Tags: party

me in doghat

notes on last night

In the middle of the middle school kid's Chamber Players Concert carolynturgeon and razorart were calling to say they were headed to the galleycat mediabistro party that bookgossip blogger Ron Hogan's invited them to at Lolita on Broome Street and that I should meet them there. I watched our violinist play her way through the Bach and the Handel with her fellow chamber players. I even stayed awhile longer to hear the group of six cellos play the Dotzauer and then the James Bond Theme. By then, carolynturgeon and razorart were calling again to say the galleycat party was so packed they couldn't get in edgewise (actually neither one of them would probably ever use the word edgewise) but they were going to party for a while at a bar on the next corner until there was more room. I did find them looking glamorous at a sidewalk table and then carolynturgeon's friend, noted beauty and fashion and spa expert Rona Berg showed up at the little sidewalk table party too.

There was talk about first books and second books and third books and even one fourth book. We talked about JT Leroy the reality movie and plastic surgery and who might consider it and psycho email and Italy trips and a Barcelona childhood and seven pages a week and cramps and fictional flasks preceding real life flasks and chipped manicures that have a certain look and a broken finger. Also a tango competition and prom and a spa junket in Singapore. A good publisher and a bad publisher.
At some point I got hit with something wet that fell from the sky. We think it was probably birdshit although this wasn't totally clear. So, I essentially took a shower in the ladies room anyway. Then, Rona decided to cross the street and squeeze in to the galleycat party at Lolita and claim her free drink ticket, say hi to a few other authors, we heard 200 were coming, then she returned with her free drink under her jacket.

There was more talk about the Pussycat Lounge and the Pulpwood Queens and Texas tiaras and all kinds of interesting upcoming BEA events like the Rock Bottom Remainders concert with members like Amy Tan and Steven King and Scott Turow... by the time we meandered over to the Lolita party, there was lots and lots of room, but no more free drink tickets no matter how hard one of us negotiated. We were too late to meet party guest of honor, Mergers & Acquisitions author Dana Vachon. Sorry we missed Ted Mooney too, I would have asked him if he was going to Bennington College's 75th this year. However, Ron Hogan was now calling carolynturgeon from a cigar bar on Hudson street and telling her she must show up there with the entourage. In the taxi on the way over, there was talk of Monica Lewinsky and Hillary Clinton books and sex and politics and betrayals and ghost writing and stupid berets and smart cigars. And no one could remember really how old Monica was when she was... you know... doing the president. Anyway in the back with all the books, Ron was there smoking a cigar and chatting with his agent and Yael Goldstein, the petite and charming author of Overture who was also smoking a cigar.

It was snug and dark and some of us put our feet up.

If there was any really seriously outrageous gossip, I didn't pick up on it. There probably was. Did we talk about antonstrout? I don't remember. razorart picked out some fancy drinks for us and there was more talk JT Leroy and some about Andy Warhol and using real life in fiction vs using real life in art and the ability to skewer someone with words and violins and coal mining and Hollywood and more on the topic of second novels.
I just happened to notice there was a James Bond poster on the wall behind Ron and I was hearing echos of my kids concert. Eventually I heard that the fancy drinks we were drinking were like $18 a piece and I decided I would now definitely use all the facilities the cigar bar had available, which was essentially the bathroom. And when I went to the ladies there was an old James Bond movie playing on the TV which I watched while I waited my turn and I took this all to be a sign that I should soon be sending out a James Bond Girl short story I wrote.

