Bizarro is brought to you today by Eddy the Drillhead.Here's a cartoon I have not much to say about. It isn't great, it isn't awful, it's just a cartoon.
Instead, let's talk about a party I was dragged to by CHNW the other night. We have some friends that run with the fabulous people and every now and then we accompany them to a fabulous affair, the sort I don't feel any more comfortable at than a monster truck rally in the swamps of Louisiana.
Apparently it was a supermodel's birthday (who shall remain nameless for legal reasons), and it was being held in the VIP section of an exclusive club I've never heard of. When we approached the address, there was a healthy-sized crowd outside begging to get past the velvet ropes like orphans at Scrooge's door. We got to pass through the crowd, Moses-parting-the-Red-Sea style because we were on the supermodel's list. What a great feeling it is to have your superior desirability publicly acknowledged in the presence of the less desirable.
Once inside, our skeletons, organs, tissues, entire bodies were treated to a thorough shaking. The "DJ" (a person with a laptop and an apptitude for lipreading), was playing music much louder than the American Medical Association recommends, but fully conforming to the National Confederacy of Clubs' required 85% bass–15% treble mix. While this is not good for one's prospects of hearing without an electronic aid beyond the age of 40, it is very good at curing constipation, as the long bathroom lines attested. And if the vibrations in the air were not enough to shake that chicken-fried steak and chili cheese fries loose, leaning against a railing or wall most certainly would. Some people even seemed to be spitting out fillings and crowns.
Following are some of my favorite cellphone pics from the joyous occasion.
Pic number one is of the unnamed former supermodel herself, raising a hand and a glass. The vantage point may appear as though I was seated when shooting this, but in fact, I was standing on my tiptoes. She and all her model friends in attendance, were well above average height. It was not unlike being in a room full of telephone poles with wigs. Georgeous telephone poles, granted, from what I could see from the ground.
The lighting was not conducive to photography, but every now and then a flash from the strobes would hit at the right time and I'd get something. Here is a pic of a bunch of her model friends, many of whom you've seen in magazines, sitting behind $35 bottles of vodka for which they likely paid around a grand each. Near as I could tell, they sat most of the time for fear of their arms or legs snapping off.
Here, the unnamed model fends off the advances of a male specimen of mating age. Damn, she's good. Her model pal behind her is leaning against a railing, preparing for her next visit to the restroom.
The VIP section is in a raised area overlooking the commoners, as well it should be. There were thousands of crystal balls hanging from the ceiling that catch the strobes in a most mind-bending way. Or perhaps it was just the effects of the $1000 vodka.Overall, we were there for around 30 minutes before fighting our way toward the door and being squirted out onto the street like watermelon seeds. As we left, I cautioned the peasants still eagerly waiting in line that it might not be all it's cracked up to be, but they did not seem to heed my warning.
After so much fabulousness, I was happy to hop into a cab and head back to my bat cave. It may be months before I leave the house again.
20 comments:
"Human-animal hybrids."
"...being squirted out onto the street like watermelon seeds"
d, that is the best description for exiting an overrated NY partay/club scene, if i ever heard one.
i too have observed what you speak of, it reminds me of when i first moved to NY and lived in chelsea, remember? well, probably what i never told you, was that i casually dated (casually as in two drinks maybe three at the most) this bar/pizza owner. he was good looking, i'll give him that, but everything else about him was quite unsavory (as in crime boss unsavory). he ran a pizza joint by day and an exclusive 'only by night', night club, with bouncers, velvet ropes, and a secretive unmarked door, with young decked out patrons spilling out into the streets clamoring to get in, the whole shee-bangbang.
perhaps you're thinking why would i date such an unsavory guy, well, i have to say he was extremely aggressive and persistent and i was very naive. he would jump out from behind the pizza counter and chase me down the street while i walked to/from school. he was mildly charming, so one day his persistence got the better of me and i agreed to go out for a drink, thinking back, i probably was too tired to use my better judgement.
the thing that bothered me was when he paid for my drinks with a huge wad of rolled up bills, constantly name dropping the olsen twins visiting his bar, and how he happily charged 1,000 for a bottle of grey goose. rather than impressing me, i quickly realized i did not fit in his world nor could i even imagine being comfortable in such an environment.
