“Tamsin’s current members are far more connected than she can dream of being,” said a Supper Club member. “She’s wholly relying on them for introductions and using their names and status to build a club that will eventually cater only to the bridge-and-tunnel set.”

One of the club’s ambassadors agreed. “All these people are jumping on board, but I think it’s slowly backfiring,” he said. “She’s not offering a service to the boldface names. She’s using these people to bring in the mass; that’s how she’s going to make her money.”

The ambassador recalled one member griping that she had spent $100 to have a dinner at the Spotted Pig, a meal that she normally pays $40 for, and that she had met no new people there. (The Supper Club charges $750 to join, along with the fees for its events.)

At The Supper Club’s holiday party at the new office space-cum-party venue Stark on Gramercy, Ms. Lonsdale’s confidence was still running high. “I feel that New Yorkers accepted us with open arms, and they’ve been nothing but positive,” she said. “We have great turnouts, and it’s a really cool kind of people.”

Ms. Lonsdale boasted that something exciting always happens at her get-togethers. Take that night at the Spotted Pig. “We were having a very civilized dinner, and suddenly, uh, the music got cranked up, and there were 50 movers and shakers on the dance floor, and Jay-Z and Beyoncé were hanging out with us.”

There was also the time at the Paris Commune when only 15 of Ms. Lonsdale’s expected 30 guests turned up. The restaurant agreed to accommodate the smaller party but asked that she pay a higher tip to make up for the space and staff they set aside for her. According to the ambassador, she at first refused to fork up the higher amount, then tried to pay it by check. (A spokesman for Supper Club said that this was because corporate credit cards hadn’t arrived yet, and that she paid the standard 20 percent.)

Ms. Lonsdale originated the Supper Club in London; that outfit has 1,000 members. So far the New York faction has 300 members, with 70 people waiting to join. “I’m vetting them,” she said of the aspirants. “I don’t want to grow too big.” (Though, she added, “A thousand is my goal for this time next year.”)

In the immediate future, Ms. Lonsdale is planning a trip to Art Basel. “We’re having a dinner Dec. 5 at the Raleigh,” she chirped. “I’m hosting it with Martin Kredid, who’s going out with Alan [Rudolph], who’s the CEO of, um, Ocean Drive.”

“Why is she hosting a dinner in Miami?” wondered the anonymous ambassador.

“It’s my party … everybody’s in,” Ms. Lonsdale said, adding somewhat contradictorily: “I’m looking for unique people. I don’t want people who fit into the box.”

A collective groan went up from the audience when moderator Nanette Maxim (Gourmet senior features editor) raised the topic of Rocco DiSpirito’s overcooked reality show, The Restaurant. "I was actually on that show," said Mr. Bourdain, who looks like he should play a cop on Law & Order. "I had one line and it was, ‘This utterly blows.’ Eric Ripert [of Le Bernardin] dragged me there, and the whole time I felt complicit in some horrible and ugly crime. That show was like watching a slow-motion prostate exam."

Mr. Batali added, "It was like watching a train crash with someone I knew in the caboose."

Mr. DiSpirito (who was in the building less than a day later for a food demonstration called "The Italian American Experience and Family Recipes") was not the only one on the receiving end of Batali and Bourdain’s ginsu tongues.

Mr. Bourdain also railed against the ritual of languishing seven-hour dinners. "I had a 10-course meal at Alain Ducasse recently and it felt like a year at Guantánamo Bay. Except a lot more expensive."

They pair had kind words for each other, however. When the subject turned to Mr. Batali’s cooking show, Molto Mario, Mr. Bourdain proclaimed, "It’s the best stand-up cooking show on TV." In the audience, Lisa Loeb—who has a cooking show with alleged ex-boyfriend Dweezil Zappa—didn’t flinch.

Mr. Bourdain continued, "Cooking shows are like pornography: You’re watching others do something that you’re not likely to actually do yourself."

"I relish the porn-star component of myself," Mr. Batali deadpanned. He also relishes meat, which he was quite unapologetic about when someone brought up the vegan lifestyle. "I’m proud to be at the top of the food chain," he said. "If you’re slower and stupider than me, well, pass the salt."

Restaurateur Charlie Trotter, whose unnamed seafood restaurant has yet to open in the Time Warner Center due to several postponements, endured the final blow of the food fight. "He has his waiters wear double-sided tape on their shoes so they’ll tidy up the carpet as they work," Mr. Bourdain revealed. "And the guy cooks like he’s never been fucked properly in his life."

The next day, Sirio Maccioni (Le Cirque), Drew Nieporent (Myriad Restaurant Group) and Julian Niccolini (the Four Seasons) put on their Sunday best and gathered to discuss "The Art of Hospitality." Little of the discussion pertained to good manners, and a large part of it was dedicated to Mr. Maccioni’s railings against the city unions, which he blames for having to close his restaurant at the end of the year. (Though Mr. Maccioni knows the new location, he won’t disclose its whereabouts to the public until Dec. 31.)

