We’ll always have Paris! In fact, in New York, we’ve got three of em! 1) That city in France to which your mysterious co-workers jet off and return with tales of the frisky little Beaujolais they discovered in the 19th arrondissement; 2) the boozy Paris Review soirées hosted by dapper George Plimpton and attended by crumpled male magazine editors and pale, lithe trust-fund babettes who perch on Mr. Plimpton’s piano, and whose knowledge of Hemingway begins and ends with Personal Best; 3) British hotel heiress Paris Hilton and her “sensible” sister Nicky, who lurch about town half-naked and sloppy like Barbie and Skipper on an Ephedrine binge. Tonight’s first potential Hilton-sister pit stop: Henri Bendel, which now is owned by the Limited and does a brisk business in Monica Lewinsky bags, co-hosts a party with Cristina Greeven, who edits a magazine called Manhattan File. Guest of honor is Diane von Furstenberg and her new in-store boutique, DVF. There will be tropical cocktails and Brazilian hors d’oeuvres (and plenty of Brazilian bikini waxes). Next up, a 10th-anniversary party for a non-Hilton inn: Ian Schrager’s Paramount Hotel, where “hip” New York Times editors from the burbs like to take new Times staffers to see if they can get a peek after the third glass of chardonnay. Tonight’s revelers include MTV House of Style hostess Molly Sims, Band-Aid heiress Casey Johnson and pansexual actor Alan Cumming, the new, improved Pee-wee Herman.
[Diane von Furstenberg Manhattan File party, Henri Bendel, 712 Fifth Avenue, 7:30 p.m., by invitation only, 966-5000, ext. 108; Paramount 10th-anniversary party, 235 West 46th Street, 10 p.m., by invitation only, 917-351-8684.]
We all know that W., as in Bush, wants to turn the country into a big playpen for fat Texas oil executives, which also means that charities benefiting the environment are about to get an upswing in donations! Tonight, the Nature Conservancy of New York takes your $750 and gives you groovy John Guare’s new play, Chaucer in Rome. Honorary co-chairs are Joanne Woodward and Paul Newman, the only sane couple left in the movie business. Meanwhile, there’s an 80’s revival in Chelsea! Elle magazine still just doin’ its job, away from all the scrappy Anna- Wintour-versus-Kate-Betts mishegoss co-hosts a private viewing of new work by Andres Serrano (crucifix-in-urine fellow), co-sponsored by the people who used to have all those sweater stores in Manhattan, United Colors of Benetton.
[Nature Conservancy, cocktails and dinner, 5:30 p.m., Tavern on the Green, Central Park West and West 67th Street, performance, 8 p.m., Mitzi E. Newhouse Theater, Broadway and 66th Street, 997-1880; Andres Serrano, Paula Cooper Gallery, 534 West 21st Street, 6 p.m., 767-5968.]
Mr. Zimmerman turns 60! If you’re like us, you don’t really get Bob Dylan, and you also don’t appreciate it when your neighbor putters around in Birkenstocks on Sunday mornings listening to “Blowin’ in the Wind” at top volume. Anyway, journalist David Hajdu has written a book, Positively 4th Street, about Mr. Dylan and his careerist love affair with Joan Baez. (She cooked him stew, he mocked her small breasts those crazy beatniks!) Bonus excerpt (sing to the tune of “Ballad of a Thin Man”): “Joan would get up first, around nine o’clock, to make coffee. When Bob awoke an hour or two later, they would have a light breakfast and spend some morning time together, and then he would start the day’s writing …. He typed, using one or two fingers of each hand, in gushes and waves. The bottom half of his body seemed independently engaged in trying to rub away a bad rash. He sipped black coffee constantly until the afternoon, when he replaced his cup with a glass of red wine. Joan, meantime, busied herself around the house, attended to business on the phone, and made them snacks.” Which reminds us, where the heck is our summer intern? Anyway, today Mr. Dylan turns 60, and Mr. Hajdu has a “conversation” at Barnes & Noble with some folks who remember the Village before Plum and Lucy Sykes.
[33 East 17th Street, 7:30 p.m., 253-0810.]
Affleck-tion deficit disorder? No way, not in this town, where grumpy Ben Affleck who’s been prowling the town for months now, trying (without much success) to learn to love New York gets tarted up and hauled around like a showgirl to promote his new, big-budget star vehicle, Pearl Harbor, which also stars Kate Beckinsale (the British Neve Campbell), the luscious Josh Hartnett and Jon Voight better known these days as Angelina Jolie’s father continuing his impressive comeback, here as F.D.R.! What’s the movie like? Well, toss Men of Honor, Saving Private Ryan, Armageddon, Titanic, Independence Day and Dude, Where’s My Car? into a blender, and we suspect you’d emerge with something similar. Though we can’t say for sure: We were not among the 2,000 special people invited to the May 21 premiere on the deck of an aircraft carrier in Pearl Harbor. Which eerily reminds us of Talk magazine’s 1999 launch party out on Liberty Island. We’re not exactly sure why, but you know what we mean, right?
