Tuesday, January 11, 2005

Rolling in Williamsburg

VD and the girls raided my apartment Saturday night and dragged me out. The girls tried cheering me up traumas with their own parents. VD's Dad threatens to cut her off every week unless she gets a real job. Her Dad bankrolls her PR agency which promotes parties. But the last party she did was a year ago for fashion week. But VD starts sulking about how is affairs mentally scarred her as a child. Than he just backs off and tosses another 10 grand. Guilt. Its a beautiful thing.

They all have their gigs. T transferred to 5 schools and than decided she wanted to be a fashion designer and is now taking classes at FIT. B's parents have given her a year to do what she wants but she plans on stretching it to five than she'll get married. K's parents don't care what she does as long as she marries a nice heart surgeon.

I am still figuring out what I want to do.

When I found out the party was in Brookly I had a s**fit. I hate Brooklyn. I hate taking the train there. T was like its cool, we're going to Williamsburg which is the new West Village and these people were cool.

T knows alot about Brooklyn because her Dad lost a ton of cash on a bar there. He went in with some friends to buy a bar in Williamsburg. After buying it, they were approached by some people in the neighborhood who recommended that they buy there booze from them and that they should get new tables which the people from the neighborhood were more than happy to sell to them. But T's Dad's friends told them no way. T's Dad learned that wa s big mistake when their distributor in Jersey cancelled all booze shipments. When they asked why. The distributor told them it wasn't worth his business. T's Dad later found out that some people in the neighborhood had given the distributor a call. T's Dad realized they were all in over their heads after that and that things were done differently in this neighborhood.

He asked to be bought out but the whole group was strapped for cash and they could only offer half. He took it and ran. The rest of his friends were not so lucky. Their bar was made to feel very unwelcome in the neighborhood and a couple of months later they closed it down.

T's Dad now owns a bunch of parking lots in Manhattan.

VD looked so amazing with her tan. I had some color but she looked tropical. She had a great time in the Caribbean and also brought back a new name for us. From now on we are called the claque. She heard the term from some opera buff who was trying to get into her pants. They are basically the mafia of opera and they beat opera stars who don't pay them money.

The party was in a small two bedroom in Greenpoint. The crowd was a mix of musicians and other art boys. Men were all emo boys dressed in jeans, sweaters with ties and long hair or faux hawks. This one guy was wearing these ugly shag red ugg boots with matching red shag jacket. He also had this seat belt strapped holding up his pants. The boys barely made grade for hook ups but definitely not boyfriend material.

The food was the “I’m too cheap because I spent all my money on pot” variety which was hummus and pita bread. And the drinks were the usual beer, wine and whiskey. There were some cute guys who talked to us but some of the girls were standing guard around their boyfriend. That’s right. Keep yo men away from the claque.

Music was playing but no one really danced but just talked really loud. We all managed conversations with most of the people. I found out that everyone was from Emerson or connected in some way to Emerson. Our connection was T because she saw one of their bands and ended up hooking up with the drummer who lived in the apartment. I talked to some of the girl s, most of the were like actresses or musicians. This one girl has been temping for 4 years while auditioning.

At one point we all ended up on the fire escape where B nearly lost one of her high heels. We smoked and looked at Brooklyn. Things started getting stale so were about to had back when ugg boots told everyone that they were going dancing at Black Betty. Everyone piled into two cars and we went to this dive bar. One of the guys that VD was talking to told us about this place called which served dim sum and had a bar in the basement and there was a band playing there. There was a bit of live music withdrawal in us so we took off with some two of the emo boys.

The best thing about M was that they allowed smoking in the basement bar. It seems Bloomberg has limits on his reach. The band hadn’t started playing yet and our ears were being slapped by this music that I can only describe similar to the music they played on Mike Meyers sketch Sprokets.

