ASME attack! Magazine editors reeking of ambition cut out of the morning editorial meeting, bundle into cabs ( “Can I have a receipt, please ?”) and booze up nice and early at the National Magazine Awards . Expect a video medley of magazine covers set to “hipster” music (as
in Moby); Gourmet editor Ruth Reichl in some sassy get-up, shaking her tresses like a fine thoroughbred; and a half-hearted attemptat baked Alaska. We predict that because of Sept.11 and its aftershocks, news-weeklies are going to clean up-also “comforting” food and shelter magazines and (of course) Vanity Fair and The New Yorker will be O.K., but Details , Jane , In Style and Entertainment Weekly are basically outta luck. Then again, we swore that Jennifer Connelly would never, ever win an Oscar …. Meanwhile, as reported last week, BookExpo (big, bland zoo of a convention which would like to be the Fashion Week of publishing, but is really more of a demolition derby) arrives, though the real action starts tomorrow, when Rudolph Giuliani smacks Judi Nathan on the fanny and then gives a “keynote speech” and plugs Leadership , his book coming out in June.
[National Magazine Awards, the Waldorf-Astoria, Park Avenue at 50th Street, 11:30 a.m., cocktails, lunch and ceremony to follow, by invitation only, 752-0055.]
Spanking the MoMA: When did museums stop being sanctuaries where you could ponder the meaning of art on a rainy afternoon and start becoming nightclubs ? A few weeks ago, the Museum of Modern Art had a swish bash for David O. Russell , director of Spanking the Monkey and the very funny Flirting with Disaster (not that we were invited-hel- lo ?)-though the museum did deign to invite us to a real humdinger: a party tonight to launch coleccíoncisneros.org , a Web site about Latin American art. ¡Olé! Meanwhile, not to be outdone, the Whitney Museum throws a benefit-the gist of it, so far as we can tell, is that guests will pop into fashion boutiques up and down Madison Avenue to get hammered on cocktails and do some shopping , then repair to the granite Whitney mothership for an auction of clothes by Calvin Klein , Dolce & Gabbana, Donna Karan New York, Gianni Versace et al. This will raise money for the museum’s family programs-which makes perfect sense if your Mom is Anna (Boom-Boom) Wintour …. In other fashionistic benefit action, former Harper’s Bazaar editor Kate Betts and her cute hubby, Chip Brown , are rolling the dice with lots of socialites at the Society of Memorial Sloan-Kettering Cancer Center’s Annual Gambling Party; dress code is “Black Tie as if in the South of France.” The invitations must have been printed before the Le Pen mess.
[MoMA party, 11 West 53rd Street, 6:30 p.m., by invitation only, 646-486-7050; Whitney party, in boutiques up and down Madison Avenue, 6 p.m., after-party and auction, Whitney Museum of American Art, 945 Madison Avenue, 9 p.m., by invitation only, 201-1493, ext. 56.]
Time after Times : Last year’s restaurant of the moment, the Park, officially loses any remaining claim to “edginess” tonight as The New York Times Book Review hosts an “evening of books and libations” there, allegedly to celebrate spring time. Raising the roof as best they can will be the review’s editor, Chip McGrath, and The Times’ executive editor and avid trout fisherman, Howell Raines. “Please be prepared with photo ID ,” warns the invitation-yes, that means you, Jonathan Safran Foer! Meanwhile , AOL Time Warner throws its own BookExpo shindig at Bryant Park Grill, which wisely stopped trying long ago to have “edge”; Harold Bloom , who could pop Jonathan Safran Foer into his mouth like a peanut, will supposedly be there, but we’re betting the Shakespeare scholar and Falstaff-about-town just swooshes around the room once and then cabs down to the Park ….
[ New York Times Book Review party, 118 10th Avenue, 7 p.m., by invitation only, we can’t help you; AOL Time Warner party, Bryant Park Grill, 25 West 40th Street,
7:30 p.m., we can’t help you here either.]
New York neurotics had it rough in the late 90’s, as the dot-com boom saturated the city with blithe, on-the-go twentysomethings with their messenger bags and stock options and frigid orgies in swank lofts- but here’s proof, in the form of two movies, that neurotics are back, baby! There’s Woody Allen’s funny latest, Hollywood Ending , in which he stars as a washed-up director with an ex-wife played by the tempting Téa Leoni . Also premiering tonight, with a panel discussion after the screening (neurotics love panel discussions) is Young Dr. Freud , a documentary about Sigmund’s formative years with voice-overs by suddenly irritatingly ubiquitous actor Liev Schreiber. “He’s just so terrific with voices-and he was able to do the Germanaccent,” said writer-director-producer David Grubin. “I think that Freud was a genius . This isn’t a hagiography, and it’s not a demonology . We use words like ‘libido’ and ‘sublimation’ and ‘ego’ -it’s all part of our language-and I was interested in how this happened.”
