Held on a rainy Friday under an enclosed rooftop a stone's throw from Lincoln Center, The Webutante Ball was the sordid brainchild of URLesque blogger Jessica Amason and Gawker Media video maven Richard Blakeley, the two of whom are the co-authors of forthcoming blog-to-book-deal staple This Is Why You're Fat and an egregiously, irritatingly cute capitalist couple. It was, for all intents and purposes, a prom for internet, tech, and media dorks. There was a ballot, and there were nominees. There were winners! And there was a rope, with a line.

I braved the entire thing with my hot date/cover fire, Gawker Party Crash photog Mo Pitz, who was incidentally - and, at least to her, incredulously - a balloted nominee. "I have absolutely no idea how I ended up on that ballot. I'm decidedly not internet-famous." Oh, honey. You are now. Also on the ballot, former Gawker Mascot Andrew Krucoff, who declined to show for the festivities: "I'm celebrating shabbat," Krucoff noted. "Also, fuck that noise," he added. Onward: to the gallery we go!

Former and still-sometimes HuffPo writer, Dan Abrams Kool-Aid Drinker, and author of her upcoming and hotly anticipated book-deal book Jew-ish, Rachel Sklar, gets "man"-handled by her date, the VP of some telecommunicating tech thing called LifeLinks, Ash Kalb. This was staged.

Former Flavorpill editor and Double-X contributor, Anna Balkrishna with New York Post writer Justin Rocket Silverman. I asked Rocket - yes, Rocket - about his recent story for the Post in which he covered the meditative art of fingerbanging. Silverman instructed Balkrishna and I on proper performance, which is apparently akin to the "REDRUM" finger painting from The Shining.

Webutante Ball co-founder Jessica Amason is the "Yearbook Girl" of this entire enterprise. "Also, make sure you don't credit me as 'Blakeley's girlfriend,' goddamnit." She then grabbed me and hung me over the roof of the Empire in a Suge-Knight esque manner to ensure I understood what she was saying. Point taken.

Roger Wu, the founder and president of Klickable.TV, gives us his best entrepreneurial smile. He just gave a bunch of Vimeo kids a curbside beating and left them for dead on the third floor of the Empire.

Nerve and ASSME writer Drew Grant conspires with Yalie and Dan Abrams henchman (yes, that is what a Dan Abrams henchman looks like) Andrew Cedotal to feed me information regarding the sexual workings of fired media elites, which they will then use for profit when taken to corporations who could give a shit about the bold line between journalism, market research, and publicity. They are the future.

Julia Allison showed up in an Escalade, wearing a crown, and walked around the party as such. I have nothing to add here. She didn't win anything, luckily, and went home the same person she arrived as. Also, she came with an unnamed foot solider.

Regular Party Crash contributor Melissa Gira Grant, with former Valleywag editor, the dangerously ginger Nick Douglas. "I'm off the fucking job, get away," Gira delicately noted. Douglas smiled politely and retreated to his iPhone where he used his Pot 'O Gold app to make sure nobody had taken his treasure in the last two minutes.

Guess what party these people aren't with. No, really, guess.

On the left, Former Gawker Intern Mary Pilon, with Web Personae and Webutante nominee Anthony DeRosa on the right. Mary went from being a Gawker Intern to working for the Wall Street Journal! Anthony does something with tech something or other and blogs about the Mets. Neither would take a picture without me in it, so I happily obliged. Suckers.

Jake Hurwitz of College Humor, kissing sweet nothings into the face of College Humor's Ben Joseph. They take a bunch of these kisses and make laughs out of them! Whee! Barry Diller actually encourages this kind of thing.

The image associated with this post is best viewed using a browser.The winner! College Humor's Amir Blumenfeld is the King of the Webutante Ball, because he fixed the vote! As if having his own MTV show and web series weren't enough, he and the College Humor people had to come and win this shit, too. His queen, ridiculous Jewess Cutie and fellow College Humor startlet, Sarah Schneider, poses with him here. Barry Diller doesn't just encourage, but mandates this kind of thing. Well done, kids. Pictured with him here: an unnamed friend.

Richard Blakeley takes Boyfriend Duty incredibly seriously.

The image associated with this post is best viewed using a browser.MediaBistro reporter Hunter Walker tries to scoop something out of Random Night Out photographer Nick McGlynn. McGlynn's doing some startup with socialite creature thing Adrien Field, and Hunter, intrepid reporter that he is, probably wanted to know what planet Field is from.

They don't care about the Young Folks; they're here to sap them of their youth and enter one of their heads through a portal, like the end of Being John Malkovich, except the low-rent version.

The image associated with this post is best viewed using a browser.Brah! My thoughts exactly.

The image associated with this post is best viewed using a browser.Cnet reporter Caroline McCarthy is shocked - shocked! - that there are people here taking pictures. This is also the face she makes before she turns into Golum, takes the camera and my notes, leaps off the roof and into her batmobile, where she goes home and tirelessly reports the comings and goings of the rest of these people for a living. Princeton grad. Princeton. Grad.

