Patricia Clarkson, A.M. Homes, and some other chick we don't recognize. Not a bad crowd for just another downtown party.
When we heard there was a book party for A.M. Homes, and when we heard it was being through by the cool kids at BlackBook, and when we heard there were going to be some real celebrities there, it seemed clear we had to attend. That's the metaphorical "we," of course — which is why we called erstwhile Gawker Intern John Carney back up to the bigs, paired him with wandering staff photos Nikola Tamindzic, and sent them off to the Bubble Lounge, apparently itching for a fight. Don't worry; apparently they didn't find one.
Reading the Times Book Review Sunday, I found out the reason book parties suck these days —because there aren't enough fist fights. So when Gawker asked me to crash the Black Book party for the new A.M. Homes novel, "This Book Could Save Your Life," I knew what I had to do: Save the party with a strong right hook to the chin of a literati. So I spent a little time with the speed bag at my gym, met up with Nikola, and set out looking for trouble.
Patricia Clarkson is a very pretty lady. When she walked into the party, the sweet girls at the door said, "It's so nice to meet you." She said, "I know." Too bad she's a girl or I would have socked her right there.
This guy looked pretty tough. He's Calvin Trillin, probably most famous for writing about food, and for those little poems that run in The Nation. I tried to start a fight with him but he kept moving away from me nervously. What's his problem?
This guy was just there for the free drinks. Nothing wrong with that. So he gets off without a bruise.
Here's A.M. Homes herself. It turns out that she's a woman. A really nice woman...
...who brought her daughter along to the party. I'm not punching anyone while her kid is watching. Unless, you know, she was asking for it.
What's a Tribeca book party without Jay McInerney? This would have been a good fight. He might even be able to take me. But I didn't want to fight both him and his friend. Plus Brett Easton Ellis showed up next. There's no way I'm taking down both Brett and Jay.
Paul Slovak and Sarah Chalfant, respectively Homes' editor and agent. One thing I've learned about the book world—you don't fuck with powerful editors and agents.
Obviously a good candidate for a knuckles game initiation. But he's a nobody. What's the point of fighting a nobody? Plus I was afraid he might cry.
Minimalist writer Amy Hempel was gracious and kind. She is one of my favorite writers. I was hoping someone would fuck with her so I could hit him. But since everyone wishes they could write like Amy Hempel, no one made a false move.
A BlackBook editor told me donuts play the "big black hat" role in the new Homes novel. (Literary people say the strangest things.) Publicist Jessica Pilot took a particular liking to this fried, glazed, doughy hoop. If anyone had tried to interfere with this special moment, I would have knocked him out.
Obviously, this party was beyond saving. So instead I found myself out wandering the streets of Tribeca, smoking cigarettes and wondering why a good punch-up is so hard to find these days. Alas.