on top of everything, for some reason, he wanted to hire me to be a hostess in his club, i laughed and politely declined. back then, being a full time grad student, meant eating most of my meals over a sink, so the idea of me taking a night job greeting teen celebs was not my ideal way to pay off grad school loans.
when i told him i was moving to brooklyn, he looked at me in disgust as if i had become an unsavory peasant in his eyes, telling me brooklyn was unsafe and a run down slum (mind you, this was slightly before brooklyn was deemed cool and posh by those lawyery types now living in those 3m cushy lofts built on radioactive landfills...). how things change...
anyway, long story longer, shortly after i moved out of chelsea, that posh bar got shut down for fire code violations as people were constantly spilling out into the street. that summer, his bar and pizza joint was demolished by new building owners. i'm sure he's running another velvet rope night club joint somewhere in the city, filled with models and trust fund babies dancing and drinking their youth away or till their livers turn purple, whichever comes first.
such a life i gladly avoid...
Aren't these the ones known as "The Beautiful People?"
Dan, your "just a cartoons" are still much better than most stuff in the funny pages. When they're on a roll!
I have a question I hope you'd like to answer. i need to buy a new ink brush (in London). Are vegan ones as good as usual (!) ones?
Been there. Done that (well, minus the supermodels, but had to be on the list of someone 'cool' enough to get me in). Agreed. Too expensive to drink, too boring to enjoy without drinking.
but did you openly have fun? i am kinda glad you got out and had a little shake your groove thing time.
I went to a club once where the bass was so loud that it cracked on of my teeth. Had to have a root canal. No fun...
dan,
all great cartoonists hit a snag ..the comic still passed....just dont ever resort to the now famous "rubbish week"
@Jezzka...
You get yourself into the strangest situations. I've never hear this story.
@Jan...
Even long before I was vegan, I've always preferred synthetic brushes for inking, for some reason. Lately I've been using a Pentel Brush Pen, which is refillable. But when I'm using the traditional kind, it's a Winsor and Newton University Series #1. It's cheap, lasts a month or two, then you buy another one.
@Doug...
Didn't have much fun there, except to take pics and plan my blog. Before that we were at a quieter bar with the same friends, and that was fun. The weather this week has turned nice, so I'm back to riding my bike around Brooklyn, which is great.
its 59 degrees in ri i think the same thing in brooklynn today
Interesting post about the model's birthday party. Models make me feel very sad. They are "thinspo", their world revolves around calories, laxatives, throwing up, liquid fasts, water fasts, diet pills that burn fat by triggering the body's shivering mechanism, pills that damage organs, because their chosen industry requires them to be unnaturally thin, as thin as concentration camp victims.
They provide "thinspiration" to everyday young women, who then become mentally disordered around something as wonderful as food. This obsession with thin is so ingrained in our society that men and women of all sizes, ages and races have issues around their body image. It's easy to make fun of models, because they are the "beautiful people", but I believe that they deserve compassion.
The fashion industry is the most evil industry on this planet, on par with the meat industry. It's empire is built on the backs of slaves, child labour, and the devastion of entire species of animals (ie the west coast otters). The fur business is over-the-top cruel to animals, just look at Peta's footage. I think the fashion industry is cruel to women on so many levels. It would be a far better world if fashion didn't exist. Rejecting the fashion and diet industry is a step in the right direction, just as important as giving up eating meat.
L1z4,
I could not agree more. Watching movies like The Devil Wears Prada make me physically ill watching how disgusting, elitist and self-important these talentless hacks in fashion are. They have someone sew pieces of fabric together and sell it for thousands of dollars. Its just a way for stinking rich people to blow their money. Instead of giving to needy people or using it constructively this is what they are expected to do with it.
It is disgusting.
