http://www.radaronline.com/exclusives/2006/10/mr-whipples-wild-ride.php

PARTY FOUL

Mr. Whipple's Wild Side

WHIP IT GOOD George Whipple

Young writers nostalgic for the days when New York's lit scene was a hotbed of vice are finding an unlikely savior: George Whipple. The bushy-browed NY1 reporter has been hosting regular Friday-night bacchanals in his Theater District penthouse, where regulars can listen to readings in the living room or sample less-licit entertainments in the boudoir and bathroom. The louche atmosphere at these liquor-soaked gatherings, say attendees, is carefully cultivated to encourage all forms of naughtiness.

The invitation to a recent salon was heavy with innuendo and crazy talk: "Craft yourself a pseudonym and a back-story with alternative age, origin, sexuality or non-cyber existence ... Speak in puzzles, harrumphs, and Lolita-like phrases to draw thousands of viewers, because our threshold of belief may no longer fluster over a Welles-style invasion (or likely real one), but our imaginations go wild over the casual encounters of Craigslist."

The Nabokov reference seems more than incidental; Whipple, who is frequently photographed with young lovelies on his arms, is well above the median age of his guests. "I think he gets off on having young people around," says writer and frequent salon-goer Neeraja Viswanathan. While she admits to finding the Lolita theme "a little forced," Viswanathan notes that Whipple is "a very good host"—not least for his willingness to share the contents of his medicine cabinet as well as his bar.

Whipple, who is also a managing director at Credit Suisse First Boston and a columnist for Gotham, claims that any debauchery that takes place in his apartment goes on without his knowledge. "There are a lot of really talented young people in New York, and this is an opportunity for them to read and get feedback on their work," he insists. "It's based on the 1950's beat poetry readings that used to happen around the city." Some may use the get-togethers as an occasion to explore their wild sides, he says, but "not me. I'm in bed after hours."

Not always, though. Back in February, Whipple and several female members of his entourage followed up one salon with a trip to Le Trapeze, a sex club in the Curry Hill area of lower Midtown. Alas, Whipple and his companions (one of whom blogged about the experience) didn't have enough currency on them to gain admission. Something tells us Humbert Humbert would have stopped at an ATM.

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