I took 449 pictures last night. Do you have any idea what that does to someone's brain the day after a kickbutt party at Marquee thrown by COREMedia? It makes the brain soupy. This was the party to beat, people. I used all my space-age film (some call it a compactflash card), my battery died, AND my phone died by the end of the evening. It was like Y2K up there.
If your name is Clay Weiner, you probably have a wonderful sense of humor honed from years of childhood name-game torture, and you made one of my favorite commercials, Bud Light's "Dude." If you're James Larese, you're a tilted-fedora-sporting, cool as a cucumber creative force with a humble smile -- part of the three musketeers of Syndrome, Robot Films. If your name is David Katzenberg, well, I guess you're doing us all a favor by showing up late with Nicky Hilton (double-what?), and you're either painfully shy or grimacing, "Augh, why do I have to do these plebian appearances?" From ...
Yesterday I was stressing. We're talking the weird, slightly bitter-smelling sweat stressing. I had NOTHING lined up party-wise Tuesday night. For inspiration, I blathered to my favorite people here in the MediaPost office about my Memorial Day Weekend trip with a dream-come-true pit stop at Grandpa's Cheesebarn in Ashland, Ohio. Truer words have never been spoken by the prolific Amy Corr: "Isn't it always a party any time cheese is around?" I thought "Shooooooot, ya'll, if NYC isn't going to throw any parties tonight, I'll hit the Online Minute readers Ohio style."
Remember when we were young and this party blog first launched? Ahhh, those were the times. Back then it was big hair, acid washed jeans, New Kids on the Block, and thick and chunky neon earrings. Ok so maybe we launched a couple weeks ago, and maybe the previous list is still, somehow, in style, but one thing is for certain: Just an Online Minute has only just begun and there's already so much to see!
Before heading to the launch party for apartmenttherapy.com's book, I hit the Web site for a little recon. Ugh, beautiful apartments with colorful carpeting, sassy prints, and decadent artwork. "Ugh" because I still have a sign over my door that says "happy birthday" and my birthday was in February. I shoved the green-eyed monster in my sack and headed out.
When Warren Corpus hits the South Florida night spots, he's a bit coy about what he does for a living. "I'm in marketing," he says. "I leave it at that." As an eligible bachelor, he's concerned that if he drops the words "email marketing," the women he meets will not only turn the other cheek, but blast him for the incessant offers they receive to purchase would-be miracles. "They say you're a spammer. You're the one who fills my inbox with Viagra ads," Corpus says. "That's usually what the average girl in the bar thinks when you say, 'Email marketer.'"
I used to work for IBM. We're talking seven years of being surrounded by mostly men. Older men. So I know what it's like to "man" a booth where slightly sloshed sales types saunter over and dip their one-liners on you with red cheeks and whiskey breath.
EdBurns EdBurns EdBurns EdBurns EdBurns EdBurns EdBurns EdBurns. Sorry, I had to get that out. Last night at the 8th Annual Designing Hollywood Awards (co-presented by Variety and New York Women in Film and Television), I had the pleasure of meeting not one, not two, not three, but skads of quirky, creative, and talented people. One of them happened to be Marjorie Nezin, a designer with sleeves made of window screen mesh. Two of them happened to be Ed Burns and Bebe Neuwirth, who are both a sizzling concoction of sexy and normalness. Let's get on with the show!
It's dusk and the sun is sinking into the ocean. There's a balmy breeze rippling over the flirty skirts and fresh-pressed Dockers of 70 or so cocktail party attendees, and the wine, beer and mixed drinks with umbrellas are flowing freely. Chatter fills the air about the merits and flaws of various PPC engines, platforms and analytics programs -- not to mention, the demise of Microhoo. Put it all together and you get the uber-laid-back climate of the kick-off reception for this spring's Search Insider Summit.
My mission on Wednesday was simple, blah blah: cover two parties in one night while avoiding internal organ failure. The jury is still out. After celebrating the launch of PostAdvertising., my +1 and I hopped into a cab and trucked it over to 300 West St. The fact that the hopstop.com directions told me to take a right on Rt 9A -- which made me think I'd be swimming in the Hudson -- did not deter me.