Good (Great?) (Mediocore?) Magazine

So me and a friend (to preserve her anonymity, I will simply call her RPP) went to this party last week for Good Magazine. Good Magazine is a new, twenty-something-ish-type magazine which, miracle of miracles - unlike every other lame hip trendy twenty-something magazine, web-zine, tv show, rant, and blog - does not try to be ironic. God, we are so sick of irony. I am sick of you Heeb Magazine. I am sick of you, McSweeneys. I am so so so so sick of you, Dave Eggers. Go off into a cave and write another Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius, because everything since then has pretty much been just Staggering.

Good Magazine is not about irony. It is about really interesting and informative, and, most importantly, non-ironic, issues. It is about being good (tm) (patent pending). It is, in a word, awesome. At least the first issue is. Really. I don't know why I am plugging them so much. They should pay me. But they don't. I'll move on.

Anywho, subscribers (as I and my loyal friend RPP are) were invited to a kick-off party in Chelsea at some super hip, trendy, and (unfortunately) incredibly ironic gallery. I thought it would be sort of casual, twenty-somethingy, so I wore jeans (gap $50) and a button down shirt (gap $50). Everything I own comes from gap and costs $50. I am non-ironic.

RPP was looking hot. But then again, RPP always looks hot.

Anyway, everyone was super over-dressed, and I felt like such an idiot, but then I didn't feel like an idiot, I felt like a guy who was waiting in line for 40 minutes to get into a party. When we finally got in, we got to see some neat weird, incredibly ironic art on the first floor of this coolish loft art gallery space. Most of the art, sucked. To be honest. There was one piece on the third floor that was really cool, though. But I'm not at the 3rd floor yet. We'll get there, in a paragraph or two.

There were a bunch of little galleries on the second floor. In one, which was really weird - one art piece was an open book - I accidentally ran into the artist, a very small probably forty-something Asian woman. After apologizing (she was only slightly bruised) we had an awkward conversation that went something like this:

Me: So, you made this stuff?
Artist: Yes.
Me: Which one's your favorite?
Artist (clearly taken aback): Um, I like that one (pointing to the far side of the room)
Me: How come?
Artist: Because it has a double meaning.
Me: You rock.

Ahh, it has a double meaning. Now I understand. I am one with the world.

Anyway, after waiting on line for about another thirty minutes to go up to the third (read: cool) floor, we finally didn't make it upstairs, because it was at capacity. Instead we found a bar downstairs and drank our sorrows away (non-alcoholically, of course).

Then, when we went back to get up to the third floor, we found it was magically free of people waiting to get up to it. We went up and had great adventures.

What were they, you ask? Well, I will tell you. But not today. At least not now. Our adventures will continue, in Episode 2, which I have cleverly titled (in advance): "Good Magazine: Part 2"