By Mark La Monica
I'm done. I quit. I'm tapping out. No need for the sleeper hold, camel clutch or figure-four leg lock. I voluntarily submit to ending my seven-day reign as Blog King of New York.
Too much fashionism, too little time.
The breaking point came moments ago inside The Bryant Park Hotel. The Front Row Daily, a fashion week rag mag, had been advertising free massages in their office. That office is on the 24th floor, but you wouldn't know that without asking the right people.
After lugging around a laptop and 20 other pounds of notebooks, peppermint patties and other free junk all week, the lower lumbar region begged for some love. So why not enjoy a little free massage at the end of a long week of fashioning. It's akin to raging in Las Vegas for 48 hours and then wrapping up the weekend with a schvitz at the spa three hours before the flight home.
I arrived on the 24th floor and walked into the office. Remember that college party at that awfully small apartment of your girlfriend's artist friend? This rivaled it. Personal space and comfort was at a premium. The Bacardi bar was nice, but it took too long to get a fresh-made martini, so I passed. There was a hair and makeup room. Whoa! That was not in the advertisement.
The massage table was nowhere to be found. Allegedly, there was some room with a door closed and a long line, and frankly that's just way too shady a combination to deal with in some random office that caters to the fashion world.
So I left. Grumpy. Achy. Ready to return to reality.