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The Marlton

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The Marlton

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The Marlton is a recurring venue in the Collected Agenda archive, appearing 6 times across 6 issues between June 09, 2025 and December 09, 2025. The archive places it in contexts such as “dinner at The Marlton’s new restaurant Chez Nous”; “I was sitting by the fire at The Marlton, earlier”; “Club sandwich in the solarium at The Marlton; the lobby of The Marlton Hotel”. It most often appears alongside Celia, London, Soho Reading Series.

Metadata

  • Category: Venues
  • Mention count: 6
  • Issue count: 6
  • First seen: June 09, 2025
  • Last seen: December 09, 2025

Appears In

Source Context

Recovered passages from the original issue text. When the raw archive preserved outbound links inside the source passage, they are listed directly under the quote.

A supposedly fun thing I’ll never do again
June 09, 2025 · Original source
From 9pm at Baker Falls — Rebounder performs a free live show. Tuesday, June 10 From 6pm - 8:30pm at Apt 5 — Language Arts and Heretics Club presents Shared Stories - a blind book exchange. Bring a book that moved you. The first portion of the event will be spent wrapping the books and writing a note on why it moved you. The title will then be blindly exchanged.
Inline links: Baker Falls, Rebounder, Apt 5, Language Arts, Heretics Club, Shared Stories
A quiet night in the realm of events. Consider; dinner at The Marlton’s new restaurant Chez Nous followed by a screening of Buffalo 66 at Metrograph (10pm). I have historically liked The Marlton because it is vaguely past its prime and also a five minute walk from my apartment, and a place where no one ever tells you that you’ve stayed too long. The food at the old restaurant was terrible (so I’ve heard) (I only went for tea), but the recently refurbished Chez Nous is chic and fun and has maintained all of the hotel's original charm. The shrimp salad is very good, as is the martini. I’ll report back after my second visit (possibly tonight). Otherwise - 10pm on a Monday evening is the perfect time to see a film bar none, besides, possibly 1pm on a Friday.
Inline links: Chez Nous, https://metrograph.com/film/?vista_film_id=9999002294, recently refurbished Chez Nous, 1pm on a Friday
Void of Course
October 13, 2025 · Original source
Right my wrongs mostly through not repeating them and forgive those who have wronged me mostly through prayer Wednesday, October 8 In the mood for beautiful items and caution to the wind, I spent last night with memories, collages, beautiful images of beautiful things. Spent last night making drawings on the floor and watching home videos and pawning through little gold crosses for sale on vintage resale scammer sites. Little gold chains with amethysts. Blue pearls. White pearl chains. Tiny little silver hands clutched together. I wanted everything. Wanted a ceramic box stuffed chock full of precious stones. I reconsidered what I wanted. I wanted to unearth new memories. I wanted to recall everything I worried I’d forgotten. On a flash drive, I wanted to find a video from a winter. One can tell it is winter because everyone in the frame is wearing big coats and has that sort of frosty happy manic sun set early look in their eyes. I wanted to throw a dinner party. I wanted to print out every video I’d ever taken from every dinner party I’d ever thrown and keep them on polaroid papers in my bedside table. Wanted the videos to play on printed paper like a film when I touched them. Wanted to open my bedside table and take out pieces of paper that came to animation-style-life with simulacras of candles and autumn and freezing early evening air and the part where the doors close and the guests are gone and one says, that was a good dinner party. I have been to the movies, a concert, ballroom dancing, writing class. Everything is changing because of something in the Blood Moon and wind and ambitions came roaring back to life along with urgency pertaining to health and rejuvenation and someone else’s problems usurped my own. I walk to Grace’s concert in the evening. How did the blood moon treat you? Sam asks me inside the venue. Dark and small. Grace’s face was swimming all around the televisions on the wall and her voice was sweet like an angel and my new friends were reassuring me that if they saw someone scribbling symbols on post-it notes in writing class they would be intrigued and not disturbed. The Blood Moon was up and down, I tell Sam. Makes sense, Sam tells me. On account of my Pisces Moon. On account of things I don’t believe in. On account of a psychic who said something like this might happen and for now I could expect a little while longer, at least, of sparkling water in the East Village and holding court by the East River and a tip-toeing holding-steady kind of limbo-life that lasts for a few months and maybe years, though