The image associated with this post is best viewed using a browser.Foursquare Mayor of Kensington, Brooklyn, New York Press and ASSME writer Matt "Slim Thug" Harvey is being properly identified in this picture.

Gawker Media business something-or-other Scott Kidder wants to know what's in his teeth, and if you could get it out, please, so he could then latch his fangs on to you and suck your will to invoice him for services rendered out through your neck. This is why Denton pays him the big bucks, insert Bloodcopy joke here.

The image associated with this post is best viewed using a browser.Blogger and Media Maven Brian Van wants to know why everyone wants his picture. It's because he's the one guy wearing sunglasses inside. That being said, this was probably the place to do it, as it was maybe the least egregious display of jocular self-seriousness in the house.

Esquire's matrimonial expert Matt Shepatin was just given some BHG. It's like GHB, but instead of knocking you the fuck out, it makes you all too aware of your surroundings, which can leads to blackouts and unconscious episodes that eventually render you both useless and clinging to the floor of a J-Train, talking to a cat-strewn BagLady about the future of digital media.

Richard Blakeley's Delta Force of terrifying interns. They sit around all day and pick out video clips like monkeys pick coffee beans from trees in far away countries, and then bring them back down to Blakeley. Some coffee-picking monkeys eat the beans and then shit them out for their coffee-harvesting masters; luckily, Blakeley doesn't ask them to do that for him. Yet.

The Founding Couple of The Webutante Ball, together. I asked them, in all seriousness, why they were doing this. Blakeley kept his mouth shut, while Jessica kinda explained. Was it for money, to generate book sales buzz? "Eh, kinda." Why, then? "These people probably didn't go to prom, or never had a chance at being elected king or queen. Now they do. Also, this scene's more or less exactly like high school, no matter what level you're on. It makes perfect sense." But WHY? "Because we're sick of the same parties. We wanted to make people dress up for a change. We needed to class it up." Despite her attempts, these people - myself included - are all circlejerky, pompous, and declasse. But they got drunk on a rooftop bar uptown, which was actually a nice change from Tom and Jerry's. Sigh. All's fair in love and social media.

Party Crash photog and Webutante nominee Mo Pitz is drinking away the sorrow of losing. Ha! Just kidding! She's drinking away the sorrow of being my date.

Cindi Leive, Glamour editor-in-chief, denied she could be one of the book's funhouse mirrored versions of Manhattan media fixtures. It was Leive who playing host at Da Silvano's wine bar to a mix of unnervingly relaxed gossips, writers, and flacks, which meant she invited guests to pet her fur purse — "No, I don't even know what kind of animal it is, but you don't really want to know, do you?"

Froelich, in fishnets, advised that really, "If you can eat it, wear it." She had her own arm-candy: a bouquet of tiny violet roses, compliments of (former?) gossip and one-time Gawker editor, Alex Balk.

Also in the gallery, shot by the unstoppable Nikola Tamindzic: Erica Jong, George Gurley, Sloane Crosley, David Carr, Rachel Sklar, Elizabeth Spiers, Kate Lee, and Neel Shah's hat.

Morgan Spurlock (Super Size Me), Page Six's gossip columnist and Mercury in Retrograde author Paula Froelich

Cindi Leive (editor-in-chief, Glamour), author Erica Jong

Elliot Furman, former Defamer writer Molly Friedman

Glamour's Cindi Leive, Rachel Sklar of Abrams Research

Neel Shah (gossip writer for Page Six, and former Radar), Chris Wilson ("the Neel Shah of the late 90's" he explains), Steve Garbarino (the survivorman of the magazine world, now working with Playboy)

Classing it up, old-school publicist Bobby Zarem

The next generation: omg omg omg

Sloane Crosley (book publicist, author of I Was Told There'd Be Cake), Cindy Eagan (head of teen lit imprint Poppy) Caroline Waxler (writer)

Mediaite Rachel Sklar with Ron Perelman's spokeswoman Christine Taylor

Neel Shah shortly before hatting Sloane Crosley

Alex Balk (The Awl, former Radar executive editor) shows his face with Paula Froelich

A barely debauched George Gurley (New York Observer, Vanity Fair)

La Froelich's fishnets

Paula Froelich, with snappy flack Marvette Brito

Morgan Spurlock

ICM agent Kate Lee with client and Gawker founding editor Elizabeth Spiers

David Carr (star Twitterer and media columnist, New York Times)

Sara Bernstein, of HBO's documentary operation, and Jesse Angelo, New York Post managing editor, who claims to have only ever drunk-bought one domain: yourwifeisonmyblog.com

Sloane Crosley, Neel Shah's hat

Paula Froelich just wants you to go home now

There were also some famous friends, like punk lady photographer Richard Kern, and a kombucha-drinking semen-selling film director we won't name because he'd "lost his confidence in his own image," and of course Kim Gordon and Thurston Moore, too. It was all so very adorable and self-conscious, and a band half my age stole the show.

