Last night was the beginning of Oscar weekend: Thursday night’s Vanity Fair party, held at Beso in Hollywood–just blocks from the Los Angeles, I’m Yours headquarters. Being somewhat familiar with the celebrity restaurant, the Latin American cousin of Ashton Kutcher’s Geisha House and Sam Nazarian’s Katsuyah by Stark, I knew that it was not going to be as formal as Tuesday and potentially not as casual as Monday: it was going to be a different very “Here to be seen!” celebrity affair.
I was tempted to do a fashion middle finger and wear my dress shorts and a bow tie, which I realize is as middle finger or badass as pink frosting on a Barbie cake–but I wanted to be that guy and push some envelope a little bit. Alas, I tucked my tail between my legs and slid into late Winter goth with red socks and a jean jacket for edge (or something: I don’t even know what my stylistic motives are anymore). We opted to tuck our black 2001 Volkswagen New Beetle into our garage for the night and walk over to the event, us undoubtedly being the only persons who would be attending who walked there. This was very apparent when we approached Hollywood and Ivar, where a traffic cop directing car service and pedestrians away from the entrance tried to stop us from entering, only to be thwarted when we caught the attention of one of our Vanity Fair friends.
This entrance was by far the most cluttered, with photographers and fans all trying to sneak a peek at what was going on. Right away we realized that this was the most Hollywood party–as in tabloid, celebrity, “Ew: Hollywood” focused–party, a celebration of deliberately being a spectacle and being seen. We made our way to the iPad Party Lady Guardians, who this time surprised us: “Oh, we know you guys: you’ve been at all the events!” How refreshing was that? We both laughed, thanked her, and made our way in, which was quite the bottleneck.
Waiting for some people to clear, we could see Eva (and her bazooms), Mario “AC Slater is tiny!” Lopez, a very scruffy William H. Macy, that insurance commercial guy, a lot of “Who dat?” celebrities, and–apparently–Victoria “YOU WERE MY IDOL WHEN I WAS AN ELEVEN YEAR OLD PRE-GAY BOY IN KANSAS AND I CAN QUOTE YOUR ENTIRE NBC ONE-EPISODE-LONG REALITY SHOW” Beckham, who I eventually saw and was within three feet from and starred at with this face for five minutes, my entire life finally making sense since it had encountered her beauty.
I was a little worried entering the event as I have a history with Eva Longoria and Beso, the two hosts of last night’s Vanity Fair Oscar Party. A lifetime ago, I worked at a reality television production company for two and a half plus years as a development assistant, my first ~*~WeLcOmE tO HoLLyWoOd~*~ post-college job. I was excited by everything and eager to learn and, at the pace it took rushing water to erode my spirits, I realized what rude, unkind, and unhappy people show business can be full of. I worked on a show with both Eva and her restaurant, who were the subject of a never aired pilot for VH1 about Beso waiters…who are waiting to be famous. Last night I was expecting violent flashbacks of sitting in the upstairs back room of the restaurant for hours, dead Blackberry in hand, wondering if my dog at home was alive as I sat awaiting the end of a shoot at the launch of her perfume. I anticipated encountering her blonde somewhat-mean-to-me development right hand, who would catch me there and ask for pitch sheets, or even a company head, likely the one who got all the other assistants but me new Blackberries for Christmas gifts in 2009.
Alas: I wiped those thoughts away and nothing bad happened. I actually had fun and almost went up to Mario “I’m not very tall!” Lopez and told him, “Yeah, I wrote all the creative documents that got your VH1 show on the air. You welcome, Slater.”
It was a very interesting party dynamically, though. The bottleneck at the beginning was because it was full of all the Posers, who blocked traffic to the somewhat empty bar and dining area. Who are the Posers? Celebrities and personalities, who stood around posing for cameras and hamming it up for passersby right by the door. The Posers could also very easily have been called the Fire Hazards because we would have all died or gotten trampled because they were obstructing the exit.
What was funniest was that beyond the Posers was the fun: the tables and chairs, where the normals could all sit and have a great time. We ran into our cool, super fun friends who we had had dinner with Monday and coincidentally ended up at the Juicy party with along with some of their equally as cool and fun friends. We all sat around a table, stealing trays of flatbread from servers and getting drinks for a fabulous looking blonde superb bartender who was playing the role of our personal waitress for the night. We were eventually met by our Vanity Fair friends Ben, Bree, Kristine, and Terrence, all of which we had been corresponding with by e-mail and didn’t get to “hang out with” until last night. We all had an absolute hoot being, you know, normal people at an event full of celebrities.
One surprise that we were waiting for all week was to encounter a celebrity who was breathtaking. Unfortunately for my little pre-gay self, the most beautiful did not go to Victoria Beckham nor did it go to Kate Beckinsale or Eva “Double Whammy” Longoria: it was Serena and Venus Williams. First off, they are amazon women, towering over everyone and commanding the space of four or five adults around them at all times. They demand your attention with their stature. Look in the photo above: they tower above Ms. Longoria, who isn’t that short with heels on. Moreover, they were fucking gorgeous. We were told by many of our Vanity Fair friends that they were there and that we would “know when we saw them.” And, as if on cue, when we did see them, our jaws dropped to the floor because they were just so dang glamorous. They also were one of our picks for best dressed, Serena edging out Venus in her simple diamond studded dress. They were a great sighting.
Also, we found this photo in the event aftermath:
How great is this girl? Literally: I wish I was her and had the chutzpah at all these parties to just take photos of celebrities and other goings on for all of our entertainment in this diary series. She made me realize a few things I have to do in order to make all these Oscar events we went to worth everyone’s time. Those are:
• I have to wear shorts to the next event, letting my California boy flag fly as high as my short shorts.
• I maybe have to actually say hello to a celebrity that I appreciate, telling him or her or they that I appreciate their work. (…which is what I should have done with Vicky B. Ugh.)
• I have to incite a dance party, if no one else is dancing.
• I have to be sure to try all of the hors d’ourves because I likely will not have a chance at them foods again.
• I have to see what absurd cocktails I can order, which we did not take full advantage of at Beso as it had a full bar.
• I have to make sure that everyone soaks up and honors our unwashed dented black 2001 Volkswagen New Beetle because I feel like none of these celebrities are appreciating the artistic statement we are making with it.
• And, finally, I have to get a better picture taken of me at a party because these are not cutting it:
Yes, I’m that bro on the phone in the bottom left. Wouldn’t it be fun if I could, somehow, photobomb some photo in my mustard shorts at Saturday’s event? That’d be kind of cool, right? It would probably never make it onto Getty Images, though, so there’s that. Regardless, how exciting! I was still riding the fame wave from Tuesday–and now this?!? HERE I AM, HOLLYWOOD: DO WITH ME WHAT YOU WILL.
We will see if we can make these dreams come true on Saturday, as it is the night-before-Oscars DJ night and our final hurrah, where we will undoubtedly be the only ones in full ~*~FuN TiMe PaRtY~*~ mode since we are not actually attending the Oscars.