not forever. There is a train to the ocean again, tomorrow. That should shake things up. Thursday, October 9 I missed the train to the ocean by one instant, and so the yellow cab glides right past Moynihan Train Hall and then back towards Soho and a murky turtle pond, unpacked bags, more of the same. Do you feel grief because it is the first day of Fall, Amelia asks me. Is it something in the air? Was it something in the Blood Moon? Things have become all crisp and wane, you see. I feel grief because I missed my train, I tell Amelia. I am craving a sense of everything empty and clean and gray autumn ocean and a world where nothing ever changes and nothing ever stagnates all the same. This is the only sort of thing I have strong opinions about. My whims and also, what is beautiful and what is not. I was sitting by the fire at The Marlton, earlier, and the girls across the table were trying to conjure up strong opinions. Mostly trying to find moral fault lines in the structure of things that they might crack open and uno-reverse for the sake of mostly their own personal gain. It was so depressing to listen to. I stopped listening. Friday, October 10 On the first day of Perfect Autumn, Iris and I go to The Commerce Inn for dinner. We are still quite young and are going to live quite a long time, Iris says. A random stranger at The Marlton Hotel told me and Amelia not to be so hard on ourselves and I thought he was chastising our lifestyles choices and not just being invasive yet kind and so I nodded violently and said ‘I know, I know, I know,” I tell Iris. The Commerce Inn is the sort of place one can only go in evening, and in fall or mainly winter though it is known for ‘Brunch.’ Tonight feels like a very Autumnal affair. Dark and surrounded by fallen leaves. The moon is Void Of Course, the stranger at The Marlton told me. Iris and I order oysters and bone marrow and fluke. The last time I was here, I ordered potted shrimp and it was snowing and I tucked carry-on baggage under the table, filled up on wine and aioli, caught an overnight flight to Los Angeles straight through the storm. At tea today, Celia told me; I don’t care about anything if I’m not nostalgic. That’s because you value intensity above all other things and cannot comprehend any other structure to a way a life should be, I told Celia. It’s the right structure for a life to be, Celia told me. I agree, I told Celia. The threads of things have been a bit disjoined. I am beginning Ninety Day Novel, I tell Iris. It wasn’t for me, Iris tells me. What was for you? I ask Iris. Becoming possessed, Iris tells me. She tells me some other things, too. She doesn’t tell me what to do. I kind of lost my nostalgic fervor, I tell Iris. I know you love the winter, Iris tells me. So, it is just one life all at once, which I’ve been telling myself since June and I am finally starting to believe. Iris and I start to walk to The Hudson. We reroute towards Greenwich Village and it is finally getting freezing. I am finally getting sick of talking about these sorts of things. I will talk about something else, soon. WHAT YOU SHOULD DO Monday, October 13 From 4pm at Roxy Cinema — The Downtown Festival continues today and all week. At 6:15pm; world premiere of The Isdal Man by Gus Dapperton, with a Q&A moderated by Lucas Hedges. A film about Scandinavia and a vlogger (?) - I hope to make it to this. From 8:15pm; Love New York (Anthony Di Mieri). From 10:45pm; City Wide Fever.
Inline links: Roxy Cinema, The Downtown Festival, The Isdal Man, Love New York, City Wide Fever
Autumn Secrets
October 27, 2025 · Original source
I recommend Halloween Dinner at The Marlton, The Commerce Inn, or Knickerbocker Bar and Grill. The best fall restaurants in New York! Or, at least in my neighborhood but I think they really do hold up.
Inline links: The Marlton, The Commerce Inn, Knickerbocker Bar and Grill
The Marlton <3 Saturday, November 1 From 9pm - 12pm at 424 Broadway — Performa NYC hosts the Opening Night Artist Party, celebrating the artists of the Performa 2025 Biennial and the official launch of WIP Mag. Hosted by Isabella Boylston, Anne Imhoff, Charles Renfro, Kendalle Getty, Whitney Mallet, Imogene Strauss. Performance by Saturn Rising 9.
Inline links: Performa NYC, Opening Night Artist Party, WIP Mag
Fever Dreams
November 05, 2025 · Original source
