Gawk'd

(Thursday) Friday (and Saturday) nights for The Farm hands usually involves channeling our Ted Nugent's id to beat up our Rosie O'Donnell's ego. We pride ourselves on how adroitly we avoid the media tractor beam that sucks up even C-, D-, and E-level celebs into its gaping any-attention-is-good-attention-loving maw. When weeks, even years, go by without receiving any party invitations we have only ourselves to blame. (Not that we enjoy leaving our ranch (the sheep, in particular, miss us) but it would be nice to know someone with just two legs cares.) So when Jami said I could tag-a-long to the Fleshbot party at Nick Denton's fleshpad, I jumped with All Joy of the Lion at the chance to float in this East Village media aquarium with hammerhead snarks and publishing bottom-feeders. If "shooting fish in a barrel" is too cliche for you, how about "dropping grenades in the lake" -- which aptly describes the explosive damage I've done to my reputation. Go here to see Jami's play-by-play and color commentary. And now for my take . . .

The evening's highlight for me was the Gawker Media reunion in Denton's pissoir amid a sorry mess of cheap designer jackets left in a peculiar Star of David pattern. (No excuse people, APC even had a sample sale that day!) I snuck in with a casual "Is this the bathroom?" and a Caligula-meets-Nero-meets-the-Coreys chorus replied, "Apparently." After drinks and winks were exchanged (but alas, nary the much-needed reach-around), I found myself in a daisy-chain backrub session with the GM class of '03.

Here's a look into the fishbowl:

Nick Denton: glazed-over yet confident, became very zen-like. He recited more koan than Mr. Miyagi (e.g., "If Paris Hilton fucks in the dark and no one is there to get it on film, how will I go on!?!")

Choire Sicha - drunk with power/gay with powder

Peter Rojas - busy working the light show

Jonno - impressive set of pecks, even better moustache

Elizabeth Spiers - incoherent mumbling in response to repeated questions about new workload and wake-up call

Gaggle of interns - all fighting over who gets to hold the spirit straw

I blended in nicely at first when I said I was circulating a proposal for a new Denton project: Meshbot -- a men's fashion blog aimed at heteros and the men who love them. I won't say what position on the clock I held in this touchie-feelie concentric circle but for those new to such group activities, always brace yourself when someone yells "two-minute warning!" -- Such a call means you're either at a frat party about to turn circle jerk or a circle jerk about to turn real messy.

Overall, the details are hazy but I think Nick kept asking Elizabeth to take her coat off and stay awhile (she didn't), Choire barked orders like a coxswain, Jonno gave us all a primer on the wonders of petroleum-based products, and I kept asking "Can we listen to the Pixies or something?" Pained disgust (everyone's) at my presence was soon followed by bowel-moving irritation (mine alone). I was promptly asked to leave the room when my coke ran out.