The Jewish Santa that is, or so say some of the models from Thursday nights' outing.

“Ah yes,” you say. “Leigh must have something slightly more interesting to talk about other than him being sick or trying out a new gadget. Maybe this is one of those entries that someone other than me might be interested in.”

And then you'd quickly ask “Is there any nudity?” To which I'd reply… “no”. Followed by “I wish”.

The reason “I wish” is because tonight saw me as the plus-one of Wendell Teodoro at the Chadwick… thingy. Seriously, I don't know what it was. It was a party of some kind with some element of free booze with lots of beautiful women (and if you were so male inclined, probably beautiful men… who were gay).

Okay… I'm going to try to remember names here… from the left… Emma (on the bottom), Amanda (?!) on the top, then Wendell and then… Pip!

Yes, it was one of those parties I occasionally frequent although to be honest, I have no idea why I go. It's bloody obvious I'm the outsider.

I don't dress brilliantly. I don't smell of some flashy brand of perfume (though I do have them). I can't make sitting on the edge of a tacky leather “couch” look cool. I carry a camera bag. I'm really, really honest. And, oh, I wear a hat. This time a Santa hat. The same sort of my new Christmas-y logo is wearing off there to the right (unless you're reading this and it's not Christmas in which case that comment means completely nothing).

But all of that was irrelevant as tonight was Chadwick's Christmas thingy. Or I suspect it was a Christmas thing. I mean there were red drinks and… tinsel… and drunk people… and short of a revival of those “Bloody Mary” mirror horror stories, that reads as Christmas all over it. Sure, no one else was wearing a Santa hat and I didn't see any reindeer… but what other reason do people host a party in December?

Maybe the tinsel was all in my head.

I can't remember. So many drinks later, I still wasn't drunk… because, well, that's how I am… and Wendell was. I was giving him mints to placate his restless stomach that probably would have relieved itself right there and then on anything.

A very drunk Wendell and a very sexy Karla.

Ah yes, the evening. Of course. I hate getting off-topic and yet I do it so frequently.

So the evening was mainly a party. There were no speeches, no random people telling you to get bent, no bad attitudes… just lots of people having fun while the occasional police brigade walked through checking for minors.

I don't remember the progress of the night per se. What I do remember, however, is the people.

One of the things that I'm finding from being a writer is that I seem to be developing a sharper and keener ability to memorise places, feelings, and events.

The view of Kings Cross from the balcony. I was probably the only one to pay attention to that. I should probably pay more attention to the women next time. Ahhh… the women.

As a result, I can tell you that the floor overlooking what's practically the entrance to The Cross was a maze of hardwood floors and people. Red and yellow paper-styled vase lights echoing from the seventies shone from the ceiling and creating a relaxing dim light that bathed the entire bar. The couches and chairs were trendy, practically shadowing the feeling of the lights while the DJ's area bounced black lights off of disco balls in what seemed a nod to the seventies.

The DJ seemed to be enjoying himself enough to play through the seventies, eighties, and the nineties giving a packed & drunk audience exactly what they needed to propel themselves forward before the alcohol made them lose ground and fall backwards. The DJ didn't seem to mind. For half the night, he was lost in his own little black-light-lit world as the floors remained as barren as the bride of Frankenstein.

Emma and Lucy (with the head-band-y thing). What's so crap about this image is it's the only image I have of Emma & Lucy together. Here's hoping my memory can keep me going for how gorgeous Lucy is cause it's the only shot I have of her from the night, sadly.

I met Emma & Lucy early in the night. They're beautiful (which is a line you're likely to see quite frequently in this blog entry… someone fetch me a thesaurus!!!). Emma has model looks while Lucy is more of a natural the-girl-who's-your-friend beautiful… which is of course excellent and magnificent. As a result, they're both stunning and I don't think I've ever found the Kiwi accent so bloody sexy.

Grrr… "six" and "chip" and stuff. Mrowwwww!!!… and more stuff.

