Loose Ends as the World Ends: Xtravaganza to Brittany Mendenhall & Back

Last week I dwelt on last Saturday's Xtravaganza Ball at Irving Plaza; the Xtravaganzas honored me by making me a judge. Of all the loot I made, celebrities I've met, and openings and redoings -- all the things I have done or accomplished in nightlife -- this was one of my most memorable moments. I was described as a legend to the packed house, and the reception from the crowd gave me goosebumps. Usually when someone describes me as a legend, I check my pulse to see if I'm still alive, but here it thrilled me to my core. I looked impeccable in an Yves St. Laurent ensemble styled by Laurean Ossorio. The "voguing" houses and their balls are one of the best things nightlife has to offer. I told my friends to bring throat lozenges because they would be screaming so much. They thanked me for the advice. The night was a scream, with a love reserved for a Woodstock as real legends from the houses of La Beija, Ebony, Milan, Ninja, Legacy, and many more competed in 26 difficult categories. While most of you were up to the same ol' same ol' and complaining about it, Irving Plaza was packed and rocking.

My date for the evening was Brittany Mendenhall. She writes the wonderful blog ChiChi212 while attending law school. Last week a polite call from Shadow PR honcho Brad Zeifman to Brittany implied that she couldn’t write about his clients without his prior consent “or else.” Brittany called me, and I got angry. The nature of the blog beast is that you got to put it up as it comes, or the next guy will. If you heard something, chances are others did as well, and it will be appear somewhere soon. I kill stories sometimes because the content may hurt the innocent, but this self-imposed censorship is my choice and my column is less time-sensitive than Brittany’s or Guest of a Guest. I objected to the concept of censorship or screening of content. Brittany was very upset, and I made a phone call to Brad to complain.

Brad handles PR for the Tenjune, Simyone, Abe & Arthur’s crew as well as Scott Sartiano and Richie Akiva’s properties. We have known each other positively for years. I lost my legendary temper during that call. For this I apologize. Brad was just doing his job, and he is one of the good guys out there. I was being protective of Brit, who I adore. Brittany is no angel and had gotten in trouble in the past. At that time, I also got involved, as she and I share interest and other things. You see, I see Brittany once in awhile and have for awhile now. It’s been a secret or not much to talk about, as we both are too busy for anything more. Someone at Brad’s office decided to broadcast this news to some other blogs as if it’s some sort of scandal. I got a little heated about this but am quite sure Brad didn’t have anything to do with the gossip girl in his office’s idea of news.

I felt angry that Shadow PR reacted to my complaint by planting this “secret.” I’m sending him flowers today, as rumor has it he is dealing with this internal leak—or is “leek” a better word . I understand that for the most part the story has been killed, but I wanted you to read the truth out loud and proud. I love Brittany Mendenhall. I love her blog. She works really hard in the moments she has between law classes to give you her view. She generates her own stories and usually doesn’t need help from me or anyone. She’s a tough cookie, and it upset me to hear she was threatened. The people who write blogs about nightlife can’t be threatened to not do their jobs. This is an era when much information is gleamed from the online “journalists” and our blogs by mainstream media who are trying to cut costs by chopping reporters. “Nightlife blogging,” according to one highly successful owner, “is a new phenomenon ... working relationships with these often acerbic columnists is part of the new terrain.” In an age of Twitter, Facebook, cellphones and their cameras, guys and gals like me don’t ever need to go out. If it’s happening in your club, there are people telling us about it seconds later. We often play nice but really don’t have to.