A good nights sleep Monday, October 27 I opened the window to let in the eerie and whistling wind after the reading last night and then I stayed up late, fallen leaves and pollen drifting past my headboard. Called Celia to talk about the same things all over again. Called Celia to request that she confirm my fears and delusions and certainties for the million billionth time. I’m getting a really creepy feeling, Celia said. Like a horror movie, Celia said. In my earliest memories, I recall walking around with this very deep self-assuredness. I would wake up everyday feeling so certain and blessed for the absolute pureness of my heart. So when he said he understood me as perfect, it was like oh someone finally understands me the way that I understand myself, Celia said It is important to always have pure intentions, I told Celia. I like when people share my aesthetic sensibilities and are unfazed about the things I worry hedge towards evil, I told Celia I’m starting to feel so creeped out, Celia told me. Tuesday, October 28 Nothing was so creepy. I was not scared of anything anymore. I could still hear the wind through my open window and in the daylight it was nice. The nicest, really. The nicest thing in the world. I slept through the afternoon half aware of this nice and floating wind and then I donned a black skirt, black top, black Ganni boots and I drifted through orange-hour Washington Square Park and a light fall rain towards the lobby of The Marlton Hotel. Where there was a fire and Celia perched by it, waiting for me. Nothing ever happens. I used to be so arrogant, I told Celia, at The Marlton. Arrogance is a good sort of thing to hold onto, sometimes. Celia told me. Celia said something about our friends being cancelled online, something about moral hierarchies, she was done feeling sorry for herself and love thy god with all thy heart and all thy might and acedia is the only truly mortal sin. The Marlton Hotel and God and Self Indulgence. French fries with garlic aioli and dirty martinis and tuna tartar and writers workshop without too much writing. I was sitting there kicking my feet around and feeling like I might die if I couldn’t break-the-pattern-today-so-the-loop-does-not-repeat-tomorrow. Do you remember what life used to feel like? Do you wish to live forever? Do you wish to never suffer? Do you wish to never suffer, forever? I’m sorry to be cryptic about it. Wednesday, October 29 In my fever dream, I was back on the Amtrak heading towards Florida, Massachusetts and everyone around me was screaming. We were traveling to record something regarding Esoteric Health. It was still October, and I knew the omens we were seeking to be somewhat evil. Everyone was furious at me, and this only bothered me because I did not know why. Woke up in New York City yelling, somewhere between a memory and a fugue state. A recurring dream I used to have where I was driving with my parents over the George Washington Bridge in a winter storm and an old woman was lurching at the vehicle, tugging at the door handles, talking about how it was almost too late. A train ride last winter where everyone was screaming at me because my ex-boyfriend was being abrasive and I was kind of in on the bit. A small faux-thatched-roof apartment in Greenwich Village where no one is angry because no one is here. I paid my dues in apologies and reparations in October, and now God has rewarded me with a real life fever and unpleasant news. A lot of things I loved became shrouded in delusion and vicious self-involvement. A lot of clarity and purity of heart became hard to access because my morning was shrouded in a fever. Kind of wanting to scream. Kind of wanting to take my Brown Prada Boots and Black Fry Boots and Grandmas Suede Ballet Flats to the cobbler. My Blue Pearl Necklace to the jeweler. My Sue Wang Dress and Red Vintage Slip to the tailor. Kind of have been like a bull in a china shop with all my beautiful things, and now there is so much to fix. Kind of feeling indignant. I should really focus on believing in something. I believe in hotel lobbies, superficially. I believe in other things, too, but I am trying to have a bit more discretion about it. Thursday, October 30 Here is what has happened: I am sitting at The Marlton hotel now where everything is cast in a kind of olive glow and the fire place is roaring and I ordered a cheese board with camembert, comté, manchego, six grapes, two halfs figs, spoon of truffle honey and spoon of jam by myself. Ordered chamomile tea and sat with Rebecca and Dory in the sunroom with my fever, earlier. Now, I am sitting by the fire with my fever by myself. I am not ready to go home. I am not really ready to think or write about the sort of things that have happened. A small beautiful blond child and her brother a bit older just walked in both wearing sweet striped shirts. Their father just finished the marathon. Their mother is all smiles, pulling apples from her canvas bag and polishing them on the hotel napkins before placing the fruit in the beautiful children’s outstretched hand. I am green with envy. I am so overjoyed to be looking in on their Beautiful Life. An insufferable duo on a first date next to me is talking about how much they hate parades and how their work is industry agnostic. Their flirting is so nauseating. Bad voice physiognomy. They are flirting with each other in the most insufferable and sexless way and you can tell, so clearly, that they met on The Internet. I am starting to consider forgoing The Internet. There is a soulless kind of song and dance these people are doing. He is listing out his