I feel like a spend a lot of time on this blog writing about how a) anxious and b) divided I am as a writer. Although, it’s possible a lot of those posts are just in my head….
I thought for a change of pace I’d tell you about something cool I’ve gotten to see because of my current writing gig. Every two to three weeks, my producer and I try to meet in person for notes.
Because it is located geographically between us, we sometimes meet at a place called Soho House. If you haven’t heard of it, don’t feel bad, I hadn’t either before I went. Now I do, because my producer told me a few things, and also–I looked it up on Wikipedia, so I can share a few facts: Soho House is a private club for people who work in the arts and media. The first one was founded in 1995 in London by a British entrepreneur named Nick Jones. He opened another in New York in 2003. The West Hollywood club followed just a couple years ago in 2010.
When I get to the Soho House, I park under the building with the valets and go into a little basement lobby, where I give my name and the name of my producer (who is a member, whereas I am not.) They find my name in a big guest book, and point me to the elevator. To me, the elevator is part of the experience. It’s dimly lit, the walls are padded/upholstered with a quilt-y leather, and there are thick velvety curtains covering the rear doors, all of this mutes any sounds–and there’s no muzak, so if you’re alone, it’s kind of like a ride in a velvety, quilty womb, after which one is reborn into the light of this foyer on the penthouse level.
This is the walkway that goes around the place–lots of floor to ceiling views. The outer layer of glass is also to keep the noise from parties from bothering the neighbors. They are never having parties at ten in the morning.




