It's been a long, long time since I've been so excited. Edison Farrow is bringing in Cazwell and his dancers to the old Liquid space now named Lux. He has graciously given us VIP status, which--I assume--will let me close enough to lick the sweat from Cazwell's dancer's bodies. Mr. Astor assures me that this is totally appropriate under the current economic climate, and I will wear eighteen button white gloves to assure Mrs. Stuyvesant-Fish that a level of propriety is maintained. My tongue, however, is off limits to Society tonight.