Thanks a lot, Gawker. With one swift blog post, you've a) made me feel like everyone I know in this town is no longer worth knowing, and b) launched an incredibly annoying crusade of speculation, called "Is This the Infamous Mike's Apartment?" It's annoying for Mike, who'll have to paint his infamous red door a different color. It's annoying for commenters on Eater, who wish they'd go back to writing about restaurants. But most of all, it's annoying to me, because what good will Friday night be if I don't spend it at Mike's Apartment?

In case you haven't read Gawker's post, which, according to the Voice, "introduced the world" to a NoHo loft called Mike's Apartment (and by the "world" the 3% of New Yorkers still stalking downtown for the next Beatrice is meant), let us hit you with the specs: minimalist decor, old dance studio, wireless password = Nirvana1, celebs spotted so far: Axl Rose, Sebastian Bach, Daniel Merriweather (?), promoters spotted from Avenue, 1Oak and Greenhouse, models, trannies, The Box afterparty, smoking, expensive whiskey, Twitter ban.

The Gawker post, which seems to have extracted all its info from Mike himself but is still sort of vague, has already set some local blogs on fire. Eater is already calling it "the newest and hottest party space" without having ever been, or knowing anyone that's been. Come to think of it, that's probably what makes it so new and hot. The Voice already went in the line of fire to hunt and kill possible Mike's Apartments (they seem to have a winner). So now that Mike and his apartment are New York's newest It couple, what's next you ask? A cameo in How to Make It in America, obviously.