The art of parties and beyond

Michael Musto, La Dolce Musto

If Michael Musto's party to launch his first book, La Dolce Musto, was a press-for-press-sake affair, a description he would not deny, who better than the Village Voice gossip columnist himself to give us a taste?

Who I was happy to see out: Anybody!
Who I wish had stayed in: Michael Lucas. He spent the party pitching me an item about himself.
Just there for the free press: Me!
Just there for the free booze: Nobody! It turns out people don't drink anymore. They must have been mainlining hard stuff.
Ass I would have most liked to kiss: Jacob Bernstein! Jason Bellini! Cindy Adams! Ben Widdicombe! Or any of the other 500 press people there.
Ass I had the best chance of kissing: Mariel Hemingway. And I did! I told her my "bad movie club" just watched her '70s camp classic, Lipstick. She was a good sport about it and didn't get violent.
Best service I got at Room Service, where the party took place: Perez Hilton agreed to cohost (with Rosie Perez). He flew himself in, showed up on time, and graciously never tried to steal my big, fat thunder.
Best service I ever got: A little lovemaking in the stairway at the old Limelight club. No wonder it's turning into an H&M.
Number of former blind items in attendance: Every single person there had been a blind item and I prayed they didn't pick up the book and realize that.
Fastest loop-and-leave: Gilligan's Island star Tina Louise. Rather than do a three-hour tour, she came in for a few minutes, greeted me, posed for the 5000 photographers, and had to go. But I was thrilled to see her.
Why Joan Rivers is amazing: When I told her a friend of mine at the party had tried to upstage me, fashion-wise, she whispered, "He could never look better than you!"
Who did my puffy pirate shirt: A downtown thrift shop with obvious connections to the Seinfeld show.
What I was thinking when I put it on: There's no such thing as bad press.
How I tell the difference between Amanda Lepore and Ivana Trump: Ivana's the one with the dick.
The morning after, I: Flipped through all my publicity. And thanked Jesus that Shaggy hadn't crashed.
What my next book is about: Who cares—as long as I get to have another party!

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