Full disclosure: I almost called this installment "Bar Mitzvah Disco." For some reason this collection of quietly-clad socialites and their dapper octogenarian escorts, who assembled last night mid-heatwave for the Museum of Modern Art's 40th Party in the Garden, took me right back to 1994, the year I threw on an enormous Laura Ashley sack every Saturday, was driven to some temple in the tri-state and won the limbo by default because I was so much shorter than everyone else. In the end, the connection seemed too tenuous. But tell me if, after the jump, you don't hear faint strains of "Hot, Hot, Hot"...

The Good: