Living in Los Angeles, and being in the entertainment industry, I am occasionally invited to a few "hot" parties from time to time, and although I've never been one for clubs, expensive clothes in which to be seen, and running up bar tabs like I'm getting frequent flyer miles for each mixed drink I get (mental note - from now on, order Irish Car Bombs to determine if the free bar is being manned by a qualified barkeep or a struggling actor recruited at the last minute with the sole responsibility to minimize the orange juice spill on high-school caliber screwdrivers), I do like to frequent these parties whenever the opportunity arises, if only because peoplewatching in the Fast Lane of Beautiful People and Wonderful Times is a rare opportunity. And especially because I like to test my belief that, at the end of the day, it's just another old party.
Sunday night, I went to a party promoted by Xenii (pronounced ZEE-nee-ii), and hosted by none other than Tyrese, aka Tyrese Gibson, aka dat gangsta Black Ty. Very hush-hush, very A-list.
Very same-Costo-liquor-and-juice-you-drink-at-a-house-party.
Now don't get me wrong, I'm not one to crap on free drinks no matter whats in them -- pass me a styrofoam cup of unleaded at $3.03 and I'm still apst to dance like a monkey, but when you put yourself over as "so secretive you need to know someone to put you on the list," you'd better come with something better than the Bevmo! line of Johnny Walker to impress me with "the good stuff."
"The first rule of Xenii parties is that you don't talk about Xenii parties." Then why the hell are you allowing Access Hollywood to do a nationally-broadcast hype piece on you? For the free pub and gatecrashers, which you can turn away at the door? Okay, an arrogant and conceited exercise in engineered hype, but since it serves your purposes, I can dig it. But if you're going to go to such lengths to establish your brand of party as "the place you'll never get to be," you've got to back it up with the Whizz-Bang experience of a lifetime for those who actually do make it through the Robin Leach-affluence meter, cutthroat coolness auditions, and draconian doorman. Surely there will be orientation blowjobs for early attendees and flavored coke baggies in the gift bags (provided by Ed Hardy, of course).
In this case, the advertised Brazilian Barbeque was some Trader Joes spicy sausage, a platter of Ritz, Triscuit (granted, they were the seasoned ones), and Wheat Thins, a big bowl of fruit salad, and giant hunks of standard Whole Foods cheese that might as well have been bricks. The VIP lounge was the same as the "GP" lounge, with white couches instead of black, one uniformed barmaid rather than the three punkrock guys who held it down for the anonymous boozehounds, and only a velvet rope and white canope tent (mind you, this was in a warehouse anyway, and its not exactly California's rainy season now) to separate the "Elite" elite from the A-minus listers.
As far as celebrities in attendance, I did spot Lil' Jon in the VIP section, walking around like he'd just arrived and was doing someone a favor. Arrogant as that gait may seem, my guess is that if you asked him, there's probably somewhere else he'd rather have been, and when you think about it, I couldn't blame him for it. Shit, gimme a good order of take-out wings or Chinese, a six-pack of Red Stripe (
Hooray Beer!), and some good MMA fights and I'm in for the night. In all fairness, The Game did show up and do a few songs for the crowd of (estimated) 400, most of whom were twentysomething white kids from Hollywood and Beverly Hills. It was kinda funny seeing Game and "Black Ty" dropping N-bombs every 4 syllables while the white folks in attendance threw it up for the "Wessyyeedde" like they were trying to get picked for hall monitor duty. Ironically enough, maybe only a fractoin of the Black audience bothered with the iconic three-pronged hand gesture, as if their general vibe was "yeah whatever. There's no live feed or applause sign flashing, so just let me enjoy my drink here."
But in the end, this rant isn't to bag on a party that involved free food, liquor, and a few celeb sightings (well, maybe that last one). Rather, I'm struck by society's Pavlovian school of thought, that 1) making something exclusive inherently makes something good, and 2) what passes for "good," when the real rush is simply being among The Included. I occasionally get friends and family in from out of town, and I always feel the pressure to find some kind of event or party where we're invited and have open access to said soiree. Maybe they wouldn't complain if I didn't have anything to bring them to, but I know that by and large, that seems to be part of the whole "Los Angeles experience." Right or wrong, I've come to realize over the years that its not about the party itself, but just about getting in. Because the actual experience, 9 times out of 10, could be missed and your life would be none the worse.
