The star of the feature—which is an adaptation of the novel of the same name, revolving around the relationship between a mother and son—is British actress Tilda Swinton, who also happens to be the face (and hands, we later discovered) of the sponsor.

We approached Ms. Swinton and asked if she was pleased with the reaction to the film? "I have no idea, I wasn't there. You were in the audience," she pointed out. We wondered how she prepared for the role? "It's pretty easy I would say. It's just, as usual, a matter of dressing up and using your imagination." With the conversation seeming going well, she admitted, blankly, "You know what, I can barely hear you so I'm just trying to shout something that makes sense." Unfortunately, at this point the plug was pulled: we had unknowingly jumped the line of journalists waiting to talk to the star of the movie and our discussion had to come to an end. There was just time to ask how it was working with Ezra Miller? "I think he's a dude," she offered, whilst being protectively embraced by someone who had presumably been queueing.

The question on everyones lips, however, was not,"Are you next in line?", but rather, "Where is the writer and director (50%) responsible for such great films as Fargo, No Country For Old Men and A Serious Man, as well as co-host for the evening, Ethan Coen?" As the evening charged on it became clear that there was no answer, just more questions. Is he late? Is he coming? Is he okay?

But wait, is that the slim figure of Waris Ahluwalia, Jewelery designer-cum-actor-cum-best friend of man with whom he was standing, Wes Anderson? He smiled, welcomingly, as we approached and immediately offered, "[The film] was poetry...but I don't seek out sadness in my life...I like stories of power and adventure and promise." Mr. Anderson had left.

The evening was winding down, as was the search for Mr. E. Coen, but we had not given up. Bouncing from guest to guest, nobody had an answer. The room was emptying out and finally we had to admit defeat, there was to be no rubbing shoulders with exactly one half of the Coen Brothers. Despite the lively buzz surrounding the event, we couldn't help but feel a twinge of disappointment as we made our exit.

Warren Buffett and his Too Big To Fail movie doppelganger, Ed Asner.

It's Oracle of Omaha (and Bank of America's Supposedly Unnecessary Capital Requirements Savior) Warren Buffett's 81st Birthday! And we thought we'd commemorate the occasion by telling a little story we've had in pocket for a few months, awaiting an day like this one (anything remotely resembling timeliness to the story in question).

So: let's flash back a few months...

SETTING: A RAINY MAY NIGHT IN NEW YORK CITY.

PLACE: THE TOO BIG TO FAIL HBO MOVIE PARTY, AT THE FOUR SEASONS RESTAURANT IN MIDTOWN.

CHARACTERS:

WARREN BUFFETT, 80-year old world-famous value investor and chairman of Berkshire Hathaway.

DEVON SPURGEON, former Wall Street Journal reporter turned Warren Buffett's Chief of Staff once noted for her "movie-star looks" and "nose for news."

EDITOR LADY, Editor-in-Chief of The New York Observer.

REPORTER, a reporter for The New York Observer.

PARTY REPORTER, a party reporter for The New York Observer.

OTHER LURKERS, random people hanging out near the pastry table.

SCENE:

At a party where a peak-nexus of celebrities from the financial world and Hollywood meet, the most talked-about table may be tucked away in a corner near the pastries, where WARREN BUFFETT is seated, flanked by four women. One of them, as we'll later learn, is his Chief-of-Staff and "latest Daisy May" DEVON SPURGEON. Various onlookers chatter about his presence in the periphery. Nearby, EDITOR LADY is goading her REPORTER on.

EDITOR LADY: You need to get a quote from him. This will be perfect for your story.

REPORTER: Of course. I know his position on farming investments, it's already in the piece. But the—

EDITOR LADY: —story would be greatly improved with a quote from Warren Buffett on farming? Yes it would.

REPORTER: I don't think he's going to talk to me about it.

EDITOR LADY: You won't know until you try.

REPORTER: No, I'm pretty sure I know here.