Jemina Pearl and Thurston Moore. Their last notable collaboration was a cover of The Ramones' "Sheena Is A Punk Rocker" for little Jenny Humphrey's guerilla fashion show on Gossip Girl. Hardcore, yes, but he laughed so we know he knows it's ridiculous! Jemina, formerly of Be Your Own Pet, told the story of the battle she just got into with "some French African guys — they were African, but speaking French" the night before. "I got beat down to the ground!" she said! Smiling! "You're too cool for that shit," assured Thurston.

We have additional Thurston Moores available to take your call right now.

Ada, 13, with "just a Coke!" her friend assured, as mom (in stripes, cutie glasses) looks on. Her band went on about a half hour later.

Richard Kern and Michael Lavine. Kern was all shy about going off to shoot very willing naked ladies in seven cities. It's for a European cable show in a sure to be messy collaboration with Vice. Lavine, who shot a (clothed) Sonic Youth back in the day, was way more bouncy about his photo book "Grunge" coming out in the Fall — doing nothing to dispel the notion that the 90's are dead dead dead to us, yes, but unlike some people, he was basically there.

Ada and her brother Ivan are: Tiny Masters of Today.

Don't ask Ada about her braces. She's also big in Japan.

Steve Shelley, drummer, Sonic Youth.

Nadia Koch and Kristin Vincent, of Home Sweet Home.

Peace. Plaid. Whatever.

Jemina with Brynne, revolution girl style (very tiny brass knuckles).

Ivan. However cute, it was a rock show.

With rock show love.

And a couch where you could crash, homosexually.

Jamie Peck and Matt Harvey, New York Press. [If we were Sassy, this would be in a little squash-fonted sidebar down the bottom of the page — Matt sassed me for not id'ing him in a photo at some bougie rooftop party. Here, he rocks his indie cred. Are we good now, Matt?]

Leanne Marshall, indie goddess winner of 2008's Project Runway, has earned her right to that scarf.

If we were Raygun: "the future of rock?" but because we are not: "the future knows anything we write over their band photo is lies, so what, let's let them just Twitter it."

Kim Gordon. She came in flanked by two girl-pixies who made it seem just horrible to get too close. (Should I ever need security, I will so go that route.) When I asked her what she thought of the crazy age-mixed-up crowd, she said you all looked fantastic.

[Why not check out these stunning images using our handy-dandy new gallery?]

As many as three or four of these mist-braving guests will be sharing a house with a half-dozen others just like them, or maybe their parents, any weekend now. Haute smut photographer Nikola Tamindzic escorted me, my margarita, and my West Coast indifference to "summering" through Hruska's scene.

Rachelle Hruska curses the dark skies with her bright, bright future.

Media lady Rachel Sklar basking in the death of print and all the tight t-shirts it brings.

Lonnie, left, is a stylist. Ryan B, right, is a make-up artist. For this they are permitted matchy glasses and one pocket square.

Dennis Crowley, co-founder of mobile social app Foursquare, loved at least a few of Rachelle's jalapeno-laced margaritas.

Caroline McCarthy of CNET News left chilly and early and so blogged before all of us, thanking Rachelle for getting puffy fingers the size of mittens after slicing peppers all night.

Rachelle with ex-boy and Olympic rower Cameron Winklevoss. Now he's lending a hand around Guest of a Guest, doing "a little bit of everything," like help with the computers and investing and stuff!

A turn-away from Friday night's 90's vs 90's panel at the nearby New Museum conveniently had an excuse to repurpose his outfit.

He's not made of cardboard, but was kept on hand for posing.

Peter Feld weighed his options and also liquor.

One thing Winklevoss is not helping with: meat. Rachelle's current manfriend was on skewers for the day.

The image associated with this post is best viewed using a browser.To keep in theme, all guests were issued metallic dock shoes.

Reformed fameballer Rex Sorgatz kept the hellhounds of gossip at bay.

The end of a vampire weekend.

On this roof, there is no irony in anchors.

The internet, they drink just like us.

The image associated with this post is best viewed using a browser.Andrew Cedotal, from Abrams Research, in twee.

The drinks were sugar-free and served in plastic: no artificial sweeteners and no hard edges to hurt our soft little mouths on.

As near as we can tell, an extension of the Winklevoss crew. At least as of the night before. Visors know no social class.

Hey it's a Journey mashup let's rock.

Rex Sorgatz cares about your internet.

A whiter shade of lime.

The image associated with this post is best viewed using a browser.The look in a nutshell: aspirational summer whites cloaked in winter's broke-ass misery.

And here Mr. Henderson shook my hand and didn't mind at all when I said it was really his longtime companion Tom Coates, part of the Fire Eagle team and old queer hand of the blogosphere, whom I came out to meet. "We're here in my circle of exes," Culver continued. "And I have one to toss back at you," I added.