Sincerely yours,
Jaytan (+1)
Sunday night, I went to a party promoted by Xenii (pronounced ZEE-nee-ii), and hosted by none other than Tyrese, aka Tyrese Gibson, aka dat gangsta Black Ty. Very hush-hush, very A-list.
Very same-Costo-liquor-and-juice-you-drink-at-a-house-party.
Now don't get me wrong, I'm not one to crap on free drinks no matter whats in them -- pass me a styrofoam cup of unleaded at $3.03 and I'm still apst to dance like a monkey, but when you put yourself over as "so secretive you need to know someone to put you on the list," you'd better come with something better than the Bevmo! line of Johnny Walker to impress me with "the good stuff."
"The first rule of Xenii parties is that you don't talk about Xenii parties." Then why the hell are you allowing Access Hollywood to do a nationally-broadcast hype piece on you? For the free pub and gatecrashers, which you can turn away at the door? Okay, an arrogant and conceited exercise in engineered hype, but since it serves your purposes, I can dig it. But if you're going to go to such lengths to establish your brand of party as "the place you'll never get to be," you've got to back it up with the Whizz-Bang experience of a lifetime for those who actually do make it through the Robin Leach-affluence meter, cutthroat coolness auditions, and draconian doorman. Surely there will be orientation blowjobs for early attendees and flavored coke baggies in the gift bags (provided by Ed Hardy, of course).
In this case, the advertised Brazilian Barbeque was some Trader Joes spicy sausage, a platter of Ritz, Triscuit (granted, they were the seasoned ones), and Wheat Thins, a big bowl of fruit salad, and giant hunks of standard Whole Foods cheese that might as well have been bricks. The VIP lounge was the same as the "GP" lounge, with white couches instead of black, one uniformed barmaid rather than the three punkrock guys who held it down for the anonymous boozehounds, and only a velvet rope and white canope tent (mind you, this was in a warehouse anyway, and its not exactly California's rainy season now) to separate the "Elite" elite from the A-minus listers.
As far as celebrities in attendance, I did spot Lil' Jon in the VIP section, walking around like he'd just arrived and was doing someone a favor. Arrogant as that gait may seem, my guess is that if you asked him, there's probably somewhere else he'd rather have been, and when you think about it, I couldn't blame him for it. Shit, gimme a good order of take-out wings or Chinese, a six-pack of Red Stripe (
Hooray Beer!), and some good MMA fights and I'm in for the night. In all fairness, The Game did show up and do a few songs for the crowd of (estimated) 400, most of whom were twentysomething white kids from Hollywood and Beverly Hills. It was kinda funny seeing Game and "Black Ty" dropping N-bombs every 4 syllables while the white folks in attendance threw it up for the "Wessyyeedde" like they were trying to get picked for hall monitor duty. Ironically enough, maybe only a fractoin of the Black audience bothered with the iconic three-pronged hand gesture, as if their general vibe was "yeah whatever. There's no live feed or applause sign flashing, so just let me enjoy my drink here."
But in the end, this rant isn't to bag on a party that involved free food, liquor, and a few celeb sightings (well, maybe that last one). Rather, I'm struck by society's Pavlovian school of thought, that 1) making something exclusive inherently makes something good, and 2) what passes for "good," when the real rush is simply being among The Included. I occasionally get friends and family in from out of town, and I always feel the pressure to find some kind of event or party where we're invited and have open access to said soiree. Maybe they wouldn't complain if I didn't have anything to bring them to, but I know that by and large, that seems to be part of the whole "Los Angeles experience." Right or wrong, I've come to realize over the years that its not about the party itself, but just about getting in. Because the actual experience, 9 times out of 10, could be missed and your life would be none the worse.
Sincerely yours,
Jaytan (+1)
VIEW 6 of 6 COMMENTS
englandaway:
did you go last night ? I was slightly wasted and a bit immobile but didnt see ya
doctashock:
I briefly debated going to see tribe tonight but $50 is a little steep for a last minute show.