Anyway what I decided last night is, I think its really important to have girlfriends like carolynturgeon and razorart who are amusing and discriminating and glamorous and opinionated and talented and unexpected and know the importance of girlfriends and don't always have to agree. Eventually, after carolynturgeon had her cigar, we all went in different directions, the L, the downtown 2, the uptown 2, the Pussycat Lounge and on my way to the subway my college kid called just to see if she could move her doctors appointment today so she could go meet Bon Jovi with some of her college friends. I said we could try.
blurrrry me

my girls

The middle school kid comes home from an overnight school fieldtrip one year older today.
We are going to meet the bus tonight with 14 balloons and one more for good luck. We still have to wrap presents (most of which she picked out) and hide them around the apartment (its a tradition) and bake the "happiness cake" (another tradition) that will have glitter candles of course. Her party is scheduled, Madam Tussauds for FaceBook or MySpace photo ops and then like a 25-girl sleepover.
The college kid is home at last too, somehow with twice as much stuff as she left with. She brought a bunch of new friends who crashed here for a couple of days, which was nice, but they all left yesterday, so at last she is all ours again. Well, for a few minutes anyway. She looks great. Exhausted in a good way. I think it was a really hard and fast first year. She is already excited about next year and busy trying to put her summer together. But, at some point during the year (I think it was right after she had all her wisdom teeth extracted--which hopefully really has no effect at all on her actual wisdom except at the time she was having to take heavy duty pain killers) she happened to mention this odd fact about her ivy education. "We get one free abortion a year," she said.
me in doghat

collections and recollections

I was definitely having one of those I-have-nothing-to-wear moments, but I got past myself and rode the Q to The Grand Surprise: Journals Of Leo Lerman book party at The Osbourne apartment where Leo Lerman actually lived when he was alive so elegantly kitty-corner to Carnegie Hall. My husband who had just come from writing his column http://www.nydailynews.com/news/crime_file/2007/05/08/2007-05-08_albany_pols_let_fiend_walk-1.html was waiting for me and we went into the lobby together and it was just like stepping into another New York. That wonderful, theatrical, witty, glamorous, wellread, fascinating, eccentric New York with a past.

This was clearly where Truman Capote and Isak Dinesen and Marlene Dietrich and Jackie O and Cary Grant came to visit Leo Lerman.


When we got off the elevator we encountered the second guestchecklist and the gal with the list said, “Be sure the photographer gets your picture.” And of course he didn’t, probably because he didn’t know who we were, which is understandable because even my understanding of this changes. And we were definitely not Stephen Pascal who edited the book or Steve Martin or Peter Beard or Tina Brown or Amy Gross or Bill Cunningham or Mimi Sheraton or Grace Mirabella or Richard Meier or Hannah Pakula or The Kaminskys or The Newhouses or Pilar Vilades or James Wolcott or Jim Dale or Robert Gottlieb or David Noh or Daniel Perry… who I am sure were all well paparazzied, but other than the perfect otherworldly dress worn by Gina Sanders, publisher of Teen Vogue, which was the most exquisite sea-foam sort of ethereal shape-shifter kind of fur-trimmed sprite-dress, it very quickly became clear to me that the real celebrity of this party was The Apartment and all of Leo Lerman’s amazing Things.

Headwig was under a glass dome just inside the door (one of many things under a glass dome it turns out) surrounded by the most amazing candlestick holders that probably come to life in the middle of the night.


everywhere something fascinating
carolynturgeonyou would have loved this party for your noir novel...

and razorart you could have picked up some intriguing ideas for your edgey romantic vintage Coney Island characters... he clearly played attention to juxtapositions... there were Triton humongous futuristic pink coral displayed on a shelf that must have been built somewhere in the middle earth Shire

and antonstrout your paranormal detective would have been apoplectic with stories of the past... It was like a museum. And guests were welcome to snoop through all the rooms.





Jonathan Marder told me in passing that when the host Gray Foy heard how many people had RSVPed he said, “I have to put seven hundred things away if that many people are coming.” Well, there were still seven trillion things to see. I mean Leo Lerman celebrated collecting.



