Oscar Partay

[Written Tuesday, March 25, 2003]
Howdy folks. As some of you may have known, Sunday night I attended the Entertainment Weekly Oscar Party at Elaine's in Manhattan. This, apparently, is a big deal. It's THE New York Oscar party, I was told, invites are hard to come by and the place would be crawling with celebrities.

To be honest, I almost passed on this. The invite was for one person only (so I couldn't use it to impress the lovely lady I've been trying hard to impress these past few weeks) and the thing was scheduled to start at 6. That's pretty damn early, especially when you're mixing me, an open bar, war-time and a notoriously liberal event. My first thought was that if I attended this thing, I'd be kicked out half an hour into the Oscars for screaming at the television or fighting with whoever was sitting at my table.

Ultimately, however, my curiosity got the better of me and I decided to attend. It had nothing at all to do with the prospect of a free filet mignon meal AND all the Jack Daniels I could drink.

So I arrived at Elaine's and the place was already crowded ... crowded with a hundred people I don't know. The publicist chica, Sarah Garvey, who gave me the invite, I'd only spoken to on the phone and emailed AND she was working so she couldn't really talk. She did say that she put me at a table with some pretty impressive celebrities. But I didn't ask and didn't go look at the place cards on my table because I figured I wouldn't be half as impressed as she was.

So I did what I had to do, which was get a drink. Shortly after procuring said drink, I was introduced to the publisher and associate publisher of EW and we chatted for a while. It's sort of funny that this stupid Photo Page in my magazine prompts people to give me props when all I do is go through a stack and try to remember who took me out for a free lunch last.

At any rate, they informed me that Jon Fine, the reporter who covers magazines for my magazine, was in attendance so I latched onto his coattail for a bit. Walking around, I noticed Tony Bennett enter the place. Then Jamie Lynn Sigler (who seems to be following me around this party scene). Next celebrity spotting was Chris Noth, from Law & Order, then Ice-T, who's taller than I'd expected. I didn't talk to any of these people. Just sort of noted that they were there.

After forty minutes or so, Jon and his guest decided to do the ultra cool thing and... leave. Williamsburg people are like that for some reason.

So I made my way over to my table. Table number three. In the process, I bump into (and Drew and Shawn, I know you'll be jealous), literally bump into Mariska Hargitay, from Law & Order. I apologized. She said, "That's ok." So technically, I TALKED TO MARISKA HARGITAY!!!

Seated at Table number two were Star Jones and Joy Behar and some boy toy with Star. Seated at Table four, at this time, was Jamie Lynn Sigler and (I think) Melissa McCarthy, who plays Sookie on Gilmore Girls (I have no idea if it was her or another sitcom celeb that had that look).

At any rate, the only other person at my table at this point was some annoying gossip columnist interviewing Star Jones. And I could see only three of the place cards. Victoria Gotti (yeah, that Gotti family) and a guest. And Tony Bennett. So, I'm like, "Holy, sh-t, I'm gonna be breaking bread with Tony f-ckin Bennett." So I got another drink. I didn't even think to look at the other cards. So Tony and his crew come over and sit down. I introduce myself, Tony says hi and that's about the end of that conversation.

Then a somewhat attractive couple plops themselves down next to me. The guy introduces himself as Charles Askegard, a dancer with the New York Ballet, and he introduces me to the woman I'm with, who doesn't give me her name. So I'm thinking, "Crap, I'm supposed to know who she is." Well, without embarrassing myself I figured it out and, this doesn't come as news to some of you, the woman is Candace Bushnell, creator of Sex and the City. So here, I'm sitting between Tony Bennett and Candace Bushnell and Charles Askegard. At this point in the game, I'm chatting with Charles a good bit. Very friendly fellow. Candace pipes in every once in a while. I make it very clear from the outset that I'm officially a nobody and that I find this all sort of amusing. I also make it very clear than I'm not a gossip columnist and won't be writing anything in any publication. Throughout this, Tony isn't saying much to anyone, not even the people he's with. In fact, he takes out a piece of paper and starts sketching some guy standing over at the bar. Then he stands up and goes over to the guy and gives him the sketch.

Meanwhile, Charles and Candace whip out cigarettes. Merit, they're smoking. MERIT?!?!? And this NYTimes reporter or gossip columnist or some such asks them to not smoke. I wanted to haul off and slap the woman, but hey, whatever. And Charles and Candace were more than happy to oblige.

So we're drinking and waiting on our steaks and Sarah the publicity girl comes over to say high to me and Candace and Charles take a stab at playing matchmaker for a bit. Then when Sarah runs off to do whatever it is publicity people do, Candace asks me if I have a girlfriend and I say no (again, the lass I'm trying so hard to impress is proving impervious to my charms), and then she asks how old I am, "Like, what, you're 24, 25?" and I fess up to being all of 29 and she says "Oh, but darling, I don't even know anyone that young to set you up with."

It's the thought that counts, Candace. It's the thought that counts.

