THROW ME IN THE RIVER
Friday evening I tried to clean up as best I could and look somewhat respectable for the Soiree on the River, a highbrow benefit for the National Kidney Foundation held at the Omni Hotel. Lots of hoity-toity grown-up types that I don’t normally associate with were on hand to peruse a silent auction and do some serious chowing down at the huge buffet.
I was served the worst martini of my life, got eaten alive by mosquitoes, was tortured by some Yanni-wannabe on a synthesizer playing the theme song to Mission: Impossible and actually witnessed some people doing the hustle. But it’s a very worthy cause for people with kidney disease and a lot of money was raised, so I gotta give them their credit due.
However, my suggestion for next year: Donate directly to the foundation instead of paying the guy on the synthesizer.
NAKED, AND ALMOST NAKED
A slave to my short attention span, I booked out of the soiree and headed over to St. Andrew’s Hall, where I caught the tail end of Bif Naked, who basically confirmed they are in fact the poor man’s deathgirl.com. The latter, who just earned a whopping 13-night winning streak on the 89 X People’s Choice Awards, put on an after-show in the Shelter; hopefully Bif, the Gwen Stefani clone, was around to take some notes.
On my way home I poked into the Labyrinth; I just can’t seem to say enough good things about this bar of late. The Lab, as it is affectionately known, hosted the Cruxshadows on Wednesday, and has been booking a very diverse selection of live bands on Fridays. Already an eclectic bar, the Lab is planning on adding a rockabilly night on Tuedays in the near future, as well as further expanding the musical styles featured. Lisa and Kelly, you rock.
I cornered lounge cat Eric Hughes, who specifically does not want to appear in this column, for fear of appearing to be part of the “bar elite” scene (ha, ha). I also bumped into sweet and bubbly band chicks Kelly Schliewe and Carey Gustafson, former members of Stun Gun — which is apparently now officially dead and over. Schliewe and Gustafson have started their own band, Blush, and will be performing at the Lab on Aug. 25.
Before leaving, I chatted up Miss Lucinda, who was preparing to host a Playboy shoot at her house. Interestingly enough, I just so happened to run into said Playboy people the next day in Royal Oak while I was on a shopping break from the Woodward Avenue Dream Cruise. Here’s the dilly-yo: “Sexcetera,” a show on the Playboy channel, decided to come to Detroit to cover the Extreme Lifestyle Alternative Weekend, but were suddenly snubbed when they arrived. One of the producers happened to stumble across the recent Metro Times cover story on the Detroit fetish scene, and from that point managed to hook up with those wacky kids at Noir Leather. I was invited to join the shoot, but declined at the last minute, since I’m planning on running for president one day and would hate to tarnish my immaculate reputation.
By now you’ve probably heard that Billy Crystal is directing a film that has been shooting at Tiger Stadium for the past week. The film, 61*, has something to do with baseball and the 61 home runs that Roger Maris hit in 1961, beating Babe Ruth’s record.
Saturday night I got to crash the cast party and schmooze with big movie stars. OK, I just got to crash the cast party — which started off at The Well on Randolph. After gabbing with EMU student Jenny Georges about the graffiti in the bathroom (the conversation prompted by this week’s release of a documentary on graffiti by three local filmmakers), I spotted everyone’s favorite skinny geek from the ’80s, Anthony Michael Hall. The former brat-packer allowed me one photo-op with cutie production assistant Mark MacInnis before informing me that there would be no more photos of him for the evening. (Somehow I must have missed that throng of ravenous paparazzi following his every move.)
However, casting assistant Heidi Jumisco and extra Katheryn Neeley were more than happy to strike a pose for me.
Overflowing in the personality department were production manager Uncle G. Smith — who was just all about his D’Angelo press pass — and the manager of the Well, Willis Davis. These two amusing characters had me constantly snorting my pilfered free champagne through my nose.
After we closed out the bar, the party moved to an after-hours spot at someone’s loft in the Eastern Market area, where I spoke to a handful of male actors from LA with big cell phones.
I also chatted with the film’s writer, Hank Steinberg, who was notably without a cell phone (gasp). A bit later I walked smack into Thomas Jane, another actor from LA. You may remember him from such immortal classics as Deep Blue Sea and Buffy the Vampire Slayer. On our way out, my entourage and I offered Jane a lift back to his hotel — Detroit style, in the back of a flat-bed pickup truck. He politely declined. I wonder why.
In last week’s column, an incorrect date was given for the Caliente Dos Latin dance party in Pontiac. The correct date is Friday the 25th; for more information or tickets, call 248-584-4150.Sarah Klein writes here every other week. Call the Loose Lips tip line at 313-962-5281. Press * then dial
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