Last night, Jeff, Ryan and I went to Le Poisson Rouge in Greenwich Village where Macaulay Culkin – child-star-turned-heroin-addict-turned-artist – was DJing.
The place was decorated like a birthday party: streamers, balloons, inflatable birthday cakes. The idea was seemingly plucked from the air; Culkin’s (free!) event is monthly and each time it’s themed differently. Last year, he hosted a New Year’s party – in July.
Now, when I say Culkin was DJing, he actually just plugged in his iPod and played tunes stretching from his heyday in the early 90s until the present. He wasn’t standing behind decks on stage as I’d imagined. In fact, he was put in a tiny cordoned-off area at the side of the bar, where he hung out with his sister and brother for most of the night. Whenever I tried to get close for a chat, I was met with the back of one of his bodyguards.
At one point, I nipped past security and chanced it backstage, but annoyingly picked the wrong door and ended up in a kitchen – and was promptly led back onto the dancefloor while I insisted I’d only been looking for a restroom. I have no idea what I’d planned to do if I came face-to-face with him, but I’m sure the beers would have helped me figure that out.
Poor guy must get so many ‘shouldn’t you be Home Alone?’ jokes or questions about his bee allergy. Twenty years of those same jokes, same questions. Can you imagine.
It was disappointing not to chat with him, but this was such a fun night of dancing. The crowd was great, the staff were friendly and the music was perfectly cheesy. (From what I remember.)