• by Kelly Samardak , December 19, 2008

Thrillist Yuletide, A Lounge That You Aren't Special Enough To See, New York
December 19, 2008

Shh, you don't see me writing this.  And you don't see the photos I'm posting either, right?  Isn't this a fun game?  You know what else is a really fun game, especially when dripping with acid-covered sarcasm?  Clubs, bars, and lounges that need to get over themselves.  This world is too small and time on it is too short to take yourselves so damn seriously.  So what if your tiny shoebox sized "bar" has real gold in the floor?  People step in dog dropping and owl pellets and track them all over your indiscernible floor.  So what if Kate Moss and a handful of other no talents of ill-repute grace your settees and get constant affirmation that yes, indeed, they are the chosen ones.   When [name removed because I forget, not because I don't want to out them] proclaimed that "The Eldridge doesn't invite press" as she demanded I cease my photo snapping, part of me thought I shouldn't have been invited, then.  The other part?  Well, my therapist said I shouldn't tell you.

The invitation came to me early last week (maybe two weeks ago, I know no space or time, like that guy from "Quantum Leap") from Flavie Bagnol, Thrillist Director of Communications.  It was very hush-hush, secret-secret, with the location to be revealed later.  Very exclusive, it said.  That translates to tech community semi-celebrities who might appear with their  "I'm socially awkward but I still pull in the hot chicks" demeanor and young women in satin shifts might embarrass themselves.  But you know, Thrillist has never done me wrong, and this being a smaller soiree meant I could potentially have a seat at some point and just enjoy.  Bahahahahaha.  Ha.

A sexy elf gave me a hat with a number (64).  She pulled it from her sack, grinned, and said "if your number is called, you get a bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue."  Hey, neat, I'm so not a whiskey drinker.   I keep trying to drink cognac because it's so dark and mysterious, but that's not working out at all.  Anyway, I weaved through the crowd to get to the coat check and saw the usual Thrillist dudes, David Blend, Editor in Chief, Mike Rothman, Director of Advertising Sales, John Wiseman, Thrillist Director of Marketing, Paul Magyar, Thrillist East Coast Sales Manager, and of course, Ben Lerer, Thrillist founder.  All were primed for Johnnie Walker action, Mike specifically, who couldn't stop swinging the bobble on his hat around.

All mixed cocktails were of the Johnnie Walker variety and I wasn't too crazy about any of them, but what I didn't mind was a warm tumbler straight-up.  And guess who delivered it?  Santa himself.  You can't argue with Santa.  If he brings you a snifter of sewage, you just say thanks and sip it.  Don't even think of pretending to drink it because that guy sees you when you're sleeping and when you're awake - you can't get away with anything.   The DJ spun all the typical hits like Estelle's "American Boy" and some other Kanye jams, which made the tiny gals in little dresses dance around like they were on "The Hills," that quality programming on MTV.

In between trying to maneuver through the sweaty center area (and it was sweaty), I managed to nail down some quality interaction with Bridgette Maney, Director of Publicity, "Good Morning America," Lee Alexander, Supervising Producer, "Good Morning America Now" (not later!), and Drew Grant, Editor of Jossip.  It was so bloody loud and some girl kept dancing/rubbing her butt on my shoulder

And finally, what better way to wrap up my holiday party season than with a tug on my arm as I'm perched on a leather settee (now wishing my heel had punctured it)?  I looked down at the tugger and said "Yes?"  To which she asked, "Which outlet are you with?"  I answered honestly, "MediaPost."  Why would I lie?  No one alerted me to a shutterbug shutdown.  She then told me that the venue was not allowing press photography and that only inhouse/Thrillist photogs could shoot.   This was obviously just an oversight, I mean, why would I get the invitation if I couldn't cover the party properly?  I sent her to Flavie, 100% positive I wouldn't see The Eldridge gal's face again.

Big. Fat. No.  Lens cap on.

While the obvious owner of lameness is The Eldridge, my logical side tells me that when a company, say, Thrillist, signs a contract with a venue - and that venue is intent on remaining super exclusive and invisible to the everyman (remember when I said lame earlier?)  - specific stipulations would be called out and agreed to when signing, wouldn't they?  What can we conclude from this holiday lesson?  If you're going to invite press to your party, make sure they're actually welcome because that moment when someone acts like you don't belong ... sucks, even to cold-hearted creeps like myself.  

I can't end this on a low note.  Um... digging... digging... Oh!  There was food.  Smoked salmon on a crustini with a little cucumber and some lemon zest.  It was tasty. 

Planning your party for 2009? Having it somewhere sans lameness?  Invite kelly@mediapost.com and you're in Just An Online Minute!

Peep the invisible pictures on Flickr!