Next week I am going to grab dinner with LANALOGGER Justin Wroe and some other friends. I asked Justin where he wanted to go and (although he claims he was joking) he exclaimed "The Waverly Inn!" Uggh, I sighed. The dreaded Waverly Inn. "Come on." he said "I'm curious".
Fine. I called to make a reservation. Whoops. Wait. No I didn't. The douchy Waverly Inn does not have a phone number. You have to go down and make reservations in person, three days in advance. Insiders have Graydon Carter's personal number - relax - it's easy to call the main line at Conde Nast and ask for him - 212-286-2860. Nobodies have to go down in person, because Graydon likes to reserve the place so he can star-f&ck celebs any night of the week he wants.
The Waverly Inn represents everything I hate about wannabees in NYC. It goes against every fiber of my being. I lived in that neighborhood for 10 years. I went to the Waverly Inn a bunch of times, when it was a quaint cozy restaurant, that was part of the charm of the West Village. Then Graydon Carter comes in and wrecks the place to allow douche bags like the one above, who wears sequined cocktail dresses to quaint West Village restaurants.
