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Articles by

<Zachary Palmer>

07/16/08 12:00am

1. Know who is DJ’ing. Start going to their weekly parties tonight. At their own parties, New York DJs are very accessible. Become friends with them (but don’t be sycophantic). Try to sync up with them: eat dinner at the same time, go to bed at the same time. Women: will your cycles to match theirs, and you may find yourself waiting on line just as they are making an entrance. Make sure they see you, and you might get swept inside along with their entourage.

2. Show up alone.
Of course, make friends with the people in front of you. One of them might be able to help you out, either because of who they are or because no doorman wants to deal with everyone in the line banding together with cries of “let him in, let him in.” Also, you might be able to get some freelance work from the editor behind you.

3. It seems like a long shot, but if the curbside synchronicity is there, pull a DIY house-show courtesy move and offer to help carry an amp, er, crate of records (er, case of CDs). Carrying something heavy is always a good credibility-builder and crowd-parter. My favorite last resort is to chase down the DJ and tell them how much coverage that you are going to give them in a forthcoming issue of The L Magazine.

4. Very simply, know which line is which: pay attention to the door staff as they explain which line is guest list only, on-call, etc.

5. Do not try to skip the line. Independent of the fact that this is a red flag, if you are not on the list,  the least you can do is wait (bring this feature along with you to memorize as you do so). The trick here happens before you approach: feel out the line from across the street. Approach from the side opposite the line/the shorter line. That way you have to pass by the door staff on your way to the back of the line. Perhaps there will be either a moment of recognition or a panicked scream of, “I need his look in here, now!”

6. If the doors have not yet opened, and you recognize a familiar face on the door staff, ask if there is anything you can do to help out. On the night of Courtney Love’s Cheeky Bastard performance, I (fireguard license in hand) cleared the street, repeating some form of the following, “Hi, I love you and do not want for you to get run over, also, if the cops come and see you all standing here, the party will be shut down.”

7. Once the doors open, be prepared with your reason for being allowed in without being on a list. Know who you’re talking to, do not tell the doorman you’re on so-and-so’s list only to have him explain that it is he who is so-and-so. You should know some trivia about the DJs, performers and designer. The door staff has better things to do than quiz you, but throwing out a random fact might add authenticity to your #1 Fan foam finger.

8. Your buddy inside cannot get you in and if he has not already put you on a list, he does not have a list. Save your breath. Speaking of not lying: tell the truth throughout, about your age and connections. Even if you are no one, being caught in the truth always goes further than being caught in a lie and being told to leave the line.

9. If you do make it in, you will immediately find yourself among the anonymous, unrecognizable proletariat. The VIP area is your next target. Either make friends with the bouncer (in advance) or find the party’s host. After explaining who I was at the 2006 F/W Heatherette party, Susanne Bartsch (while money fell from the ceiling) handed me a VIP wrist band.

10. All of the tragicomedy and drama aside, a Fashion Week party is not a movie. Going home, putting on a disguise and coming back is not going to fool anyone. Going home, changing into something fabulous and coming back… well, maybe.

07/02/08 12:00am

Lonely and looking for something to do, tired of feeling like you are stuck inside of Mobile with the Memphis blues again? Don your Lonsdale and your leopard-skin pill-box hat and dance to a Captain Arab-arabesque, one which turns Jayne and Mansfield into visions of Johanna. International flaxen-haired DJing duo Lady Bree and Miss Harry Flowers–visions of beauty in a DJ booth, Sharon st"One of Us Must Know (Sooner or Later)"-styled femme fatales behind the ones and twos–spin rock ‘n’ roll, garage, punk, girl groups, glam, indie and shoegaze. Keeping rap to another red riding ‘hood, these residents-as-Rapunzels keep the sleeping residents of their parties’ hoods asking themselves "ain’t it just like the night to play tricks when you’re trying’ to be so quiet?" Their bombshells of hits create a Rainy Day Women #12 & #35-24-36 measurements of 33 1/3 rotations per minute which has me all right with you pledging my time to them.

Putting the Absolut in absolutely sweet Marie, Erik and nikkisneakers pour the poisons that keep you tumbling about just like a mattress balances on a bottle of wine.

