Weeds in the Garden of Eden

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Despite it being her 40th birthday, rock critic and “Thrill of the Chaste” author [Dawn Eden] had more than a few clowns at her birthday party on Tuesday night.

An aging Sidney Falco in a rugby shirt, former gossip henchman—and one-time Press [contributor]—Doug Dechert took some time out from the low key affair to air some long simmering grievances against the NY gossip establishment. “If Chorey Sit-cha walks through that door,” he said, “I’m going to punch that little prick in his fucking face.”

“[Choire Sicha]?” I asked him just for the sake of clarity. He took a slug from his bottle of Amstel. “Yeah, whatever the fuck his name is, I hope the prick comes in here so I can hit him.”

Dechert was pissed off at what he perceived as Sicha’s bias when the latter was editing Gawker. Dechert had been mentioned on the site for his very public break up with 19-year-old “Bad Girl” writer Abigail Vona in 200404.

Sicha never showed at Eden’s bash, spoling Dechert’s planned ambush. He did respond to the threats via email, however.  “Threatening violence is a particularly disgusting tactic. It's a shame he's taken a page from the book of that other sad New York City thug, Stanley Crouch. If he'd like a good therapist, I heartily recommend the terrific Dr. Robert Wolski.” The balloon-faced [Daily News] columnist Crouch slapped Choire’s pal, literary critic Dale Peck, back in 2004. Old grudges die hard!

The rest of the night consisted of Eden, surrounded by a bunch of right-leaning pals,  doing something akin to the [frug] to the McCoys. “These people look like they OD’d on sex and drugs in the ’60s,” a foxy young bartender told me, off on their ages by several decades.

Eden, who looks a little bit like [Jenny Lewis] from Rilo Kiley, was draped in religious medals symbolizing her newly found Catholic faith. Her friend, poet and writer Jonathan Leaf, urged her not to answer my question of how many dudes she slept with before she found Jesus. She argued that promiscuity was being foisted on the young “by a bunch of ugly old hippies trying to recapture their lost youth.”

Eden told me that the last time she “had anything resembling sex was five years ago.” And then added, “no, wait, it was closer to six years.”

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