After the event ended, however, The Transom grabbed Mr. Niccolini and asked him about his most hospitable customers: Paula Zahn, Ralph Lauren and Bono ("He’s great fun!") were among those mentioned. And the least hospitable? "We hosted the 25th-anniversary party for Rolling Stone magazine, and even though the bar was closed, that famous drummer wanted to have more drinks. What’s his name? … Keith Richards! Yes! Oh, he jumped over the bar and started serving drinks, and I had to go back there, and he wouldn’t give up the alcohol. So I had to kick him out of there—I had no choice." And according to Mr. Niccolini, he’s never been back since.

—Noelle Hancock

Things That Go Bump in the Night

It was safe to say that everyone who showed up at the 20th-anniversary party for Jay McInerney’s novel Bright Lights, Big City on Oct. 25 was guilty. Guilty of excess. Guilty of very late nights. Guilty of badly overdoing it. Guilty of activities described in that novel. Just guilty.

But that was then. Everyone’s got serious jobs now. Gotta be responsible. Professional. Can’t stay up all night. Gotta be careful with the brain cells. Must get up in the morning, crack of dawn, get on the treadmill, the Internet, gotta deal, important meetings today.

So they started to arrive early at Odeon, at 6 p.m. As 80’s music played softly (Pretenders, Talking Heads), in walked Morgan Entrekin, Sonny Mehta, Gary Fisketjon, Candace Bushnell, Nicole Miller, Mary Boone, Bill Buford, Dick Snyder, Anita Sarko, Ken Auletta, Tatum O’Neal, Binky Urban, Stanley Crouch, Adam Moss, Terry McDonnell, Chuck Pfeifer, Taki and other scarred survivors of that glorious decade.

Waitresses offered them trays of hors d’oeuvres, white wine, cosmopolitans. It was a private party, so cigarette smoking was permitted. As for drugs, The Transom—who was staking out the legendary bathrooms for a while—can only report one incident of a gorgeous, skinny blonde descending those steps in the back for a good, head-clearing snort.

Steven Bender, a 25-year-old aspiring novelist, said he used to be called "Bright Lights, Big City Boy" when he worked on Wall Street back in 2000. "’Cause I was out running around until 4 in the morning," he explained. "Drinking, smoking, doing drugs."

Mr. Bender gave a taste of those days.

"All right, here we go," he said: "Thursday night, get home from work, pick up the dry cleaning, order cocaine, shower. Quickly change, didn’t want to be wearing business casual, meet friend in midtown, I don’t know why, happy hour. Do a few too many bumps, take a couple Xanax to edge out a little bit, you know, the normal. Dinner at Pastis, more like drinks. Trying to think where I went after that—somehow, next thing it’s 4 o’clock in the morning, Bungalow 8’s closed. We’re at an after-hours, some loft in Tribeca. So I go, ‘O.K., cool, I’m close to work, there’s a Brooks Brothers open at 7, I’ll buy a new shirt.’ No big deal. So do all that, then I think I’m taking two Advil because I know the hangover’s coming. Advil turned out to be two hits of Ecstasy. And it’s 6:45 and I’m logging onto my Bloomberg. Numbers are flying all over the room. Paranoia. My lips are white. Bright lights, bigger city."

Chuck Pfeiffer, the actor, and Taki, the writer, strolled in wearing pinstriped suits and posed for the cameras. Taki recalled reading Bright Lights, Big City while doing hard time in England for cocaine possession.

"I came here," said Mr. Pfeiffer, "it was the year of creeping socialism—we’d share, everyone would share. And then people would take advantage of it."

"I wrote at the time that the toilet bowls were redundant," said Taki. "And why not put a shelf there, put glass on it?"

"There was more substance to having fun back then," said Mr. Pfeiffer, who’s been sober for the past 13 years. "It’s not tame at all, it’s just very impersonal. They’re all poseurs."

"And people are thuggish—people were not thuggish then," said Taki.

Lewis Lapham, who is now the editor of Harper’s Magazine, recalled a big night in the 1950’s when he lost count of the number of drinks he’d guzzled.

"There was still a genuine, avant-garde, literary jazz culture in New York," he said. "And the evening started out in an apartment just off Washington Square occupied by W.H. Auden. I was young—I was 19. And I listened to Auden talk about the Age of Anxiety and the fate of the 20th century. I then took a cab, which cost a dollar and 50 cents, to go to the White Horse Tavern, where I watched Dylan Thomas drink himself to death. I’m not a major player in any of this, but this is my idea of the perfect New York evening."

The novelist Dirk Wittenborn had a good story he was somewhat reluctant to tell.

"So John Belushi and I, after Lorne Michaels’ wedding—by mistake I snorted mescaline and we came here," he said, as his gorgeous wife Kirsten tried to stop him from saying any more. "And John insisted he had a secret way to get into Odeon, but it was called ‘breaking in,’ and he began to cook. I wasn’t feeling well—I was very chagrined. I’d taken the wrong drug! I kept seeing an Indian."