At one point, we had to help Lauren get in as she was having troubles so Wendell and I stood in front of the elevator for no apparent reason. As people passed by and tried to weave their way around us, we waited like two pigeons expecting that the biggest crumb was just going to magically appear before our eyes.

You know… one of these days, these ridiculous metaphors that I come up with are just going to come to life and then we're all doomed. Can you imagine two pigeons waiting for a giant crumb? What if the giant crumb could talk?! Anyway, onto the next picture.

Emma as candlelight bounces off of her face…

Emma again with more candlelight and the soft glow of streetlights behind her as she sipped champagne amidst the warmth of the party…

Now people who know me know that I've done a little bit of digital operation work. What that means is I sat behind a computer on fashion shoots and made sure stuff was in focus, cameras worked, and that images generally looked good while they were being shot. It's a relatively simple job (for me) and I quite enjoyed it.

One of my early jobs had me working as the Operator for a photographer out of New York named Gregory Kramer. The shoot in question was some sort of Sass & Bide shoot… I don't know who they are. Fashion label of sorts. Anyway, there's was a gorgeous model named Karla (maybe it's spelled with a C… probably is… I'll just use the "K" until I can be bothered to dig around Chadwick's site and find out for sure) who was being used. She was amazing and seemed quite perceptive. She was from New Zealand and was learning photography at the time. This would have been about a year to a year-and-a-half ago.

Guess who was there?

KARLA!!! (And a guy who looked like he may have been her boyfriend… a golfer or something…)

In fact, there was an entire entourage of New Zealand people. When you've just been re-introduced to how sexy the Kiwi accent can be, having an entourage of New Zealanders makes things interesting. Luckily for me, the entourage was mostly men so it wasn't that big o
f an issue. But imagine if they were all women… I'd have never been able to escape with my life (oh if only I were that lucky)!

Wendell Teodoro in black & white. I don't think I've ever used my signature moody black & white style for a portrait of Wendell yet, or before this anyway. Well… now I have!

By the way, I feel I have an obligation to comment on the state of a few important issues as a result of this party.

One is the definition of the word "beautiful" which is — for all intents and purposes — primarily useless when practically everyone around you is, in fact, beautiful.

Your vocabulary actually starts to develop penis envy for anyone that can swing a hammer and say something other than that specific word "beautiful". I feel that if I'm going to an event like a model party, I should probably come equipped with a thesaurus because really, "beautiful" just doesn't cut it. I mean look at some of the words thesaurus dot com spits out when I stick that word in:

• alluring
• angelic
• bewitching
• cute
• dazzling
• delicate
• divine
• enticing
• exquisite
• foxy
• gorgeous
• magnificent
• pretty
• pulchritudinous
• radiant
• ravishing
• resplendent
• sightly
• stunning
• sublime
• superb

I think I used "gorgeous", "beautiful", "stunning" and "brilliant" throughout the night. I use "brilliant" a lot actually.

Mind you, any of those could work to describe these beautiful girls! Shit… I used that word again. I really need to start paying attention to my own writings.

Then there's the other issue: height. 

Without playing the pun, height is a big issue especially when you're talking about people who happen to be err… umm… quite tall.

It's not that it makes you feel small. No, it's not that. Doesn't make you feel like any less of a person either. It's just a little… strange… to realise that you're actually in the minority and that you're walking around with really tall people.  People that you look up to… in a manner of speaking.

I happen to like tall girls. Girls taller than me.

You just can't help but feel like an Oompa Loompa at times. An Oompa Loompa without a song. 

Zoe.

Anyway, continuing on from those "important" issues.

At one point throughout the evening (I think it was as Wendell and I were getting some drinks), we saw Zoe Loveland, a girl I've had the pleasure of seeing in a photo shoot before when I was working as an Operator for James Cant.

She didn't seem to notice Wendell or myself. Oh well.

Emily hugs a drunk and now blind Wendell.

