Breakfast At Tiffany's




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At Home with The Huffington (and the Nation)

Part of: Hollywood , LA , Literati , Politics


[Breakfast: a chocolate croissant and a latte]

Disclaimer: Being on Sudafed ™ is like being on drugs.

Luckily I was having a good hair day—my hair had dried naturally with perfect waves. My nose was red from blowing it for days, but make-up covered it up. I left DK at home with the cat and off I went. I wore black Seven jeans, a vintage Japanese silk top, a wool DKNY wrap that I tied in the front, and vintage accessories. Boi From Troy had on a sharp leather blazer and Ben Sherman shirt. We were ready to rock.

Not getting lost this year put our E.T.A. at 8:15. Normally I like to get to places fashionably late, but last year we’d arrived at 8:45 and the party was already bursting to capacity. The first person I saw was our hostess, Miss Arianna Huffington, dressed elegantly in a black and paisley wrap halter-top and black pants. She looked hotter this year and had a more youthful vibe.

Boi and I got drinks—a raspberry Mojito and a glass of Chardonnay, respectively. (It would be my one and only drink for the evening—not counting water.) Mickey Kaus, Evan Wright, Nora Ephron and Gore Vidal were there. Boi and I ran into Tom Christie, Senior Features Editor for the LA Weekly, and for some reason I called him Michael a few times, and he never corrected me. (I woke up this morning and was like, WTF? Maybe I had told him that I was on Sudafed™ so he had forgiven me). Christie doesn’t understand how people have time to read blogs—they all must be semi or unemployed people. Laurie Ochoa, Sharan Street, Marc Cooper, and a few other staffers were there. Sharan and I talked beaus while eating the best chocolate/white chocolate-covered strawberries ever.

I spied Lawrence Bender who doesn’t do it for me anymore. I briefly covered scripts for A Band Apart and had had a crush on him. Earlier, I was parusing Miss Huffington’s photographs (she has a million of them) and noticed that a picture of Bender and Huffington was in the center of a bunch of other frames. Hmm…

Boi and I walked up to Andrew Breitbart, and I swear that I saw Judith Regan, but couldn’t make a positive I.D. "Judith Regan" had crazy looking eyes and manic New York City energy. As I watched her walk away (also at NYC speed) I saw Dennis Hopper. (Maybe that was just come crazy woman on coke?) Dennis looked way young. Did he get a face-lift or was I high? Back to Andrew who was making fun of the private Brentwood school that he had gone to, saying that all the alumni are now lawyers. He listed some of the dazzling alumni who were not lawyers from a few of the local public schools. I was too Sudafed ™ out to remember. I told Andrew that I graduated from Santa Monica High School.

"Hey, did you hear about the race war there?"

"What?" I asked, not quite sure I heard him right.

"The Mexicans vs. the Blacks."

My Sudafed™ haze was making this hard to process.

"I mean the Latinos vs. the African Americans."

I laughed, "No need to be P.C."

So, no I hadn’t heard about the race war. And no, when I went to the school, I wasn’t fearful of attending even after there was a drive-by gang shooting in the back alley. Oh, how times have changed.

Suddenly we’re talking about conspiracy theories and Daily Kos. Apparently he is the Lord and Master of all things conspiracy related—that sounded cool and kooky. I had never read him before.

Boi and I were introduced to Arianna’s assistant who I’ll call Floral Flower because he was wearing the first floral shirt that I’ve liked on a man.

"Yes, I’ve heard of you," Floral Flower said.

"I blogged about Arianna’s party last year…"

…when bloggers weren’t too cool for school.

"Oh, I was reading your earlier stuff," he said.

Now I was getting the vibe that I was being assessed in a Secret Service type fashion. I can’t read Floral Flower, but have a feeling that he might not get my sense of humor. But I’m on Sudafed™, so who cares. A guy popped up and announced that he managed to get Marc Jacobs to write for the group blog. "Cool, free clothes!" the guys said in unison. Andrew figured out he really meant to say Mark Joseph, who’s a music industry guy.

Boi managed to corner Markos Zuniga (I wonder if he's related to Daphne Zuniga?) aka Daily Kos. Honestly, I hadn’t been vibing on him, and my instinct had told me to walk away. Kos seemed to be in love with himself.

"So, what are your day jobs?" Kos asked with the kind of smugness that a famous actor asked a non-union extra.

Um, didn’t he even want to know the names of our blogs first, NO.

"Development," I said.

Boi went into a lengthy explanation of what he does. Other things were said, but I’m not going to write about them, because they weren’t that interesting. I don’t think I’ve ever met such an arrogant person in my entire life. Later Boi told me that Kos reportedly makes $30,000 a month off blog ads. So I guess he’s the one and only Blog Star in his world—gag!

On a lighter note, I met Mark Sarvas from The Elegant Variation. He randomly asked me if I had gone to the restaurant by the Polaine Bakery in Paris. I had him repeat himself a couple of times because the Sudafed™ was making me confused. How did he know that DK and I had gone there on our recent trip to Europe? Was Mark a psychic? (When I got home and checked my G-mail, I noticed that Sarvis had only left his initials in his original e-mail to me about where to eat in Paris, and not his URL). Sarvas was nice, but off in a flash staking out the real literati from the Los Angeles Times Festival of Books.

I started talking to a groovy black woman, E. She subtly pointed out (that’s an understatement) Walter Mosley to me and I noticed that he was with Roma Maffia from Nip/Tuck. (I love Nip/Tuck!)

E. confided that she randomly saw her friend getting a facelift on some surgery show on the Learning Channel and was pretty stunned. The friend had already looked young and now she looks about 17.

"I’m 53," E. stated, after I was shocked that she had a daughter in her 20’s. "Black doesn’t crack."

This post is way too long, so I’ll end with Miss Huffington. Boi and I had our last conversation of the night with our smart and sexy hostess. Her calm demeanor wasn’t cracked despite an annoying writer interrupting us and asking for a Q&A about her new book about five times. Miss Huffington explained several times that the book wasn’t new—it was 2 years old and that she’d like to talk about her new blog—duh!!!!! The writer still repeated that he wanted to interview her about her book. I wanted to push him into her pool.

Back, Miss Huffington explained that she wanted her blog to be a dialogue with not only liberal-minded individuals and that the blog would cover topics besides politics. Meanwhile, I decided that I wanted a gold Italian charm bracelet just like Arianna’s that spelled out my name in diamonds. Not only is it classy-childlike, but it’s also useful in case you get amnesia and forget who you are. (Arianna, if you’re reading this, could you e-mail me and let me know where you got it from? Thanks).

Boi and I left the party when it was just starting to die down but was not dead. I took a free copy of The Nation and Boi didn't. In Boi's red sports car with Guns 'N Roses blaring, Boi was still glowing as I popped more Sudafed™.


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