See-thru-Skin
Anyway, the rest of my weekend consisted of a windy walk across the Williamsburg bridge, a party in Park Slope, and a taxi ride with a cabbie who gave us interpretive dance lessons.
Friday night was replaced with Sunday afternoon, when I went to a party for my friend, Mr. Hook, who just launched a new film company, called The Film Company. I must tell you, dear reader, that I have never before been to such a party.
It was held in the Time Warner Club Room, on the 51st floor of 25 Columbus Circle, with this fabulous view of the park and pretty much all of New York. I was hired for free to serve champagne to an assload of wealthy arts patrons and celebrities.
Isabella Roseelini made the briefest of appearances. She stands with perfect posture, was wearing a long pleated coat, with a foliage print, and her hair hangs in a dark bob with even bangs. She has her mother’s chin. But Isabella Rossellini is not approachable; you do not prance eagerly up to her and say, “I just LOVED you in Blue Velvet,” especially not in New York, especially not on the 51st floor of the Time Warner Building. You can only admire Isabella Rossellini from afar, like a statue, or whatever.
Helen Mirren was there, although I didn’t notice, and I’m pretty sure I saw Billy Bob Thorton, who I love, love, love. In fact, there was probably more celebrity punch in that room than I could ever be aware of, as I only have an eye for the major movie stars.
So I called up two of my best buddies to, you know, share the wealth, and we ate a picnic dinner of hors d'oeuvres on the freezing balcony and soaked up that view for as long as possible because there is no way in hell --not in a million years-- that we will ever live in this city at that angle.
Come Monday morning, that oh so ravishing party would result in the most boring of head colds.
Friday night was replaced with Sunday afternoon, when I went to a party for my friend, Mr. Hook, who just launched a new film company, called The Film Company. I must tell you, dear reader, that I have never before been to such a party.
It was held in the Time Warner Club Room, on the 51st floor of 25 Columbus Circle, with this fabulous view of the park and pretty much all of New York. I was hired for free to serve champagne to an assload of wealthy arts patrons and celebrities.
Isabella Roseelini made the briefest of appearances. She stands with perfect posture, was wearing a long pleated coat, with a foliage print, and her hair hangs in a dark bob with even bangs. She has her mother’s chin. But Isabella Rossellini is not approachable; you do not prance eagerly up to her and say, “I just LOVED you in Blue Velvet,” especially not in New York, especially not on the 51st floor of the Time Warner Building. You can only admire Isabella Rossellini from afar, like a statue, or whatever.
Helen Mirren was there, although I didn’t notice, and I’m pretty sure I saw Billy Bob Thorton, who I love, love, love. In fact, there was probably more celebrity punch in that room than I could ever be aware of, as I only have an eye for the major movie stars.
So I called up two of my best buddies to, you know, share the wealth, and we ate a picnic dinner of hors d'oeuvres on the freezing balcony and soaked up that view for as long as possible because there is no way in hell --not in a million years-- that we will ever live in this city at that angle.
Come Monday morning, that oh so ravishing party would result in the most boring of head colds.
posted by Toby Shuster at 7:04 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home