Emily did though, and that's much better. Very down to earth girl. Fantastic bubbling personality and sexy as all hell to boot.

Emily is one of those people that you'd probably find it impossible to hate. Or I guess you could, but you probably would have to have your heart ravaged by wild dogs with vicious attitudes and razor sharp teeth. But we're not talking about wild dogs here… we're talking about Emily, a girl I met some what recently when I went out after the Bowie party with Wendell and some of the crew from Cream. 

When the free tab is about to be closed and you might just have to start paying money for drinks, it should be noted that you can never really be too prepared.

All in all it was a fun night. I guess I would have loved to have come away with a kiss or a peck or something. Anything really. But spending time with some of these people and making some new friends (as well as seeing Wendell drunk) definitely made it quite fun.

Need to do it again soon. Real soon.  

More pics below.

Emma bathed in candlelight. Shot by Wendell Teodoro, processed by me.

Emma again shot by Wendell and processed by me.

Some of you may have been curious whose legs were used in that preview post I used recently… well, they're the property of the girl above: Emma.

Much like the first image in this blog, from left to right: Amanda (I think that's her name), Emily, Wendell, Pip, and some random person who just jumped in for no apparent reason… or maybe there was a reason… but I'm pretty sure it wasn't apparent… and it's not becoming apparent to me now or anytime soon. 

Wendell smoking in a high-grain sort of shot. If you squint, he sort of looks like Bob Dylan. Sort of.
Click on the image for a bigger image to look at…

From left to right: Pip, Lauren, and Wendell.

And you will.

Just not right now. I'm at work. Posting this in a spare moment while an image uploads.

But I will be putting something online hopefully later on tonight (if I'm not out and knowing my luck, I won't be).

I even started writing it when I got home last night.

But for the moment, here's a picture that more or less sums up the evening… you know, something to whet your appetites…

Sorry, err… umm… Wendell took that while drunk. Let's try that again. 

Something that more or less shows what last night's Chadwick party was all about.

 
Pip, Lauren and Wendell.

Ahhh… much better. More later.

Rick from CBN Media on the left and John Hepworth — a freelancer tech journalist — on the right.

There were people and drinks and little bits of what I'm sure some people recognise as food and while I'd normally write a big thing on it, I'm probably just going to give you a photographic journey with mostly captions beneath it because I'm really tired and I've been wanting to post these images for a few days now (and I just haven't gotten around to it).

So here it is… my lifeless (semi) blog entry filled with pictures of pretty people with the occasional side order of nifty story!

My brother on the left and Kim on the right.

My brother now works with me and since Howarth deal with us frequently, we both went to the ball. My brother's cool, by the way.
And there's Kim… if you go back about a month through my blog, you'll find Kim. I met her at the Bowie party which later got featured in the Herald when I kissed the lovely Kim on the cheek. 

Kim and Wendell.

Yes, that's Wendell. The Wendell. Fashion photographer and buddy Wendell was there assisting the gorgeous photographer Juliet, who was shooting the event.

That's Juliet. It's an image that doesn't need a caption. Beauty needs not to be defined, it only needs to exist. I don't know who said that. I don't think anyone said that. If it hasn't been said yet, I'll take credit for that and when you're out in public and you need to use it, credit me with either "a great man once said" or "a stupid fucking fool said". Anyway… 

At the party, there was a giant block of ice with the Howarth logo in it. People were running Vodka throughout it and taking shots. Alas, I have no pictures of that.

I do however have pictures of really pretty people.

Would you like to see really pretty people? (Okay, but only because you pretended to not ask silently by not asking at all… geeze, I give in far too easily)

Kim looks gorgeous against the light.

Juliet looks good. Very very very good. She could represent any scene…

It should be noted that Juliet is gorgeous. If you haven't picked up on that yet or need it reinforced in a different way (and honestly, I'm not sure how I'd prove it to you), Juliet is a stunning girl.

