Shkreli Tangents: Straying From Our Mission, Here -- Since It Was A "Once, In Seven Years" Night, Last Night...

We generally (as a rule) steer clear of any stupid "Page Six" tabloid style nonsense / fodder, about Martin Shkreli -- or his milieu. But since he was able to get his ankle monitor off, yesterday. . . we were pretty sure he would feel the need to "Instagram" the selfies about it all. It was a big day, afterall.

And. . . he did not disappoint: he claimed to be dining on osserta, at a high end NY area bistro, with a VIP no less (see at right -- a VIP un-named, for the obvious reason that if his dinner companion were truly well-known, he likely doesn't want to be thought of as. . . entertaining the likes of Martin).

I will take that story at face value, since one of his commenters later claimed to actually see him at the restaurant, but chose not to interrupt the dinner, for a fan-moment. Okay.

Then, later in the evening, apparently, he ended up in a lower end club. . . just staring at the "thots" (his term).

U G L Y. . . .

I do think it is sad, that a guy who claims to be very bright, and now almost in his 40s. . . is still awkwardly hanging out alone staring at women in tight dresses, and too much make-up.

Yes, that's my judgment. But. . . were I in the Apple, on a given Wednesday night -- knowing that Verdi's Aida was being staged by the NY Met this coming Spring. . . I know where I'd go, after dinner. And I'd go to my hotel. . . well after midnight. . . fully enthralled, as all truly eternal arts. . . beckon forth our most noble selves.

That's my belief, true -- but even Martin could figure out how to grab a Hamilton ticket, or something. Damn. [It hadn't reached Broadway yet, before he went away.]

Okay. I'm out. Hopefully, more of substance tomorrow -- and a likely-decision, on intervening in the Receiver's sealed motion practice before Judge Cote, in Manhattan.

Grinning -- ever, grinning.



Now, do. . . proceed. . . onward, Martin.

नमस्ते