The rest of the evening is lost in a botched Flip video file sync — no footage for you — and a flurry of text messages wherein I tried to locate the guy getting a handjob in the men's room at the end of the night. No help from Fire Eagle there! Tip me if you know who the lucky jack was? (Photo by Andrew Mager)

6:52pm PST Room is packed to capacity.

6:53 Cyan [Banister, founder of Zivity]: Her hope is that this event creates more engineers.

7:00 Any kerfuffling about porn has mellowed into a slideshow about the Facebook platform API. Just like any typical tech networking event, a pitch is difficult to sex up, and that's just fine.

7:14 If anything, there's likely more porn talk going on across town at the "Girl Geek Revolution" counter-event, promoted as a porn-free alternative.

Our eagle-eyed correspondent spots a rare Chanel handbag.

7:18 Ostentatious purses, shiny patent heels in the minority. Most in sweaters, flats and not much Twittering, either.

7:22 For a woman-centric San Francisco event, way more South Asian women than the typical "inclusive" yadda yadda.

7:25 A Cal Berkeley student [Alina Libova] gets applause for selling her Easter Eggs application. Overheard: "At least someone's monetizing."

Easter Eggs Facebook app creator Alina Libova, center, in white blouse.

7:26 Standing room only as the women who worked late pour in.

7:32 Acquisition market for Facebook applications? Easter Egg developers got twenty inquiries after handful of posts on Facebook seeking a sale.

7:39 Male count: twelve.

Zivity's geekification weapons include a "Speak 'N Math."

7:51 Zivity photography in photo booth only, "with a Tie fighter!" Photos will appear on Girl Geek DInners' Facebook group and the Girl Geek site — not on Zivity, Banister assures.

8:12 Postgame talk with Banister: The "Alt" Girl Geek Dinner organizers invited her over, and she looks forward to talking with Mary [Hodder, Dabble founder].

8:17 Also, just saying, no line for the women's room, so save the jokes.

8:38 No one has mentioned the Zivity controversy. I'm almost nervous that I'm putting it in their mouths.

Across from the Girl Geek Dinner, the notorious Market Street Cinema.

8:44 Jessica Santana of [sustainable IT provider] Inveneo had heard word none of porn panic; we talk localization and mobile in dev world instead. Little burgers are little, tasty.

9:11 Megan's out, I'm done tilting at the actual porn theatre across the way. Inside, here, there, it's all just women at work.

9:35 Too late to hit the "Girl Geek Revolution" alt dinner. Still, as my girl Emma Goldman would say, "If I can't make porn, I don't want to be part of your revolution."

Even though she appears to be wearing a diaper, Courtney Love is so cool whilst performing that she pulls it off. To quoth the bard Sandler: If peeing your pants is cool, Courtney's Miles Davis!
Joey McIntyre of NKOTB continues to be a font of cuteness in a world gone mad. Does he have some Dorian Grayish deal with the devil?
The infamous Playboy Mansion Grotto! It looks relatively tame here, but those rocks have seen things that are illegal in at least 40 states.
It's not a party without the star of a network tv sitcom present! Here's Chuck's Zachary Levi with an unidentified party-goer.

As we went upstairs, we found that everyone there was like the gay version of the straight guys downstairs. True, maybe they were wearing a purple shirt instead of a blue one, and maybe their hair had a little more product in it (but honestly, not much!), and perhaps they'd spent an extra 15 minutes at the gym, but really, the differences were academic.

One of the editors of the anthology is the dandyish author Tom Dolby (the other is the scarily prolific Melissa de la Cruz, whose next series. "The Ashleys," sounds like a Heathers ripoff, but who's counting?), whose highly decorated West Village apartment was the subject of a story in the New York Times last year. At the time, he told the writer, "People say I'm the gay Candace Bushnell," and last evening, it did seem as though the party could have taken place in some parallel gay Carrie Bradshaw universe. I asked him what he thought of the term fag hag, because honestly, isn't that what we're talking about here? "I think it's fine if it's mentioned in an endearing way," Mr. Dolby said. His friend Zach Udko, who wrote an essay for the book about his mother, said, "My mom hates it. I prefer gal pal—I call her my gal pal." (You say tomato....)

Later, I ran into the ex-boyfriend—we'll call him Brian!—of a gay friend of mine. I hadn't seen him since they broke up, except that one awkward time when they were at a post-breakup brunch in my neighborhood and I had to make small talk over their untouched scones. "Hiiiiiiii!" he said, giving me a huge embrace and introducing me to his friend, who had his arm around him. Then he told me that Zach, the guy who had just been talking to nicely to me, hated my friend because he had gone on a date with him, but my friend hadn't liked him, and liked Brian instead, and then later, when I saw Zach, he gave me the death stare. Whatever, high school!