And what’s Dirk Wittenborn like now?

"I’m more interested in Teletubbies and taking my daughter to school."

"The latest I’ve ever stayed up?" said Candace Bushnell. "Well, to truly put it in perspective, you have to read a lot of classic novels and you have to understand that people have been staying up until 8 a.m., 10 a.m. or, you know, noon occasionally for the last 300 years."

Did she want to hit the bathroom for a quick bump?

"No. I can’t. Because I’m good! But I think if you don’t stay up really late every couple of years, you’re missing New York."

—George Gurley

The Messenger Arrives

It’s taken over four years and plenty of post-9/11 diplomacy, but Muhammad: The Last Prophet, an animated children’s movie about the life of the founder of Islam, will finally debut in the next few weeks at two theaters in Brooklyn, the United Artists at Court Street and Sheepshead Bay.

"We’ve had a lot of difficulty finding people to distribute the film," said Muwaffak Alharithy, the Jeddah, Saudi Arabia–based producer behind the movie. "We approached all the major companies—Disney, Universal; we had several screenings in Burbank in 2000 and 2001; but we never got a proper explanation why they didn’t want it." The goal was for a potential distributor to market the film as a family entertainment with a message, much like DreamWork’s 1998 release, The Prince of Egypt. "I strongly believed that making this film was important to act as a bridge maker," added Mr. Alharithy, speaking on his cell phone from Jeddah.

Directed by Richard Rich, a former Disney veteran whose previous films include The Fox and the Hound (1981) and The King and I (1999), the one-and-a-half-hour animated feature describes the roots of Islam 1,400 years ago. Scholars in Islamic history from Georgetown University’s Center for Muslim-Christian Understanding, as well as clerics at Cairo’s Al-Azhar Mosque, were also consulted to make sure the story was historically accurate. "What the film does is to emphasize the human reality of the prophet," said Professor John Voll, associate director of the CMCU, who consulted on early drafts of the script. "The political agenda, if any, was to try to correct the notion among Muslims and non-Muslims that what we’re involved in is a clash of civilizations. That’s the product of extremist evangelical rhetoric that’s become the norm right now."

After spending $12 million on making the film and three years of trying to secure distribution in the U.S., Mr. Alharithy had still not found anyone to touch his finished project—until he got an e-mail from Oussama Jammal, a Chicago-based distributor of children’s educational videos. Mr. Jammal’s Fine Media Group bought the U.S. rights to the film in August 2004, and now the film will be released in 100 theaters across the country on Sunday, Nov. 14, to coincide with the end of Ramadan. But don’t make plans to show up at your local cineplex for a ticket: Mr. Jammal failed to convince large theater chains to exhibit the film. (Loews in particular was, in Mr. Jammal’s words, "evasive and unhelpful.")

Mr. Jammal knows all too well about being targeted for his religious activities. He’s the president of the Bridgeview mosque in Chicago, which was reportedly under federal scrutiny for alleged financial links to Hamas, according to the Chicago Tribune. "It’s all bogus," Mr. Jammal told The Observer. "There’s no investigation going on that we’re aware about. Actually, we’re invited tonight to the F.B.I. director in Chicago, Thomas Kneir’s, retirement dinner. There’s a lot of fishing, but no fish."

So far, United Artists, Regal Cinemas and some local independent houses have agreed to exhibit the film for one week after Mr. Jammal offered to rent out screen space. "They won’t sell tickets at the door," he added. Tickets are being sold via his Web site. In New York, Mr. Jammal is hoping to get a Manhattan theater on board soon.

To help him with this and in promoting the film, he’s enlisted the help of indie-film promoters the Dinsdale Group, who specialize in promoting slasher DVD’s (including The Texas Chainsaw Massacre). Their current release, showing at the Village Cinema on East 11th Street, is The Manson Family. Jay Bliznick, the company’s founder, has planned press screenings for next Monday and Tuesday and hopes that word about the film grows. "In this day and age, what causes fear is ignorance," said Mr. Bliznick, who was raised Jewish. "That’s why we’re trying to market it to a Muslim and non-Muslim audience."

—Shazia Ahmad

It’s an It (Girl)!

Alice Sykes, 32, the younger sister of twin Brit girls Plum and Lucy, has borne her first child with fiancé Chris Floyd, 35. Scarlet Sykes Floyd popped out three weeks ahead of "shedool" on Saturday at 4:30 a.m., weighing a mere six pounds and one ounce. "She’s gorgeous," cooed Mom, pointing to her dainty daughter’s rosebud lips, wide blue eyes and "sticking-up blond hair—she really looks like a little forest animal. She’s very sweet, though." Ms. Sykes and Mr. Floyd were getting "take-away" in a pizza shop in Roxbury, N.Y., on Friday night during a weekend trip when her water broke, she told The Transom. They rushed back to their chic motel—the Roxbury—and the proprietors called an ambulance, which transported the couple to the nearest hospital, about 50 miles southeast in Kingston, N.Y. (No time for a St. Vincent’s homecoming!) "They were like, ‘You have to call her Roxbury,’ and we were like, ‘O.K.,’" said Mom.

Early the next morning, Ms. Sykes delivered Scarlet, whose name was chosen partly as a play on her father’s nickname, Pink (Floyd—get it?). Brother-in-law Euan Rellie, his toddler son, Heathcliff, and one of Ms. Sykes’ brothers, Tom, zipped up as soon as they heard Ms. Sykes was on her way to the hospital, arriving five minutes after Scarlet had emerged. While Ms. Sykes spent the following night in the hospital, the men had a slumber party at a nearby motel. "It was like Three Men and a Baby," joked Ms. Sykes, the publicity director for the Hollywould shoe and clothing line, who will marry Mr. Floyd, a photographer, in September. Since Scarlet arrived on the early side, the couple was unprepared. A nurse bought Scarlet her first outfit (no Jacadi here) and took Ms. Sykes’ clothes home to be washed. "I was touched," she said. "It was like country people. They thought that we were really, really mad, being English and such. They were like, ‘What are you doing?’ They thought we were pretty strange just dropping in and having a baby."

—Anna Schneider-Mayerson

Framed

You had to listen hard to make out Neil Young meowing "Rockin’ in the Free World." The stereo rocked softly at the Morrison Hotel Gallery on Oct. 21 as several dozen baby-boomers zealously reminisced about the icons of their youth as they gazed at the works of famed rock photographers Jim Marshall and Henry Diltz. Sprinkled in the crowd were a few young Hollywood types, craving that nostalgia for a time before they were born. Mena Suvari, in a Gucci hat and black blazer, whisked through with Scott Caan. She was "interested in a few different Jimi Hendrix photos," explained gallery employee Jessica Blachley. "But she was overwhelmed by all the people."

The Stones are the biggest seller for young patrons like Luke and Owen Wilson and Josh Hartnett, said Ms. Blachley. Tonight, Mick’s contemporaries seemed equally adored. "Look how beautiful that is," said a dark-haired gal in a gold brocade dress. She eyed an intimate portrait of Janis Joplin and Grace Slick of Jefferson Airplane nearly locking lips. "I’d kiss either one of them."

As older attendees waxed nostalgic at the sight of Jimi, Bob and Neil, several seized the opportunity to educate a toddler in tow: "That’s Roger from the Who. That’s Jerry from the Dead."

Roaming the room, Mr. Diltz palmed a Sony Handicam and Mr. Marshall kept a Leica camera slung over his shoulder while a pair of photographers and a lone videographer documented their every movement. Mr. Diltz, in blond ponytail with hair graying at the sides, round tortoise-shell glasses and black casual suit, radiated what Love Generation–cum–New Age types would refer to as "positive energy." His counterpart, Mr. Marshall, in a gray and black tweed blazer and khaki pants, was the reality check.

Leaning close to The Transom’s ear, Mr. Diltz whispered, "Jim has a reputation for being irascible …. He doesn’t want any bullshit. He doesn’t like to be fucked with." Mr. Diltz then qualified clearly: "Jim is my fucking guru." In 42 years of friendship, this was their first show together, and Mr. Diltz was honored when his proposition was accepted. ("All I had to do was ask!" he said.)

Eager to hear from the guru and consequent student, The Transom asked: What was it like taking pictures in your day?

Mr. Diltz had a few ready anecdotes, told with the ease one develops after decades of relating such legends. Referring to the cover photo on the Doors album for which the gallery takes its name, he said, "The guy behind the hotel’s counter said, ‘You can’t do it.’ We went outside, and I saw him get in the elevator. I said, ‘Quick, run in there!’ We took one roll of film and got outta there. We went down to Skid Row and found a bar called the Hard Rock Café, and that photo was on the back of the album. [Later, the Doors] got a call from England saying"—Mr. Diltz affected a British accent—"‘Would you mind if we used that name? We’re starting a ca-fay here in London.’"

Mr. Marshall was a bit pithier with his remarks. For the steamy close-up of Janis and Grace, he put it bluntly: "It was the last frame on the roll. I said, ‘Let’s do a dykey-dykey shot.’" He chuckled. We smirked.

—Joshua D. Fischer

How about a Quickie? Diana Quick stars tonight in a one-woman show, The Woman Destroyed . She also happens to have translated the play from Simone de Beauvoir's French into English. We caught up with Ms. Quick in a cab "taking the scenic route all the way around the city." Ms. Quick-the first female president of the Oxford University Dramatic Society during the 60's, keeping company with the Pythons -is best recognized round these parts for playing the character of Julia Flyte in the 1980's Brideshead Revisited series alongside Jeremy Irons. She said she chose this particular play, only running until Saturday, because it is "about a character who is hardly ever dramatized: of a certain age, of a certain class …. It is a morality tale about women who rely on others to give themselves a certain sense of value . Women who have never given in and get very, very pissed off with the world." Sounds dire? "I hope it's funny, too. Which is always good …. " Meanwhile, Financier Michael Gardner walks off the Street and into the "Have A Heart" gala, where he's been piped for his dedication to animal rights. He'll shake paws with Lorraine Bracco (whose grating monotone is for some reason driving us nuts on The Sopranos this season; P.S.: watch out for her disaffected daughter, Stella Keitel ), Queer Eye scream queen Carson Kressley , the Kissingers and the ageless Jerry Orbach, who hasn't changed a bit since putting Baby in the corner .