During this time, other celebs have come in. At Table four now is Scott Wolf. This excites me much more than many of you would think. But it's Scott Wolf. Bailey from Party of Five, man. This is a big f-ckin deal to me. Also in attendance now is Julie Bowen (Ed, Joe Somebody, Happy Gilmore). Just as pretty in real life. In fact, I think she has a little scar under her left eye. I guess there are other celebs there by this point, but I couldn't tell you. I was getting pretty loaded and I was talking to Charles, man. Me and Charles were just chatting away.

At some point, there is some confusion about Victoria Gotti, who didn't show up or was late or something, so they bumped her from Table three to put another place card down there. Joan Collins and her man Percy Gibson. And now I'm thinking. OK. This is way too much. Way too much.

But they're late as well. And the food shows up and we all merrily stuff our faces with red meat and watch the Oscars. Steve Martin is funny. Ha.Ha. Another drink please, thank you.

By the time dessert arrives, there's another bit of table juggling and another couple plops down next to me where Joan was supposed to sit. These people, I don't know. They don't look famous or anything. Turns out to be Dana Reeve, wife of Christopher Reeve, and Michael Manganiello, senior VP of some such at the Christopher Reeve Paralysis Foundation. So now I'm sitting with Tony Bennett, Candace Bushnell and Superman's wife. And the Michael guy turns out to be nicest guy in the world. He’s done his fair share of hob nobbing himself. He even personally knows Scott Wolf. But he seems impressed with how well I’m carrying on with the celebs. Oh, Michael, anything’s easy when you’ve got half a gallon of Jack Daniels flowing through you system.

At some point, Chris Noth (the Law & Order guy) comes over to talk to Dana Reeve and she introduces me to him. So, by this point, I'm like best friend with Law & Order, right?

It's getting a little later now and Tony and his crew get up and leave. And the guy, who I've said maybe fifteen words too the entire time, remembers my name. "Nice meeting you, Ken," he says. And I wasn't even wearing a name tag! Probably not a big deal, but I'm bad with names AND by this point the Jack Daniels is really working, so it seems SPECIAL.

Shortly after Tony leaves, Joan Collins and her man Percy show up and sit down at the table and we all say hello, howdy, etc.

We sit back down and Charles and Candace are making motions to leave. Charles, who by the way loves Tony Chachere's creole seasoning and can actually pronounce it correctly, has a very old dog (Black Lab, eleven years old, Betsy is its name) that's sick and they don't like leaving it alone at home. So we talk dogs a while and I, dumb ass that I am, end up on a story about me dog-sitting for a professor in college which, of course, ends with the dog dying. Way to go, Ken. But they don't seem to hold it against me. So off they go into the night.

So now it's me, Michael the Chris Reeve foundation guy, Superman's wife, Joan Collins and her man Percy and the woman from the NYTimes, who, get this doesn't say a damn thing when Joan Collins lights up a smoke. Now Joan's had a little bit to drink and she's having herself a grand time and we're all talking and not paying much attention to the Oscars when Michael Moore takes the stage and starts his temper tantrum.

And before the booing starts, Joan let's go with "What a fucker. Who is that fat bastard? He should just shut up, that fucking traitor!" Which, of course, prompts my drunk ass to pick up my glass and say, "Joan, I absolutely love you." And she toasted me back and then asks, quite honestly, "Really, who the fuck was that guy?" "Just some documentary maker," I say. "Just some documentary maker."

Now, I do want to point out that I didn't boo at all. In fact, I avoided topics like that for most of the evening. Then again, you tell someone that your brother's in the Navy and on the way, that tends to make them think twice before they start in on the topic. I probably would have missed the whole Moore thing if he hadn't raised his voice or if the crowd in L.A. hadn't started booing. In New York, there were a few boos and a few "shut-the-fuck-ups" but no one really cheered or, conversely, threatened to rip the TV off the wall. I will say, though, that aside from the SHOCK AND AWE of Adrien Brody winning, everyone applauded his shout out to his boy in Kuwait. And, hey, not to let facts get in the way of a good time, but just so we're all up on our art history, Frida was an unrepentant Stalinist until the bitter end, so I didn't put too much stock in the fact that she would want peace if she were here.

But I digress. (And you’re right: I just can’t help myself sometimes)

At some point in all of this, after my roommate violated direct orders and called me while I was there hob nobbing, Rose McGowan stopped by with her beau and sat at our table to talk to the NYTimes reporter. I didn't talk to Rose McGowan, who is actually prettier in real life and not so freaky looking, so all the guys on this list don't have to hate on me too hard.

And that's about it. Macy Gray showed up at some point, but she went and sat in the back somewhere. I did go up and introduce myself to Scott Wolf. He's the only celeb I approached the whole night. And Drew, I almost, ALMOST, asked him for an autograph for you, but I just couldn't go through with it. Fittingly, I was too drunk to be coherent while I was talking to Bailey.

So that's about it, folks. I walked out of there drunk as a lord, with a little chocolate Oscar and a goodie bag full of cologne and bath soap and CDs (kid rock, frida soundtrack, some other stuff), a $250 gift certificate to some fur store in Manhattan and other assorted junk.

And Monday afternoon I woke up and, like the regular joe that I am, cleaned my apartment, checked my email and cooked myself some dinner, all without the help of my new friends, the celebrities.