Mariah Carey knows what she did. She stole my whip. Oh, she’ll deny it, but the evidence is irrefutable—one year ago, at her Halloween party at Marquee (for which she festooned herself as some sort of Hawaiian Tropic/fireman hybrid), the six-octave pop star swanned past me in a flurry of entourage and glitter—and when I checked afterward, gone was the most vital accessory of my painstakingly thrift-stored Indiana Jones costume. Thus, this Raiderette was defenseless against the whirling, steroided masses, and who knows what satanic acts Miss Mimi and her crew explored with their unfair new appropriation. I’m not saying that Carey and her clan will steal something from you during her New Year’s Eve festivities, necessarily—but if she does, you were warned.
Thu., Dec. 31, 9 p.m., 2009