Every Friday in New York’s Dinner Party newsletter, senior writer Tirhakah Love plans a seating chart for the week’s main characters and asks us all to consider: Where would you sit?
This is probably the palest version of Dinner Party we’ve ever fielded. Now, usually that would lead me to parse through the non-snowflakes of the bunch, of which we have two entries, Week-Old Lettuce and Brittney Cooper, and apologize for the seating chart. But in this case, I’m pretty sure the salad wouldn’t be able to hear my groveling over the sound of London laughing to keep from crying. And when it comes to Professor Cooper, like, listen, I’m not sure she’d be able to hear me with all the grad students (rightfully) critiquing her for her allegiance to the Democratic Party while claiming a radical politic. Them two are not congruent, my good sis.
Outside of those two and maybe the nanny with the piping hot tea on Olivia Wilde and Jason Sudeikis’s disastrous marriage (has anyone laid eyes on her? Is she … ya know?), who, out of everyone here, probably deserves a genuine apology, this week’s DP is giving Saltine sleeve.
In times like this, my eyes wander to which table might I legitimately have some fun at. And … man it’s looking bleak. I will say though that Table 2, with Lana Del Rey and the New York Jets, feels like a trailer park, and I mean that in the most positive light, seriously. Like, there’s something truly based about being joined by Mike Itkis here. Like, this is the table where each entity has shown their entire white ass (for Itkis, quite literally, he dropped a sex tape for his political campaign, which has to do with legalizing sex work) and I feel like each of them would be kinda geeked to talk about it. Except Lana, who’s probably tired of people talking about her cop husband and that time she tried to diss Beyoncé.
I’m not gonna hold anyone else up; this week is awful lol. A quarter of the names listed here are just New York football teams, because it’s probably the first and last time we’ll think of all three of these organizations as qualitatively decent. Would love to be wrong about that, though. The only other possible table for me here is probably Table 1, where I could ignore the shit takes by the girls who deem fast fashion a necessity and catch up with one of our greatest unifers of the Two America’s, Joni Mitchell. But having to scream over “Long Live the Queens” being hurled in the direction of a damn vegetable might make me go mad.
It’s Table 2, y’all, and I’m not happy about it.
