Out of the ghetto, into Astoria. Life is good in these parts. Less nutbags, more crazy Greek folk - but them I can handle.

My new place sort of feels like a college dorm. But it's all right for a temporary situation - time goes warp speed here, so it'll be a blur, I'm sure. It'd be nice not to have to sleep under my winter coat for warmth, though. Some day... dream big.

Speaking of, I need a get-rich-quick scheme, on the double. One can only hide the unopened loan statements under the bed for so long. At least that's what my mom says. So yeah, please forward me any potentially lucrative ideas ASAP.

The job is fantastic. Here's another hint on my whereabouts - the Feb. cover model's ensemble, or lack therof, was risque enough for me to have to cancel about 14 subscriptions for angry readers. But she's smokin' hot, so whatever. And although it's still a bit far off, Rosario D. is the April cover girl - and that spread (heh) is hot too, so keep an eye out.

At a beer and guac going-away party for two staffers, co-intern J. and myself were last ones standing as others returned to their desks to close up shop for the night. As we polished off our beers, Mr. $1M+ himself walks by in his fine Italian suit and says, "Every time I see you guys, you're drinking." Nice. Especially since I haven't even been formally introduced to the man yet...

Spent last Saturday out with three fellow ex-J Schoolers - one a Bloomberg News intern (who P.S., AG, she's echoed your sentiments on the place 100 percent), one a Men's Health intern, and one working on a book proposal (how impressive are we?!). Checked out Fashion Week (no celebs in sight), the gallery district, and the Brooklyn Museum. We wound up at a fantastic bar with an indoor bocce court and $2 PBRs. Too bad about the fucking hipsters hogging the boules. Next time they ignore the signup list, I may go apeshit and take 'em out with one of those heavy suckers. Game on.