The peerless Big Fur Hat, my indispensable art director, has a sweet account of our lovely evening honoring the great and much-missed Andrew Breitbart:
Nice Night Out In Remembrance of Andrew Breitbart BigFurHat at iOwnTheWorld.com
Went downtown with Mr. Pinko to Miss Pamela’s place and she whipped up a Cobb salad while we waited for her car service. That was nice, with hearts of palm.
We headed over to Hell’s Kitchen to a little hole in the wall that was packed to the brim with people.
The first person I saw was Lucianne Goldberg, what a wonderful lady. The place was so cramped she was getting a little of what I sometimes suffer from, claustrophobia. She headed out to a more comfortable venue after raising a glass to Andrew.
I saw lots of familiar faces, people who are part of the conservative network in the city. We gave each other some up nods. I ran into the guy who did the classic video with Jonah Goldberg where two ex-lovers found themselves on the same speaking panel and the night devolved into a passive aggressive insult fest that seemed to be scripted by Marshall Brickman.
The next guy I ran into was Reliapundit, who fully expected me to start a fight because of our terse moments over the Romney stuff. He’s a great guy, so a couldn’t punch him.
Then Irony Curtain arrived. He was stuck outside for ten minutes. We heard the bartender say that there was a room in the back. That sounded like our speed so we headed around the corner to an alcove that was about ten by ten with a giant jukebox. And two mops and a bucket. And the bathrooms. But we made it our own.
Pamela played some Sinatra, The Smiths and Barry White, but the jukebox wouldn’t cooperate. It kept cutting out during her karaoke performances. So she would run at it an ass bump it back into commission. This became the routine for the rest of the night. Sing 30 seconds and then ass bump it. This prompted the bouncer to come back to see what the commotion was. I told him I had the strength of ten men and he should move on. Irony says, “it’s true, he just doesn’t have it here with him right now.” So Pamela batted her eyes and the guy let me live.
Then Urban Infidel arrived back in our cubby-hole, obviously the place to be. My only political conversation of the night was with her – some very interesting psychological evaluations of Barack Obama.
Pamela got up on the end of the bar and addressed the crowd and spoke about what Andrew Breitbart has meant to us in the past, and how we need to be 2x the person we used to be in order to fill this void.
Another woman spoke, and then I grilled a Mormon for half an hour. Everything I’ve said about The Book of Mormon is true, yet, he made it sound so plausible and normal, and he was a super nice guy, like a stereotypical Mormon. I think I’m a Mormon now. Possibly.
Then it was time to go. I promised everyone I’d be going to Sullivan Hall this Friday to see this conservative rock band. I lied.
That’s it for now. I’ll tell you about my next night out in about 3 months.