Whether this is your first or fourth time around the block, find a sad eyed lady of the lowlands and tell her I want you, when the blonde bombshell blows up in your face run to your buddies complaining of her being just like a woman–a Jean Harlow-looking hall of mirrors.

Have a drink for courage, then find yourself nearly-invincible–temporary like Achilles–on the dance floor, surrounded by Marilyn Monroe-fashioned "Why, Chanel No. 5, of course" strange bedfellows, obviously 5 believers all. Come some time between 3:30 and 4am, mostly likely you’ll go your way (and I’ll go mine).

And now, the feature using all of the words which can be made from Blonde:

On Sunday and Wednesday nights instead of nodding off in your bed, be all you can be by making your body bend in dance and drink at Blonde on Blonde–a party which refuses to blend in, where your DJs Lady Bree and Miss Harry Flowers blend rock ‘n’ roll, garage, punk, girl groups, glam, indie and shoegaze. If you have made bold moves and managed to neither have bled out from a dance-related broken bone nor have run into some girl who you once boned, nights out such as these bode well for your week.

Put down the bole, don some duds and take out your deb (as in, debutante) for a night out on the town and away from your apartment above a crack den, to spots where music plays at various levels of bel. Dole out for your blonde and do whatever your doe-eyed beauty wants done in the ebon corners that resemble the dungeons of eld.

En-dash out for a night that will not be done before amateur enol turns into a marriage annuled. Your DJs have spent an eon or so in front of their LED-lit mixing boards spinning Led Zeppelin, and lo and behold they lend their talents to your left and right ear lobe, lob your keys to your designated driver blond Ben (better yet, take either the El–the J,M,Z–or L trains), lobed to hear when you have had too much. Knowing that these venues are a lode of debauchery, do not be a lone dancer. Neb and hands-outstretched, do not say no to any noble offers, just nod yes to a node (as in, intersecting/connecting!), and find yourself in a cheer usually found around Noel. Beware the od and bond of women, and be careful not to O.D. We do not want to have to sing an ode to your memory until you are very old. I have gone on too long, this has to end.

Blonde on Blonde
Sundays at Lit, Wednesday at Hugs
10:30pm, FREE
93 Second Ave, between E 5th and E 6th Sts
108 N 6th St, between Berry St and Wythe Ave

06/18/08 12:00am

The Outside Talker promises that this ten-in-one will showcase a Gypsy Rose Lee-crew’s worth of illustrated women drawing attention to all of their skin, not just their tattoos–jumping off the page and whipping their tassels ’round like the Cyclone and batting their lashes up-and-down faster than the Wonder Wheel pitches riders through the air. Putting the tits in downtown institution, Starshine Burlesque takes over the stage as Coney Island staples Little Brooklyn, Creamy Stevens, Amber Ray, Jo Boobs, Bunny Love and Bambi the Mermaid perform dance noir in the shadow of the Coney Island Parachute Jump. An aquarium art installation adds to the display–an expo of exhibitionism, the Outside Talker exhorts that immediately following the 26th Annual Mermaid Day Parade, the 6th Annual Mermaid Ball (official after party, and benefit for not-for-profit arts organization Coney Island USA which presents the parade, Coney Island Circus Sideshow, Coney Island Museum and Coney Island Film Series) features live electric-chair acts/electric sets from KUDU and Foreign Islands, and dance music from a trident of DJing acts: Jack Fetterman and Meat Mistress, Dances with White Girls and Paddy Boom. Go-Go sensations Gal Friday and La Maia perform, and sideshow star Adam the First Real Man hosts this Anything Goes affair where the ethanol flows like waves beating against the They Shoot Horses, Don’t They?-like shore. Mermaids and Mermen from the sea, those who feel like manatees and sea cows in the city, will take a trip up from the beach and ariel photographers will come indoors to be part of that [Red, Hot and Blue] world. With special thanks to Taconic Investment Partners, and sponsorships from Brooklyn Brewery, Coney Island Lager and Wine Cellar Sorbet.

