Gettin' Down in Gramercy

Anyone who has been in earshot of me recently has heard me rant and rave about how I detest the renovated Gramercy Park Hotel. Mom and Dad used to stay there and I adored the faded glamour of the old place. I felt so relaxed around the old half drunk bartenders and nibbling on stale fish crackers.
I had not darkened the door of the new Schnabel/Shrager Katrina inspired deconstructed interior but I heard rotten reviews and the whole velvet rope thing really grossed me out. At a hotel bar? Please.
One relatively famous actor friend of mine who has a very unique look got to the front door and the doorman barked, "How may I help you?" He simply said, "You can open the door!"
What happened to "Welcome to the Gramercy Park!”?

Well Price and her Fantastic (!) fiancé are in town and I invited them to the National Arts Club for dinner.
We got dolled up and headed over. What an amazing night- note to members- Dine at the club on Jewish Holidays. It was empty!
I felt like I owned the place. We cocktailed and dined and later McCraney dropped by for a drink.
While Anna and Price caught up Salman and I took a tour around the park and upon passing the new hotel I decided to approach the door, fists clenched, ready for a fight.
We walk up and before I can start a tirade the handsome doorman smiles and says, 'Welcome gentleman! Come on in."
"Wait? I thought you were going to be mean and ask for a blood test. Why are you being so nice? Where’s the VIP list and door bitch?" I ask

"Anyone is welcome inside before 10pm. After that we start tightening up on who comes in just so that the bar doesn’t get swamped."

Aha! Salman and I promise we will be back before 10.
We round up the girls, have a quick photo shoot in the club and then walk over.
The doorman waves at us and said, "Well you didn't say you were bringing some fine lookin ladieees!"
We enter and I am amazed.
The place OOOOZES cool.
The scent of fresh cut cedar is abundant from the new wooden ceiling and columns. There is a fire crackling and a chill groove floating in the air. The fabrics are so lush, the paintings massive, the chandelier rickety and glittery and the red velvet curtains are embroidered in silver, reminding me of the romanitc/gothic interiors of an old Spanish Castle.

The front bar is tiny, just like the original but there is a door in the corner into the bigger bar. We saunter over and VOILA- Le Door man. But he is very sweet and I drop a name or two (pulling directly out of my ass) and he waves us in. Another amazing space and another crackling fire. We cozy up to the bar and order massive amounts of booze. A glass shatters and we blame it on the ghost of the Gramercy.
Anna jumps into a game of pool while Salman and I get to know each other better and Price takes pictures of everything single object in the room.
Anyone who can tell me who this is in the Warhol portrait will win a drink at the hotel on me. I thought it was Aunt Jemima but Salman thinks its Sylvester. Help!
Unfortunately the uber VIP crowd was pretty boring. Guys named Chip wearing Arnettes on their head and sporting poorly ironed shirts. Some cute girls came in later but nothing to write home about.
At 11pm we had been drinking since 6 and we were off to the Spiegel Tent at the South Street Seaport to hear Justin Bond perform at 12.
Don’t ask me about that because I can't remember much but doesn't Sue look ravishing?!