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2001-01-23

I rush to begin my entry by the stroke of midnight, having been detained at the "after-party" for a gala performance of modern dance choreographed by an extremely over-rewarded person named Karole Armitage (who appeared on stage at the end to accept applause in a sleeveless tube of fur which looked like dog). Madonna, whom the program lists as Honorary Chairman of the committee putting on this show, did not attend (Armitage "did" the dances for the Vogue video, and without Madonna an evening of this work feels very long) but everyone else was there. Who did I see? No, ask me instead, Whom didn't I see?

At the Indian restaurant down the street I sat one table away from Baryshnikov ("Misha" to me now but as always living proof that only short men can look convincingly like geniuses), and was an aisle's width away from him in the theater until he moved (up) to the row with Christopher Walken (in etheric robes of semi-shabby gentlemanly greatness), Parker Posey (exquisitely pretty in lipstick and fatigue), and Isaac Mizrahi (a good looking guy, but still wearing sneakers).

Then in line to get into the "after-party" which was held at Serena (dark like a dorm party), in the basement of the Chelsea Hotel (a great big firetrap, I mean it, filled with "residents" who are allowed to cook in their rooms and pay rent with large paintings), I stood directly behind Laurie Anderson (cell-phone addicted, I suppose not surprisingly) until Sarita Chowdhury and a girlfriend ("PARTY!") arrived by cab and interposed themselves between us, much to my delight, as I had always looked forward to sharing personal space with Sarita Chowdhury. But her companion's shoes were so extremely chic that I said nothing, even when she brushed against me (yes, very fragrant) downstairs in the club.

Here I learned the most fascinating fact. Believe It Or Not: There is, at this very moment, a woman in New York City who is paid to accompany a photographer into dark nightclubs with a miner's lamp velcro-strapped to her head, over her hair. Her job is to shine bright light onto the little groups of people another woman is paid to assemble�she is a human flashbulb.

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