Bachelor parties have been around since at least 500 B.C., when soldiers in ancient Sparta caroused with each other on the evening before their mate's wedding. Of course, that doesn't tell us how, exactly, we got to the current age of dwarf-tossing and people sticking things in strippers' vaginas! "Straight men need to hook up with each other and bond," said Mr. Boyer's boyfriend, Ken Helman. "Gay men already have bonding experiences! They talk, they go shopping, they go to movies." But in this new era of civil unions and gay marriages, would gay men start having bachelor parties themselves, even if, in Mr. Helman's words, they already bond? "I think it's a really good possibility!" Hey, anything for a party, right? Then Mr. Helman offered cute some words of support for his boyfriend of six months. "I totally thought it would be a puff piece!" he said of the book. "But it has depth and heart! It's a lot deeper than I thought it was going to be."

After a woman did some things to a hula hoop that seemed unnatural, Mr. Boyer said that at first his idea was to do a book about bar mitzvahs, but then that book Bar Mitzvah Disco came out, and even though we think that there can probably never be too many books about bar mitzvahs, Mr. Boyer thought otherwise and decided to write about bachelor parties. "For a straight guy to do it, it would be like treason!" he said. "And I realized, that because women aren't invited, that was probably why it hadn't been done." (Except for that time when Melissa de la Cruz dressed up in drag and crashed her fiance's party and wrote about it for Jane! Oh, and she's in the book as "Melissa D." How cute.) "It took a gay man to do it!" Right on, gay! —Doree

Bachelor Party Confidential Gallery

Video Gallery [Fleshbot; pretty much SFW]

By the time Adam Moss came to the podium for the fifth time last night to accept the National Magazine Award for Profile Writing for Vanessa Grigoriadis's piece on fashion designer Karl Lagerfeld, some in the audience were muttering that a simple "thank you" would do nicely. But, just as he had for the previous four New York magazine wins, Mr. Moss had a speech ready. "You are never going to give us one again!" he said, and the audience tittered. Perhaps they would, and perhaps they wouldn't!

The award for Profile Writing came after the award for General Excellence in the 250,000 to 500,000 circulation category, in which Mr. Moss beat out a motley assortment of other publications, including demon-child mag Cookie. "Last year I got away with not naming any colleagues personally," he said, reminding the audience that his magazine also went home with awards last year. This year, there was also New York's Magazine Section award for its Strategist section; the award for Design, presented by one of the magazine's founders, Milton Glaser; and the award for Interactive Feature, for the Nymag.com's Fashion Week blog-thing.

Mr. Moss's ultimate boss, the canny money manager Bruce Wasserstein, was also in the audience, and one observer sitting near him reported that he did not so much as crack a smile during the entire ceremony.

It was not lost on anyone in the audience that Mr. Moss had totally beat out David Remnick's New Yorker, which had been nominated for a healthy nine awards but came home with absolutely zero. Still, a certain sense of decorum is to be expected. And thus, when Mark Whitaker, the former editor of Newsweek who is about to start a new job at NBC, quipped on stage that "Adam Moss is the new David Remnick," there was a collective gasp from the audience. Did he really say that? And perhaps more important: Could it be true?

Graydon Carter was decidedly not the new David Remnick. Not with that anecdote about Christopher Hitchens and waxing that he told on stage! Certainly, the words "the back, the crack, the sac" have never been uttered on stage at the National Magazine Awards. However! These are the new National Magazine Awards, held at night for only the second year, at the sleek Jazz at Lincoln Center. Black tie, except Mr. Carter, who wore his trademark double-breasted blue blazer (you know the one, with the gold buttons) and a pair of cerulean blue velvet pants. This is the National Magazine Awards of celebrity guests and presenters, like Kevin Bacon! Scottish singer KT Tunstall opening, but not with the song that was played in The Devil Wears Prada (though no one was sure whether Anna Wintour was actually in attendance). Carrie Fisher! Ann Curry! And videotaped segments by Ellen DeGeneres and America Ferrera!

For as long as anyone could remember, the ceremony had been a lunch at the Waldorf-Astoria, and editors could return to their desks slightly tipsy in the late afternoon. But those days are over! Now individual tickets cost $465, tux rental for the more junior set not included. The editor of the Paris Review, Philip Gourevitch, had bought two tickets, one for himself and one for his managing editor, Radhika Jones—a wise investment, since Mr. Gourevitch's magazine won its first-ever award, for Photojournalism. "I'm going to use it to defend our office," Mr. Gourevitch said afterwards, indicating the Ellie's pointy metal legs. "Tonight, I'm going to go home and let my kid look at it, and hope that no one gets hurt. It's like a throwing star!"

The editor and publisher of McSweeney's, who was there alone (no Dave! No Vendela! No Heidi!), wondered how he was going to get his award, for fiction writing, home to the West Coast. "I don't like to check luggage," he said.

