Down and Out at Michael Jordan's

IS EVERYONE TIRED of politics yet? I'm tired of politics. That's why I'm almost a half-hour late to Michael Jordan's The Steakhouse for a political panel sponsored by The Week. I had to go see Resident Evil: Apocalypse first, and then rip off the Times Square Virgin Megastore for about $60. I actually consider ripping off Virgin to be a political act, but it's not likely I'll ever have to explain that to the store's security.

Anyway, this leaves me scoring nothing more than a free dessert at the bizarrely named steakhouse. Pardon me for noting that there's no red meat in the following political discussion. The Week's gathering is really more like dinner theater than think-tank. Or maybe it's more like an Algonquin Table shrunk down to an old episode of Politically Incorrect.

Actually, I don't think F. Murray Abraham or Holly Hunter made it to the event. A torrential rain has resulted in several cancellations from planned attendees. Dick Morris has made it, of course. A biohazard resulting in drooling zombies roaming the city couldn't keep that guy from a microphone. We'll all end up grateful for that, too.

The announced topic is "Who Will Be Our Next President?" Unfortunately, moderator Sir Harold Evans-preening like a Hanna Barbara cartoon-soon makes it clear that we've all been invited to a pity party. The topic is really "Who'll Stop Being So Mean to Our Next President, Which We All Know Must Be Ordained to Be John Kerry?"

Mario Cuomo is onstage, eager to use this opportunity to explain how he lost in '94 due to his refusal to engage in negative campaigning. There's a delusional argument. Cuomo lost in '94 because the only people who could say anything good about him were a national media trying to set him up for the White House. Cuomo seems pretty delusional himself, as he cites his further moral high ground in refusing to call President Bush a liar. Cuomo tells several lies while making that point.

That's not the nadir, though. The self-pity truly starts dripping when we're informed that Michael Dukakis will be pitching in via speakerphone. This gets us started on the notorious Willie Horton ad, although it's tradition to ignore how Al Gore originally invoked the murdering personification of Dukakis' policies. We're also supposed to be outraged over some supposed implication that Dukakis had mental problems. How unfair. Everyone knows it was really Dukakis' wife who was swigging rubbing alcohol a few months after the election.

Dukakis also obliviously announces that "this business about Kerry and the Swift Boat Veterans is a pack of lies." He must've read that in Time and Newsweek. Monica Crowley is one of the celebs in the audience, and she's eventually given a microphone to ask why everyone's pretending that the Democrats haven't been slandering Bush for the past four years.

She's a Fox News reporter. Many people at the tables smile smugly over that one. Cuomo certainly doesn't want to address the topic, so pollster Frank Newport and Democratic consultant Joe Trippi use the question as an opportunity to plug their new books.

Morris is the sole voice of reason-ponder that-which leads to a stellar scene where he tries to explain recent terrorist activity in New York to the state's former governor. Cuomo makes a big production of ridiculing Morris' funny little fantasies. A few days later, Morris will document those supposed fantasies in the New York Post, and we'll once again be actually grateful for Gov. Pataki.

I can't wait that long to goof on the guy, though. A publicist helpfully asks after the event if I want to talk to anybody, and I've certainly got a question for Cuomo. Here's the transcript from tape:

New York Press: Governor, you said of President Bush and Iraq, "I'm not going to call him a liar when he says it's an imminent threat." Now, we know that Bush never said Iraq was an imminent threat-

Cuomo: No, he said it was an "approximate" threat. Make it "approximate."

New York Press: So it's that easy for you to dismiss your own?

[Sound of feet scurrying away]

Is everyone tired of politics yet?

Maybe Stevie Wonder is thinking of Cuomo earlier at NA, as he looks up from his electric piano and announces that, "Being blind has more favors than not." This seems debatable to me. A person over at the bar shouts, "Yeah!" Still, I remain unconvinced. Maybe that's why I'm not really among the inner circle who've gathered at NA for an intimate evening with the pop legend.

I certainly didn't come here expecting to see Stevie Wonder onstage. I was promised some kind of Stevie Wonder event, but that would typically consist of me paying a lot of money for the chance to maybe see the celebrity being ushered into a V.I.P. booth at 2 a.m. Maybe I'd also get to see one of his associates being discreetly slipped a substantial cash payment.

That's not the case here. For one thing, it's an open bar. There's free food, too. It bears a true resemblance to a party. That's not the only first this evening. I've never actually been in this space before. The club was still Nell's when I first came to town, and those glory nights were long over. I mainly thought of Nell's as that club around the corner that was so determined to keep blacks and Hispanics waiting outside.

"It's always been my dream to bring this place back," says Noel Ashman. I would usually dismiss that as a sad thought, but the new owner seems to be genuinely enthused. I'm probably just being kind because Ashman doesn't creep me out. I spend a lot of time trying to avoid people like Ashman. To my surprise, he's kind of a regular guy who wouldn't seem out of place hosting The Man Show.

My only complaint is that the night turns out to be a promotion for a clothing line designed by Wonder's wife Kai Milla. In other words, I've been tricked into attending a Fashion Week event. Still, it's an intimate and chatty evening-as made absurdly clear when Wonder follows up a short speech with a jam-happy and largely impromptu 70-minute set backed by a four-piece band.

This is Manhattan, though, so Wonder still has to admonish the crowd to be quiet. "I'll blindhandle everybody in here," he threatens. Maybe that inner circle consists of people who can't believe they have to endure another of these intimate little concerts. I'm a rube, though. There are lots of rubes tonight. It's nice to be surrounded by a bunch of privileged douchebags who are actually feeling privileged.

I'm hanging out with Doug Dechert, who's promoting nights for NA. He's feeling privileged to be here, too-and not just because he's escorting a socialite who looks like Nicole Kidman's stunt double. He's expecting to get the axe from Ashman, supposedly over some kind of fatwa he's facing from a pissed-off Jay McInerney. "I'll be fired from here in 10 days," Doug assures me. "Maybe seven." That sounds very sad, but what do I care? Sounds like politics. Besides, I know Noel Ashman. o