Z. Madison

For when you're relaxing at home or killing company time - Z. Madison's here for you.


Dear Kiefer,

A week ago Friday, a group of misfits were enjoying the first warm Spring Friday afternoon with a well deserved happy hour at Fiddlesticks when we spotted you walking by talking on your cellphone. Because we're a debaucherous lot, it seemed not only natural but fitting that we'd befriend you, or at least gain a celebrity "high five." It was not our intention to become "that group" which, inevitably we did, albeit much later in the evening. Our sending your table a round of shots was in no way meant to piss off your ladyfriend. We would have felt guilt when you retreated to the same spot as the cell phone call to console her, but were too intent in our quest to gain every passing New Yorker's "high five" slap to let the guilt last longer than a fleeting wince.

Out of respect (or embarrassment), we moved this week's installment of High Five Happy Hour uptown to terrorize the residents of Amsterdam and 80th/81st.

The High 5 Crew

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At 11:53 AM, Anonymous Sally-Ann said...

Hey! Please dish details on the issue with Kiefer's g/friend - what exactly happened? Curious minds need further info. Thanks.

At 8:19 PM, Anonymous Linda said...

It sounds like from your post that this whole thing happened over a few hours if I am understanding correctly. Was Kiefer drinking this whole time or not because it has seemed from a distance that he is trying to stop in light of the DUI. Thanks for your post.

At 11:36 AM, Blogger Z. Madison said...

I'm leaning with Linda, although I wasn't stalkerish enough to spy on their table inside the bar to see what and if he was drinking. Then again, maybe it was just frustration with the darker side of being a celebrity (the lack of just being able to go out and kick back with a few friends). Either way, he seemed cool and very down to earth. And hot. :)

At 8:36 PM, Anonymous Marina said...

So what was the g/f's problem with you and your friends?

I totally can't see what she had to be upset about; fans are fans and he always seems to like his.


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