My Bonnie lies over the ocean . Well, it’s finally spring, and what better way to celebrate than with the incongruously titled “Winter Dance” at the American Museum of Natural History, sponsored by Glamour magazine, the shiny mall rat of Condé Nast? “I mean, like, hel-lo ‘Winter Dance,’ eight days into spring? Doesn’t anyone read Greek mythology?” said a museum employee, who clearly doesn’t know that the only remaining myth at Condé Nast is that the editors actually eat. Theme: “The Wonders of the Far East.” How this will translate: sake bars, Glamour editor in chief Bonnie Fuller tripping merrily around the Hall of Ocean Life in something brocaded, fortune cookies after dinner encasing Glamour’s latest “Do’s and Don’t’s,” wandering Glamour editorial assistants dressed as “geishas” in other words, a colonialist, quietly racist subtext abounds. In the crowd: couples Carson Daly and Tara Reid, Angie Harmon and Jason Sehorn, Kevin Bacon and Kyra Sedgwick, and 80’s relic Jason Bateman (whose sister Justine, whom you remember from Family Ties, now apparently knits for a living; watch for forthcoming Glamour feature). Are we the only ones who feel slight stomach distress at the idea of a blonde in a cheongsam?
[Central Park West at 79th Street, 8 p.m., 769-5165.]
Koppel a feel! If you’re one of those mixed-up souls who tempers your nightly viewings of Blind Date at 11 p.m. by quickly clicking two channels down to Nightline at 11:30 p.m., put on an earnest Brooks Brothers shirt but pink, for spring and go meet ABC anchor and “serious person” Ted Koppel, who always looks like he just swallowed something surprising, at the Museum of Television & Radio, where they’re celebrating 20 years of the show responsible for, among other things, the excruciating “town meeting” format that assumes ordinary slobs have anything to say, and which may very well have ruined the last Presidential election. There is a party afterwards, but it is super-exclusive and invitation only. (We bet Ted’s hairdresser knows!) Meanwhile, at the Waldorf, where Hillary Clinton surely would have located her Manhattan offices if any suites had been available, Barnard College honors one of its 1963 grads, Martha Stewart! (Startling bit of history for conspiracy theorists: 1963 was the year Betty Friedan published The Feminine Mystique ). Drinks will be provided.
[Ted Koppel, Museum of Television & Radio, 25 West 52nd Street, 7:30 p.m., 621-6600; Martha Stewart, Waldorf-Astoria, 301 Park Avenue, 6:30 p.m. cocktails, dinner and dancing to follow, 362-2233.]
Three reasons April really is the cruelest month: 1) Lost our galoshes again! 2) Absentee boyfriend red-eyes home from L.A. for 48 hours to “do his taxes.” 3) It’s National Poetry Month, which actually starts today, with one of those “marathons” which poets are so fond of: readings, performances, the dreaded “slam.” Reading and emoting will be poets Stanley Kunitz, John Ashbery (yep, still alive), rock poetess Patti Smith and drum-thumper Robert Bly, for whom our “enlightened” editor entertains a secret fondness. Basically, unless you want to run into that friend from college who likes obscure Irish rock bands, does not wear antiperspirant and seems high all the time, steer clear of downtown for the entire weekend. Instead, why not hit opening night of the Ringling Brothers and Barnum & Bailey three-ring circus, the one that pisses off Kim Basinger! (See alarming photo of Mark Oliver Gebel lording it over a big cat Rr-rr-rowl! We’ll hold out for those slippery lion tamers, Siegfried & Roy!)
[People’s Poetry Gathering, you have got to be kidding, but if you aren’t, call 800-333-5982, ext. 5, for up-to-the-minute reports; Circus, Madison Square Garden, 4 Penn Plaza, 7:30 p.m., 307-7171.]
Have Merce-y upon us: Is spring the new “culture” season? The Merce Cunningham Dance Company moves in on midtown today with a gala performance of two pieces, Summerspace and RainForest, with décor by Robert Rauschenberg and Andy Warhol, respectively fancy! Also, in the kooky Village, Greenwich House Pottery has its spring bazaar and open house, with wheel-throwing demonstrations and bargains on cups, pots, trays, bowls, candlesticks, teapots, mugs, plates, tumblers, cups, platters and vases, for all you Crate-&- Barrel haters. We miss winter already.
[Merce Cunningham gala, City Center, 131 West 55th Street, 7 p.m., 581-1212; Pottery, 16 Jones Street, 11 a.m., 242-4106.]
