glitterati, cognoscenti and many other pretentions.

item! jason priestley is a remarkably adept swimmer in that bottomless comedy goldpond known as self mockery.

item! i'm starting to suspect that i'm thwarted by my own type. my recent run of tall boys with sideburns, glasses and artistic tendencies has proven to be less than satisfying. or fruitful. i guess i'm just not punk rock enough. i have the audacity to enjoy myself rather than just sit around looking cool.

item! biscuit is cultivating fierceness. something about shaving off the curls made him want to get to know his inner badass. as long as you still dance with me, cupcake, i'm with you. we can go shopping for biker jackets together.

item! using the good gin in a g&t makes ALL THE DIFFERENCE. yum.

item! the beautiful people are fascinating to look at, but i'm really glad i'm not one of them. i'd rather be one of the cognoscenti than the glitterati.

so, yeah. last night was the nerve party, blazing its way through the east village. the play-by-play goes a little something like this (we'll discuss the nuances in just a moment):

film at seven. cherish. a strange extended music video of a film with a great soundtrack (to which i am listening right now. it was my prize for being the only person in the theatre who seemed to know who modern english was. in a theatre full of people with that disaffected, ironic hipness that only the children of the late seventies and eighties can muster. late seventies and eighties. didn't know modern english. am i the only member of this generation to have watched valley girl? who are you people?)

brief detour into the virgin megastore to find the vengaboys and do some preening. you know, proper party prepwork. i had to get glittery.

begin hiking the five blocks to the venue for the afterparty.

never mind that we stepped out into a bloody MONSOON.

all that preening, gone to waste. oh well. not a problem. i just squared my shoulders and did my best to convince the universe at large that drowned rat chic was oh so in, darling.

fortunately, such fashion challenges do not deter us. the truly fabulous are not so easily thwarted. such was not the case with my umbrella, however, which i had to junk upon our arrival. sad, sad burial in a bin full o premium gin bottles and cigarette wrappers. rest in peace, little gipper.

so, i must say that despite the dearth of disaffected hipsters, the party was a fabulous time. propbably because we went in with the proper state of mind for a party: we were there with a mission to be as debauched as possible while maintaining a modicum of dignity. simply put, we were there to get silly. we were also planning to engage in some sort of absurd action (example: biscuit was on the warpath to kiss a straight boy. i hadn't thought far enough ahead to plan my debauchery).

we capped off the evening by monopolizing two lovely genetics researchers. one was from australia, the other looked like dexter fletcher and affected a mean irish accent.

the accent strikes again. i think it's starting to border on a fetish.

shocking, right? never would have suspected...

...parties like this nerve shindig occupy a weird space in my consciousness and list of personal preferences. one one hand, they're absolutel devastating, because in and among the beautiful people, i don't measure up. perhaps i don't cultivate my arcane and uppity knowledge as well as i should, or i don't have an eating disorder, or i don't find sport in alienating people. i don't know. but i am easily discarded by the scenesters and sometimes that's not so easy on me.

but then i come to my senses and decide that they can all go fuck themselves and i will dance like a whirligig and fawn over my biscuit and smoke too much and make lewd comments and just have a grand old time. and if they don't like it then they can bite me sideways. and i find that that approach works much better for me. i suppose in many ways, that's not a good way to get a handhold in a strange situation, reflecting the scorn back on those who are scorning me...but, when you're in the right frame of mind, it's just so. damn. easy. and pretty bloody entertaining to boot. when you choose to see through the glamour being cast, the beautiful people certainly are not so.

ha!

item! i wonder how long it takes to thoroughly cultivate "a rep" in this town. apparently, i'm well on my way to becoming quite the tartlet (tastefully, of course. i'm saving myself for marriage, after all.) of the south slope. i wonder how long i've got before it's common knowledge that i am an easy target for...flirting.

item! parties like these are the best reminders of all that i, truly, have the glitteriest, cognoscentiest army of compatriots this side of the mississippi. so what if i'm not one of the beautiful people? i've got my own.