What I learned at the Granta x Bomb Magazine release party at the Housing Works bookshop is that geeks are some horny fucks. And, apparently, intellect, real or imagined, is an aphrodisiac. Never have I attended any sort of artsy-ish, hipster-ish, downtown-ish event where individuals so quickly and efficiently paired themselves off into mating couples. Usually, the men stand around and compare their Vans while the women smoke cigarettes and puke out tuna tartar in the bathroom. But, not here. Here, if you were willing to look beyond the ‘booky,’ ‘nebbishy geekdom’ and to the slender physique of the women in attendance, you’d be amazed. And, soon, laid.
The parade of excessively non-utilitarian eyewear on every single guest (I swear, I felt differently abled with my 20/20 vision) were getting all steamed up as couples flirted, pawed, and brain-jizzed all over one another. There were actual conversations taking place. Talking. About things. Which, somehow, ended in many couples leaving, looking proud and suspicious at once. No one minded that at one point the DJ actually went from a Sonic Youth song into Be My Little Baby and then into L’il Kim. No one scoffed at the tragic lighting display that turned the quaint bookstore (‘Housing Works,’) into a Kiss concert. After all, this is a store that has an “Uncorrected Proofs” room. It could have done without the disco ball-esque decorative flourishes.
There was much more to be done then to laugh at the embellishments. There was David Sedaris to love. Or hate. There were other pseudo-celebrity authors to compare, contrast and use as bedroom leverage. There was a story about an author and a girl and an attraction to be considered and, as with the best of plays, acted upon.
