After braving the cross-town trip in the bitter, freezing night air, I arrived at The National Arts Club to a great divide: the wine crowd versus the cheese crowd. Huddled around their respective tables at opposite ends of the room, it seemed as if food and drink were an either/or proposition. The two groupings did not become a unified whole until the food supply began to dwindle—great for me because I had spent most of the evening traveling back and forth, trying to figure out which side had the most heat. It seemed that every twenty-something downtowner had shown up to toast Ray Tintori at the Legendary Children reception. Tintori, a Sundance Film Festival fave and music video director, was present to show a series of understated, quirky clips from a number of his films including “Death to the Tinman” and “Jettison Your Loved Ones”. Legendary Children’s intro features a clip from the 1990 documentary, “Paris is Burning” where two nancy black gays define the term “legendary children” as something you attain through practice and recognition, I couldn’t help but crane my neck to see if there were any actual nancy black gays in attendance.
Not a one. Just your usual mix of stylish young women in black patent leather pumps and scruffy guys who pair blazers with everything. The presence of the occasional toothy prep and poppy soundtrack gave the whole thing an exceptionally styled crowd feel, like a party scene in a modern-day John Hughes movie.
No one seemed to be taking in the neo-Victorian décor of the space, something I felt guilty for not doing after my good friend Kimberly pointed out that I was leaning up against one of the brightly colored acrylic paintings that lined the walls of the room. Minutes later, we were playfully counting the number oversized envelope clutches that passed us by, when I grabbed her shoulder with a gasp; “Is that Kevin Bacon?” She squinted ahead, “No, I think it’s… John Norris from MTV.”
Not a one. Just your usual mix of stylish young women in black patent leather pumps and scruffy guys who pair blazers with everything. The presence of the occasional toothy prep and poppy soundtrack gave the whole thing an exceptionally styled crowd feel, like a party scene in a modern-day John Hughes movie.
No one seemed to be taking in the neo-Victorian décor of the space, something I felt guilty for not doing after my good friend Kimberly pointed out that I was leaning up against one of the brightly colored acrylic paintings that lined the walls of the room. Minutes later, we were playfully counting the number oversized envelope clutches that passed us by, when I grabbed her shoulder with a gasp; “Is that Kevin Bacon?” She squinted ahead, “No, I think it’s… John Norris from MTV.”
