The STAGE is set. The RED curtain finally opens to reveal the “public” grand kick (high) kick off of Kenmare. I hear the coos and cries of desperate ex-Beatrice fans rejoicing in the streets, proclaiming Oh HELL yeah. Praise to Paul. If only they could rise those shouts from the grave.
The cat calls, the girls with long legs, the blondie with the tattoo on the nape of her neck (not to be confused with the dragon tatoo), the PR chicks shuffling their Parliment lights, mobiles and condiments. Paul at the helm with a big ole’ bottle of peroxide (dare I sense a hair saloon in his future?) standing at the doors like a demi-God. Welcome them; entice him. You have now entered the pearly gates. There goes the neighborhood again again and again.
Yes, the top shelve booze (Patron Silver and bottles of Dom), the Mary Cates, the Mary Cates’ bodyguards, those lines and rows of personal peccadilloes. Lions and tigers and bears…come alive. It’s like a scene from the Wizard of Oz all over again. At the helm of his kingdom come Paul. Praise be Paul.
In a chompy, short piece (yawn the big one), Sevs tells WWD that Kenmare is only the beginning. His plans entail restaurants, nightclubs and (gulp!) hotels. “We have a very exciting space we’re working on right now,” he adds. “Hopefully within a month or two it’s going to be open, and people will forget the Beatrice ever existed. A restaurant was always much more a dream of mine than DJing or nightlife,” he says, pointing out that he tried to merge the two pursuits. “Contrary to popular belief, we did serve food at the Beatrice. Agathe Snow [artist and widow of Dash Snow] was our head chef.” (the full-blown WWD can be read here.)
The Kitty Count: Ugh, already two name drops. The Dash Snow-Show continues. Yes, that Dash Vice RIP party goes on and on and on…infinity times infinity for Dash and how sweet to employ his wife. Ollie of the Purple D (with the dirty D) probably took snaps in the kitchen of the young Snow offspring washing dishes and busing tables. Classy touch. And, New Yorker’s worry about immigration. Shame on you politicians and smoker crackdown badge-wearers. Paul Sevs hires his friends to man the scene. Just send in your smoking police. The Kenmare scene is lighting up cigs. Promise. PROPS: In this economy, props Sevs. Props to infinity.
BUT REALLY: Lest’ you forget it was your fabled Beatrice with your sis rocking those Save the Beatrice tees all over town…tah tah tah tees. And, Paul, now you’re like “forget the Beatrice ever existed.” UM, SERIOUSLY BRU! Hire that PR chick with the tattoo. RE: HOTELS; yikes…not going to even touch on the subject.
Blue Rabbit; use your lucky foot. Work it bunny (not the brown one), work it.
Kitty swear’s everything is a tranquil waterfall in her following pieces: Portrait of a DJ as a Young Man, One Final Sendoff, When the Cool Class Isn’t That Cool Anymore, Smoking in the Boys Room, The New Max’s Kansas City…I Think NOT, Drum Roll, The Hipster of the Decade!, Vice Throws Itself a Lifeline to ‘05, More Vice Parties.) image 2: eaterny image 3: layercake.net