EDITOR LADY: Prove it.

REPORTER: Fine.

EDITOR LADY and REPORTER continue to lurk above the pastry table as WARREN BUFFETT continues to hold court. Twenty minutes later, he gets up to leave. REPORTER goes to speak with him, but is beaten to the punch.

OLD LURKER MAN: Hey, Warren, I wanted to introduce you to...

YOUNG LURKER MAN: Hey, Warren, I'm a writer for The Huffington Post, I write about sports, I just wanted to say hello.

WARREN BUFFETT: Sports, huh?

A murmur-level conversation between WARREN BUFFETT and OTHER LURKERS continues until DEVON SPURGEON motions towards the exit.

WARREN BUFFETT: Well, it was nice meeting you, but I have to get on my wa—

EDITOR LADY: (Sotto Voce, to REPORTER) Go. Get him.

REPORTER: I know goddamnit. (To WARREN BUFFETT) Hi there, Mr. Buffett, my name is REPORTER, I'm a reporter for the New York Observer, I just wanted to say hi.

WARREN BUFFETT stops.

WARREN BUFFETT: Oh, hello there!

REPORTER: Hi. I just had a quick question for you.

WARREN BUFFETT: Sure, what can I help you with?

REPORTER: Well, you see, I'm working on this thing about farming, and I know you've said that you think it's a safer inflation hedge than go—

Devon Spurgeon, Warren Buffett's Chief of Staff. Via Facebook.

DEVON SPURGEON grabs WARREN BUFFETT by the arm and maneuvers between him and REPORTER. They begin to leave.

DEVON SPURGEON: I'm sorry, he's not going to answer that, we were on our way out. Have a good night.

REPORTER: It's just a quick thing, it won't take more than a mome—

WARREN BUFFETT: (Being quickly whisked away) Talk to my son! He'll te—

DEVON SPURGEON: No. Have a good night.  He's not going to answer that.

WARREN BUFFETT: My son will tell you all—

REPORTER: But what do you thi—

DEVON SPURGEON: If you want, you can call my office tomorrow. Goodnight. Thanks. Bye.

WARREN BUFFETT: He'd love to talk to you about farming! My son is—

REPORTER: Well, okay, bu—

DEVON SPURGEON: We're leaving now.

REPORTER: Fine. (Pissed.) Do you have a business card?

DEVON SPURGEON: Sure, here. (Hands REPORTER business card. REPORTER looks at the card.) Nice meeting you. Goodb—

REPORTER: Yeah. Great. Thanks.

WARREN BUFFETT and DEVON SPURGEON leave the room. REPORTER walks ten feet over to EDITOR LADY, seated with PARTY REPORTER. They are both smiling, having witnessed the entire encounter from a front-row seat.

PARTY REPORTER: That was great.

EDITOR LADY: At least you tried!

REPORTER: I knew that would happen. I tol—

EDITOR LADY: Yeah. So did I.

PARTY REPORTER: That was fantast—

REPORTER: Right.

EDITOR LADY: At least you got a business card out of it.

REPORTER: Oh, yeah. All the help this thing will be.

EDITOR LADY: Why's that?

REPORTER hands EDITOR LADY the business card. EDITOR LADY starts laughing.

PARTY REPORTER: What?

EDITOR LADY: (To REPORTER, handing it back) Congratulations. You just got your first 'Fuck Off Card.' This is what she gives away at parties when she wants people like you to—

REPORTER: Fuck off?

EDITOR LADY: Exactly.

The card:

End scene.

fkamer@observer.com | @weareyourfek

Yes, Kid Rock, they do sing that 'My Girls' song.

A few hours before America watched Kid Rock on Jimmy Fallon, the country-rock king of Detroit invited a slew of revelers to a bash on the top of the Hotel on Rivington. The whiskey was Jim Beam, the beer was Badass. No, really, it’s called Badass American Lager. Kid Rock owns it. It tasted OK.

