Hitting up hipsters

The draws at this political fundraiser were a novelist, a cable show comedian and an indie New Jersey band. And -- oh yeah -- the broad-shouldered son of John Kerry.

By Rebecca Traister

Aug. 13, 2004 | New Yorkers throw lots of different kinds of political bashes. There are the businessmen who will pour out of dingy offices in three weeks to greet the onslaught of Republicans with open arms; then there are the galvanized protesters who will gather to shout them down. The wealthy worship at the feet of the Clintons in the sandy enclaves of the East End, while Harlem residents cheer them at the Hue-Man bookstore on Frederick Douglass Boulevard.

On Thursday night, a group of city dwellers still fresh to the thrill of political ardor was testing its wings with its own brand of party. A crowd larded with filmmakers, publicists, comedians, journalists and lots and lots of screenwriters had gathered at Spirit, a nightclub on the far west side of Manhattan, for "The End of an Error," a Kerry benefit organized by a crowd of young political and media machers.

The packed club was full of people far from impoverished but at least a decade away from serious wealth, still hovering between Banana Republic and Marc Jacobs, between Jon Stewart and Charlie Rose. No longer assistants, but not yet executives, they live on the edges and in the outer boroughs of Manhattan, and had all paid somewhere between $35 and $250 to listen to their own local heroes sing and riff and rant to them about ousting George W. Bush.

They were also all freezing their asses off. Spirit, typically cooled to a temperature designed to keep throngs of sweaty dancers from bursting into flame, was proving to be a chilly space for a rally. The crowd was still shifting around, getting drinks, grabbing friends by the arms, sorting out wristbands and trying to talk their way into the VIP balconies as the evening began. Rep. Anthony Weiner was urging them to "reach out to our brothers and sisters who say there's no difference between Kerry and Bush and tell them that that's simply not true." When Weiner concluded his time on stage by saying "Get used to saying it: President John Kerry!" there was applause; the crowd had begun to coalesce.

It focused even further when an unlikely cheerleader, the geeky-hot Jonathan Lethem, leapt onstage. "I am a novelist," he explained by way of introduction. "I'm not a musician, not a poet, not a comedian, not a funny person." Novelists, he said, are known for their "reflectiveness, tolerance for ambivalence ... their tendency to hesitate, reconsider, regret our choices." Noting his breed's "extreme sensitivity to sunlight and absolutism," Lethem claimed that when presented with a petition, his colleagues are generally "more likely to revise it than sign it." But, he said, he and his brethren "are emerging from their holes ... [and] putting Kerry signs in their windows," though he admitted that that may also be about blocking more sunlight.

"Like the Lorax, I am here to speak for the novelists," continued Lethem, building up a head of bespectacled steam. "This time, it's not only the poets who are filled with passionate intensity, not only the rock stars, not only the comedians. This time, even the novelists are filled with passionate intensity. And when you have roused even the novelists to the barricades against you, I am here to suggest that your days are truly numbered."

Despite his claim that he was not a funny person, Lethem's exhortation was actually pretty good -- in a self-referential way tuned perfectly to his audience. It was followed by an inscrutable appearance by "Saturday Night Live" comedian Rachel Dratch, who played a cello and howled out one verse of what we're pretty sure was Led Zeppelin's "Whole Lotta Love," and then skedaddled off stage.

During a set by local Brooklyn band French Kicks, John Kerry's stepson Chris Heinz ambled into the VIP balcony area with some friends. Dressed in a black sweater and jeans, Heinz was tall and broad-shouldered. The son of Teresa Heinz Kerry and her late husband, Republican Sen. John Heinz, the 31-year-old Yale grad is an heir to the Heinz condiment fortune; he worked in New York finance -- doing time in the city's restaurants and clubs, as well as on Page Six and People's list of the 50 hottest bachelors -- before taking to the road with the Kerry campaign full time.

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