[ The Woman Destroyed , 59E59 Theatre, 59 East 59th Street, 2 and 8 p.m., 212-279-4200; Have a Heart gala, the Metropolitan Club, 1 East 60th Street, 6 p.m., 212-675-9474.]

Thursday 13 th

Remember ethics? Tonight we crash the New York Society for Ethical Culture , which fêtes the bicentennial of Ralph Waldo Emerson . "I didn't really pay much attention to him when I was young," said Dr. John Hollander, poet/scholar, who finally found Waldo in his early 30's. "I was given 'Self Reliance' to read at school, and I just couldn't read him . I couldn't grasp the immensity and complexity of it, and I just wasn't interested ." Yale's Sterling Professor of English emeritus hops the great silver bullet (Metro-North) and ca-chugs into town to host tonight's transcendental gig. "So much about America comes out of Emerson-sometimes well-taken, and sometimes trivially so," the professor continued. "He was a man full of paradox, and when one can generate paradox, it can lead to a great deal of hokey things . He is a monumental source for so much in American thought, and so many things can be traced to him; particularly in the late part of the 20th century, which is when I think Emersonian tradition arose again-although the fashionable high modernism after World War I didn't have much use for him. Eliot was very ambivalent, even hostile to him, in a way." If you're an art ninny, dust off those Francis of Assisi sandals and make sure your jewelry announces you several blocks ahead as you clank over to Lot 61's Flips Fund Benefit . Expect Anna-Louise Clegg (Lulu Guinness mastermind and secret dreadlock champion) , transplant ethno-rahs (you know: posh types with trust funds who put beads in their hair) and scores of Sykes spouses . Sculptress Sasha ("Mrs. Tom") Sykes auctions off some fancy straw concoction, and photographer Chris ("Mr. Alice Sykes") Floyd one of his precious prints. And all this for a little school in India. Meanwhile : Before the Schneiders , Feys and Fallons , when everyone still did heroin , had sex with Dan Aykroyd, and actually wrote and performed funny material , SNL was a different, edgier place. But then its grand dame, the irreplaceable Gilda Radner, died of cancer, and now there's Gilda's Club, courtesy of the husband left behind, Gene Wilder . Tonight, glossy and freckled Julianne Moore hosts the club's benefit at the Mandarin Oriental, assisted by cheerful lap dog/husband Bart Freundlich .

[R.W. Emerson Bicentennial Festival, New York Society for Ethical Culture, 2 West 64th Street, 7 p.m., 212-279-4200; Flips Fund Benefit, Lot 61, 550 West 21st Street, 7:30 to 10:30 p.m., by invitation only; Gilda's Club Worldwide Gala, Mandarin Oriental, 80 Columbus Circle, 7 p.m., 212-921-9070.]

Friday 14th

Crate and Barrel-chested: Just when you thought Starbucks shall inherit the earth , Crate and Barrel starts multiplying like the wet Mogwai in Gremlins . The latest incarnation pops up on Broadway today, where the folks behind the super-duper Cooper-Hewitt are laying out the cheese cubes and cocktail weenies in hopes you'll put down for a strategically distressed chest of drawers . Ten percent of the proceeds go to the aforementioned design museum, so bring your checkbook and Phoebe Cates. Speaking of Broadway , Australian jackeroo Hugh Jackman hands out kudos to director George C. Wolfe and Wonderful Town star Donna Murphy at the Drama League Awards Luncheon. Mistress of ceremonies and cheery stage sprite Kristen Chenoweth slips her feet into some five-inchers.

[Crate and Barrel, 611 Broadway, 6:30 to 8:30 p.m., 212-849-8425; Drama League Awards Luncheon, Grand Hyatt, 42nd Street and Park Avenue, 1 p.m., www.dramaleague.org.]

Saturday 15th

N'Awlins comes to N'Yawk: You've been waiting all year for this : A Crawfish Boil bubbles over at the South Street Seaport. "We're expecting 400 people for an authentic New Orleans meal-including corn, potatoes, sausage, gumbo, shrimp-and there's beer from a Louisiana microbrewery," said a flack for the sponsor, Slow Food USA. Chef Randall Montegut of Bon Creole Seafood is driving a half-ton of "mudbugs" all the way from New Iberia, La. "He's got a big truck. There's no other way!"

[Crawfish Boil, South Street Seaport, Pier 17 Building, third-floor atrium, 1 to 4 p.m., 212-965-5640, slowfoodusa.org.]

