Beautiful people like me

Media parties are shallow? Then how do you explain all the deep sex and danger?

By Chris Colin

Oct 10, 2000 | Mediabistro calls itself "a portal for media people and other content professionals." It now does other things -- for a profit -- but it began with the simple, unassailable idea of getting media types together monthly for drinks. When I said I was going to the group's latest event, media friends insisted I do some ax work. I nodded but thought, No, I hold no venom toward the fabled shallowness of media parties. Besides, these events may be slick, but it's glib to complain about this, and glib is slick's glib cousin.

I thought that and more as the swarthy little shoeshine boy gave my Florsheims a fine patina. Is it "impolite" to look at a person and see nothing but degrees of professional opportunity? Is it "rude" to look over someone's shoulder throughout a conversation, then wipe your nose on his sleeve as you leave? (This sort of brainstorming -- the kind that got me my 401K and stunning stock option plan -- erupts spontaneously in my fertile mind before cocktail parties; when I think of all the networking I'll be doing, something magical just happens, as my agent says.)

"Welcome," the Mediabistro hostess said after my chauffeur had dropped me off. "We were hoping you'd come."

"Yes," I said.

I was thinking about money and prestige. I was thinking they were important and good. Surveying the scene, I made my way to the bar, which I briefly considered buying and selling. All around me, young and old people in fine haircuts spoke to one another. Pants were tight, and skirts were tight -- and back to the pants, they sometimes flared out near the shoes. If attractiveness were food, we would all be covered in food.

"I've started a portal," a woman said to me. She had a weak drink in her hand, and the look on her face told me she was thinking about burn rate.

"I eat portals for breakfast," I told her, with a wave of my hand. It was a lie -- often I don't eat breakfast at all -- but she bought it, and I stepped past her toward the restroom.

On the way I launched three start-ups. Two of the three were doing quite well by the time I had washed my hands, and I gaily tossed the elderly bathroom attendant two nickels on my way out.

"Thank you, sir," he said.

"Yes."

I returned to the bar area anxious to meet people who might say things about the media. Would I learn of a new Web site where I might enjoy spending time? I asked myself. But my contemplation was interrupted by a young man in contemporary jeans and wearing a ponytail.

"Who are you?" I said to the intrepid fellow.

"I'm Gus," he said.

I waited for him to tell me something of interest.

"I just graduated from Swarthmore," he continued. "I'm trying to break into media somehow. To be honest, I'm sort of new at this."

I spat on him for wasting my time and made my way to the gorgeous oak bar, where several successful people were sipping wine successfully. It was nice to see them enjoying themselves, and I recalled my own successes. A mediocre beekeeper at best, I'd decided to crack open the inviting oyster that was the nascent world of new media, and eat the sweet pearl within.

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