A video to accompany those really nice Haze Heineken glasses.
I really like this whole ‘Party Legends’ series between Vice and Project X… and it’s not even because they’re advertising with us.
Nick Swardson tells his party tale.
A 19 year old Demi Moore all up on this little kid at his birthday party in 1982. Whatever combination she’s got going on that night, it’s good stuff.
No word on how to access the private, 350 year old Château Rauzan-Ségla, but they did just have Karl Lagerfeld draw the label of their 2009 vintage.
To celebrate what would have been the 101st birthday of Norman Collins, Sailor Jerry is giving away 101 free tattoos featuring his designs (above) to the public on January 14th in NYC, New Orleans, and Chicago.
NYC folks: it’ll be at at Fineline Tattoo at 21 1st Avenue (12pm – 10pm)
Chicago folks: The Chicago Tattooing Company at 1017 W. Belmont (12pm – 12am)
New Orleans folks: Uptown Tattoos at 575 S. Carrolton Avenue (12:30pm – 12am)
Everything about this collaboration is slick.
A night of drinking 99 Bananas is a great way to appreciate Jeff Koons. It’s pop. Start off easy, mixing it with RC Cola and laughing about the giant puppy he built out of flowers in Rockefeller Center and then, after you’ve moved on to 99 Bananas on the rocks, you can get a little more weird and discuss his life-size porcelain of Michael Jackson and Bubbles. Late night, when it’s 99 Bananas right out of the bottle, take some time alone for close examination of the photo-realistic paintings he made of his Italian porn star ex-wife. Before long you’ll be curled up with an inflatable lobster, snoring away and dreaming 99 Bananas dreams filled with giant reflective hearts.
99 Bananas tastes like melted yellow Popsicles mixed with turpentine. It’ll make you smile.
The Atlantic has excerpted part of an excellent story by Joshuah Bearman about “the only authentic bar and restaurant in Baghdad’s Green Zone.” The accompanying video (after the jump) is great too.
Iraqis have a word, barra, which means “out there,” and for those lucky enough to be inside the Green Zone came to mean the rest of Baghdad, the bedlam beyond the T-walls. As the insurgency reached fever pitch in 2006, Iraqis and Americans alike were terrified that barra would not stay out there but come in here, that the war would breach the perimeter, that the place would collapse and there would be a mad scramble to evacuate, like Saigon in ’75.
The Baghdad Country Club, the only authentic bar and restaurant in Baghdad’s Green Zone, was one place where people could forget about barra for a moment. Anyone — mercenaries and diplomats, contractors and peacekeepers, aid workers and Iraqis — could walk in, get dinner, open a decent bottle of Bordeaux, and light a cigar from the humidor to go with it. Patrons would check their weapons in a safe, like coats in a coatroom, and leave the war behind as they wandered past a sign that read:
BAGHDAD COUNTRY CLUB
NO GUNS, NO AMMUNITION, NO GRENADES, NO FLASH BANGS, NO KNIVES–
‘Spin To See Who Pays’ bottle opener, by HYDE.