The director John Waters said that he gets 160 magazines a month. His favorite, he said, is the Capital Punishment Newsletter, a magazine that had not been nominated for an award. If he were to start a magazine, he said it would be called Drip, as his last name is Waters, and it would be about "all the worst places to be famous. You know, the embarrassing side of celebrity." —Doree

National Magazine Awards Photo Gallery

National Magazine Awards Winners and Finalists [ASME]

At the Puck Building last night, then, the crowd was comprised of a rather jaw-dropping list of names—the writers and their patrons both—as well as the anonymous rich, the women identifiable only by their Chanel suits and the men by their horn-rimmed glasses. One tended to overhear conversations that began: "When [so-and-so] was on the board of the New York Public Library..."

At a table in the corner, Mayor Michael Bloomberg chatted with Norman Mailer. Salman Rushdie put on a brave, Padma Lakshmi-less face. Paris Review editor and New Yorker writer Philip Gourevitch mingled, as did his wife, New Yorker writer Larissa MacFarquhar. A frail-looking Joan Didion was surrounded protectively by a shifting coterie of women, as if she might break in two or melt away. Former Massachusetts Governor Bill Weld looked none the worse for wear after his embarrassing aborted attempt at running for the governorship of New York. A jeans-clad Dana Vachon spoke to men twice, perhaps three times, his age, presumably about the follies and foibles of The Street. Nathaniel Rich (son of Frank, brother of Simon) is an editor at the magazine, which has a very small masthead. "You've met practically one-third of us," he remarked, in conversation with this reporter and one of the Review's interns. Another reporter was covering the party for the Harvard alumni magazine 02138, on account of so many of the magazine's editors and affiliates having gone to that institution. The Review's late, great founder, George Plimpton, was of course a Harvard man himself, though one can only assume that he, like so many of his fellow Crimson, modestly told people he went to school "in Boston."

Midway through the cocktail hour, Mr. Gourevitch (Cornell, 1986) took the podium to try to quiet down the crowd so the Mayor could say a few words about Norman Mailer, the evening's honoree. "We have a lot in common," the Mayor said, referring to himself and Mr. Mailer. "We're both from middle-class Jewish families. We both attended Harvard—he went to the College, I went to the Business School—and we're both distinsguished authors." Laughter. "And we've both run mayoral campaigns." The Mayor said that Mr. Mailer had had two buttons when he campaigned. One said "I would sleep better if Norman Mailer were mayor." The other said "No more bullshit." Then the Mayor said he had used his senior citizens' Metrocard to get to the affair, and as such, it had only cost him $1. "I suggest that everyone become a senior citizen," he remarked. Much of the crowd, it appeared, already had. A long line of Town Cars idled outside however.

We were not invited to stay for dinner, so on our way out we peeked into one of the gift bags arrayed neatly on a table by the entrance. In a Paris Review tote bag were the Spring issue of the magazine (perhaps partygoers had not yet gotten around to reading it?); a copy one of Mr. Mailer's novels, Harlot's Ghost, which is about the CIA; a Paris Review T-shirt (American Apparel, size large); and various other promotional items (a nip of whiskey, a calendar, etc.). The tote would be perfect to bring along to Nantucket this summer. —Doree

The Paris Review Revel Gallery

[Drawing: Josh. Animation: Blakelely]

By now, unless you haven't been to any party with a set of speakers, or at least read Tricia Romano's writeup in the Village Voice and Limewire'd it, you've heard (and loved) Justice & Simian's "We Are Your Friends", the song that put Justice and their Ed Banger Records bros on the map. With the infectious, slightly-emo, and inspirational (especially when rolling) chant of "Because We! Are! Your Friends! You'll! Never Be Alone Again!", it's been one of the instant dance-floor fillers of 2007, 2006, 2005, and uh, 2004 and parts of 2003 too.

But beyond that single, the Ed Banger dudes are also currently among the most in-demand DJs, doing dance floors from Berlin to Brooklyn—where Justice's recent set at Studio B turned into a full-on rave-til-dawn.

Last night's GBH party at Hiro Ballroom in the Maritime Hotel featured a major chunk of the Ed Banger's lineup—Justice, DJ Mehdi, Busy P, and SebastiAn, and the venue was packed by 10, a rarity in clubland New York. I thought maybe it was for the Jack Daniels and Coke Zero open bar—you know it actually does taste like real Coke—but anyway, everyone came to see a special early performance by electro-duo The Presets, who killed it, by the way.

DJ Mehdi opened, and the stage was immediately bum-rushed by fist-pumping fans, perhaps causing flashbacks to the infamous MTV Europe Music Awards incident, where Kanye West, upset over losing the Best Music Video award to a pair of white boys, stormed the stage touting the qualities of his million dollar video: "It's got Pam Anderson and jumping across canyons!"

The dance floor was heaving, by New York standards, by the time Justice took control of the decks, and put on The Song. It's sort of odd to have a group play a record of their own hit song for a crowd, but whatever, the crowd went nuts, even when it got mixed out into Paul Simon's "You Can Call Me Al."

