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Although the event was publicized to include every ilk of celebrity from Matt Dillon to the Pope, I saw few recognizable faces in the club April 25th. Unless Matt was secretly disguised as a 16-year-old model, I seriously doubt that he was in attendance.
The first thing I did see, upon arrival, was that there appeared to be far more photographers than subjects in the house. Not to be stifled by this inconvenience, the photogs eagerly recorded anything that moved or breathed in the area. I decided to save my shots for the good stuff and headed to the bar. All this rubbing shoulders with the beautiful people builds up one hell of a thirst.
The disproportion in ratio of photogs to attendees was only a temporary situation, of course, as an army of freshly hatched supermodel wannabes were soon to blossom in the club like fresh lilies.
R-Angels, photo © 2000 NY Rock
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Finally, the show kicked off (fashionably late) with a performance by R-Angels, a quartet of "backstreet" girls who happened to have some of the finest looking navels that I've seen to date. The girls sang plaintive but highly melodic ditties about trying to get boys to love them. (By the looks of things, this shouldn't be a big problem going forward.) They wrapped up after three short numbers that consisted of a mix of live and pre-recorded vocals against a tape of pre-recorded music, giving it all the punch and flavor of your neighborhood Karaoke bar.
Soon, the models-to-be made their debut, sporting fashions from Contempo Casuals, a retail house that caters to all jet-setters in search of an outfit for under $19.99. There was no shortage of contenders, so the girls traversed the runway in record time. They sashayed to the tip of the catwalk, slapped their hands on their hips, exhumed the requisite attitude, and exited the runway pronto. Fortunately, however, there would be more to come.
Next up was 3-Below, the latest boy band to hit the streets. They were a pleasant enough trio but as I watched them, one thought flowed through my mind: this boy band phenomenon must be stopped. We fended off Microsoft; can't we do something about this?
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Phoenix Stone, photo © 2000 NY Rock
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Soon, the girls reappeared, this time decked out in skintight T-shirts with the Elite 2000 Model Look branded across the front. Needless to say, I felt no pain. They say God works small miracles and with these particular subjects the Great One had obviously been one busy deity. Once again, the girls strutted their stuff in a distinctly accelerated manner, as they were apparently instructed to do by the show's promoters. It made it a bit hard to snap a decent shot but it certainly kept things moving along.
The night's proceedings wrapped up with a performance by Phoenix Stone, a good-looking blond lad with one hell of a voice. To his credit, Stone writes his own material and delivers it in a soulful yet hard-working manner. The entire crew of models-to-be joined him onstage for his finale providing a houseful of hungry photographers with one last stab at capturing the moment at hand. Never one to spoil a party, I clicked a few last shots. Soon after, the winners were announced and I made a clean getaway from the club, arm in arm with the best looking gal in the house, my wife, the ever effervescent Pumpkin Luck, a beauty by no uncertain terms.
May 2000
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