A Party For An Alcoholic BeverageThe other night, the super fancy party for the super fancy Palmes d'Or Champagne was held at this unbelievably beautiful place on Hudson Street that used to be a private residence. It also once housed the seven strangers of The Real World: Back To New York! Nikola Tamindzic was there to document both the location and the champagne-swilling menfolk. One's options in the latter department weren't bad at all, 'cause walking up to the door of the place, what to my wondering eyes should appear? Wu-Tang co-founder GZA!

A Party For An Alcoholic Beverage

A Party For An Alcoholic Beverage

A Party For An Alcoholic Beverage

A Party For An Alcoholic Beverage

A Party For An Alcoholic Beverage

A Party For An Alcoholic Beverage

A Party For An Alcoholic Beverage

A Party For An Alcoholic Beverage

A Party For An Alcoholic Beverage

A Party For An Alcoholic Beverage

A Party For An Alcoholic Beverage

A Party For An Alcoholic Beverage

A Party For An Alcoholic Beverage

A Party For An Alcoholic Beverage

A Party For An Alcoholic Beverage

A Party For An Alcoholic Beverage

A Party For An Alcoholic Beverage

A Party For An Alcoholic Beverage

A Party For An Alcoholic Beverage

My friend Calisha made a beeline for GZA, who was holding a rerolled cigar. She asked him if she could have some and he mumbled something about how everyone is asking that, and then he walked away. So she took that as a "no."

I ended up talking to Jauretsi Saizarbitoria, who I recognized as having been the Entertainment Editor for Jane (R.I.P.), and she said something like, "God, people still mention that to me." I felt like maybe that meant that I should've known what she's been up to lately (apparently film?), but I didn't. And I almost felt bad about that, like it must be something really obvious and I'm a retard for not being up on it, but then I told her where I work, and where I used to work, thinking that since she'd been at Jane she must be into the femiladyism shit, but she hadn't heard of either, thus absolving any mild guilt I'd felt.

My favorite girl of the night was this wild model named Sarah, who kept doing shit like spreading her legs, droppin' it to the floor, and showing her nipples through the hole-y pattern on her dress. All of this made her Nikola's fave girl, too. In no uncertain terms, she was the life of the party.

But as far as dudes went, I didn't have much luck. Well, except for one guy, German-born artist Bernd Naber, who lives in Williamsburg and assured me he makes "beautiful paintings." He was kind of, uh, mature. He told me that he had "open-chest surgery" six weeks ago. I'm pretty sure he meant open-heart surgery. Anyway, he had me program my phone number into his cell, 'cause he didn't know how to work it. He then asked to split a cab back, but that didn't seem like such a great idea to me, so I got in my own cab and headed to Union Pool, where the dudes are much less accomplished, but also much less along in years.