Mermaid Parade Ball
June 21
5pm to midnight, 16 to enter; 21 to drink, $10 advance at
mermaidparadeball.com; $15; $50 VIP
Child’s Restaurant Building, at the Boardwalk and W 21st St

06/11/08 12:00am

The talent roster looks like a grocery list — a menu of DJs (Marc-Alan Gray, Paddy Boom, Jesse Murphy, Fancy, Stretch Armstrong, Alexander Technique, Rok One, Van Scott, Morsy & Kestar, DJ Elle, Dopplehertz, Bad Decision and Heartme!) serving up set lists that will have people lined up around the corner, both walk-ups and those who rsvp’d. To get tapped by doorman Thomas Onorato, the former better be wearing a packing list’s worth of Fashion Editor-approved pieces.

Forget dishing on the music and the crowd, a laundry list of media folks will be looking to air the dirty laundry of the escapades of your hosts (Michael Gogel, Richie Rich, Deryck Todd, Zachary David Palmer, Nicole Nelch, Jeremy Asgari, Darryl Nau, Jake Destruction & Captain Al, Nick the Duke, Flute Bardhi, Daniel rekLES [Happy Birthday!], Mike Dextro, Vasili Gavre, Kieren Taylor, Lee Trice, Arthur Rutledge, Destiny, Tim Sharp, Jenna Duffy [Happy Birthday!], House of Bath, SMBLC, Cindy Kim, Daniel Barbosa, Steve Martinek and ModelsHotel) — all looking to make true your wishlists, and add notches on their nightstands from the people listed on the rsvp guest list—a veritable to-do list — who will be clamoring for goodies from Name Ribbon, Kill Shop Kill and URB Magazine. Bridging the gap between up- and downtown styles of nightlife, URB Magazine, GGLAMM (Marc-Alan Gray and Michael Gogel) and CHANGEZ LE BEAT present a glamorous new monthly event that is a mash of music, fashion and art, an all that glitters is lamé event which promises to be short-listed on the best-of lists and annual round-ups of lifestyle editors.

Photographers Paolo and Nicky Digital capture what would certainly fill a WireImage-style worst- and best-dressed list from partiers downing drinks during the 10 to 11pm open bar, and document what ensues from $5 cosmos and $5 beer and whiskey shots all night. For complimentary admission, get on the list: rvsp to tellme@marc-alan.com.

June 11
Rebel, 10pm
251 W 30th St, between Seventh and Eighth Aves

06/11/08 12:00am

Looking like they are about to walk into the 90s-era Squeezebox (or, out of the recent documentary), a motley crue of 1920s-styled Flappers, air bled with calibrated orifices (a type of toilet flapper, I promise), are que’ing up for DJ Miss Guy and Michael Economy’s new party. Bowery Electric is the place for such an eclectic electric party featuring an eloquently executed elocution of girl groups — from Mae West and Nancy Sinatra, to Sister Sledge and The Gossip.

Miss Guy was the infamous front-man of the Toilet Böys, this new weekly is a salve from the toils of the workweek — where you can let the bathroom humor run free.

Fix your hair up like it was swirlie’d and throw on powder to give your face a flushed appearance, grow your handle bar moustache out and show off your plumber butt — plunge into the bass-y depths of nightlife.

A party for the in-the-Closet Ring and Billy Bolt Set who throw up the ROY G. BIV colors of the hanky code while dancing to DJ sets featuring the girl groups of the 50s and 60s to which everyone knows the tablature, run a bar tab toward getting tanked on swill before 5 days of your day job.

Dear rim of society, bowl’ed over from siphoning liquor and looking for trim, do a lid and hold the ballcock, then clean yourself off for the rest of the week with a large white tablet.

GIRLS! GIRLS! GIRLS!
9pm, FREE
Sundays at Bowery Electric

327 Bowery, between E 2nd and E 3rd Sts

05/21/08 12:00am

I seriously need to take a break from watching, between The CW11 and TBS, one-and-half hours of Sex and the City reruns every night, so my sister Ashley (of Darren Star’s short-lived Kitchen Confidential) and I are heading to the Sex and the City premiere party.