Two prank-free zones for April Fool’s Day: A) The MAC Awards (this is the Manhattan Association of Cabarets and Clubs, not to be confused with the cosmetics company for which RuPaul shills) hands out swish prizes to two Rosies: O’Donnell and George Clooney’s aunt Rosemary. B) At the Flower District’s Center for Book Arts an edible book festival! Why didn’t Sonny Mehta think of this? “It’s a juried art event,” said C.B.A. executive director
Rory Golden. “We have 15 or 16 proposals for edible books. There’s Patchwork, a book made out of cookie dough painted with ice cream to look like stitches; Molasses Quartets, which is T.S. Eliot’s Four Quartets bound with licorice whips (there’s a wiseacre in every crowd); Leaves of Grass cookies in the shape of leaves. The idea is to eat your words.” Bring Zantac.
[MAC Awards, Town Hall, 123 West 43rd Street, 7:30 p.m., 307-4100; Edible Book Festival, 28 West 27th Street, 4 p.m., 481-0295.]
The weird thing about Renée Zellweger bulking up 15 pounds (and talking ceaselessly about it to every entertainment magazine in town) for the title role in the movie version of the peerless Helen Fielding novel Bridget Jones’s Diary, and about Miramax sending out a vile, creepy, oversized pair of panties to promote the flick (guess Miramax is feeling a wee bit desperate after failing to come up with even a middling hit movie in the past year), is that the character as anyone who actually read the book can attest isn’t fat, just neurotic . Tonight the movie premieres, with Ms. Zellweger, permanently foppish Hugh Grant and Colin Firth, England’s own George Clooney. What, you’re not invited? Crash strategy: Dress like a Miramax publicist! (Leather pants, clipboard, headset, blown-out center-parted hair, glazed expression; flinch at loud noises, such as the sound of, say, a rather heavy gentleman creeping up behind you ). If that fails, there’s always the couch back home and the Robert Downey Jr. rejuvenated Ally McBeal.
[Screening, Ziegfeld Theatre, 141 West 54th Street, 7:30 p.m., by invitation only, after-party to follow, 869-7233; Ally McBeal, FOX, 9 p.m.]
Tankini torture: If you thought Glamour editor great mom party machine Bonnie Fuller was done for the week, think again: Today she presents a swimsuit fashion show in Bryant Park much to the delight of Malcolm Gladwell, The New Yorker’s own Jared Paul Stern though we don’t believe that Ms. Fuller is going to model any. In the meantime, ponder this 21st-century existential quandary: Is it O.K. to buy a bathing suit off eBay?
[Bryant Park, Sixth Avenue and 41st Street, noon, by invitation only, 917-351-8600.]
Didn’t get invited to that “Save Venice” ball a while back, with all those goofy Eurotrash types in silly masks? Take heart, and brush up on your cardio fitness, because a slightly more sane version of that event, the Police Athletic League’s “A Night in Venice,” takes place tonight at the Grill at the Reebok Sports Club, where Jessica Shklar first made eyes at Jerry Seinfeld over a plastic cup of fruit smoothie (in what passed for romance in the late 1990’s). Now that’s stompin’ at the Savoy! Tonight’s seven-course, protein-bar feast benefits 70,000 inner-city children! The party planners are keeping the celebrity guests a “surprise,” but extrapolating from the P.A.L. Board of Directors, we deduce that they might include a sweat-soaked Ron Perelman and his sexy wife, Ellen Barkin; Donald Trump; and some TV people (Dan Rather; no Ted Koppel). Elsewhere on the Upper West Side, in a career move we are honestly unable to interpret, 1990’s comedienne Janeane Garofalo narrates Daring to Resist, a movie about three teenage girls who stood up to the Nazis.
[“A Night in Venice,” 160 Columbus Avenue, 7 p.m., 477-9450, ext. 310; Daring to Resist, New-York Historical Society, 2 West 77th Street, 7 p.m., 873-3400.]
Farrar Straus and Gi-who?!? Here’s a book party for all you Village Voice Literary Supplement types who wouldn’t be caught dead at a Bonnie Fuller event (even if you were invited …). The book, by Elena Poniatowska, a Mexico City author, is Here’s to You, Jesusa!, published by Farrar Straus & Giroux. It’s a translation of her 1969 book, Hasta No Verte Jesús Mío. Bonus opening-line excerpt! “This is my third time back on Earth, but I’ve never suffered as much as I have now. I was a queen in my last reincarnation.” Weren’t we all, honey, weren’t we all?
[At someone’s nice place in the West Village, 6 p.m., by invitation only, 206-5326.]