[ Hollywood Ending , 777-FILM; Young Dr. Freud , the Museum of Television & Radio,
25 West 52nd Street, 6:30 p.m., 621-6600.]
Just walk away, Renée! Stay out of Times Square this morning , lest you be trampled by 40,000 hooves of men, women and children embarking on the five-kilometer Revlon Run/Walk for Women, which raises money for cancer research and outreach programs (send a check). Lacing up the Nikes will be Renée Zellweger (actress who reportedly turned down the Bridget Jones’s Diary sequel because she didn’t want to gain weight again, so maybe she’ll star in the inevitable movie version of The Nanny Diarie s ? By the way, we’ve heard that the frightening Manhattan society woman whom that book was based on is packing up her brood and moving to London … ) and Jesse L. Martin, who played one in Ally’s parade of boyfriends on the now mercifully canceled Ally McBeal .
[Times Square, check-in 7 a.m., race begins at 9:15 a.m., 379-3199.]
Oates, rice … BookExpo madness continues …. We’ve been working feverishly to turn up the location of the big Bertelsmann bash, but so far, zippo …. Consolation prize: party downtown for HarperCollins hepcats like Oscar Hijuelos, A.M. Homes and JoyceCarol Oates , thrown by the publishing house’s honchette, Jane Friedman …. If you can’t crash that,go suckdown some sake at New York City’s first- ever Saké Summit . “Sake is just pure and clean, though you still get that wonderful buzz!” said International Saké Institute chairman Grif Frost . “It’s made from rice. It has a third of the acidity of wine -so no sour stomachs. It has huge image problems: No. 1 is that most people think of sake as that hot kerosene stuff they were served in Japanese restaurants.”
[HarperCollins party, B Bar and Grill,
40 East Fourth Street, 6 p.m., by invitation only, 207-7309; Saké Summit, Rihga Royal Hotel, 151 West 54th Street, noon, www.sakes.com.]
It’s Cinco de Mayo , a Mexican holiday, so put on a flamenco skirt and flounce over to a Greenwich Village Treasure Hunt! Come on, it won’t kill ya! Show up, get shoved into a team of two to six people with a packet of clues written in quatrain, plus a score sheet and a map-sounds like a Bertelsmann company retreat. Winner gets a bottle of champagne, and the proceeds go to St. Vincent’s Hospital’s Child Life Program. “I try to point out interesting things about the Village, or just things that are funky!” said Randy Levinson, a 34-year-old developmental biologist who started the hunt because he missed the ones he used to take as a grad student in San Francisco. Is this a big swingin’ singles event? “It can be. It’s basically 20’s, 30’s, 40’s …. I’ve tried to get people to go out as a group to dinner afterwards.” Yeah, well, this ain’t San Fran, pal ….
[Gould Plaza, West Fourth Street and Greene Street, 12:30 p.m., 567-6109.]
Be my Beard! But first: Actress and veteran sexy mama Susan Sarandon unfurls the Saran Wrap at an indoor picnic benefit for the AIDS charity Housing Works, with gourmet baskets stuffed by various chefs; expect a mad lunge for the one stuffed by Picholine’s cheese-loving Terrance Brennan …. If you want to see Mr. Brennan in the flesh, however, you’re going to have to brave the James Beard Foundation Awards, the restaurant industry’s would-be Oscars (racy-sounding theme: “The Spice Connection” ; racy M.C.: The View ‘s Lisa Ling ), where he’ll go up against the rest of the boy’s club: Babbo’s Mario Batali, Café Boulud’s Andrew Carmellini , Daniel’s Alex Lee and Union Pacific’s Rocco DiSpirito for the honor of Best Chef in New York City. Get ready for a loo-oong evening-the ceremony is an Oscar-like three hours, and there’s an after-party at Michael Jordan’s the Steak House NYC, which is trying to be New York’s answer to Mortons ….
[Housing Works picnic, Altman Building, 135 West 18th Street, 7 p.m., 654-8111, ext. 110; James Beard Awards, New York Marriott Marquis, 1535 Broadway, 5:30 p.m. ceremony, reception to follow, 367-9490; after-party, Michael Jordan’s the Steak House NYC, 10 p.m., by invitation only, 822-8170.]
Clothed Coppola, naked angels: Much as the food bunch did 24 hours earlier, the showbiz crowd cleaves neatly in two tonight: Half will put on age-appropriatesatin-trimmed evening wear and head to the Film Society of Lincoln Center’s tribute to Francis Ford Coppola (in other words, you’re finally forgiven for The Godfather: Part III , baby!); while the other half will strip down almost completely for a party at Lot 61-really more of an orgy -for the Naked Angels Theater Company , sponsored by Jockey, the underwear company. Whom you’ll find cavorting about in their skivvies: Matthew Broderick and his preggers lady, Sarah Jessica Parker , plus Gina Gershon , Lili Taylor , Marisa Tomei and about 600 guys with trust funds trying to get the ladies’ attention by doing that whole “dark, edgy New York actor-director” schtick ( three-day beard growth, expensive ripped clothing, profound self-love ).
[Francis Ford Coppola tribute, Avery Fisher Hall, Lincoln Center, 7 p.m., 875-5208; Naked Angels party, Lot 61, 550 West 21st Street, by invitation only, 522-9382.]
Gravity’s rainbow, indeed: BookExpo exposé? Author Thomas Pynchon quietly , reclusively turns 65 today-no gaudy Town Hall jamboree for this fella, who continues to prove that you can be a critically acclaimed, highly successful author without shoving your pasty mug in front of every TV camera in town.