Celebrity Fish Story
I went to a certain magazine's party last night, which was supposed to feature a DJ set from a certain high-profile DJ who's only a little past his due date. Given the fanciness of the invite and the promise of two OTHER celeb DJs, my little heart was a twitter with the promise of the evening. Walking three avenue blocks in 40 MPH wind? Pshaw. Standing in line for about 30 minutes in this same pushing wind, which felt more or less like being attacked by a thousand tiny ice knives? I said nothing, as I'm not one to whine.
Once inside, I was struck by the. . .well, ordinariness of the venue. Where were the glitterati? The arty signage? The free copies of the magazine? Shit, where is there even anywhere to stand?
After about an hour of standing next to the waitress station (literally the only space big enough for my g/f and I to stand that had remotely room enough for us to move our arms to drink), we managed to make it accross the room to a tiny platform my friend had been sitting on. We knew where each other were, but 20 feet away through that sea of fabulousness might as well have been the moon.
No less than five minutes after making our bold move to new territory, a huge and sheepish-looking bouncer came around to inform us all we had to vacate the platform. Everyone. He did look genuinely sorry, as he knew he was pushing us into a packed house where crowd surfing was basically the only option to secure a spot. "Is someone important coming?" I asked. "I dunno, man. They just told me I had to get everyone out."
Fair enough, but also an obvious call for us to get the hell out. The open bar was over, anyway.
Once inside, I was struck by the. . .well, ordinariness of the venue. Where were the glitterati? The arty signage? The free copies of the magazine? Shit, where is there even anywhere to stand?
After about an hour of standing next to the waitress station (literally the only space big enough for my g/f and I to stand that had remotely room enough for us to move our arms to drink), we managed to make it accross the room to a tiny platform my friend had been sitting on. We knew where each other were, but 20 feet away through that sea of fabulousness might as well have been the moon.
No less than five minutes after making our bold move to new territory, a huge and sheepish-looking bouncer came around to inform us all we had to vacate the platform. Everyone. He did look genuinely sorry, as he knew he was pushing us into a packed house where crowd surfing was basically the only option to secure a spot. "Is someone important coming?" I asked. "I dunno, man. They just told me I had to get everyone out."
Fair enough, but also an obvious call for us to get the hell out. The open bar was over, anyway.
posted by Chris Chafin at 3:42 PM
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