Just before midnight, as we arrive at The Plumm from the east (knowing that the red carpet and velvet ropes open to the west), I send a text message to R. Couri Hay Creative Public Relations’ Marie Assante. A Big night, glitterati, literati, hipster litter and chick lit mothers with their own litters are on line; in front of the club, fashion blogger/photographer Scott Schuman is shooting Fashion Inc.’s Lauren Goldstein Crowe. Although it is a school night and early still, Consuelo Ruybal and Oraia Reid’s RightRides is at the ready.

From inside the club, Marie comes out into the box to meet us. She is standing with doormen King (no relation to Michael Patrick King), who would not remember me and Onorato Wixom’s Thomas Onorato — dealing with someone who obviously did not read Glen Belverio’s Confessions from the Velvet Ropes — who, otherwise, would.

Dodging the usual front-of-house street theatre performance:

Me: I am The L Magazine‘s Nightlife Editor.
Doorperson: Elle magazine has a Nightlife Editor?
Me: Not the fashion magazine, the bi-weekly publication.
Doorperson: Elle is bi-weekly?
Me: Yes, the one which is the letter L is bi-weekly.
Doorperson: The L Word? That is a weekly show.
[…]

We enter the club just before now-outed Cynthia Nixon gets out of a limo and approaches the Chris Noth co-owned club, as Elle Decor‘s Elizabeth Stamp gets stamped. On the club’s ground level, models/DJs Sky Nellor and Shandi Sullivan who are trading fours all night, are deafening a million PR reps to whom I owe emails, promise to thank in print. Playgirl Editor-in-Chief Nicole Caldwell speaks with Playboy’s Editorial Director Chris Napolitano while I, of The L, with William Norwich’s "Hello-Bent" piece from the current Vogue in mind, but with kisses all around, approach a table of current- and former-Elle staffers: Lindsay Anmuth, Jen
Gerson, Anne Slowey, Joe Zee and Robbie Myers–who is talking to Mediabistro.com’s Laurel Touby, like a revisitation of their summer 2006 interview on Amy Palmer’s New York 360. The front door is a revolving door of it’s own, all of the gossip columnists coming through could create their own mythological Medea Bistro.

Their table is separated from other publishing houses–like tables in high school, the Condé Nast cafeteria. Axl Rose and Tommy Hilfiger are seated on opposite sides of the room; Teen Vogue‘s Andrew Bevan, Evonne Gambrell, Aya T Kanai, Jane Keltner, Maura Lynch, E.J. Samson and Lindsay Talbot are seated together. In front of the DJ booth, I see both The L and Lucky‘s own Laurel Pinson with co-workers Cat Marnell, Kathryn Irby and Blake English, and former L-staffer Kathira Romero. We three all have histories with Atrium Staffing, and the Atrium ladies are out in full force.

Former-L intern Julia Standefer and her sister Lily, both models and brilliant women otherwise, are watching Mario Cantone Vogue, while I look to see if Candace Bushnell can dance. Kristin Davis has not yet shown, Sarah Jessica Parker’s Manolo Blahnik’d feet are planted — avoiding a 600 degrees fire of Kevin Bacon plate of Footloose jokes, and Kim Cattrell looks less 1998 SatC and more 1987 Mannequin: fabulous. My fantasy accessories/fashion PR company client roster is seated together: the Beckermans, Pretty Black’s Lucy Carr-Ellison, BLEIGHM’s Miranda Laughlin, Lulu Frost’s Lisa Salzer, AbiGrl’s Abigail Seligsohn, Alex Silva and Safe’s Rebecca Turbow.


BlackBook
‘s Nick Haramis is wearing red suspenders, Prada’s Michael Aguilar is in Prada. Hattie Gruber (in $795 Christian Louboutin shoes) and Lauren Painter (from Barneys) sit with Matthew Hampton (from Macy’s) and Time Inc.’s James Brooks; Rebecca Steuer and Style.com’s Ashley Granata visit them and the booth looks like Marc-Alan Gray’s currently-homeless Changez Le Beat. Later, I see Men.Style.com’s Tyler Thoreson and Ashley talking about the Norman Invasion of 1066 and Parisian fashion coverage coming out of 1166 Sixth Avenue, the CondéNet building.