InStyle invades Hamptons! Now you know it’s over …. Today, the magazine that weighs more than Liv Tyler on a banana-split binge throws a party for Celebrity Dish: A Hamptons Celebrity Cookbook. Worthy cause: the Make-a-Wish Foundation. (If we could make a wish, it would be that celebrities would cease being photographed in their kitchens, bathrooms and outhouses and stick to red carpets!) Who contributed: Saturday Night Live’s underappreciated Ana Gasteyer, designer Betsey Johnson, Puff Daddy, puff’n’stuff Matt Lauer, New York Post columnist Cindy Adams. Special Hamptons correspondent George Gurley found the indomitable Ms. Adams under a chenille blanket in her Park Avenue penthouse: “Listen, I don’t go to the Hamptons, I don’t cook!” she said. “Other than that, I’m perfect for this book. They asked me for a recipe. I am not a major cook, I am a major eater. So I happen to love curry, and my housekeeper, Nazeline, makes the best chicken curry in captivity! So I lick my fingers and I lick my plates, and I said, ‘Gimme the recipe!’ She gave me the recipe, I gave it to whoever bothered me for it, and that’s it!” Doesn’t she have a house in Bridgehampton? “I am not someone who likes air, or trees, or sun, or flowers. I have a terrace here on Park Avenue. It has wonderful polluted New York City air.” Today in Manhattan, the American Museum of Natural History wises up, cleans out all the navel rings, Valium vials and cigarette butts from the glam benefit party co-hosted by Glamour editor Bonnie Fuller a few months back, and opens a perfectly nice and sober “Genomic Revolution” exhibit. Come see freaky new life forms only a few gene splices away! See the first human clone: Michael Musto!
[Celebrity Dish, 24 Drew Lane, East Hampton, 6:30 p.m., 917-509-2341; Genomic Revolution, Central Park West at 79th Street, 10 a.m., 769-5800.]
So you made the wise decision to skip that house in the Hamptons this year, but today you wake up feeling a bit queasy as you realize what your options are “in town”: Savion Glover and two Argentine twins appear in a tap-dance blowout at Town Hall, while dance company Flamenco Vivo burns up the calories and wows the scouts from Crunch. Give the Argentine twins your best friend’s number and tell them to call her ….
[Tap Extravaganza, Town Hall, 123 West 43rd Street, 7 p.m., 307-4100; Flamenco Vivo, Harry De Jur Playhouse, 466 Grand Street, 2 p.m., 598-0400.]
Memorial Day! Summer is upon us like Bill on Monica, and now there’s no turning back ’til Labor Day! Today, if you’re a Touchstone Pictures exec, you’re rubbing your hands over a big extended-weekend Pearl Harbor gross …. If you’re a spoiled Manhattan brat who’s never been asked to fight in a war, it means you’ve got basically nothing to do today but pump up that summer wardrobe at Bergdorf Goodman and Jeffrey sales.
[Um, where’s that phone book?]
Frankly, my dear …. Whatever happened to the good old days, when writers were read and not seen and heard? Was last week’s gaudy autocelebrating New Yorker festival simply not enough? Tonight, New Yorker editor David Remnick and Simon & Schuster publisher David Rosenthal drink themselves silly and then gambol naked, laughing like pink-cheeked schoolboys, through the fountain at Lincoln Center … but first they host a party for New Yorker senior editor Jeffrey Frank, who’s written a book called The Columnist another one of those novel- in-the-form-of-a-fake-memoir things. Coincidentally, the book drew raves from fellow New Yorker writers Susan Orlean, Kurt Andersen and John Lahr. Bonus strange excerpt: “When I opened the door to that room, I spotted Hudnut himself, disrobed …. In front of him, bending over a queen-size bed, was Daphne, my daughter, who ought to have been in school.” Hudnut? We hear Talk is on a madcap hiring binge ….
[Michael’s, 24 West 55th Street, 6:30 p.m., by invitation only, 286-5450.]
To B.A.M. or not to B.A.M.? O.K., one more helping of culture before June sucks you into a summer stupor of margaritas, halter tops and a vague sense that people are happier in Cleveland: Another production of Hamlet hits the Brooklyn Academy of Music! And much to our relief, neither Liev Schreiber nor Ralph Fiennes is in the production. Meanwhile, if you’re in the mood to acquire some serious jewelry and other objets d’art, get first crack at tonight’s gala for the Sculpture Objects & Functional Art show at the Seventh Regiment Armory, benefiting the American Craft Museum. Tonight’s theme: “The Art of the Sandwich.” Bring condiments.
[B.A.M. Howard Gilman Opera House, 30 Lafayette Avenue, 7:30 p.m., 718-636-4100; SOFA, Seventh Regiment Armory, Park Avenue and East 67th Street, 5 p.m., 956-6047, ext. 311.]