Bloggers? Media Types? They All Look The Same In The Dark.
Okay, we’re doing a little better now - holding down half a bagel and a little bit of water. That being said: let’s talk about last night.
- David Karp - wearing the same hoodie as James from Gawker, as it’s been well documented - was there. He did not speak in full paragraphs as has been previously reported, possibly because he was drunk. Either way: this was an inexplicably severe letdown.
- To whomever was there taking photos: you were really wearing a Gawker shirt, weren’t you? This is akin to wearing the shirt of the band whose concert you are attending. FAIL.
- James Del - wearing the same hoodie as David Karp, as it’s been well documented - was busted talking about difference between the two girls who he offered to buy drinks for, and which one he actually intended on buying a drink for (“definitely not her friend”). They were right behind him as he was saying this. Unfortunately, neither of them necessarily understood what was going on, so he got off clean. To you, sir: huzzah. But this was still not the best social faux-paux of the night…that comes later.
- Drinking with editors to whom your copy was due two days ago? Fun! Sorry, Andy!
- What the fuck was that viral marketing robot thing doing there? No, really whose goddamn idea was that? He got lucky - had I not had my mature face on for the company I was keeping, he would’ve gotten a mason jar full of the frozen White Death launched at that stupid LCD screen he was wearing. You know when you get in a cab drunk, and the Taxi TV comes on, and all you want to do is turn it off or kick it in because you’re wasted and it’s too bright and that light is just making you sick? This was like that, except he was at a bar. Homie, if you’re reading this, show up again and I’m taking mom’s advice. But really: what was in those Mason Jars? Roofies? Fuck.
- Now, speaking of the White Death, TAN, if you’re reading this, I would love to meet you one day. Just don’t let 99 introduce us, because he has no idea what you look like.*
- The Boss is far nicer in person than I’d ever want him to be, though he kept on asserting that he was nicer than anyone else. I still take issue with this.
Sven has a charming Patrick Bateman-esque quality to him.
- Oh, and speaking of cabs, the last thing I remember from last night before getting home is pointing to the radio and asking “Is this Ghostface?” before passing out in the back. Amazingly, I gave the driver the directions to Nance’s place in Astoria, and he got there without me having to give him directions once thereafter. I paid him - that was an ordeal - got out of the cab, ralphed, and went to bed.
- I also puked blood this morning. Firsts! The top of my face is red because I burst a few capillaries as well, or something. Good times, friends. Let’s do it again!
*I had written out the best parts of that encounter and refrained from posting it. Seeing as how I’m sure you’ll get your chances in legion to call me out, I’m going easy. But goddamn, that was superb. “Patrice!”