"LuAnn is nothing if not an all-American girl. I think she’s even of Native American descent. She may be sophisticated, married as long as she has been, but the patina of a European “countess” is not there."

Oh, come on. DPC isn't any more of a member of society that crass LuAnn is: he used to own a head shop in upstate New York, and has worked as a stockbroker, a freelancer, and a sportswear designer (?). So cut the snobbery! He and LuAnn have more in common than he thinks: they're both from humble backgrounds (David's the son of a chauffeur and a building super, LuAnn used to be a LPN), and both have made careers out of being hangers-on. What's not to like?

There are a lot of people who—they're just too rich. I mean, I remember several years ago I went to have dinner one night on the yacht of a very, very rich man. He has just built this big, huge... I think it was 300 feet or something like that. It was enormous; it was parked in New York Harbor, on the West Side.

And he gave a dinner party. As we were leaving the party, I hitched a ride in the taxi with a man who—he's now passed away—but he was a very successful, very well-known, and very wealthy businessman. And he was telling me that this particular man who owned this yacht was also very—he's still alive, but he was a very old man at the time—wanted to get in on another business deal.

He was talking about the business deal he was getting in on and he was saying, 'You know, the problem with these guys is they're just bored. Because actually, they have more money than they can spend even the income on. But they just want to make more money because it's something to do.'

Says DPC of Erica:

She has spent time with Mrs. Clinton and she knows that she is a woman who will look after the children. Not all women, she said, are interested and not all men can, but Hillary will. Her record already speaks it. This was all expressed by Erica very quietly and matter of factly. I saw Hillary Clinton somewhat differently.

Later on in the day I was thinking about our conversation. These are very uneasy times for many. So many people talk about the political campaigns with confoundment and no strong feelings in any direction. Disappointment is almost a given. Is it the time, or is it the way life is.

• David Patrick Columbia goes to the gym. [NYSD]
  
• Another analysis of the New York Times shareholder contretemps. [BusinessWeek]
  
• Ex-Queer Eye queer Ted Allen buys a Brooklyn brownstone. [Brownstoner]
  
• Oh the Glory of It All author Sean Wilsey's mom's memoir is called Oh the Hell of It All. The title was a suggestion by Judith Regan. [Radar]

Lance Armstrong and Tory Burch seem to be going strong. The champion bicyclist and socialite designer were quite cozy at a birthday party in L.A. over the weekend, says our spy. Word is Armstrong liked what he read about Tory in a recent Vanity Fair profile of her and ex Chris Burch. Armstrong, who won the Tour de France seven times, supposedly told a pal: "She came off as intelligent and successful," and arranged to meet her.

Well, it isn't all fluff and softballs. The article does take Burch — who built her eponymous clothing business with financier Chris Burch, from whom she is now divorced — to task for being too much of an overachiever ("'If you don't know her, you want to hate her,' says Marjorie Gubelmann Raein, a social fixture and co-founder of Vie Luxe home products. 'She wakes up and takes a shower, goes out with wet hair, and looks gorgeous — bitch! She works hard, she takes her kids skateboarding at six in the morning . . .'"). And the piece also tackles the tricky subject of born-Jewish Burch's studiedly Waspy image. ("'I wasn't raised Jewish!' she says, her shyness forgotten.") But the most notable omission — and one that's extra-shocking in a magazine with other pages given over to the inadequacy of American sex scandals — is the complete lack of mentions of Burch's scandalous post-Chris, pre-Lance lovelife. Her outing with Ron Perelman? "Merely social." And remember when David Patrick Columbia called her out for boning some other married socialite's husband? You won't find any details about that here.

Yes, all in all, it's easy to see what sparked Lance's interest. Unless, of course, he's a total gay homo, in which case we just give up trying to parse this shit.