People danced, got crazy, waved their hands in the air, kinda like as if they didn't care. No thanks to the $10 two-count of Stoli Vodka. Whose dick do we have to suck for a drink ticket around the Maritime? Anyway, nothing scandalous, I wish I could say I saw Steve Aoki rimming a busboy, but no such luck. So, whatever, we had fun! How unusual is that? Very.

doree: oh, this is that Fox anchor neither of us had ever heard of.

emily: huh. boring!

doree: totally. i hate when people are like ASSUMING i know who they are. [Ed. Note: Umm, Bill Hemmer? Anyone? Seriously?]

emily: like, even if he was licking cornichons off arden wohl's cleavage i would not care.
i hate that too.

doree: you and david edelstein made up
that was sweet.

emily: oh! that was adorable, right?

emily: david edelstein is adorable!

doree: mmhmm
he is.

emily: i liked what he said about IM!
oh YEAH
his 8-year-old daughter IMs
AND she wants a cell phone.

emily: we have so much in common with David Edelstein's daughter. we all want him to use IM!

doree: it's true
maybe we should open an account for him?
NYMAGMOVIESGUY

emily: hee hee!!!
oh, fuck, I told alex i would stop saying that.

doree: why?

emily: I caught it from choire so it is kind of an affectation
It's like if i suddenly started being all
!@#$%$
wait no

doree: ha

emily: sdfgafgadkfh

doree: yes yes

emily: uh.

doree: jauretsi?

emily: so is there anything else interesting?

emily: jauretsi!!!
god, i tried to google her

doree: i was just going to say, let's google her

emily: in the memory of my google it looks like this
jaureutsi
jerautsi

doree: OH GOD

emily: jehrutsi

doree: i found her?
she's under "mad construction"!

doree: this is like atoosa.com

emily: SHE AND ATOOSA MUST BE
ha! jinx

doree: HA

emily: MYSPACE FRIENDS

doree: maybe jauretsi is going for the 20something demographic
and she's conceded teenagers to atoosa

emily: Yeah that is jauretsi's tribe

doree: yes.
i wonder how old she is

emily: I would guess mid30s?

doree: oh yes
you are right
Jauretsi Saizabitoria
oops
i mean
she is 35
so, exactly!

emily: wow, I'm so good!

doree: you are.

emily: is it possible for anyone to have a more difficult name to spell?

doree: no

emily: let's never write about her lest it become one of those terrible kuczynski zinczenko scenarios.

doree: omg, totally
what if she started dating zinczneko?
or however you spell it.

emily: saizarbitoria-zinczenko

doree: their poor children.
did you go to the bathroom upstairs?
they had a shower.

emily: whoa! no, i missed that

emily: i bet there have been some crazy hijinx in there.

doree: totally. and, ew.
there was also a washer-dryer

emily: i kind of want to move in there!

doree: haha

emily: seriously! i mean yes, it's a little loud and packed with manhattan-only celebs letting their hair down
but you really can't beat the location

doree: true
and that kitchen was pretty sweet.

emily: they also have a dishwasher! it's everything i have ever dreamed of
except that it's a restaurant

doree: hmm, right.
well, you could probably work around that.

emily: are we done here?

doree: i think so

Earlier: Team Party RSVP: New York Magazine Oscar Party @ The Spotted Pig

emily: *ARDEN!!!

doree: arrrrrden

doree: maybe we should discuss her first

emily: Well here is how my conversation with her went

emily: First I explained to her what Gawker is
and then a waitress came by with a tray of gougeres and Arden took three of them in a napkin "for her pregnant friend upstairs"

doree: oh those little fried things?

emily: So I was left talking to Arden's business partner

doree: those were delish.

emily: They were good but too salty I thought
Maybe I just got a salty one.
You know what was really excellent? Those little beef carpaccio roll ups

doree: yes, those beef carpaccio things were excellent.
i also enjoyed the cheese boards.
but, sorry
arden!

emily: ARDEN!

doree: she is very skinny.

emily: Great tits.

doree: small, but perky

doree: but no ass.

emily: You're a lesbian. Anyway, I asked her business partner "Business partner? What kind of business?"

emily: and she said, "MOVIES!"
I'm all, "ohhh."
Then Arden came back and pouted about the fact that we had posted pictures of her smoking weed, and said that her Dad had seen them

doree: deb schoeneman told me that arden has been going out in new york for 15 years
and also that it's because her parents took her everywhere.
so really, should it have been such a surprise to her dad?

emily: Good point! Well, do you want to hear the story behind that photo?

doree: YES

emily: "My parents went to St. Barts. And, like, I didn't go. It was over Halloween. I mean, Thanksgiving. And I was hanging out with my friend Jen who is a publicist for the Maritime Hotel. And I was like 'I don't really feel like drinking, but sure, I'll smoke some pot'"

doree: oh, poor Arden.

emily: "That was the last time I smoked pot."
(later)
"Actually, I've smoked pot since then."

