Sampling "La Dolce Musto"

So, where shall I begin? After much fear that I would be stood up (by a 50-year-old gay man, no less), I set off for the Walk the Line premiere at the Beacon Theater, pulling up around 10 minutes early. Just as the cab approached the hooplah, I got a phone call from La Musto himself. I got out in my sexy little cranberry-colored slip number and gold shoes, and decided to give it my all. We went in and were going to sit in the mezzanine, but a PR flack screamed "Michael!" and ushered us to the floor. Musto quoth, "I'm glad you got some VIP treatment; I usually get the bottom of the barrel." Apparently, MM (unsurprisingly) is a crazy neurotic who wants "to be more famous" and admittedly focuses on the negative -- he's a brilliant writer, they basically come that way. So I basically spent the next 45 minutes as La Musto's resident therapist, and unfortunately, I didn't get to see Reese or Joaquin Phoenix, but all the while I did see these celebs (in no particular order): Chloe Sevigny (as usual looking the indie fashion maven in high-waisted pants, a peasant/oxford hybrid top, and a slick ponytail), a luminescent Lauren Graham (she is really beautiful), Luke Wilson (not gonna lie, he's smokin' hot in that everyman way), a bearded Topher Grace (from a distance, or else I would have pounced), Leann Rimes (who is ridiculously skinny), Kris Kristofferson, ET on MTV's Ryan Devlin (very friendly with the ladies, that elfin tease), and (directly in front of me for the movie's entire seeming 6-hour duration). I'm sure there were lots of country stars, too, but I've betrayed Alabama, and I couldn't identify one to save my life. MM had previously mentioned a party at the Maritime, but he had heard it was a crazy-loud-crowded gay night and decided he didn't want to go. We did, however, meet up with Lynn Yaeger, the Voice's fashion guru, and another voice writer named Bob (Robert Christgau?). We wandered around for a while to find a restaurant to have a late-night bite, and we stumbled upon a restaurant owner named Joaquin Martinez. He runs out into the street and says, "Michael Musto! You must come in here!" and, after some convincing and Bush-hateration, Joaquin basically offered the four of us a free meal, which we gladly accepted. Twelve courses of Peruvian tapas and some snarky conversation on topics (including Natalee Holloway, Peter Braunstein, and the shakedown at the Voice) later, everyone was tired and stuff, and I bid my adieus to them, getting back to my 54th St. abode just minutes before turning into a pumpkin. Since Musto seemed concerned about his own career at time of meeting, I don't imagine I'll be getting any sort of job offer from him any time soon, but perhaps I'll get a movie buddy (and a connection to everyone in underground NYC from it). Only time will tell with La Musto...