Surveillance [R&M, last item]

Earlier: David Patrick Columbia Mumbles Something About Lemonade and Soup

Well, I will say that this time of year is the dull time for us chroniclers and our barnacles. Even the weather is dull, although certainly not boring considering its implications. I'm always surprised at the mean-spiritedness that emerges so frequently from us audiences, or the so-called nameless-facelesses who blog their (little) hearts out. I always wonder why? For what? To be a bitch? To possibly hurt? Insult? Maybe; you never know. I have to say it is funny, however, both haha and odd, to be referred to as "old." And true, very true, especially if you're very young (which is how we all view people who are younger than we by decades). But it makes you laugh too because no matter your age, one of the surprises in life is that you never really grow out of feeling the way you felt when you were a kid. Curious but true. And when one gets to a certain age, there are all kinds of anxieties which arise in a variety of ways. Not dissimilar to acne, for some of us who shall remain nameless (and faceless). Because it's a process of processing. There are all kinds of clarity that result too. Which is how you can laugh at the real idiots, no matter how silly or nasty they seem.

After The Rain [NYSD]

Earlier: Socialite Rank Shutout: David Patrick Columbia Too Ugly-Inclusive

Why we squashed DPC... We decided to finally remove Mr. Columbia's site from our link list for a very simple reason: DPC's incredibly boring. Well, we guess there are more inspirations as well. His target audience already qualifies for reservation spaces in the cemeteries; his writing has become as dull as an airline plastic knive and his all-inclusive policy of ugly people pictures has gotten on our nerves. No one reads his magazine, except the occasional C-list Hamptons and 10021 residents who make its "distinguished" pages. Otherwise, the kind help staff recycles the damn thing. So, there is no bitter feud. Just a lack of appreciation for an old man who couldn't.

Earlier: Socialite Rank Shutout: Did David Patrick Columbia Use The Wrong Fork Or Whatnot?

why is NY social diary suddenly of [sic] the links. trying to keep it on the DL DPC?

It was that NPR interview from which they clipped Ms. K's voice saying "you are a complete and total utter ... etc." about another subject entirely, to accompany the clip from Michael Gross' answering machine. You with me? In other words he said it and she said it but not in the sequence (or even on the medium) represented by the clip. They used their real voices saying things they actually said, albeit out of context (in a radio interview rather than a deposted phone message), and presented as truth to the undiscerning (most of us).

More trouble in more paradise (and NOT Tinsley and Topper's). One of the town's more social young couples, big bucks, very Old Line family, have been on the skids and heading toward the divorce courts. It was assumed that the guilty party was the wife, something of a citron presse, another one of those girls big on the social circuit and often solo. But, there's a third party — a girl in hubby's soup, so to speak — a very well known girl, very, in the midst of having her own famous divorce and a recently linked with a famous tycoon.

This assertion, of course, comes on the heels of DPC's quote in the Post yesterday: "Tinsley has a look that's sort of literary in intent. She looks like she could be a character in a Scott Fitzgerald novel. She doesn't look slutty. She doesn't look, pardon my language, like she's gonna get laid. Is she happy? Is she sad? Does she have a good marriage or not? She looks like she has a story there."

Okay, okay, OKAY, we're mildly curious: who on earth could be the Retard Gatsby to Tinsley's Retard Daisy Buchanan? And, perhaps more pressingly, is there a more pretentious person on earth than David Patrick Columbia? Discuss — with us.

Fame and Fortune [NY Social Diary]
Earlier: Tinsley Mortimer, Ardent Socialist

While perusing David Patrick Columbia's Social Diary this afternoon (and don't pretend you don't spend all day refreshing that bitch), we came across the ravishing image you see here. Any guesses? Answer after the jump.

If you said Alex Kuczynski, you are correct, and also probably a little to familiar with the ever-changing contours of Ms. K's face. The photo itself is from the current Vanity Fair, but head on over to Social Diary; Columbia's also got a great picture of Alex from 2001 (or seven surgeries ago, if you count that way). It's eerily compelling.

Fancy Faces, Fancy Pants [Social Diary]

At a fundraiser for a neglected petting zoo, Mr. Columbia crushed large blocks of ice with his hands much to the guests' amusement. Into the pen of a puma with rickets a child slipped a crispy prawn with mango cilantro dipping sauce. The puma choked, and Mr. Columbia poured it a dry, citrus-y chenin blanc, averting disaster.

The first runner-up, continuing the bestial theme:

While Lady Beaton purred on his Schweitzer linens, David snuck into the night to answer gnawing questions about where she'd been all those previous nights. After paying off a Pet Taxi driver, he found himself at an orgy involving several well-known pets. It was shocking to see dogs with cats with ferrets with koi... but more shocking that he wasn't invited. He began to choke on the shrimp cocktail through his dog mask.

