Like Letterman, this is another public figure that made no claims to being a moral saint. Just because corporations gave him buckets full of money for hitting a golf ball, he holds no obligation to the public. In fact, it seems rather inane that the public and media is out for blood. I mean, if he cheated on his wife with this surgical wonder, why does it make such a big sound? OK, yes: It sells papers and news. With politicians, it's understandable: a lot of them use taxpayers' money for their sex romps and always emphasize their prudence while being completely hypocritical. But here's a case of everyone getting all worked up and the battle of the sexes raging testosterone/estrogen for nothing. If Tiger Woods wants to bang bimbos and run away from his family, I don't think we need to hear about it as much as we are. (CNN was breaking updates on my phone about it every 30 minutes the other day.) I think he's doing the right thing by not talking. Trust me, the guy doesn't need any more money, so holding over his head that his sponsors leave doesn't hold too much weight. He'll win a few tournaments and no one will care anymore. As for the big lips, she'll marry rich and stay in all day with her dogs.
@Spirit Fingers: Your reading was indeed inaccurate, given that she does not seem to be interested in "bachelors," but rather "married men whose Scandinavian bikini model wives are waiting at home with a 9-iron."
@sanyucat: Ah, but I think it all fits rather well under the heading there that says "Employed," since from the looks of it, anything not involving boning celebrity dudes is slightly out of her job description.
@ParahSalin: As a chronically obscure sybarite whose Very Important Personhood is confined to the intimate solicitations in his Spam box, I hereby submit that VIP directors who service only celebrities are guilty of violating the antidiscrimination standards that have made America great.
@AzureTexan: I concur, but not to worry. I'm creating a New World Order where discrimination will be a thing of the past (also penis enlargement solicitations via email will be history). I'm going to make America great, and groovy, again. All I need to get started is a hairless cat, a Nehru jacket, a ring with a secret compartment that holds poison, an island lair and a billion dollars. I'm also going to need minions in identical suits. Lots of minions. The pay is not very good, but the benefits will be excellent. Now, if you know where I can get the cat, the ring, the jacket, the lair and the money, please let me know.
I'm having a hard time getting past "Rachel Uchitel is a mess. Her reputation, that is! Her hair's fine." because I love it so much. Also, I love that I know that her last name means "teacher" in Russian. The more you know!
I'm an architect whose done a lot of high-end and medium-end retail design, and I look at these renderings and see a whole lot of fail.
I'd want to double check some of the square footages of the rentable areas for those shops before passing final judgement, but it looks from the plans and renderings that they are far too small to accommodate any real retail operation. And if South Street Seaport taught us anything, it's that a mall of kiosk-sized retailers does not a successful venture make. There isn't enough foot traffic or revenue for it to make any sense.
My opinion is that the reports of 75% leased is exaggeration, and if the whole thing does manage to open, it will be shuttered in two years. Seriously, the biggest retail space is on the second floor of a church with no street presence? Really?
Now you know how Anglicans felt when The Church of the Holy Communion was deconsecrated and made into a nightclub (I'm thinking of it's later more B&T iterations, the Limelight was something that everyone could get behind). Maybe it's next incarnation will be as a Scientology Celebrity Center!
Oh sad sad sad. I'm officially an Old, so I remember Limelight.
-16 in 1986, got into the VIP Library with a party that included Rupert Everett. Who was very nice, and very out of it. Coke, everywhere, not my scene, I realized.
-1991, as in that interesting video: the place was democratized, crowds and all. I met Michael Alig and James St. James, who seemed to adore me for my crinoline and bustle (I am not kidding.) I turned down the drugs they offered, didn't trust them. Ugh, to think about it now. Creeps, really.
-1991, made out with a well-known model Rachel on an upper level as a mohawked woman in a cage danced ferociously to blaring techno 40 ft. above the dance floor. On shrooms. Girls not ultimately my thing, though it was hers. Memorable.
-1992. I volunteered for the Clinton campaign to sign up young scenesters to vote. The Clinton campaign fucked up, never sent my liaison to Limelight, but the good workers sent me alone to the upper floor offices. Basically, I walked into Peter Gatien's inner sanctum- wall to wall CCTV screens covering every corner of the club. He revolved in his chair with his eye patch like Dr. No, barked, "Who the fuck are you?!".
