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I should not be allowed to go to “premiere parties.” I didn’t know this before Tuesday. Now I know.
Today, if someone were to ask me if I wanted to go to an HBO party for the new season of Entourage at a hip South End bar called 28 Degrees, I would say Thank you very much, but I probably shouldn’t. Because apparently when I go to Entourage premiere parties, I don’t “dress the part,” and I don’t “act like I’ve been there before,” and I don’t “refrain from taking advantage of the open bar,” but I do “get into inflammatory arguments with very large women in zebra-print dresses about the merits of organ donation.”
This is why none of my friends, if they ever became Hollywood stars, would ask me to be in their entourage.
Kurt, my new roommate,* had secured entry into the 28 Degrees Entourage party, and he had invited me along, mostly, I think, because I had been present when he received the invitations. He was excited because he is a huge Entourage fan and because the party would give him the opportunity to wear his new purple shirt with his new blazer and his new distressed jeans.
I like Entourage, but I’ve only seen a handful of the episodes. And I don’t own a purple shirt, a blazer, or distressed jeans. I only have one pair of jeans, and they’re kind of stressed out, but only because they know that I wear them every day and that I’ve had them for six months now, which means that their crotch will rip open either today or tomorrow (this happens like clockwork twice a year. Me and my jeans – we’re on borrowed time).
Inside 28 Degrees, Kurt and I were immediately handed free platinum martinis, which are a combination of Zyr vodka and Zyr vodka. Then we were passed hors d’oeuvres - tuna tartar and avocado on little square crackers. Kurt immediately recognized the look in my eye as the look of the guy who gets to the Christmas party and goes straight for the punch bowl and the mini hot dogs, consuming as much as possible of each to insure that he doesn’t get shortchanged later in the night.
“Hey,” Kurt said. “Let’s act like we’ve been here before.”
“But I haven’t,” I said.
“That’s why we have to act like we have.”
So I played it cool, stopped looking around for celebrities (there weren’t any, not even Ben Affleck, who I’ve seen three times), took a small sip of the platinum martini, and then, as I was trying to eat my hors d’oeuvre, dropped all the avocado and tuna onto the floor.
Later, after they showed us a sneak preview of the new Entourage episode, I got into a frank discussion about organ donation with the aforementioned large woman in a zebra-print dress.
It all started because Kurt was talking to her friend so I felt obligated to engage in friendly wingman banter.
“Did you kill that zebra yourself?” I asked.
“No.”
“Oh. Well, I’m quite the safari hunter. I have a blazer I fashioned out of zebra fur.”
“That’s nice.”
“But when I kill a zebra, I like to use the whole zebra. So I had a barbeque and cooked up some zebra steaks as well.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I even use the organs.”
“For what?”
“Organ donation.”
“Who would want a zebra organ?”
“Someone without a functional organ, like a liver or something, I guess. I’m not a paramedic. Are you an organ donor?”
“No.”
“WHAT?”
“No.”
“Why NOT?”
“I don’t know.”
“It’s the easiest thing in the world to be an organ donor. All you do is go to the RMV, check the box, and then you’re an organ donor. You’re being selfish.”
“Well, sorry.”
“SORRY DOESN’T CUT IT. Okay, what if I shot you right now? You’d be dead. You’re telling me you wouldn’t want your organs to go to cancer patients?”
And this is when she walked away.
Kurt accused me of practicing bad wingman game, but I always thought the purpose of a wingman was to isolate the friend (in this case, Kurt) with his girl of choice (in this case, not the girl who was wearing a gutted zebra), which I accomplished. But either way, if Kurt were to move to Hollywood and bring an entourage, I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t be a part of it.
And I’m fine with that. I’ve been to L.A. and I’ve seen the three-hour traffic jams and I’ve tasted the ever present cloud of smog and I’ve listened to the homeless man tell me that his agent is about to land him a role in Blade 4: The Quadrinity. There aren’t too many things I like about L.A. other than the weather, The Coffee Bean, and the plastic surgery.
But on Entourage, you don’t see traffic jams or homeless people or maybe I just haven’t watched enough of the show. In the episodes I’ve seen, their shared life looks pretty attractive – plenty of money, a big house on the beach, lots of babes, and multiple oversized SUVs.
Most guys I know would love to live the Entourage lifestyle, at least for a little while, but there’s another reason we like the show: We can identify with the characters. It’s been noted before, I think, that Entourage is basically a male version of Sex & The City. The characters are witty and sometimes glamorous, but we can imagine ourselves and our friends in their places.
Ask most women to identify a Carrie, a Charlotte, a Samantha, and a redheaded lawyer (I can’t remember her name) from amongst their friends, and usually they can do it without thinking (because they’ve already thought about it). They will tell you who fills the role of Charlotte (prudish and naïve), the redheaded lawyer (ambitious and annoying), Samantha (slutty and openly slutty), and Carrie (smart and stylish). Surprisingly, nine out of ten girls will finger themselves as Carrie.
Likewise, most groups of four male friends could be associated with a specific Entourage character. There’s Vinny (good-looking but dumb), E (smart but jealous of Vinny’s good looks), Turtle (loyal but ugly), and Drama (a grainy photocopy of Vinny).
So there are two reasons guys like Entourage:
1. The lifestyle.
2. It feels like we could be characters on the show.
But not me. I like the show, but I can’t see myself living that life. I’m not glamorous enough, I look stupid in large sunglasses, and when I kill a zebra, I use the whole damn thing.
This is a footnote:
*Okay, for those of you who miss Dods, and wonder where he went, don’t freak out. He just went to Block Island for the summer to drive customers around in a boat and hunt for stripers. He’ll be back in September. Kurt is a guy I work with at my restaurant. He’s a good dude too.
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adam@theadamwhite.com |
