As much as it was talked about here, one might have expected that I was either at Misshapes or at Roxy to be a part of the whirlwind frenzy that was Madonna Saturday night. But at some point it became apparent that this encounter with Madonna would have to be done vicariously, knowing full well that there would be plenty of reportage on which to rely the next day.
Instead a paying tribute to her Madgesty, we attended, as planned, the masquerade/housewarming of one of our favorite couples. Mister Offender chose a surprisingly complicated look, a combination of full red facial paint, Morticia's wax, and pastie glue applied to horns resulting in one hot devil. Realizing how involved his look would be, I started with a theme of "subtlety" as I scanned the aisles of first a costume shop and then Rite-Aid pulling together Wet-n-Wild MegaPump Glitter Gel, Sally Hansen Blackest Black Maximum Growth Mascara and Black Professional Kohl Powder Liner, and a great pink glitter lipstick (which was lost and remains nameless). Adding a classic Darryl K white button-down, a McQueen jacket, old Diesel jeans and Clone boots resulted in the costume title: "myself as I saw myself ten years ago, imagining myself ten years in the future". (The title would actually prove to be a great litmus test for conversation with new people for the night.)
[For the story of the rest of the night, others will only be referred to in their noms de costumes.]
Arriving around midnight we were reunited with Pamela Anderson and Winona Judd (old friends) in the lobby. On the 29th floor we were greeted by our hosts Michael Alig and Kiki (sans Herb). (The identities were chosen as both were former tenants of the building.) Several reunions occurred with Helen and Stanley Roper, Popeye and Olive Oyl, 50's TV Mom and Dad among others. Libations were necessary as the population soared to 90. (Wonder Woman was particularly problematic as she was constantly in need of moving from one side of the room to the other with little regard for those in her way.) With everything still going at full speed, Olive Oyl announced, "I just received a text message. Madonna just left the Roxy." I shrugged, realizing that I'd missed Madge, but was glad to be reunited with old friends and having met many new ones.
Two hours later, the crowd had thinned a bit and the Devil and I were on a balcony pointed toward Times Square, an accomplishment for me, being terrified of heights, but feeling temporarily (chemically?) fearless. The Devil looked me in the eye and told me "You can feel all of the energy just flowing out of Times Square." With Madonna's "I Want to Tell You a Secret" still on my mind from earlier in the day (via Tivo), I replied singing the refrain from the song where tree tops glimmered in sunlight as Madonna waxed on about energy and light.
Around 5:30 a.m., surfaces had been cleared, recyclables sorted and trash disposed as we bid our wonderful hosts good night. A cab ride, a dog walk, a visit to the deli ("No, no. Too late buy beer. Go sleep."), and a Tivo of a horrid SNL later, the sun began to trickle past morning clouds. There had been no Madonna, no throng, no queues, but that didn't matter. It was 7 a.m. and all was still good in the world. It was time to sleep.