Sunday 16th

Fat as a house, and it's almost bathing-suit season? Cheer up, tubbo ! The 92nd Street Y's Pre-Summer Health and Fitness Fair has sculpting classes like the Brazilian Butt Lift , Brazilian Tummy Tuck (we're not sure if these classes are only for those with "Brazilian" wax jobs), Sensuous Pilates and Feldenkrais -which sounds like the name of that guy you slept with at Oktoberfest . And since we're all going to be walking a little more thanks to the taxi-fare hike , stroll over to Central Park for the annual AIDS Walk New York , a 10K trek that starts in the Sheep Meadow. For those who think AIDS is history, well, history has a funny way of repeating itself.

[Pre-Summer Health and Fitness Fair, 92nd Street Y May Center for Health, Fitness, and Sport, 92nd Street and Lexington Avenue, 10 a.m. to 4 p.m., 212-415-5729; AIDS Walk New York, meet at the Sheep Meadow, entrance at 67th Street and Central Park West, 9:15 a.m., www.aidswalk.net.]

Monday 17th

What is it about architects and springtime? The city is turned out in T-Squares tonight. First, "A Private Preview of Italy" this evening, foreshadowing a show this fall of the works of architect Andrea ("Villa Rotunda") Palladio , the fellow who brought back classical Greek architecture in the 1500's. Then ride your Vespa over to the YIVO Institute for Jewish Research, where be-spectacled architect Daniel Libeskind and poet Chava Alberstein will be honored for their global achievements. Later, fashion toadies gather at the Maritime to toast "emerging talent" Derek Lam (dusty opulence), Zac Posen ( Pirates of Penzance meets meatpacking district circa 2002) and Patrick Robinson (populist chic), all of whom have been nominated for the CFDA's 2004 Perry Ellis Awards . We caught up with the delightfully composed Mr. Lam in his West Coast studio and found out that his being nominated for such an award "never crossed my mind"-and while he's been in the schmattes trade for more than a decade, he was "ready to wait for any acknowledgment whatsoever." Mr. Lam's approach, he said, is simply to ask himself, "How do I want my friends to dress?" How is he prepping for the award ceremony? "To make sure I've brushed my teeth."

[A Private Preview of Italy, New York School of Interior Design, 170 East 70th Street, 646-654-0085; "From Poland to Israel and Then to the World," the Center for Jewish History, 15 West 16th Street, 6 p.m., 212-246-6080; Perry Ellis Awards Nominees Celebration, La Bottega Caffé, Maritime Hotel, 366 West 16th Street, 7 to 9 p.m., by invitation only.]

Tuesday 18th

Hello, sailor! Back at the Maritime -which will never be " over" because you can smoke there- fashion and rock mate at tonight's filthy slap-up , as Mossy flies in ( sans Baby-Papa) from London to celebrate Picture This: Debbie Harry & Blondie , the ubiquitous photographer Mick Rock's homage to the ageless Ms. Harry. And in more proof that life post- Apprentice is one big party , former apprentice Sam Solovey has temporarily shelved the whole "I'm going to be the boss of the world" thing to give acting a try. He guest-stars in Tony 'n' Tina's Wedding , which at 16 years running has lasted longer than every other marriage in this town. He got on the line from his home in Chevy Chase, Md., where he's busy planning his own wedding in August. "More than the role, it was the opportunity to work with a great cast of performers and do something a little different," he said of the acting gig. "I wanted to extend some of the excitement of The Apprentice ." Is he noivous? "I tend to most comfortable when other people are uncomfortable, so I think I'll be fine." Perhaps he needs to reread his Emerson ….

[ Picture This , Hiro Ballroom, Maritime Hotel, 366 West 16th Street, 9 p.m., by invitation only; Tony 'n' Tina's Wedding , St. Luke's Church, 308 West 46th Street, 7 p.m., 212-352-3101.]

Wednesday 19th

We're fluffing up our $10 knockoff mini-kilt (the one we bust out occasionally to titillate the senior editors) and skipping over to Cipriani, where there's a lunch following Burberry's trotting out of its fall/winter schmatte this morning. That means Newsweek editor Lally ("Lolli") Weymouth clanks sickly sweet bellinis with co-host Jessica Seinfeld , who knows a thing or two about marrying well. Make sure to put yourself down on the list for the gold trench. Take a soggy and snoggy nap and then make sure not to miss Daniel Schwarz talking about Damon Runyon . We spoke with Mr. Schwarz, modernist scholar and relic of Cornell's English department, at his upstate residence where, he quipped, "people actually have space for more than one telephone." "Runyon created the image we have of New York: He invented underworld chic, from the gangster characters we all know and love to the fast-talking Woody Allen character of Broadway Danny Rose , right through the Sex and the City gals," said Mr. Schwarz, adding that Runyon was famous "like Dan Rather!" And how come we all watch The Sopranos , sir? "We identify with the mobsters because they fulfill our fantasy of settling our problems without issue-our sublimated desire for an estrangement of the duties of a respectable society. Secretly, we all want to throw people out the window."