favorite types of Pasta Shapes and numbering his rankings on his stubby fingers. She is talking about food poisoning. Neither of them are religious. I am trying to stomach my distaste. If you have ugly thoughts they will seep through your skin and stomach and long black sleeves of your long black Brandy Melville dress and they will seep up through your mind and out of your pours and intermingle with the rancid scent of your fever that will become a deeper sort of illness and start to rot and fester in you forever. Your bitter and ugly thoughts will start to turn your face all ugly and ruined. I am trying to wish them grace and good will. I am trying to sip my tea and choke down fruit truffle honey and crackers. Twist my hair into two very tight braids. I want to find myself a little less repulsed. I want to look at these strangers’ pale forms and imagine them replaced by orbs of light. I want to look inside their rich inner worlds. I want to look into strangers’ eyes and not be afraid of staring or back holes. I want to wish them well. I want to hope they find a beautiful life. I want to hope they buy a beautiful life. Friday, October 31 Here is what has happened. Life shrinks or expands in proportion to one’s courage. Once; I lived in a glass apartment in the sky. I am not sure how things can oscillate in extremes, to that degree, with that level of hot and cold and up and down and everything cruel, like it became. I used to lie on the floor to feel close to things. Lie on the floor and dream about it. The past has been orbiting in ways that make me queasy along with the illness in the air, today and yesterday, since the eve of Halloween, really. At the Halloween Party in Chinatown I wore a black hat and milled about amongst red flowers, plum tart, candles and courtyards. Went bolting up the stairs to catch a car. Went walking under the Washington Square Park archway where the air was very crisp and I was very feverish. The park was overwhelming me with street performers and noise and light and stimulation. And then in the shadows and the grass and tucked away beyond the benches there are figures in sweatshirts and denim and long sweeping hair and interlaced hands and fallen leaves and everything sweet all around the edges. I was sitting at the edge of the park in June with my fingers interlaced and the beating sun fading into dusk and the summer stretching kind of hazy and breathless ahead. It is strange to try to remember anything. Strange all the stories I am hearing in the wind and the autumn and the fever dreams and another passing season. WHAT YOU SHOULD DO Wednesday, November 5 From 7pm at Night Club 101 — 99 Minutes or Less returns with Maison du Bonheur (2017, 62 minutes). 99 Minutes or Less is a new free film screening showing films that are (you guessed it) 99 minutes or less. This evening’s screening is guest programmed by Elissa Suh of Movie Pudding. After party to follow with sounds by Dj Kyle and Paradise by Replica
Inline links: Night Club 101, 99 Minutes or Less, Maison du Bonheur, Elissa Suh, Movie Pudding, Dj Kyle, Paradise by Replica
Club sandwich in the solarium at The Marlton with Rebecca and Amelia this afternoon
One Million Billion Interludes
November 27, 2025 · Original source
I’m a creature of habit so I’m basically always going to recommend the same spots, but if you’re in the city for Thanksgiving – The Marlton would of course be a cozy place for a meal, as would Knickerbocker Bar and Grill. Both are serving Thanksgiving Dinner.
Inline links: The Marlton, Knickerbocker Bar and Grill
Hotel Lobby Gossip
December 09, 2025 · Original source
WHAT I DID Monday, December 1 Everyone is sick and dropping like flies but not me. I’m at a rooftop hot tub in Williamsburg tracing my hands through the water and watching the sun come up as I stare blankly ahead. I’m driving back to New York City squinting into the skeleton trees and the blue hour dusk that fills the space between them on the side of the road off the Mohawk Trail. Do you shop at Uniglo, my family members are asking? I am muttering something about Brandy Melville in response and then I am feeling vaguely nauseous. I am break the pattern today or the loop repeats tomorrow. I am imagining everything magical all the time. I am washing up on the Upper West Side where the streets are wide and quiet and sweet and winter rain has frozen everything shining. I am washing up in the Marlton Hotel Lobby, where I am telling Celia about my dream. In my dream, a composite of every person I’ve ever met was calling me on my phone, I tell Celia. They kept on asking me to turn the call to Facetime instead. They kept on saying it was time to see each other’s faces. They were warm and not scary and I was crying and pleading a lot, though I don’t know what for. Was it everyone you ever met, or just everyone you’ve ever cared for? Celia asks me. Same thing, I say. That is unequivocally untrue, Celia tells me. Tuesday, December 2 In The Marlton Hotel lobby, I