May 13, 2004 12:51 PM
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Hollywood, 5:11 PM
Tue Feb 9
57 posts in the last 24 hours
What happens when your glossy magazine tries to throw a party filled with celebrities and nobody shows up? You still have your shitty party, and pretend to be thrilled that Jonathan Silverman took time off from watching The Single Guy reruns on A&E long enough to drink your free booze. An attendee details the low-light carnage at last night's Los Angeles Confidential magazine's party at—yes, you're reading this correctly—a Beverly Hills Mercedes dealership. Note to L.A. Confidential: This crowd would've chewed off your arm for a cash bar at Hollywood Geo.
What happens when Los Angeles Confidential magazine (you don't know it? Gasp!) tries to be Vanity Fair? Why the C-listers come out to shine! And mingle! And try to spin themselves into temporarily unemployed A-listers. The crowds (ahem, sixty) were buzzing and tingling with excitement at the Beverly Hills Mercedes dealership to see who would show up. And they were not to be disappointed! the highlight celeb was........Nick Warnock, red head Apprentice guy and he proceeds to go off to a corner by the elevators for 15 minutes and books! Rebecca Gayheart did the same thing (well, she stood 15' away from the elevators and then booked). The tall guy from Poolhall Junkies needs to get Ben Affleck's knit/toupee manufacturer's number, and immediately afterwards, needs a QEFTSG makeover stat, the man wears a suit that he must have picked up at Moe's in NYC for $33.33 without consulting anyone about whether it fit or that he should get the pants cuffed (ps, if you are reading this bro, it's about the shoes too idiot). Byron Allen (took all my brain cells to remember his name). Jonathan Silverman and the guy named Sue from Swingers. Some guy who looked like a cross between a hippie and Herman Munster (and dressed like a bum) had a really hot girlfriend so he must have done something, I'm guessing porn. And that's it! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA so much for LA Confidential's ability to bring in the talent. There were no agents, production types. Not even the anonymous executives (how many of you out there know what Walter Parkes, Tom Rothman, Mark Badaglaccia or Tom Jacobson actually look like?).
All the girls were typical look-a-like Hollywood types: plasticky, starving, and looking for some famous name to cling to. Except for the dealership's owner's daughters. They were beautiful in their teutonic sort of way and yawned the whole time, too bad I was brought by my girlfriend and that she stuck around. Imagine getting a new sl 55 amg every other year?
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