Last night I hit up the Killer Films party with their frozen margaritas, champagne, and other such treats (huge props to any company that caters their party with Ruben's Empanadas). The party marked the second day (following Jack Turner's Birthday bash the night before) of a reunion of sorts with the many returning from Cannes (and those of us in NY who have been hibernating post-Tribeca). Here is the part where I should list names of people in attendance, but I'm not going to because I know I am going to accidentally leave out and thereby offend the one person who actually reads this thing, which will result in my readership dropping to one (hi mom). So no names, at least until I grow a spine or start carrying around a pad and pen or make use of the paper and pens I do carry around. Post-party everyone moved over to Black & White, where we were summarily kicked out of a table for disturbing a small birthday and therefore proceeded to take over the entire bar (which disappointingly, but not unexpectedly, does not have food). A special shout out goes to the gal who managed to get the bartenders from the Killer party out with us (and I know she doesn't read this blog).
Save the bear.