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RADAR LOVE: FBLA Goes to the Party

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FBLA went to Radar’s party at the Standard Hotel last night and had a surprisingly good time. There’s always that moment, when fully dressed, one thinks, “To hell with it”, and decides to climb out of the pumps and stay home and eat in front of the tv.

But we went and were glad we did (although David Carr’s predictions were way off.) The magazine’s check-in chick had actually heard of FBLA. She directed us towards the PR guy who pointed out Maer Roshan, Tinsley Mortimer and Fabiola Beracasa, and more importantly, the bar. The Patron tequila people thought a solid ice bar would be just dandy, but they were wrong. We spent a great deal of time dragging people over to meet the half-frozen bartender, just to make sure she didn’t die of hypothermia.

Chatting with the boys from Patrick McMullan, we learned that they’ll be shooting the Vanity Fair party and they didn’t need a date for that, thanks. Clint Spaulding, besides shooting for McMullan, is working with the Maysles, which made him the coolest person in the room, not that he knew it.
HuffPost’s Julia Allison and her cute blonde friend, Via Osgood, were trying to get people to look at her camera and yap about Radar. She’s got a unique approach–look a little lost and maybe someone will help you. We steered her to the man-candy: Mickey Kaus, Andrew Breitbart and Jay Alexander. We rescued Matthew Belloni, editor of Hollywood Reporter Esq.–or maybe it was the other way around, as she thought he was an agent, with CAA or Endeavor.

Kaus and Breitbart were talking about Patrick Dollard. (Kaus kept saying “she’s a blogger, don’t say anything” which must be our theme song.)

Jay Alexander, who’s way taller and butcher than he seems on ANTM, was regaling a quartet of tiny, identical brunettes about past ANTM’s M’s. We interruped to mention our favorite, Elyse Sewell, who turns out to be his favorite too. Fancy that. He declined to imitate Tyra.

Zoe Turnbull wasn’t enticed into conversation about Oscar fashions. Lady Victoria Hervey looked festive, as did Laura Harring. Mark Lisanti looked at us blankly. Bradley Jacobs, from US, put up with our inane questions, and looked good at the same time.
Travel writer Charles Runnette had a posse of guys with him. In fact, the whole place was littered with men–did Radar not know any girls? Or was there a girly event going on that we didn’t know about?

We chatted with composer Sean Harrison, Degen Pener of Seedhead, and retoucher Conrad Rotondella (dishy about stars we won’t name). Todd Eberle impressed upon us the importance of understanding that Damian Hirsch’s work with butterfly wings is not a craft project, and that Hirsch has no plans to work with popsicle sticks.

Then we saw Amanda Luttrell Garrigus and her producer Carly Steel, looking glam with jewelry designer Tarina Tarantino. Tarantino’s business is growing, she’s looking for more designers, and she’s not sure who’s wearing her stuff on the red carpet. Constance Cooper and Carlos Souza both looked red-carpet ready, themselves. By the time we got to chat with Roshan, the evening had taken its toll, and neither of us made much sense.

What people weren’t talking about: the Oscars. What people were talking about: Arianna Huffington’s master-minding the Obama-love in Hollywood; Britney is either the new Anna Nicole or the old Elvis; and Perez Hilton has no chance in court.

(And thanks to Four-Corners and Patrick McMullan for the photos.)

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