At last night's Mr. Jones party, the natives were getting restless. Limiting the alcohol to wine and an unidentifiable syrupy cocktail in a plastic cup was understandable in this difficult economic climate, but I saw several tables of women get visibly angry at the lack of food. After they sent one of their group out to forage, she returned with this report: "They told me that it's just chicken wings and meatballs, and that nobody's getting more than one or two. Can you believe that bullshit?"
What, that when times get tight, restaurateurs get skint vis a vis feeding freelancers/freeloaders? Yeah, I can believe that. And if those ladies really wanted to get indignant while waiting to eat, a 45-minute line for pizza at Artichoke was but a few blocks away.
