“I try not to let any of that stuff penetrate my sphere of consciousness,” the musician and heir to the Seagram’s fortune, who lives in Bed-Stuy because he chooses to and not because he has to, told the Observer, whilst “sitting on the edge of a wicker couch in the dim light of the Bowery Hotel Bar’s back patio with a glass of Malbec and a Winston.” What stuff was he talking about? We don’t know. Most stuff, probably. That’s the best part about being rich, that you get to think about what you want to think about, and not have “stuff” gunking up your brain all the time, like will I get fired and if so will I have to live in New Jersey and/or and did I pay my cell-phone bill and can I keep not knowing who Adam Lambert is or is it important that I know? Meanwhile, Bronfman’s fiancée, the entirely hot and likable Grammy-nominated singer Maya Arulpragasam, a.k.a. M.I.A., “was across town doing a photo shoot for Vogue.”
The Bed-Stuy Bronfman [NYO]