I explained, he softened, but I got the hell out of there. All my friends were playing pool and drinking Scotch in the East village that wintry night, and I joined them as soon as I could. Last I saw of Limelight. It was a demimonde you ultimately didn't want to spend too much time in. Rather druggy and sinister in the day.
Not even mentioning Party Monster.
@Baroness: I loved this story. The first time I ever went out -- you know, for real -- was to Limelight in 1991. I was 15. In a giant black t shirt and cowboy boots. I don't remember that it felt especially sinister; I did feel really cool doing my touch-ups in the bathroom with other people's lipstick and such. And drugs.
@ms_priestypants: Thanks, to you and to all who found it interesting. I was really young and naive then. Thought I was sophisticated, but I really wasn't. I had fun at Limelight, enjoyed playing the diva in the frocks my guys in fashion school made for me. Some great electronic music of the moment. But it was so druggy there, it scared me. I left that sinister fantasy world, as I said. Never wanted to see a sunrise after a decadent night again. It was never real. Those people weren't friends.
It was a glam circus for that moment, but leaving that and getting real- who you love, who's your friend- was far more valuable than that glittery scene.
@Baroness: I thank God daily that my wild and crazy years took place in Athens, GA rather than somewhere like NY. I had geographical/sociological limitations on how much ridiculous danger I could put myself in. But it sounds like you had a good head on your shoulders, which is what really matters.
12/01/09
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12/01/09
Is this wrong? (Probably.) Accurate? (Probably.)
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Ouch! Cold-blooded.
12/01/09
11/19/09
11/19/09
I'd want to double check some of the square footages of the rentable areas for those shops before passing final judgement, but it looks from the plans and renderings that they are far too small to accommodate any real retail operation. And if South Street Seaport taught us anything, it's that a mall of kiosk-sized retailers does not a successful venture make. There isn't enough foot traffic or revenue for it to make any sense.
My opinion is that the reports of 75% leased is exaggeration, and if the whole thing does manage to open, it will be shuttered in two years. Seriously, the biggest retail space is on the second floor of a church with no street presence? Really?
11/19/09
11/19/09
11/19/09
11/19/09
These renderings sicken me.
11/19/09
-16 in 1986, got into the VIP Library with a party that included Rupert Everett. Who was very nice, and very out of it. Coke, everywhere, not my scene, I realized.
-1991, as in that interesting video: the place was democratized, crowds and all. I met Michael Alig and James St. James, who seemed to adore me for my crinoline and bustle (I am not kidding.) I turned down the drugs they offered, didn't trust them. Ugh, to think about it now. Creeps, really.
-1991, made out with a well-known model Rachel on an upper level as a mohawked woman in a cage danced ferociously to blaring techno 40 ft. above the dance floor. On shrooms. Girls not ultimately my thing, though it was hers. Memorable.
-1992. I volunteered for the Clinton campaign to sign up young scenesters to vote. The Clinton campaign fucked up, never sent my liaison to Limelight, but the good workers sent me alone to the upper floor offices. Basically, I walked into Peter Gatien's inner sanctum- wall to wall CCTV screens covering every corner of the club. He revolved in his chair with his eye patch like Dr. No, barked, "Who the fuck are you?!".
I explained, he softened, but I got the hell out of there. All my friends were playing pool and drinking Scotch in the East village that wintry night, and I joined them as soon as I could. Last I saw of Limelight. It was a demimonde you ultimately didn't want to spend too much time in. Rather druggy and sinister in the day.
Not even mentioning Party Monster.
(Sorry for the long story.)
11/19/09
11/19/09
I never knew Limelight save through its declining days in 1999-2000, when it looked decidedly sleazy in a shit Batman sequel kind of way.
Centro Fly was more my scene until the cowboy hat bottle blonde brigade moved in for the kill.
Incidentally I believe the church is the work of Richard Upjohn, architect of Trinity Church on Wall Street.
11/19/09
11/19/09
It was a glam circus for that moment, but leaving that and getting real- who you love, who's your friend- was far more valuable than that glittery scene.
11/19/09
#tips
11/19/09
Probably a good thing the Clinton event never happened. Imagine what the right-wing would have made of Hilary collecting votes from that crowd!
11/20/09