Do You Validate, Mr. Capponi?
By Kris Conesa

Scenes from a Venetian Masquerade Ball. Photos by Mary Jo Almeida-Shore
I might as well face it; I don’t need much of an excuse to party. Hell, give me a couple of rolls and an iPod and I can make sunshine out of rain clouds. Still, that’s not to say that a good excuse doesn’t come in handy sometimes. I mean, if it wasn’t for Saturday’s Venetian Masquerade Ball in honor of Michael Capponi’s 35th birthday, I would have looked pretty silly strutting around Sunset Island in tights and a mask. Luckily, the newly constructed mansion of plastic surgeon Dr. Lenny Hochstein, where the posh anachronistic affair took place, was littered with costumed members of the social elite dressed just as ridiculously as I was. I did sport two masks, one for me and one for the inevitable asshole at the door who showed up screaming my name and, of course, sans façade.

Those huddled masses, however, who braved the rain and made their way to the opulent B-day bash might recall the doctor’s yellow speedboat from the ill-fated (but totally South Beach) TV reality show, Miami Slice. Hochstein, a friend of Capponi, was one of the show’s cast members and was often filmed on his boat surrounded by perfectly sculpted beauties. Regrettably, doctor/patient confidentiality prevented him from telling the 411 if Capponi had any work done now that he’s five years from 40.
The speedboat might be the only thing anyone recognized, as most partygoers were enjoying the anonymity provided by their disguises. Some of the nightclub impresarios who did peek out from behind their masks included the likes of Shareef Malnik and Tommy and Michelle Pooch. Though no one arrived by sea, a few waterside onlookers did take in the splendor of the festivities from their watercraft. No doubt they were in awe of the grandeur, which included an orchestra and models in true Venetian fare, tossing rose petals from the balcony.

It’s a good thing most of the people in attendance had the luxury of fat wallets, otherwise they would have been none too happy that some enterprising meter maid, no doubt irked at not being invited to the party, had papered every car that refused to valet with a $33 ticket.