doree: sigh

emily: I tried to reassure her that it was okay!
I'm like "I have smoked pot 100,000,000 times since Thanksgiving. It's fine."

doree: yes. though, that doesn't explain the necklace around her head
she had some 20s flapper thing going on.

emily: On her Socialite Rank thing she says that head jewelry is one of her favorite things, so I guess that is the explanation?
I think it suits her.
Who was the most fun person you talked to?

doree: hmm!

emily: Adam Moss hands down, right?
j/k

doree: heh.

doree: well, i ran from laurel touby.

emily: Ha!
why?

doree: her fishnets were scaring me

emily: Scary hair too. She is all "this scrunchie is a 25 cent facelift"

doree: oh god
at one point
she and her husband ran over to the table where they'd put down their stuff
because they were afraid someone else might sit there

emily:Well, seating was very hard to come by

doree: like, they had been watching it from across the room.
then sit there!
you know?

emily:remember we had to keep crouching down so that Michael Stipe's friends would stop being like "AHEM"

doree: HA
totally
and pregnant lady

emily:Even during the commercials!

doree: she was very concerned.
because they were IN the commercials

emily: Oh you mean Sarah Sophie Flicker?
Oh! Yeah, that was it

doree: that diet coke commercial
someone was all, "THIS IS MY COMMERCIAL"

emily: hahahaha. brag about it some more!

doree: right??
also, everyone upstairs thought ellen's jokes were way funny
like, uproariously so.

emily: they are all lesbians too i guess. like you!!
ok, and me
i am the one who said arden had nice tits in the first place.

doree: um, yes.
but it's ok
lesbians are the new bisexuals.

emily: that's what i keep hearing!
well I was very starstruck by my conversation with Michael Stipe

doree: i was too starstruck to even talk to him

emily: he was sad because once apparently Gawker said that he smelled bad.

doree: aw
did he?

emily: He smelled good, in a delightful sort of hippie way

doree: aw
remember when he asked you what you think of Dirt?

emily: he smelled like the interior of a store where they would sell crystals and dreamcatchers.

doree: there was a store like that in my hometown.

emily: was it called, like, Enchanting Oddments?

doree: it was called horai-san

emily: I feel that michael is an enchanting oddment. I hope he thinks our lives are like Courtney Cox's on that show.

doree: i think he does!

emily: HORAI SAN? oh god.

doree: yes! all faux-asian
ha
did you talk to the queer eye guy?

emily: Ted Allen! YES.

doree: oh THAT'S his name.

emily: I actually had a good question for him.
remember when there was that rumor that Padma Lakshmi, Salman Rushdie wife and Top chef host (ha, sorry) smoked oodles of weed on set?

doree: oh yes

emily: (i love how pot themed all my questioning was, now that i think about it)

doree: HM!

emily: well he was a guest judge on top chef

doree: ahh

emily: so i asked him about the rumors.
he was like (long pause)
"Ohhh . . . there are rumors about that?"

doree: oh, brilliant

emily: (very long pause)
"Well all I will say is that Padma is talented and beautiful and a true foodie."

doree: i hate that word foodie

emily: really? it does kind of sound like what it is though.
a precious word for a precious type of person

doree: ha, true

emily: also ted thinks that Sam should have won top chef.
I am one of like three people who cares, but it is my duty to report this.

(CONTINUED!

Team Party Crash: New York Magazine Oscar Party [photos]

[Ed Note.: Yes, these are usually called Team Party Crash. But guess what? We were fucking invited! By a publicist no less! Eww! What's the world coming to?]

A mob of hipsters wearing red fishnet tights or black leggings took up an entire block on Greene Street. The line wrapped the corner to Prince Street. Immediately, Amanda Lepore had a nip slip. That's probably not an issue for her.

The Taschen store is a bizarre combination of Urban Outfitters and Alice in Wonderland. So. Many. Bright. Colors. The DJ was on pop songs from the early 90s.

Dave LaChapelle lip-synched "Hot in Here" by Nelly while the freaks and geeks in line looked at each other with bewilderment. Up next were two *N Sync songs: "Bye, Bye, Bye" and "Tearin' Up My Heart." Dave took a break from signing to do the "Bye, Bye, Bye" dance.

The after-party resembled the cafeteria of "Mean Girls." The cool Asians hovered in the corner. The desperate wannabes danced to "Billie Jean." The burnouts alternated between staring at the desperate wannabes, their RAZRs, and their drinks. After someone started square dancing to "Don't Stop Movin" by S Club 7, it was time to carry our four-pound Taschen books home.

Dave signed mine, but his handwriting is impossible to decipher. Hope he said something funny. Or nice. Like a high school yearbook. BFF. Something.

At midnight, Ms. Lepore was seen at 14th Street and Seventh Avenue, perhaps leaving Plumm. She was all in white, and escorted by what looked like three fellas from Staten Island. Of course she was!