Wow. Really wow.

Lots of wow.

It's hard to look bad in Sepia. Juliet does it better. She looks freakin' amazing!

One of the neatest things in The Argyle was actually the toilets. They have got to have some of the most peculiar toilets I've seen. As a guy, you head to the cubicles and you're greeted with a shared sex area for the bathrooms. Not just that, there are around 5 personal cubicles. They look more like elongated oyster shells and you have to walk around them to find an empty one.

For the most part, it feels like you're pissing on modern art which in itself is a strange sensation albeit not an unexpected one, especially with today's art world. 

More images in the "to be continued" bit. 

Here are the rest of the images I promised you…

Juliet, Wendell, Fabrizio and Kim line up to have their picture taken by a completely unprofessional freak like me.

Kim looks into the freaky finger-lights The Argyle uses…

Juliet turns away…

A very harsh fashion-red treatment for Juliet.

Laughing is very healthy. Expert laugher and model photographer Juliet is seen here laughing her ass off.

More of Juliet…

…and yet still more of Juliet.

Tired now. Tired while I was writing this. Heading to bed now. 

Zzzz…

Okay. Only kidding.  

Sort of.

Click on the image to get a slightly bigger version!

It was a fashion show per se as there was a designers wares (clothing) being shown off… but the primary intention was models walking down a runway holding laptops… fanning themselves with laptops… doing stuff with laptops…

Click on the image to get a slightly bigger version!

The highlight came at the end when the models were walking off of the runway with the laptops and planting them on the tables that those of us press people were sitting at. One of the girls came over and planted a Qosmio, the big and powerful one on the table I was seated at. She opened it up and we were greeted with… a blue screen of death. Go Vista, go!

I seem to have connections up the wazoo in the fashion industry and I have no idea why. I have a nice hat; people like my hat. I can teach people photography. I've also always had a thing for Texan girls. We're getting ahead of ourselves or rather, I'm getting ahead of all of you.

I'll just start where it happened.

Bowie was having a one year birthday party at The Strand last night. He wasn't turning one year old as that would have just been stupid; his store was turning one year old. The celebration — which wasn't as populated as I'd originally anticipated — came complete with gift-bags (filled with a scarf, cd singles, and Mentos among other things), happy & tall models, and Tempus Two wine. Sweet wine. The wine really should sell itself as "fizzy lolly water for rich people who don't actually like wine."

Anyway, Wendell was there by the time I'd gotten there. He introduced me to a friend of his named Kim who is a make-up artist. She's a nice girl. 

Wendell and Kim later on that night. You can tell it was me who took the photo because Wendell's flicking me off.

Now, people who know me or read my blog will have figured out that I'm not exactly the best socialite and ordinarily I'll just stand in the corner thinking amongst myself until someone comes over to talk to me.Well, last night Kim and I both stood and chatted from the best corner of The Stand. I'll have to reserve that corner the next time someone has one of these things as it really was a nice corner. Throughout the event, we even had people come up and talk to us. Model friends of Wendell's came up and chatted and Bowie — friend and client of mine — dropped by a few times too. Kim's a good person. That much I can tell from the few hours I spent with her last night. Wendell's friends are nice too.

Mind you, I'm still not used to the height of models. It's a bit jarring knowing that you have to crane your head up to see beauty. 

Anyway, I stayed with Kim and Wendell's friends the entire two hours that the event was on.

People there seem disjointed socially. In a way, it's like a school or uni event all over again with groups arriving and staying in their only little bits. The rich with the rich, the old friends with the old friends. The photographers all weave in and out of the groups for photos like bees bouncing from flower to flower looking for pollen. The models are all as free as the birds that normally hunt the bees, only that the models aren't hunting the photographers and are all about having a good time. It's interesting.

