• by Kelly Samardak , August 6, 2010

Martha Stewart Living Omnimedia Bloggers Night Out, New York
August 5, 2010

I wrestled with publishing this because, if you check the #marthablogger hashtag stream on Twitter, it would appear that I am the only one who didn't fall all over myself with glee about the event.  Maybe because I wasn't hoping for Martha fame or hard selling myself as the next amazing new hire, or maybe because my soul is the color of poisonous mold and I hate pink things and sweet treats.  Or maybe I just feel like I'd be a false jerk if I wasn't honest with you about my experiences out and about.  So here it is.

If you organized the Martha Stewart Living Omnimedia Bloggers Night Out event, stop reading because you're about to embark on one woman's night of overcrowded agita and stroller aversion.  It's just best that you close this window, grab a cupcake and a bottle of champers, and bedazzle that tool belt, blissfully ignorant of what I'm about to spew (and the color of said spew is probably pale pink and turquoise).  Because really, it's one opinion among hundreds and I'm about as blog powerful as hurricane winds on The Donald's hairdo.  And as you know, that thing doesn't move.

It was hot. I know, you're dead tired of hearing petulant whinings about something as insignificant as the weather when PEOPLE HAVE REAL PROBLEMS.  But guess what, everyone in NY feels bamboozled by that !@#$%^# Mother Nature. 

While I waited in line inside the tiny sweltering lobby of the Martha lair, Biana Bachman, freelancer of all things, and I discussed how those last five days of open-window-sleeping-and-dry-armpits-in-public heaven were a rude practical joke.  Yesterday I half expected a motorbike with an entire family to scoot by in a haze of blue exhaust, followed by auto rickshaws, and maybe a beast of burden of some sort a la my time in Bangalore, India.   But, you know, we had that wind, and I was looking forward to getting up on the wide-open roof deck (or so I assumed with their 300+ RSVPs) and letting it lick my forehead while I snapped shots of the Hudson, the setting sun, and guest types.

Oh. Ha.  The party had been moved inside.  Bummer. 

Bigger bummer? It was 6:30 p.m., (the party was from 6 to 8 p.m.) and I was still standing in a non-moving line that kept bending on itself as more guests showed up -- and some seemed unaware of how a line works (more FIFO than LIFO).  Another lesson in how simple communication can calm a sweaty, swag-frenzied crowd.  The reason was that there was only one tiny elevator dedicated to shuttling the guests up to the party floor.  I guess I would hate to tell people that, too.

We now interrupt this CrankyPants McGavin post for HONEST QUESTION TIME:

Truthfully -- how much of BlogHer is about returning home with as much free swag as possible and how much of it is about supporting each other (no, no, not competing!) as blogging women and building genuine connections (not just surface "build my readership" connections)?  I'm genuinely curious because I'm sure it began with one idealistic vision, but then as we've seen with other social media events, things change once larger corporations take notice/exploit.

I also ask because when I finally got up to the Martha party it wasn't really a Bloggers Night Out at all -- it was one big fat exhibition/marketing event for the host.  Maybe I should be quicker on the uptake, but that wasn't the vibe I got from the Pingg invitation.  If you can get a vibe from the Internet.

We now return to our regularly scheduled programming:

Narrow hall + Martha Stewart Wedding + champagne bar + full on strollers packed with cute babies + cupcakes/macaroons = not good.  Add one to two totes or sacks per guest and you've got nothing but blueberry slushies tumbling, some sort of adult ecto-cooler sloshing, and my "plow me the hell out of here" self in a constant battle for butt space.  That hall was clogged like Crystal Gayle's drain.

I was "lucky" enough to get there somewhat early when elbows had space to roam, but good luck to any 7 p.mers.  I think I saw a tray of tiny summer rolls go by.  Designated areas for empty glasses did not exist, which means booth bunnies were visibly ticked as guests plopped their empty glasses next to their custom scrapbooking tools and paint brushes. 

I would say that the people really saved the night, but everyone was so intent on dropping cards in raffle buckets, snaring free crafty items, nabbing up s'mores, and looking for a more important, more "famous" blogger, that conversation that wasn't straight blog pimpin' was impossible.  For me anyway, but maybe that was because everyone thought I was "just the photographer."   I get that sometimes.  I need a T-shirt for events that reads, "I'm a photographer and a real person too!"

Maybe we can chalk this one glitchy evening up to summer madness, walk away, knit a puppy cape, and pretend it never happened.

With that, I leave you to your weekend.  Mine will be spent at a walkathon for a young woman with really crappy diabetes in organ donation hell and on a fishing boat, hunting Jaws, or just a really big fish I can eat for dinner.  Enjoy yours safely -- and check on your old folks and youngins in this heat, it's really mean out there.

Photos are up on Flickr