Ah, nostalgia. Do you remember Soho House? No? It's this private club in, um, Soho — no, wait, the Meatpacking District, v. tricky — that was on Sex and the City a few years ago and features "exclusive" guests who pretend to enjoy overpriced fruit. The Gays and eurotrash who embrace this inferno of bygone trend were out in full force yesterday, as a reader reports:

Sunday afternoon, Soho House: the rooftop pool is surrounded by men in jams and chicks in bikinis pretending they're somewhere nice. How the hell can you relax and sunbathe in your Von Dutch trucker hat [Ed: Holy shit, they still make those things?] when you're literally on top of 50 other people on a tiny roofdeck? Worse, there was a giant scene in the corner of the roof when two queens were served lemonade with vodka instead of lemonade. I was sitting right by them, and after they complained (with good reason, as evidently they were clean and sober and had just gottten a big chug of liquor), the waitress got into a big fight with them for complaining and afterwards wouldn't speak to them. She literally came to their table and slammed down their food without a word.

The liquored-up drinks were probably meant for erstwhile Radar magazine editor Maer Roshan, who was sitting in the opposite corner. But it's a good thing the stealth-booze didn't show up at James Gandolfini's table downstairs, since he's supposedly back on the wagon. He was literally dressed like a truck driver. He looked like a linebacker from a podunk college in Oklahoma, except for that over the top (affected?) accent. Well, I guess if Schwarzenegger can't lose his accent, it's okay if the dude from Jersey can't either.

I know I'm still a little new to this city, but is this how New Yorkers unwind on a sunny Sunday? For real? I'd rather lay my body across the pretty old syringes on the Lower East Side "beach."