Thanks Jeremy, disgusting is a good word for it. Another disgusting movie is Sex and the City. It makes women look like whining, needy, totally superficial and vain people with the emotional balance of a toddler. The irony of the fashion industry is that when these mega rich people blow hundreds of thousands of dollars on their outfits they not only wear them to charity fund raising events, it makes them look completely ridiculous to boot. Gawd... I could go on! :-p
d, regarding unsavory pizza guy, i guess i just blocked it out, its just one of those things and your very visual description brought back the image of patrons stumbling out of his now defunct club.
there is more to the story, but i feel those details would just be beating an already dead horse (figuratively speaking of course).
i don't know why these strange things happen. i know you told me before that psychologically unhealthy people attract the like, but at times, i feel like i am a giant magnet for such individuals. perhaps its my size, and i appear un-threatening, i believe there is a misconception that i must be some one interesting, but honestly i am quite dull. i like all the cliché things, long walks on the beach, sunsets, cuddling and puppies.
snooze fest 2000, right? i think so.
i'd still say being mugged for water on the A train and fighting a 6 foot tall dehydrated (most likely) prostitution ring escapee ranks high on my list of strange...
Very interesting. Is there a ring of prostitutes where they are all taller than 6-foot tall, or is there just random 6-foot tall prostitutes? I understand that Jezzaka ran into the random 6-foot tall prostitute escapee but it still makes one wonder if there is a tall prostitute club.
to anon, i don't believe she belong to any tall prostitute club, like one would join a fan club, it appeared she evolved into her current situation against her will.
she could have been a bit shorter than six feet, because she was wearing heels. i say escapee, because it was the dead of winter and she only had a pair of sweatpants, high heels and a thin purple top on, plus she didn't smell very refreshing. she was riding the trains for warmth and apparently attacking riders for any visible food or water.
after the scuffle, there was a woman sitting across from me and she apologized for not helping me. she was trying to comfort me because i had started to cry - she said she didn't step in because the woman would have knocked her down, unlike how she was refraining herself from really physically harming me (even though she could have easily killed me with her pinky).
she explained that there are others like the woman who attacked me, that they are african and most likely been kidnapped and brought over for prostitution.
it made sense, because the woman who attacked me did not speak anything i could understand, but made indistinguishable noises to hand over the water bottle. when i couldn't understand what she wanted, that is when she got frustrated and lunged at me trying to wrestle the water bottle out of my arms. i've never been in a physical fight with anyone before and found myself hitting her.
least to say, i was overwhelmed with emotion after that incident. whatever romance i had for NY was kept in balance knowing that any highly romantized version one might have of this city, there exists an equally disturbing underbelly side as well.
eight months later, i moved to NY for graduate school, and almost four years later here i am telling complete strangers about the seedy underbellies of new york on a cartoon blog, strange indeed.
d, look at what you started!
Okay, here's my NY club story. It's the 80's, and my wife (then GF) and I are two midwestern rubes visiting NYC and we decide to go the hottest club at the time (Limelight?). We pull up in the cab and the crowd waiting behind the rope is huge. The GF said "there's no use" but I said just grab my arm and follow my lead. We just bolted purposefully toward the door, ignoring the crowd, and I made a point of just looking past the bouncer like he wasn't there -- no eye contact. Man did he look confused. I was ready to fall over the rope or get shoved back to the street, but at the very last second he pulled the rope and we breezed past without breaking stride. I pulled that shit off! Amazing considering I look like a less-handsome George Costanza. The bouncer probably thought these people must be famous, ignoring the rope line and trying to get in before being recognized, and he was embarrassed to admit he didn't know who we were.
Once inside, we tried the same trick to get up to the VIP room and it didn't work at first. That bouncer didn't budge, so we just stood there staring at him for a full minute, doing our best to act like entitled assholes, and then he suddenly pulled the rope and let us by. Not a word was exchanged. Once we got up in the VIP lounge we died laughing. The rest of the evening wasn't nearly as fun as bluffing the bouncers.
We're their any for me? You know...the ladies...he he
I have to hear about this mang...why didn't you tell me!
I live vicarious thru you to you know
Monkeyboy
I just wanted to say that one of your comics is in the psychology book for the class I'm taking. I thought that was kewl. It's the astrology one, placed in a blurb about critical thinking and psuedo-science.
I smell Akay in the drill-head picture.
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