[Burberry Preview Luncheon, Cipriani, 110 East 42nd Street, 11:30, by invitation only; "Broadway Boogie-Woogie: Damon Runyon and the Making of New York City Culture," Reading Room, Mercantile Library, 17 East 47th Street, 6 p.m., 212-755-6710]

On Feb. 19, the New York Post sent reporter Denise Buffa to Brooklyn Criminal Court to cover the trial of Mr. Goldstein, founder of Screw magazine, who's been indicted on 12 counts of aggravated harassment.

For those who haven't been reading the tabloids, Mr. Goldstein stands accused of harassing his former personal assistant, Jennifer Lozinski. Ms. Lozinski claimed she quit her job after Mr. Goldstein yelled at her because he had to wait in line for a rental car that she had arranged for him. After Ms. Lozinski left Screw 's offices, Mr. Goldstein allegedly continued to berate her by phone, all the while accusing her of stealing thousands of dollars.

Given Mr. Goldstein's legendary lack of reserve, the trial was practically guaranteed to be entertaining–Mr. Goldstein has already had one courtroom freakout–but after the first day, the Post 's Ms. Buffa decided she'd had enough. On Feb. 20, the paper sent reporter William Gorta, who's written about it ever since.

The reason? According to one Post source: "Basically, Al Goldstein grabbed her ass and said a bunch of lewd things. She was uncomfortable doing the story. She asked for somebody else to do it."

Ms. Buffa did not return a call for comment, but according to a spokesman for the Post , "Al Goldstein was rude and offensive. When we found out about the incident, we took Denise off the story."

Mr. Goldstein could not be reached for comment, but Chip Maloney, an editor at Screw , told The Transom: "Al has never conducted himself inappropriately with any females, just me."

–Sridhar Pappu

Just Remember This On Feb. 21, 79-year-old fashion designer Pierre Cardin presided over the present and the past at Maxim's, his Art Deco time capsule of a nightclub on Madison Avenue.

The party was ostensibly to fête the launch of a music compilation called Maxim's de Paris as well as to celebrate Mr. Cardin's 50 years in fashion, though not everyone seemed to be with the program. "Is Pierre Cardin alive or dead?" Alice Sykes, 29, the youngest of the trendy Sykes sisters, was overhead saying at the event.

Such are the vagaries of the time. Or is it fashion? Anyway, inspired by Ms. Sykes' question and the evening's hermetic environment–Maxim's has been closed for some time now–The Transom decided to ask the evening's revelers what they hoped the historians of the future would recall about them.

"It's a really difficult question," Ms. Sykes said. She was drinking vodka with a splash of cranberry juice. "I need other people to tell me that kind of stuff. I work for Lulu Guinness, that's what I do. She's an English handbag designer. And I moved here to, like, bring Lulu Guinness to the masses!"

Earlier in the evening, Ms. Sykes had met novelist Jay McInerney, but the encounter had left her in another quandary.

At issue was not whether Mr. McInerney was breathing, but rather whether he was working. Ms. Sykes had no idea what Mr. McInerney did for a living.

A friend told Ms. Sykes that Mr. McInerney had written Bright Lights, Big City , but the author had complicated the issue by, she said, introducing himself as a "pedophile."

"And then he told a really bad joke," Ms. Sykes recounted. "He said, 'Well, you only look about 13.' I was just really confused. I was like, 'That's not a very funny joke for a really clever guy.'"

Mr. McInerney was sitting at a table with two blondes, both of whom looked of age and seemed very focused on him. One of the women was a model, Daniela Novak.

"I'm a very deep guy, but I like being [at] superficial parties like this," Mr. McInerney told The Transom.

The sultry Daniela took a drag off her cigarette. The Transom stopped paying attention to Mr. McInerney.

"See why I feel life is still worth living, even if you have writer's block?" the author said. "Writing a good sentence and having two girls like that bat their eyes at me are two very different things that I live for."

By the bar but not drinking was David Patrick Columbia, who runs the society Web site newyorksocialdiary.com. He said he's considered a social chronicler and social historian of this time in New York. "But the operative word is 'considered,'" he said. "It remains to be seen–not by me or you or anybody who's alive today–whether or not that's really true."

What did he make of the scene at Maxim's? "It's a promotional event; it does not have historic virtue," Mr. Columbia said. "Nor does it have gravity. Or brevity. But it does have levity.

Mr. Columbia checked out the crowd, which included Salman Rushdie, Lauren DuPont, Nicky Hilton, Alex Von Furstenberg and designer Zac Posen. "I would call this the working Eurotrash with a little American salt and pepper," he said. "Eurotrash means rich mommy and/or daddy or a gilded sycophant. It means they're jazzy and they drink a lot, do drugs, have sex a lot, sleep late and go to lunch."

"The reality is, come to a place like this, this confronts you with the question what life is all about," Mr. Columbia said. "What's it all about, Alfie? Nothing. It's all about nothing."

