NY Mirror

And that brought club talk right back to the Golden Globes and how a tutu can be too-too, especially when your lips are bigger than your arms. At Beige, Vivienne Westwood's rep, Mark Palmen, entertained me with bemused talk about the outfit selection process. "I was told that Jennifer Aniston had 600 illustrations for Golden Globes dresses," he said, as label queens fell silent with awe. Westwood sent the Friends star some sample outfits, he added, "but Jennifer's people felt if she wore us, everyone would think she's trying to be cool, whereas she's not really a 'fashion person.' " It's true, she's just a normal, everyday gal with 600 dress sketches!

The sketches came to life—on men—in the cellar of Marion's Continental, where they've opened the Slide, a re-creation of an 1890s queer sleaze hole replete with low ceilings, nostalgic-looking sconces, and—on the debut night—an open bar that brought out every last lush on earth. It was so crowded you couldn't see the forest for the Sky Room.

Finally, if I can really drop the smiley face and show the pain, my most horrifying recent consumer experience—yes, this is going to get really self-indulgent—had me buying a cell phone at a RadioShack in Florida, only to come home and find that you could prospect gold with it easier than you could use it to get a signal. I returned the thing to a New York RadioShack, only to have them point out that the serial number on my receipt was different from the one on the phone, so they couldn't possibly exchange it! Can you believe this shit? Thanks to their own scamming or (let's be kind) ineptitude, they wanted to stick me with a useless piece of caca—and they were implying I was the culprit! (Sad admission: I hadn't kept the box, which they said might have been crucial evidence. Yes, I'm a crazy, reckless human being.) After a week of haranguing customer service, I still couldn't get results—even after my carrier confirmed that, on the date in question, they'd activated the very lemon I had! Honey, nobody beats the Wiz. Now get me to the nearest floor pillow.


musto@villagevoice.com

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