The birthday event at The Strand was set to end at around 8.30. It pretty much died at around 8.30… that really would be the best way of putting it. By then, it was Wendell, Kim, the models, myself and the crew from Cream Magazine drinking wine and chatting it up. It was time to retreat. Drunken retreats and whatnot back down Pitt Street Mall and to the Cream building… or at least the floor with the Cream office in it.

As we walk down Pitt Street, Lauren grabbed my hat and did some posing while Wendell snapped. Photo by Wendell Teodoro.

That's where the party went for a while. Mind you it wasn't late. I kept checking my phone thinking it was because, well, I was a bit tired having come straight from work. In my head, it was later than it actually was. But I stayed on because seriously, how often do I get to go out? And further, how often do I get to go out with people who don't want to throw me out of a window?! You think I'm kidding, but I think you shouldn't.  

It's hard to describe what being at a fashion party is like. The people are beautiful, but where you'd normally expect them to be up themselves they actually don't seem that way at all. Maybe it's a Cream thing. The people there seem like really good people.  Antonino, the editor, is a really nice guy. Very warm and friendly. Michael is cool as is Rachel. Rachel's also hot. Very hot. I could fall in love with those eyes forever. I think I already have, mind you.

Anyway, the party at Cream HQ consisted of a lot of vodka, Red Bull, and anything else that contained a lick of alcohol in it that the party as an entity could pretty much get its hands on. I guess that's an unusual Tuesday, a unique Tuesday, but a gorgeous Tuesday all the same. At one point Wendell went off in one of the clear rooms and was taking pictures of Lauren (a model) and Assia (another model, I think that's how you spell her name) doing… you know… stuff. Not THAT sort of stuff, but stuff in general. It's posing. I don't know what you write it as. I'm barely a journalist as it is and I'm tired as so I'm doing my best here at the moment.

Kim looks hard into the camera so she can take a picture…

…of these two together…

…which looks like this!

Not long after that random shoot was done, we went back to the office and there was more drinking followed by the decision to head to the editor's place for the continued party.

Remember that the group wasn't that big. Really it was maybe 10-15 people, and probably 12. I can't remember entirely and I didn't count so I really am guessing, but it's not a large amount of people. They're good people though.

We piled into a few taxis and made our way to The Cross. I was in the Cream Crew Taxi… that has a nice ring to it so I'm going to use it. I was in the Cream Crew Taxi — the CCT as I'm calling it for this particular moment in time — and headed for The Cross. What can I say about a taxi ride. Nothing. Geeze. Let's move on. 

We got out and Kim, Wendell, Lauren and I waited for the rest of the group. And as we waited, Lauren did spontaneous modeling. It attracts attention, but she seems to know how to get over the random guys driving buy who seriously think they have a chance with her. Seriously, if there are any guys who think this when you drive by in you pumped up piece of shit with your mates looking sick, mate, sick… do yourself a favour and just go home and jack off to the image you got when you drove by her. That's as close as you're going to get.

Nothing to see here. Move along people. Nothing to see here but models posing for no apparent reason in Kings Cross. Move along…

Try telling this guy to move along. He had his camera out and just– oh wait… that's Wendell. Nah, he's fine.

When the rest of them got there, those of who now existed and weren't up in the party clamored into the elevator and made it a sardine can comparatively speaking. We got up to the level and rushed out into the arms of awaiting party friends. Shit seriously, I've got no way of writing about this sort of thing. Really, if I thought
it was hard to describe a fashion party before, you have no idea the hell I'm going through right now in trying to twist and mangle words to make them fit how I need to describe this.

Antonino and Assia in the bathroom. What are they doing? Fucked if I know. Looks ciggy related. Why don't you ask them? Photo by Wendell Teodoro (and very Nan Goldin Wendell… good work).

Let me try it like this: there was dancing, drinking, holding, touching, grabbing, smoking, talking, photographing, laughing and that was only what I saw. At points, the bathroom was locked with a few people in it doing who knows what (well they do, but I'm working with what I got here) and at one point I swear I saw breasts in the kitchen.

