FEEL MY PAIN
or, What a Swell Party It Was
So last night I decided to attend a party hosted by the Madison Avenue Business Improvement District and Gotham Magazine to kick off the BID's "Pink Ribbon Project," which raises funds for breast cancer research. It's not only a good cause, but I worked for the BID when the project was first conceived four years ago, so I feel a special connection. Plus, I still know the people there. Plus, I'm always game for a party at the Whitney.

But oops, I did it again.

Okay, okay... I was fine during the party. Totally on good behavior. I even managed to applaud politely when Gotham publisher Jason Binn's engagement was announced, despite having just read this on Gawker. And I didn't even laugh at Candace Bushnell, who was, like, ohmygod, just like Carrie Bradshaw, and maybe, like, a little drunk. Or maybe she's, like, always like that.

Whatever. Jason and Carrie Candace set a new world record for making a cameo at a feel-good charity event. I think they were out of there before Evelyn Lauder could make it up to the microphone.

As I said, I was on fairly good behavior (for me... maybe not for you) until the party ended at 9:00, at which time Whitney security grabbed drinks out of hands and herded everyone out the door. Positively Prohibitionist. I don't think there was a partygoer left in the room after 9:03.

So what's a poor boy to do?

There was the option of attending an after-party that Jason Binn was hosting somewhere, and maybe, like, hanging with Candace Carrie Candace, but it didn't, like, start until, like, 10:30, and I'm not as young as I want to be. Plus, I wasn't sure if I was supposed to bring a gift. So my former co-workers and I decided to, like, hit the local bars. First Bemelman's Bar at the Carlyle, where we stayed for one drink until the bartender informed us that, if we wanted a second, we'd have to pay a cover charge, 'cause the pianist had come on duty. Well... not for nothing, but we were the entertainment, not the pianist, so we hiked across the street to the Mark.

And the rest is history.

Somewhere in the 11:00 range I made my departure, weaving through the streets of the Upper East Side -- in the rain, of course, and without an umbrella -- on my 20-minute walk home, which probably took me 30 minutes, given the fact that I was not exactly moving in a straight line. I arrived at my apartment sopping wet and drunk, drained a bottle of Vitamin Water, called the boyfriend, and passed out fell asleep.

And that was my night. How was yours? More important, how was Candace's?