The landlord came by this afternoon to fix the fan and made us do shots of this honey-infused vodka which he claimed was "medicinal," which kind of had an adverse effect on the rest of my work day.
This evening I had to pinch-hit for my mom at an event where my grandpa was getting an award. It was at the Players Club (several good portraits of Edwin Booth) and the hors d'oeuvres were sparse. There were seven count em seven awards presented, each of which required the introduction of the person giving the award, who then in turn gave the award to the recipient, who of course gave a speech. Grabbed a bite afterwards with my dad at a tavern once favored by O. Henry, now favored by douchebags. I explained to my dad the concept of the Murray Hill Set.
I feel a bit sick.