Esther, the most attractive cocktail waitress I have ever seen (back from teaching in Korea for a night), passes by me with a bottle of Grey Goose in a bucket of ice as Asia Baker, Valerie Boster, Catherine Piercy, Sally Singer (all Vogue staffers) and Candice Bergen (who just plays one on TV) enter. A masthead’s worth of editors, their work Jackson Pollock-style, Valentino-red paint drips on the pages of fashion magazines, are toasting champagne on the dance floor and eating Jack Berger-themed cheddar jack burgers from caterer dana & david’s trays. Carissa Rosenberg, Seventeen‘s Entertainment Director, is laughing with Jill Demling, Vogue‘s Entertainment Editor, and both look sincerely happy together, although neither look particularly entertained by the hordes of people pushing them into the foliage of dance floor’s potted plants. Meg Gruppo, Lisa Iadanza and Marianne Hart (with Condé Nast HR until recently, now with Polo Ralph Lauren) are having a Human Resources heart to heart; For Full Frontal Fashion, Patrick McMullan is interviewing tonight’s host George Wayne, and Billy Farrell of PMC shoots Patrick McDonald, Kenny Kenny, Susanne Bartsch and Amanda Lepore–who is looking at either David LaChappelle and a girl from Myspace or Richie Rich, Traver Rains and Patricia Field. I overhear Richie repeating the rumor going around that fashionista grindcore group The Feminist Movement is playing tonight. I disabuse him of this, but tell him to get in contact with me about
them playing during Fashion Week.

Rich Aybar, Kim Stolz and Nadine Johnson schmooze, applaud Jonathan and Melissa — my favorite dance party couple (they also exist in real life)–who are dressed (costumes, wigs and fat suit) like ‘Paradise By the Dashboard Light’-era Meatloaf (with Ellen Foley) — only Julia Dasher of Harper’s Bazaar and, later, Jessica Matlin and Lindsey Palmer have the courage to approach them, I wonder if they know that four of the five of them work in the same castle.

I pass by my sister who shouts, incredulously and sympathetically, that she saw freelance make-up artist Claudia Lake cornered into giving free make-up tips in the restroom. I see Sally Singer from across the room, but cannot catch up with her to pitch my Street (Gang) Fashion feature.

With so many proper nouns and models to mention, the party is starting to look like the Nell’s chapters in Bret Easton Ellis’ American Psycho: May Andersen, Gina Marie Busch, Deborah Cohen, Melissa D and Agyness Deyn are trying to get drinks, crowding toward the bar behind NYLON‘s Online Editor Faran Krentcil, and Tangie Silva and Ashley Baker (Fashionweekdaily.com, et al.), while Details‘ Katie Hintz and Matthew Marden repeat for the bartender the specifics of their drink orders.

Down by coat check, I run into Condé Nast Traveler‘s Tracy Shone, W‘s Carolyn Angel and Vanity Fair‘s Ian Bascetta, all of whom I met checking coats and taking names in the Don Hill’s cloakroom. They tease me over my "today the cloakroom, tomorrow the Vogue fashion closet" metaphorical back piece.

In the back booth, co-owners Noel Ashman and Damon Dash play up the closeness of names between Carrie Bradshaw and Aiden Shaw, and Essan Laurent, smelling of Estee Lauder, poses–long red hair an arabesque
of Sarah Jessica’s length, Cynthia’s color, Kristin’s texture and Kim’s body.

[Cut to my computer screen]

With all of the drama surrounding it, will the romantic comedy of the summer be a tragedy?

05/07/08 12:00am


Playgirl
, why are you dancing when you could be alone… and reading with one hand. Crowning Niko the new king of porn, the foremost Feminist lifestyle publication for women and men looking foreskin makes (Editor-in-Chief) Nicole Cald-well on its Man of the Year Issue-promise. DJ Solid Goldberger spins goldmember hits on 7-inch vinyl while Playgirl models and Real Men join in for Tabloid-worthy, free-lube-and-$2-PBR-fueled festivities (both italicizations are monthly features.)

