There are few more thankless job than door control in the Meatpacking District, but among them is attempting to interview bouncers and doormen in the Meatpacking District. Some are actually quite friendly, while others are friendly in the "I will break your shit" way. Observe the reactionary gamut from cheerful chatting to hunter-killer mode when nightlife enforcers are confronted with the camera.
Sure, we could show you hours of B-roll depicting Jersey girls staggering over the Meatpacking District's cobblestones on unfeasible heels. OK, maybe we'll show you a little bit of that. There's the doll who shouts, "I don't smoke, I'm famous!", and the chicks swarming the utterly superfluous and yet ever-present NYFD fire truck on 9th Avenue ("Crowd control," muttered one fireman when asked why they were there, his eyes following a bevy of passing short skirts). Perhaps most compelling is "Suzetta," the "58-year-old Vietnam veteran" cross-dresser, and her handler, Jimmy. Suzetta was denied entrance to various Meatpacking bars due to leaving her ID at home. Still, she was quite willing to borrow Jimmy's van and our various nubile interns, for purposes best left unexplored on a family website.
Oh hey, perhaps we're being too hard on the Meatpacking District as a hive of tourists. We're sure that lots of locals still hang out there, right? So what if they're from France, Italy, and/or Texas. New York is all about the melting pot. Good thing, as the only actual New Yorker we found on a night of crawling the neighborhood was a tranny who couldn't get into the Hog Pit.
Wow. Who knew the debates were this much fun? We're totally watching the next one. You know, unless we have plans that night. Whenever it is.
Arianna Huffington got some moderately effective pimp-time for her new book, On Becoming Fearless, on last night's Colbert Report. Stephen Colbert was surprisingly gentle in the face of Huffington's implacable demeanor and accent, but he did reminisce fondly about "nailing her" in the segment intro.
The Best Week Ever blog has video of Steve-O's Jackass Number Two premiere red carpet wee-wee-trickling misadventures. (Those hoping for a glimpse of the Pecker-O will be disappointed to find a dancing BWE logo obfuscating the oft-punished goodies, but you can always go back to our original photo post for an unobstructed view.) Co-star/walking Budweiser billboard Johnny Knoxville seems completely over the proceedings, saying, "You're on your own, kid," with a thought bubble magically appearing above him a moment later reading, "I shoulda ditched these retards for the Wilson brothers a long time ago."
Those who find themselves jonesing for the mildly homoerotic lifestyle porn of Entourage during its hiatus might be temporarily sated by the adventures of Group of Guys, the story of F, Theater, and Duck-Billed Platypus, three childhood pals just trying to mooch off mildly successful pal Vincent Pursuit's Smallville cameo. We'd call it a Bizarro version of Hollywood, except that this version of the industry is a lot more true to reality than the one where a doe-eyed Aquaman's hardest decision is whether to hit the bong before or after stopping by Book Soup for a groupie fuck.
And because we couldn't make the case just with boring old words, enjoy the above teaser for forthcoming video clips of Meatpacking District inhabitants, exhibiting natural behavior in their normal, reprehensible environment. Much more later, but this should give you an idea of the pain and suffering we endured to bring you this exclusive material.
In part the second of our efforts to flood the zone known as last night's Good magazine launch party, enjoy this more comprehensive clip documenting a little bit of Al Gore boogie, a smidge of Matthew Modine, a wodge of Demetri Martin, and a good bit of "Hey" almost immediately followed by the requisite "Ho." Early party prospects did not look promising, but the abundance of liquor and absence of food soon put the people into the right frame of mind. Munch on this while staying tuned for our full-bore but scrupulously kind party report, wherein we atone for past sins.
So last night was the Good gig. What can one say about a party where attendees included a former vice president of the United States, an iconic figure in the history of hip hop, and Amanda Congdon's boobs? Plenty, and we'll be saying it later today. For now, we'd like to cede the floor to Good founder Ben Goldhirsh, a class act and good (ha ha, get it?) sport. We asked Ben if he had anything to say to Gawker.
Tuesday night, videographer Richard had the good fortune of attending a party for a phone. T Mobile! Y Apartment! W the fuck. No worries, here comes the Samsung Trace, which is a phone that lets you talk to people far away and take pictures of things very close. To celebrate, partygoers grooved to a pierced musical combo, swilled Veuve Clicquot, scarfed quesadilla rolls, and slurped down bowls of cereal. Yep, we got that last part on tape, just for you. Compare and contrast with T-Mobile's last launch, if you dare.