"Breasts in the kitchen! Breasts in the kitchen!" the reader of this blog says wildly. "Why the fuck didn't you invite me if there were going to be breasts in the kitchen?!" Well geeze, how was I to know. I didn't even realise there were breasts in the kitchen when there actually were breasts in the kitchen.

Cut me some slack here and meet Rachel. I think I'm spelling it right. I've got no idea so I'm winging it but Rachel isn't a model but she is gorgeous. She's a Dallas girl… which is a brilliant coincidence for where I lived in America. She's a North Dallas girl, but she's not a Plano girl. And she's gorgeous and stunning and she's got a brain which is great too. I quite liked talk to her.

And then there was this guy (he's the non-blurry one):

I never got his name, but I have his mobile number and he has mine because he wanted me to teach him photography. So I showed him some that night with Wendell's camera. He got some basic camera operation, some flash bouncing, and some composition lessons that night. And he used them when Rachel and I were kissing. She's wonderful. Like… fuck, I hadn't kissed anyone in ages. Not by choice, just because people don't generally want to kiss me… and she is a breath of fresh air. Great lips to go with the already stunning eyes. 

Anyway, I've now got a sort-of-crush…!..!…..!– THIS BLOG IS BEING INTERRUPTED BY LEIGH'S SCHIZOPHRENIC EVIL CONSCIENCE — Fuck Leigh, who the fuck are you kidding. "Sort-of-crush"… shit man, don't make me beat you with my schizophrenic evil conscience bat motherfucker, cause I'll do it. And then how the fuck are you going to explain that one, biatch. You walk into a wall, motherfucker? That's what I thought–

*Leigh flicks his schizophrenic evil conscience into the oblivion that is the dark recesses of his untouched soul… or at least to the PM's residence…* 

I didn't think I'd escape a blog without a visit from the evil… whatever it is…

Anyway, yeah. So there was that side of things. I heard there was other stuff going on as well.

There was also a sweet lady by the name of Melissa who is a fashion designer. Nice lady… wanted me to dance… but I don't dance. She persisted and persisted and eventually I had to go because… FUCK! It was late and I have a day job that requires me to do a lot of writing and is in a part of Sydney that requires an early get up time and what not. So I said goodbye to the nice people, the warm Antonino, the gorgeous Rachel, the friendly Michael, and anyone else in the main bit of the room that was there. I didn't say goodbye to Kim or Wendell. They were in one of the other rooms doing something… who knows what (well yes, they know what, duh) and once I'd started to leave, I didn't want to make a big thing out of it because really, it's just me and my hat that's leaving.

I had fun. That's the aftermath. I did enjoy myself. I didn't actually expect any of what happened to happen so it was a nice change from what normally happens on a Tuesday night for me: go home, dinner, surf the web, do whatever it is I do on a Tuesday before I try the mind boggling task of falling asleep.

I would like to do it again. I'd like to meet up with Rachel again if I could. I'd like to meet up with a lot of them. They're nice people.

Maybe we'll do it again soon and this time I won't have the responsibility of work the next day to keep me from getting slightly more tipsy.  

More photos in the "continued reading" bit… 

Wendell gives Emily a nice kiss on the cheek. Photo from Wendell Teodoro's camera, but who took it… no one knows…

Assia and Lauren come out of the bathroom. Photo by Wendell Teodoro.

Assia and Lauren pose on Ikea furniture for Wendell. Photo by Wendell Teodoro.

…and Michael joins in on the action. Lucky bastard… Photo by Wendell Teodoro.

Drink up, Wendell! The night is young! Image by me! Yay!

Assia and Kim makes faces. Yeah. That's hot. I even remember taking this image. There were 3 or 4 or 5 I had to do of em… 

The gorgeous Ms. Rachel live… err… well… in a photo anyway

And now for some more crappy images from my phone camera…

Back at Cream HQ…

Lauren! Wave your hands like you just don't care! Yeah baby, yeah!