Mr. Columbia was starting to frighten us, so we moved on to financier Steven Greenberg and his young Asian date.

One hundred years from now, what should people know about him? "A hundred years from now, they're going to be able to ask me that same question–about the following hundred years," said Mr. Greenberg, who bears a resemblance to the more-than-200-year-old founding father, Benjamin Franklin.

The Transom asked Mr. Greenberg how he was planning to live that long.

"Plastics," he replied.

–George Gurley

Elvish: Live in N.Y.C.

"No one knows this yet," said Lord of the Rings screenwriter Fran Walsh. "But we need to get it out, because the fans are going to be really upset by it."

Ms. Walsh stood in the back room of Michael's restaurant on Feb. 22. Around her milled other members of the creative team that had produced Oscar's most nominated movie. The film's director and Ms. Walsh's companion, Peter Jackson, was padding about, as were the musical composer, Howard Shore; actor Christopher Lee, who plays Saruman the White; New Line co-chairman Bob Shaye; and LOTR 's executive producer and the head of Fine Line Features, Mark Ordesky.

Ms. Walsh, Mr. Jackson and Mr. Shore each glowed with Oscar's kiss, but seeing that Ms. Walsh was itching to spill her guts, The Transom stuck with her.

So what exactly was burning a hole in the screenwriter's hard drive?

"Shelob is not going to be in part two," she said.

For Tolkien neophytes, this may sound like news from a different dimension. But for pale-skinned Lord of the Rings nuts who have spent an estimated $700 million on tickets to the first film, it's big news.

"I checked [the fan site] One Ring, and there's a poll about what they're most looking forward to in the second film," Ms. Walsh said. "They all say Shelob!"

Shelob is the evil spider-like creature that plays a pivotal role at the end of The Two Towers, the second part of Tolkien's trilogy.

"Of course Shelob is a major villain, and once Sam and Frodo get past her it's basically one plot … we needed to add something, so we simply moved the Shelob bit to the third film," Ms. Walsh said.

Mr. Jackson loped by with actor Matthew Modine in tow, and Ms. Walsh sighed. "I call him 'shaggy chic' because he has no style," she said of her companion. "And he has the most unruly hair."

Although Mr. Jackson is known for his propensity to go barefoot and wear the same shorts and T-shirt for days on end, he had dressed for the luncheon in a button-down shirt that strained against his prodigious gut. The diminutive director wore weathered sneakers and walked on the balls of his feet. His brown hair was long and scraggly.

Ms. Walsh said that Donatella Versace has offered to make Mr. Jackson an Oscar suit, but that his initial response was " Aaaaaaah !"

"He was screaming in terror," she said. But Ms. Walsh added that her partner will "grudgingly acquiesce."

"Oh, wait," the screenwriter said. "Better not say 'grudgingly.' Just 'acquiesce.' No, no, not 'acquiesce'–'embrace'! He'll embrace it!"

Mr. Jackson was going to be doing a lot of embracing in the next 12 hours. Later in the evening, the crowd was headed to a swanky dinner hosted by directors Barry Levinson and Martin Scorsese and writers William Styron and Norman Mailer. The dinner had been arranged by publicist Peggy Siegal to introduce the contingent of New Zealanders and Brits to an eclectic group of New York's cultural cognoscenti, albeit one that could also double as the cast for an It's a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World remake. Guests at the dinner included actress Kyra Sedgwick, comedian Billy Crystal, essayist Stanley Crouch, director John Sayles, actress Sigourney Weaver, journalist Lally Weymouth, germ-warfare expert and anthrax target Judith Miller, writer Gay Talese, publisher Nan Talese, author Salman Rushdie, and Early Show host Bryant Gumbel.

But first there was lunch. "This is worse than the Carnegie Deli. How am I supposed to eat all this food?" said Mr. Lee when his salad was put in front of him at Michael's.

Mr. Lee looked more like Sherlock Holmes than Saruman. He was dressed impeccably in a checked jacket, olive vest, bright green tie and mustard corduroys. A red silk handkerchief poked from his jacket pocket.

In an earlier chapter of his life, Mr. Lee had been a military sleuth, searching for Nazi war criminals as part of Britain's Central Registry of War Criminals and Security Suspects. "I have seen man's inhumanity to man," he said softly.

The actor, who said he'll "be 80 in May–hopefully," seemed miles from Michael's as he described meeting Lord of the Rings author J.R.R. Tolkien in an Oxford pub.

"He was a devout man, no question about that," said Mr. Lee, who has reread The Lord of the Rings every year since its publication.

Suddenly he erupted in what sounded like gibberish.

" Ash nazg durbatulúk, ash nazg gimbatul, ash nazg thrakatulúk agh burzum-ishi krimpatul !" he said, in an accent that was heavy on the rolled R's.

Mr. Lee was merely reciting–in ancient Elvish–the inscription found on the ring that's at the center of Tolkien's trilogy.

"I'm not very good at these things," said Mr. Lee of the event. "People misunderstand what I'm saying. "

–Rebecca Traister