To the westside’s HK Lounge for a blue photo party, head out as the sun goes down below the Blue Horizon for a blow-out night of Media overload: with giveaways from party sponsors Sextoy, Pink, Doc Johnson, Chocoholics and Lovevoodoo.com and Playgirl‘s infamous goodie bags. As for next year? The winner is still ‘only a question mark on a [yearly] calendar.’

Playgirl’s Man of the Year Issue-Release Party, May 8
HK Lounge, 7 to 10pm
rsvp to pgedit@playgirlmag.com

05/07/08 12:00am

Now that the "quiet, please" work week is over, The Desk Set–socialite librarians who most certainly fall into the PLA (Public Library Association)–invite you, little black book in hand, to shake your buns in your Amicus curiae briefs. Hold onto and get some blood-circulating PLAy from a stacked, hardbacked hardbody on the dance floor as spot in the library of your ALA-accredited university’s stacks where the 98.1 Dewey Decimal-looking latex condom percentage rate of success is tested. From stacks of mass market-edition vinyl, DJ Jonathan Toubin (New York Night Train) spins reserve express copies of  60s soul, garage, boogaloo, psych, international pop and more subgenres than there are library divisions.

A benefit for Books Through Bars (party location double entendre?), donate a new or gently used paperback dictionary (or thesaurus) and, while music bumps through 808s and you spit fiction to hotties at the bar, get a free drink. Otherwise, leave your ac’credit’ed university cards behind the bar–all of the fake IDs held there creating another kind of card catalog–with libation librarians who are looking to get you exponentially drunker and drunker by pouring Dewey Decimal-themed cocktails.

Come for the homemade cakes and free swag (buttons, totes), stay for the Bibliophile’s Raffle–with money raised going toward Books Through Bars and fabulous prizes donated by Brooklyn Vanguard, Continuum Publishing, Diamond Comic Distributors, Greenwich Village Literary Pub Crawl, Magic Hat Brewery, McSweeney’s, MoMA, The Morgan Library, New York Society Library, Kara Jesella and Marissa Meltzer, Ky Anderson and Tokion. At press time, there was no word of a Dead Poets Society-styled Desk
Set tossing.

Dance Dance Library Revolution, May 16
10:30pm
Enid’s
560 Manhattan Ave, at Driggs Ave, Bklyn (L to Bedford Ave, G to Nassau Ave)

04/16/08 12:00am

Four years since their first prom party, the LGBT Community Center is inviting freshmen (both new to the Community Center and either newly- or just-for-the-party-male) to celebrate their gender-bender ball-as-Senior Prom, where transgender and gender non-conformists, their partners, friends and allies — hirsute legs of men shorn and shown off in pink dresses and tuxedoed, mustachioed women dancing as the Psychedelic Furs play — are treated to music, entertainment and refreshments. Celebrate a quarter-century of the Center, founded in the year Thriller was released, by partying like it’s 1983 to Reagan-era pop, while, I anticipate, both last and this year’s Prom queen-and-queen/drag king-and-king twirl around on the dance floor.                      
                                  

Fourth Annual Trans-Prom: MAY 2, 8pm to midnight, FREE
Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual and Transgender Community Center
208 W 13th St, between Greenwich and Seventh Aves

04/16/08 12:00am

This ‘Drive-In Saturday’ night party from Twig the Wonderkid and the Astronettes, with special guest host Georgie Seville, has your friends saying “it’s good,” and “it’s just like rock ‘n’ roll”; all the “Jung the foreman prayed at work…” dudes will jump through hoop’les to catch the eyes of Burning Angel go-go team Apathy Angel and Jessie Lee, while dancing-out personality crises between New York dolls and Jersey-transplants transformed into bleached-blond Debbie Harrys who have come over — the April showers bringing Brian May-followers — to hear electro-punx Lismore (11pm), see late-night cabaret from Stormy Leather (2am) and dance to DJs on the ones and twos, Michael T, Theo and Punk Ass Jason spin Suzi Quatro in 4/4 as a crash course [in glam rock] for the ravers and stooges of contemporary pop culture.                     

Glamdammit: 21st Century Boy, April 19
Don Hill’s  511 Greenwich St, at Spring St, 11pm, $10; $5 in advance
at glamdammitnyc.com