The Macy’s Passport event was a huge success thanks to sponsors like American Express, Fiji Water, Hansens Natural Beverages and LA Times Media Group.  Glitterati rocked it out in the Marc Jacobs section with live models, yummy cocktails, and amazing shopping!

and last but not least, our favorite model of the day…

If a 106-year-old Nun is Voting from Rome then so can you!

A true pioneer in Jazz Photograhy, William Claxton, who shot the likes of Charlie Parker, Ray Charles, Dizzy Gillespie, Mel Torme, Duke Ellington, Thelonious Monk and Stan Getz passed away from heart failure this past weekend.  His iconic photographs will never be forgotten.  

Peggy Moffit in Rudi Gernreich, Topless Swimsuit, 1964

Hot Dog Stand, Los Angeles, 3AM, 1961

Claxton is survived by his wife of 49 years, Peggy Moffitt; his son Christopher; sister Colleen Lewis of Eagle Rock; and several nieces and nephews.

http://blog.peta2.com/2008/10/who_is_cutoutdissectioncom.html

Evian has collaborated with Jean Paul Gaultier & Christian Lacroix for limited edition Evian Bottles to whet your palate. Get ‘em while the last!

Jean Paul Gaultier “Prêt-à-Porter” 2009 Limited Edition Bottle

Christian Lacroix “Prêt-à-Porter” 2008 Limited Edition

http://www.shopevian.com/default.aspx

Its nearly 5am, and the population of Tarragano is alight in celebration.

I’m in Reos, Spain (right next to Tarragano), and I’ve been here the past 5 days working. I have a great team, Luke and Afton hailing from London, both doing hair and makeup. They’re also both Aussies, and their dry-but-hilarious wit has more than made up for the extreme tourist hell-hole of our surroundings. Our hotel is a resort, complete with a Six-Flags-class amusement park and a sand beach-pool. The food has been buffet-style, and drunken employees in cartoon character costumes wander the property. The amusement park rocks, the cartoon characters do not.

Our guide on this job is named Pere, and his help has been invaluable. He’s made the whole shoot run smoothly, but tonight he shows us a city we didn’t imagine.

This is how I love to travel - live a city the way the locals do - and somehow we’re in Tarragano during the biggest week of the year. It’s an all-night party celebrating something I don’t even know.  But do the Spaniards really need a reason?

We have our final dinner at the buffet, and I barely stomach my “food”. Our plan is to explore the city, and Pere exceeds our greatest ambitions.

We meet at the taxi stand outside our hotel, and Luke sees some Irish guests and persuades them to share their cab with us.  We all jump aboard and head north, but 15 minutes later we’re dropped at the wrong stop - a horrible club destination that’s apparently the popular site for tourists. Its awful - white dress pants, gelled hair, and the stench of cheap cologne.

Luckily a parking attendant is helpful and gives us a map and directions. 10 minutes of walking brings us to a thumping bassline and the real Tarragano.

It’s great - people everywhere, live music in the intersection, and bars at every turn. When the music ends, the party just moves to the next spot, and the next. We finally end up at a club, but one unlike any I’ve ever seen.

Its a small door leading into the rock face of a hill, underneath a cobblestone street. The town is an old Roman town, complete with an amphitheater, stone wall perimeter, and ruins everywhere, and this club is built in a 2000 year-old multi-room cave-building. Stone and brick arches divide the rooms, and at some points the ceiling is so low you have to duck.  The DJs are spinning a mix of everything great - from 70s funk to modern indie rock, and there’s a large projection screen behind them.  The place is hot, sweaty, and ancient, the sound echoing off the stone walls.  Because it’s so enclosed, all the senses are magnified: the music is much more intense, the club lighting is more severe, and the crowd is compacted.  Bodies everywhere, smiles abound, and a euphoria is shared by all.

After a good sweaty dance, we leave to wander the streets crowded with revelry.  We pass groups sitting in the parks, smoking hash and drinking beer.  It’s 3:30am.

We end up at another live music stage, where a spanish reggae group masterfully performs old hits as well as their own new creations.  They’re so good.  The crowd is jumping in the air, the drinks are spilling, and I notice that on one side of us is a 3 meter thick castle wall, the other side old ruins.  What a cool city this is.

The rest of the trip is fantastic - riding in a search and rescue helicopter, Parisian museums, bike rides in the rain, ridiculous fashion week parties, Patrick Demarclier’s first exhibition in 20 years (hosted by Anna Wintour and French President Sarkozy), and the oldest pub in London (Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese, REBUILT in 1667).

But as crazy as everything else is, Tarragano still gets the gold star.  How could you possibly top a club built in an ancient Roman ruin?

I suppose I’ll have to see on my next trip.

*to see pictures, go to:  http://gallery.me.com/cinephoto#100037