights, extension cords and lots of people dancing, drinking and enjoying the NYC skyline. That party nearly got the entire building banned from the roof (much respect), but I didn’t know whose party it was.
A few months later, I went shopping for my first Mac in years to build a fruit-friendly version of the blog editor we use. The font of all things Mac here is the Apple temple in SoHo. Because it abuts all manner of modeling agencies, it’s usually packed with offhandedly striking women, those for whom beauty is merely a Mendelian byproduct. Like the Nano, they’re shiny, costly and impossibly thin.
I got to talking with a random sales guy in a hoodie. Here’s what turned up:
- He spins house music and is an amateur photographer
- He was in my loft building that same morning
- He was visiting two DJ friends who live right downstairs from me
- The DJs and the rockers were the very same guys who threw the mother of all parties on our roof
- And, they’re all desi
The next couple of posts came from this serendipitous connection…
