Choire Sicha, wasting away in jury duty, notes that he's short on cash these days, what with the "cabs, delivery, Prada, beach house, Schwab accounts, and Soho House" ("Sure, my acupuncturist messengered me a bag of vitamins last week. And of course I chainsmoke, the last sign of wealth in these unhedonist times. But these cigarettes are from Switzerland! Two dollars a pack! Like a transexual supermodel at Beige, I'm a fraud where it counts the most.") Choire's pitch: "Many of you have too much money and real estate and not enough good times and able assistance. It seems that I am in a perfect position to assist in this imbalance. I can provide this special class, the Lonely Wealthy, with services heretofore undreamt of."
Bling bling strategies for the New Economy [ChoireSicha]