The crowd was same as the party but more guys wearing black hoodies, black sweaters and jeans. In fact everyone was dressed in black. The Claque would have stood out in our pink and white belly shirts and micro minis but it was too dark. All we did was stand and drink while listening to this lame music. Finally the band came on which was this tiny girl and two guys. The whole crowd went ape** when they hit the stage which was just the other side of the basement and began to tune their instruments. B started get really whiny and watned to leave. K wanted to stick around to see what they were about. When they started to play we listened for a minute than VD yelled out Claque and we took off ditching the Emo boys. We later found out the band was playing goth industrial. It must be popular for people who don't bathe because there was alot of people who could have used a shower.

We ended up back at Black Betty and danced to retro Michael Jackson and got really drunk with the drinks all the emo boys bought for us. The williamsburg girls were getting really pissed when VD began sucking face with the bartender who turned out to be the ex of one of the girls.

B got her Dad's car service to pick us up and I was glad we were leaving. At least I would not have to hold anyone's hair in the bathroom.

8 Comments:

Anonymous Anonymous said...

Where are you girls partying this weekend? Let me know, me and a few other guys want to meet you. It'll be fun.

peace.

10:00 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Anon#1 - How is anyone supposed to let you know if you post as anonymous, unless she wants a whole city full of stalkers and wannabes appearing wherever she goes.

PP usually only knows where she is going when someone comes and drags her out. She is not the party planner, she is usually just along for the ride in the car service.

2:11 PM  
Blogger Ole said...

Oddly, it still seems that some of the folk on here don't understand why we come and visit this site. When I say "we", I mean those of us who find the blogger's attitude to her lifestyle a little... well... distasteful.

Contrary to the opinion of the pop-psychologists on here, no one is suggesting that we "hate" the blogger. The term "hate" implies that we feel a strong emotional bond, albeit of a negative nature. I find it virtually impossible to engage emotionally with this girl (or possibly guy if this blog is, as many of us suspect, a hoax). This despite the fact that I've had the good fortune to live a privileged life. It's impossible to hate someone that you don't care about. Stop me if I'm getting too complicated for anyone here.

However, what people DO engage with is this person's blithe ignorance as to how she comes across. It's charming. I've rarely encountered anyone so self-obsessed. This in itself makes the blog a comic creation of the highest order. To those of you who aspire to, and envy, this sort of lifestyle, I have no moral problem with you whatsoever. In fact, my life would be considerably poorer without you. As you crawl from anonymous bar to anodyne nightclub, constantly whining about how much it sucks, it reassures me that however meaningless life can seem, it could always be worse. Read Brett Easton Ellis' "Glamorama". And try and remember that it's a satire.

And, whoever you are... Southern California? Wrong country. Your intuition is stunning.

6:04 AM  
Blogger Ian said...

Another reason to avoid brooklyn like the plague:

A rash of muggings.

Brooklyn is not New York.

11:14 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Maybe you and your highly intellectual friends should look something up before labelling yourselves. Although since you are the Prada Princess I guess you are only about labels.

Claque is a group of paid persons usually theatre or opera - they are paid to applaude.

Seems indicative of your life. Pretty much paid to do nothing or paid not to use your brain.

I think you should rename yourselves the CLAP since that's probably all you'll ever acheive in this life.

Thanks for the laughs you sound like a bunch of skanks!

-Sasha

3:02 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Ole, Ole, Ole...

ok, so you're foreign, at least your accent might make your blather SOUND intelligent.

or an expat, perhaps.

anyway, you're trying to justify the fact that you waste time reading blogs, because you feel guilty.

oh and, when you talk about your "libertarian soul" and your "fairtrade" coffee, that does imply that you are somehow different than other people.

10:34 PM  
Blogger Ole said...

If people feel inferior because of the way I differentiate myself, I can't help that. Personally, I don't have that kind of complex. Yes, I'm a foreigner. Again, if that makes you feel inferior, fair enough. As it's a fact and not up for debate, though, I'd suggest that's a little futile.

Reading blogs is a waste of time? I disagree... one of the most important cultural phenomena in years. I take it that you're not wasting time here, just researching something?

3:35 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Must have been quite the party if everyone could fit into two cars.

What is V.D. short for? I have an idea...

9:36 PM  

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