What?! I'm in Hiding...

Not like Salman Rushdie once was but I'm hoping by taking it underground for a bit, DSG will stop trolling the internet for my blog. I just made it public on Friday and then almost two weeks after our last encounter, I get this acerbic email. I told him that I was going to refrain from posting his venom but he sent me another email. So since he can't see the value of my generous discretion, I'm posting his response to that email.
This was my response to his abusive diatribe:

I'm tired of all this unwarranted abuse.
You're right about everything you wrote and I will be true to my word and not contact you again. Again, let's just stop the madness. I'm sorry I thought we could be friends and I sincerely wish you the best of luck although with your talent, you won't need it.

And he responded with yet another salvo:

i don't want to abuse you, but a word of advice. If you're going to have a blog and write cruel things about people that you are mad at for your readers to revel in and devour like a carcass, knowing full well that the person you are writing about may read it, (perhaps even secretly hoping they will) then you better get ready for what comes back at you.

I suggest you keep your blog underground if you can't handle the consequences.

i stopped the madness by not talking to you, and I am sorry that i engaged with you again, we can't be friends, but since you were only really interested in Daily Show tickets to begin with and not a "friendship" it shouldn't be too much of a sacrifice anyway.

The part that actually made me feel the worst was his assumption that I used him for tickets. That's not my style but I think it's just further evidence of how little we understood each other. Sad, really, I have front row tickets to see Ricky Gervais and I can't think of anyone who would appreciate them more. Ricky Gervais is the creator of the original version of "The Office." He's brilliant. I had an inkling but no real idea until I was tipped off to his stand-up routine. Look for it on YouTube. But only if you want to laugh. Otherwise, you'll be disappointed.

Tribeca Trifecta

The Tribeca Film Festival is underway which means both budding and veteran artists are milling about lower Manhattan on any given evening. Last night, a group of us attempted to capitalize on this, hoping it might make for an interesting evening.

We started early, hitting an art party in SoHo. The host of this shindig was named Moron. I shit you not. Our friend Amir introduced him and when I asked my roommate for clarification she said, "Mor-an," as if there was a difference especially since the a was pronounced like "ah." The art party was just that. A gathering for yuppies who were interested in investing in expensive art and others trolling for singletons. Our contingent was the latter part of the group. We had just gotten our drinks when Moran called everyone to the center of room and directed our attention to a 30 something art curator. My roommate and I found it difficult to assign any value to her sense of aesthetic taste based on how she was dressed. She was wearing tall, purple, patent leather boots with a black and white polka-dotted frock and a wide silver belt. As I surveyed the room, I noticed that the space was filled with fashion victims. It was as if Marcia and Jan Brady's clothes had been auctioned off and the winning bidders came here to show off their new duds.

We stayed long enough for my friend Git to show up and then ducked out for some nearby sushi. After dinner, we hit our second watering hole- the Thompson Hotel. This lobby bar was a sure bet for people watching and the possibility of hooking up which I can safely say was on everyone's agenda. Upon arrival we were dismayed to learn that our destination was cordoned off for a private event. We still had another hour to kill before the Tribeca film festival party Amir had scored us an invitation to. So I suggested we go to the Tribeca Grand Hotel. This ended up being a miscalculation.

As we got out of the cab, we saw the hub of activity and quickly deduced that this was another spot likely restricted for a private party. It's the Tribeca Grand for God's sake and we're smack in the middle of the Tribeca Film Festival. As I approached the entrance, a bouncer asked me whose guest list I was on. "I'm with them," I stammered and made a beeline for the opposite door my friends were entering. We walked past a red carpet area and someone told us we had to enter through the front where I was initially stopped. Amir suggested another bar but I couldn't leave without at least trying my bullshit skills.

"We're with Matt Modine," I told the girl with the clipboard. The name sounded familiar. I deliberately chose a B-list celeb with name recognition but not enough star power to raise suspicion. She asked for my name and I gave it to her and when she asked if I knew anyone else inside I surreptitiously glanced at the names on the list and threw out a few I could see. "Your name's not on here but go ahead," she said waving my friends in.

Our jubilation was short-lived. "Thanks for getting us in," Amir said,"but this isn't that great of a party." He wasn't just turned off by the boy to girl ratio(4:1), there appeared to be a big bridge and tunnel quotient. We were in fact at an ESPN party. But there weren't many hotties- male or female. However, there were some pretty men and my heart leaped as I saw one deliberately head in our direction. He smiled broadly and said, "We're closing off this side of the lobby, would you mind moving?" Judging from my girlfriends' crestfallen expressions, we were on the same page mistaking his approach for potential. After a drink we decided to go to Leonard Street for our third attempt at successful revelry.

This apartment was straight out of an episode of Nip/Tuck. Unique artwork and modern furniture was the backdrop for a largely Jewish crowd. Great. Git proved her party prowess by quickly whipping up drinks with the only alcohol available- Bacardi and Coke. But I was done and said as much. The time: 11:15 pm. My roommate and I took a cab home dropping Git off in the West Village. Amir stayed among his peeps at the Tribeca loft. There was no trifecta in Tribeca for this team of teeming singles. We brought our A game but were bested by B listers.