MUFFIE POTTER ASTON screamed as I was nearly decapitated by an ormolu dagger from ASPREY wielded by BROOKE ASTOR. Dear Brooke had merely tapped my forehead and anointed me the next WARD McALLISTER. I accepted. With ANNETTE de la RENTA at the wheel, the two doyennes sped off into the night.

Part I.

It was twilight along rain soaked Park Avenue and there was unease in the air. A certain pang of regret had haunted me for most of the day, but I wasn't sure if it was due to the old lover I'd run into the night before at the Bal Masque or the hideous blinis I'd eaten for lunch at L'Affaire de Twat. Something was bothering me, that's for sure, and the car service was running late again. Again! Was there no end to the inconveniences I was subject to? I felt as if my entire life was becoming a mistimed joke, like a runny omelet made with inferior cheese or a flatulent dog in the Baroness Von Stupp's dressing room. I knew I never should have fired that fucking chauffeur....

Part II.

Suddenly there he was, coming straight at me with a gun. The sidewalk in front of my building was steamy — and so was he. His name was Patrick Hernandez and until last week he had been my driver. I'd fired him for malfeasance, misfeasance, and because the insurance had simply skyrocketed after that last D.U.I. he'd gotten somewhere on Rockaway Blvd.(Imagine driving a Silver Cloud on Rockaway Blvd. The mind reels...)

In those few seconds it took Patrick to advance holding the tiny little pistol Nancy Reagan gave him years earlier, I was thinking what a poor time it would be for my funeral what with everyone who was anyone in Monaco or Biarritz. I had always planned on dying in season, but alas, it seemed I would not. I hoped William Ivey Long, the Tony Award winning Broadway costume designer who had acquitted himself so well at C.Z. Guest's memorial service, would read one of the eulogies. I thought of the flowers and the arrangements that would have to be made and wondered if there would be a quiet reception afterwards. Perhaps at Le Cote Basque or that little bistro on 75th nobody ever remembers.

Patrick stuck the little gun in my stomach. "You've had this coming for years," he snapped.

CONCLUSION

"Patrick, don't do it, " I cried, just as the doorman returned from his smoking break and surveyed the scene in front of him.

"Oh shit," said the doorman.

My would be assailant, Patrick, turned toward the doorman and I grabbed for his tiny gun while his attention was diverted. (I ACTED, you see! This is how I saved myself!) Unfortunately, the gun fired in the direction of the street, shooting the driver of a ubiquitous black Town Car — the one from my new car service, which had just pulled up. The driver, a Mr. Guido Leone of Staten Island, received a flesh wound. Patrick Hernandez ran down the street where he was almost immediately enveloped by a covey of young ladies wearing these really fabulous Betsey Johnson dresses.

And I will Never be the same.

In today's post-Feminist world, publicity can get a girl (or a guy) out and about. It's a networking device, par excellence. It also offers the age-old possibility of matchmaking. There are millions of men and women who share these objectives: being popular and being invited can even also possibly bring you fame and a career: Paris Hilton, anybody?

Melissa Berkelhammer is one of those girls, plain and simple — a young woman in New York who likes to get around, likes to go to parties, likes to dress up and likes to make friends, and who likes to be photographed. That last preference is one of the main perks in our society today. We are more image crazy then when George Eastman invented a camera for the masses a century ago. If a picture's worth a thousand words, why not go for it? For a young woman or a young man, if they can afford it, it is a ticket to a party, maybe a good time, and maybe, oh just maybe, the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. What's to object?

What's to object? A lot, certainly in terms of that whole "do something good with your money other than shopping at Jeffrey" thing. But the real fallout from women who want nothing more than to be popular, who resort to this sort of shameless society worship? Melissa can answer that in her own words: "My mom helps me get dressed sometimes."

Society's Darlings [NYSD]
Earlier: Melissa Berkelhammer: Embrace the Tardation?
Flacking for the 'Hammer

Nothing is impossible as long as there is you and your imagination. That may be beyond naivete. But ... have you ever been confronted by the very real possibility of death? I have. I learned that the human reaction is to Do Something.

NY Social Diary Heats Up [Social Rank]
First day of August. Hot Under The Collar. [NYSD]