Chris Rock storms out of billionaire’s holiday party in the middle of his set
Rock rolls out the door
I never saw mommy kissing Santa Claus, but I saw Chris Rock stiff a roomful of VIPs. I was there.
Saturday night. Special invitation issued months ago. The host — Anthony Pratt, executive chairman of Pratt Industries. His full-page NY Times ads run constantly. The family is Triple A in Australia.
Part business/part holiday, Anthony’s Christmas party beat Biden’s piggy bank.
Intertwined Mandarin Oriental hotel ballrooms. Seated dinner, multiple courses with waiters, security, wines and usual types running around. He not only values his customers but some invitees were yearslong employees.
A Keith Urban concert was to follow. Mrs. Urban — also Australian — is Nicole Kidman.
My seatmate? George Hamilton, 85, who looked better than I do.
With the first course — a comedian named Wali Collins who peed on today’s politicians.
Zingers like “Presidents don’t even mean that much” and, talking of “pregnant slaves,” he mentioned Bill Clinton. About his own mixed lineage: “My father’s black. My mother’s left-handed.”
Pratt does nothing halfway. Dinner’s second course brought — surprise! — Chris Rock. No big announcement. Nobody had seen him. Nobody heard he’d be there. He’d been officially hidden.
Casually dressed — but costing more than the sirloin — he said, “Our new push will be outer space. We’ll put all the Mexicans on the rockets.”
Big applause. Big excitement.
A very short set. Barely minutes when he saw something the audience did not. We faced the stage. He faced us. Behind us the back walls and exit doors.
Whatever he saw — or thought he saw — upset him. Like he went momentarily ape and shouted something like he wasn’t supposed to be taped, videoed, reported or whatever else wasn’t supposed to happen.
Didn’t complain. Didn’t explain. Didn’t do one more minute. Barrelling quickly, forcefully, through people to the exit doors, he kept bitching loudly and, without a second’s hesitation, stormed out — never to return.
The stunned audience was redeemed with Keith Urban. He did an hour and a half. Everyone dancing. Audience participation — and all but Rock left happy.
Who knows if Pratt will get his down payment back.
Jam session
Idea. Shove traffic congestion. Check license plates. Ones ending in even numbers can drive into NYC Monday, Wednesday, Friday. The others Tuesday, Thursday, Saturday. Lessens congestion and, like, twice a year changing the clock — that same twice a year the evens trade with the odds.
You’re welcome.
A cannabis company just concocted a new nicotine lollipop. They’re testing it in DC. So now it’s official. Politics sucks.
Not only in New York, kids, not only in New York.