...by getting wasted at Marquee, groping young Texans, and getting slapped. You know, the usual.

The Observer went to the anniversary party for the Chelsea club that simply won't die, Marquee — but the who's-who hilarity of typical Transom items gives way to nightlife philosophy in the bathroom. Of course, only an Observer reporter would go to a big night at Marquee and then spend most of his time hiding in the men's room, getting quotes from the attendant:

The inferno of Chelsea's glittery nightlife hell, Marquee, is approaching its second anniversary. To examine why the venue thrives while others disappear every other day, the Times sent poor Lola Ogunnaike to experience the magic. To best understand Marquee, we turn to the words of its people: