Cindy Adams, who publishes her column by stringing together press releases and the parts of the day when she's conscious, brings us news of Tuesday night's party opening the Tribeca Film Festival, thrown by Vanity Fair, which has had blue balls ever since Graydon Carter canceled the Oscar party. No-need-for-first-names Seinfeld, Gandolfini, von Furstenberg were there, as were L. David, A. Huffington, H. Weinstein, and R. De Niro. So what, besides the guest list, did the uninvited miss?

Basically, the glut of celebrity New Yorkers did what they do best. Bitched. Like, "Tonight's menu isn't New York City, it's Cholesterol City. Pot pie with cream sauce and crust, chocolate cake with ice cream. Eight million calories. We'll die on the way to the hospital." . . . "Anybody notice Caroline Kennedy's husband Ed Schlossberg's hair went so gray it's near snow-white?" . . . "I love Keith Olbermann. I just want to know who his colorist is." . . . "Can you believe Charlie Rose invited Hillary on his show and she refused until after Pennsylvania?" . . . "Robert F. Kennedy is on next month's VF cover with a story of those fearing he'd be shot and worrying he also sensed it." . . . "Why's David Bowie always look so perfect? He must have a hairdresser in his pocket." And: "Steve Schwarzman gave $100 million, so his name's now going on our Fifth Avenue library? Next up Miss Liberty will be christened 'The newest Mrs. Ronald Perelman!' " [Cindy]