“Just got in last night, playing jersey tomorrow,” Kid Rock told The Observer on the packed top deck. “We had a little excuse to throw a party so we gotta take advantage of that.”

He’s kept a full schedule in the city, and had to tape Mr. Fallon’s show earlier in the day. It happened that the musical guest was Panda Bear the key member of cherished indie stalwarts Animal Collective – probably the most intriguing person possible to pair with the guy who wrote “Bawitdaba.”

So, did they get a chance to talk about collaborating on something?

“No!” Kid Rock said, shaking his head. “I met their manager at Max Fish a few weeks back with my boy Sweeny. But I didn’t see him tonight -- I was hoping to run into him and say hi. Sweeny told me they’re a great band. I’ve heard great things about them.”

As we imagined what Kid Rock would make of, say, Panda Bear's 12-minute epic "Bros," he took a long pull of his plug of cigar.

“They’re top notch,” he said of the stogie while looking off at the glowing Empire State Building in full dusk-lit view. “I mean they’re shitty cigars, but they’re top notch to me.”

We were standing in front of the titan of pop music at a party last night to celebrate artist George Condo's first retrospective, Mental States, which opens today at The New Museum. Condo is known for painting his subjects as wild-eyed gaping clown faces, cheeks and foreheads flushed with spiky brushstrokes that intimate explosion, and always featuring distinctive askew-splayed bucked teeth. The most famous of these subjects is Kanye West, whom Condo depicted in flagrante delicto on the cover of his album My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy (another Condo was used as the official album art, however, after Kanye tweeted that the more racy choice had been "banned" by someone). 

Naturally his world-conquering muse did not miss out -- Kanye West was standing in a long back coat, gray shirt, and a gold chain to match the flash of gold grill jutting up out of his lower lip. There were crinkles under his eyes. He looked very tired.

When he was done exchanging quick conversation with a someone ("Is Jay in town, man?" "Yeah," Kanye said. "OK, I'll hit him up.") The Observer walked up to Kanye West and asked what he thought about the exhibit.

West's face, wide with a smile before, hardened as he clenched his hands on our shoulders.

"I don't talk to the fuckin' press!" Kanye West told The Observer.

With that we walked off, thinking incorrectly that we would not speak to Kanye West again that night.

Others at the party were more chatty than the hip-hop star. We ran into a be-stubbled James Frey coming down the extra-slim white hallway that took the art patrons to the main exhibition room. Marc Jacobs sauntered around pecking everyone on the cheek, allowing the stray whiskers of his fuchsia and aquamarine fur scarf to nuzzle against their noses.

"I love George Condo's art!" Jacobs told The Observer as we passed from a room of abstract impressionist Condo to a room of Condo portraiture. "I love George Condo, I love Anna Condo, I love the Condo girls, I love his paintings -- I love everything Condo."

And trailing Jacobs was on-again off-again boyfriend Lorenzo Martone, in a tan fur trench coat and matching tan fur boots. He was toting around a George Condo skateboard.

The artist himself was in a loud purple tie and carrying a laptop bag. Actress LeeLee Sobieski, whose designer husband Adam Kimmel has worked with Condo, had on svelte red sweater. She's also a big fan.

"Love it!" she said. "Love supporting George."

Are you tight with Kayne? You guys looked chummy earlier.

"We just met him tonight, uh, Adam did a collection with George and then Kanye did a collaboration with George as well so I think there's, like, a mutual fan thing going on."

Like Sobieski, The Observer met Kanye for the first time that night, when he informed us he does not talk to the fucking press. After that we stepped aside.

Then, seconds later, Kanye West wrapped his arm around our shoulder, pulling us into a warm embracing hug.

"Are you all right, man? Kanye West asked us.

We nodded, and then another member of the press walked up and pointed at The Observer.

"Don't trust this guy," the reporter laughed.

"Hey," Kanye West said. "I don't trust myself."

nfreeman [at] observer.com | @nfreeman1234

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