order black coffee, avocado, smoked salmon and sourdough toast with the perfect type of butter. The butter with salt water mixed in, and then a tall bottle of sparkling water on the side, too. Eavesdropping at The Marlton Hotel, where the bar room is decked in Christmas cheer and the fire, per usual, is roaring. The conversations on either side of me are increasingly hallucinogenic. Two chirpy and pretty girls to the right, and two middle-aged Jewish ladies to the left This is how I feel with a lot of my relationships, one of the girls says. The first was not a provider, but I thought that I could fix that. The second was a psycho libertarian who got me health insurance as his sick way of trying to lock it down The last man I dated told me I was full of shit, her friend responds. I said something in earnest, and he said that I was full of shit. I could never see past that. Me saying something in sincerity, and him saying I was full of shit. On the other side, the middle-aged Jewish women are talking about pizza night. It’s pizza night and then it’s pepper night. They have no plans this week. These are the only plans they have made. I’m getting dinner with a man who thought his whole family was dead, but then they weren’t, one of the women tells the other. He is so amazing. He taught me about exercise. I get the zoomies, says her friend. We don’t work, and so we have to exercise. I hate people who don’t. Exercise? Exercise. When were things the best with him? The first girl is asking her friend. I think, before we met, the friend responds. Who was that coocoo-for-coco puffs lady that you got friendly with, the middle aged woman asks her friend. She is wearing a red amulet. We will call her Celine. Oh, she was crazy. and the sister was out of her mind. she was very beautiful You introduced her to me one week and we loved her. And then the next week you said; She Cannot. Come. Back. Here. We pick up interesting people. Everyone’s interesting It is so weird when we think about relationships as two full selves coming together, one girl is telling the other. They liked coats! Whole family of coat owners, Celine is telling her friend. I mean the father was GAY. The whole family was gay. My first kiss was gay. Well… his brothers were gay. All his brothers were gay…” Celine’s friend says. So he HAD to be! They’re all gay! As long as they’re happy…. Amongst the girls to the right, the conversation has turned to heaven and earth. Death and other realms. They are talking about Neurolink and how they were at a neurolink conference and they met a man who died for twenty minutes because he slipped and fell and chipped a tooth and affixated in his own blood. Do you want to hear what happened when he died?, one girl asks another Yes, the other responds. He was floating in light. He was disembodied. He could hear sounds but they weren’t sounds he could describe in human terms. There was a God-like presence, and God asked the man if he would like to stay. The man started to feel a pull towards earth. It was like when you wake up from a dream. God said you have a choice. God said everyone has a choice. The man made the decision to go back to Earth. The man woke up in the hospital bed. Her friend responds: I spoke with a psychiatry professor at Harvard who briefly died as part of a death-study, but he couldn’t tell me about it because he signed an NDA. He said he can’t say very much, but it’s going to be ok. Girl 1: So what do you think about that? Girl 2: I mean I definitely don’t believe in heaven or hell Girl 1: The reason I never killed myself is because I want to see what happens Girl 2: I mean I definetly do believe that consciousness is eternal… Wednesday, December 3 What do I care about now? Write and read. Wait with pulsing anticipation but not too much anticipation, mostly just a sense that some things are at their tail end and others at their precipices. Something in Saturn, maybe, but I am trying not to play with fire in this way. After I played Kali Uchis off the tinny computer speakers and I read books by healers who possessed demons and I drank sparkling water and cleaned everything top to bottom and flirted with danger a bit, Celia came over to sit on my floor. I think I’m having a bit of a panic attack, Celia texted me. Would you like to come sit on the floor of my apartment, I texted Celia. She arrived in a gray sweater and a blue wool scarf and bearing a suitcase that belonged to me. Do you like the window open? I asked Celia. I am feeling a bit cold, Celia told me. I am feeling very excited and ambitious, I told Celia. I have always had boundless energy and this is the only thing I know to be true. There are magazines on the way to the apartment and I am realizing how nice it is when things are very clean. I am going to go to The Marlton hotel now, Celia told me. Thursday, December 4 Writing, like a list, the things I have that I can quantify, now. A blog

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