I love this woman climbing out of this chalice


something for everyone...


many many framed elegant flying creatures


toys as art or the art of toys


and this was in the bathroom


fashion photos everywhere


books almost in every room and he clearly also loved dogs




So then we were interviewed by the very enthusiastic Paul Ohan who was there for NY Magazine
which felt odd because we both worked there in another life and all the while I was thinking how Leo Lerman came from nothing and collected amazing people in his life and ultimately became so wonderfully collectable himself and then I finished my lemonade with mint and my husband caught a cab back to work and I caught the Q home and right away on the train I cracked open my new copy of The Grand Surprise and started reading this collection of random perceptions and gossip and memories this interesting man jotted down about his life and I am savoring it.
me in doghat

looking in my closet right now

So, apparently because of something I wrote here in my lj, I was invited to this cocktail party tonight at The Osbourne to celebrate The Journals of Leo Lerman... and the email along with the invite said Steve Martin and Richard Meier and S.I Newhouse and Donald Newhouse and Amy Gross and Tommy Tune and Aileen Mehle and Sonny Mehta and Grace Mirabella and Nancy Novogrod and Paige Rense and Mimi Sheraton and Gloria Vanderbilt are just a few of the guests expected... and also that the apartment was amaaaazing and so worth the trip in itself.... and I have been trying to figure out what to wear... and I'll take any suggestions... and also if aanyone has anything in particular they want me to ask any of those people if they actually show...
me in doghat

a woman's actual work



...I hope to eventually get to the "feminist" exhibit at the Brooklyn Museum but last night I went to Elizabeth Crawford's art opening at the Jack Shainman Gallery in Chelsea and decided I was looking at The Real Deal. Wry. Sensuous. Homely. Perfect. Imperfect. Suspenseful. Poetic. Narrative. Vacant. Brainy. Frank. Subtle. Blatant. Studied. Reflective. Spontaneous. Domestic-ated. Really smart. Totally talented. Informed. I could go on... Absolutely a woman's vision. A mom, a wife, an artist. Paintings and drawings that are susceptible and versatile, open and vulnerable to any level of interpretation. I think she's really good.


For me, this vision of a surgical glove is like a nude portrait...
all about the glove's stark gorgeous sensuousness and so seductive, but has me thinking about STDs

and for me this one is about having that feminine touch in the world... maybe even daring to let it be in the foreground and not needing it to be perfect all the time... or do I have the impulse to pick up the pink scarf, blanket, towel, and fold it? put it away? Nah.



and this one is about a pick-up sticks pile-up of those unsung traditionally and homely feminine traits... you know, helping and supporting and nursing and nurturing and being the soccer mom or in this case the ski-mom and softball mom and unplugging the stopped-up toilet and so on...



and for me this one is about ordinary life... or the spice/condiments of ordinary life... relationships and conformity and gossip and getting caught between "friends" and friends and being different and someone maybe being very different and having a necessary healthly bit of that fork you



and this one I wish I could have bought... someone else did... its just so deeply delectable and sensuous and yet everyday... maybe even kind of post coital orgyistic... but just under the radar so... the way sex can get after marriage and kids... like a meal... a private family party... the after party... extraordinary and extra ordinary...


a little closer...


and this next one is kind of about the age of anxiety that we live in now...


...that terror emergency kit... or maybe its more about playing into the terrorists game... or bracing yourself... or not about terror at all... just instant fixes in a fast life...

and what would a woman's vision be without at least one fashion item and I think these boots were probably really made for walking...



...strong, experienced, stoic even, yet somehow so personal, and anecdotal, and that unzipped sexy yawning of the pink interior

and then there was the empty jar, washed, reclining, ready for recycling or some new purpose... a second life... a new career... life after motherhood... the ultimate transparent feminine vessel... a metaphor perhaps of the artist herself... and edgy in a cylindrical way



Elizabeth Crawford is very cool







there probably should be some mention of Flemish or Dutch portrait paintings of some other century too... the warm, sedate sepia, brown, to deep shadow, maybe womb-like backgrounds... many tongue in cheek references I am probably not fully getting, just sensing... but a bunch of Elizabeth Crawford's paintings sold, which is great, and then there was a party for her at the wonderfully irrepressible Marianna Koval's home in DUMBO with this view of two bridges and the East River



Marianna is also very cool, a mom with a moped... but I don't have that picture.
...so this is my view today