Nocturnalist at the Super Bowl | Pregame With the Stars at a Midtown Soiree

Standing weak-kneed and quavering, sometime after a kiss on the cheek from the model Tyson Beckford and a bear hug from the actor Ice T on Friday night, we searched for what exactly we were feeling. Our mind reeled and the stately marble columns of Cipriani in Midtown seemed poised to spin.

We realized we had rarely experienced it before: The celebrities were being nice.
“This is kind of fun! I never go out,” said the comedian Stephen Colbert, ensconced in the restaurant’s V.I.P. terrace at the Shape and Men’s Fitness magazines’ Super Bowl party. “I kind of like it.”

Mr. Colbert generously posed for smartphone photographs with guests, and revealed the recipe for the ribs he would make for game day (balsamic vinegar, pepper, hoisin sauce and marmalade.)

“I played one day of football in high school,” he said. It ended in collapse â€" and vomit, he added. “I said ‘Coach, thanks for the opportunity, but I’m not sure it’s my game.’ He said ‘I’m not sure it is either.’”

In a corner was the stunning Laura Prepon, who commiserated with Nocturnalist about dating and explained her career evolution from the adorable girl next door on “That ’70s Show,” to her current iteration in “Orange is the New Black,” where she plays a sultry criminal.

“I think you just grow up in life and mature,” she said, “and start playing a manipulative drug-running lesbian and dye your hair black, and it kind of all falls into place.”
The only unpleasantness came from many of the event’s handlers, who alternately herded Nocturnalist and a photographer colleague one direction, only for another person to scold us for being there.

At one point, we were summarily ejected from a V.I.P. room to which we had just been invited. As we were hustled past dish racks down a service exit, we remembered the only other time this happened in over 250 parties â€" when the dancer Benjamin Millepied had us removed from an event for asking after the health of Natalie Portman, then his fiancée, now his wife. Puzzled as ever at the inherent contradiction in being invited to an event to cover it and then being prevented from doing so, we took solace in what happened next.

We saw Mr. Beckford sitting before a table laid with Tabasco sauce bottles and plates of poached lobster. Stunned by the real life presence of a man who had previously only peered out at us from magazines, we asked the only question our fluttering mind could conjure: Is it ever tedious to be so attractive?

“I grew up as an ugly kid. So it’s like the ultimate revenge to all the kids who teased me,” he said. “So, no.”

We barely believed Mr. Beckford was ever anything other than a male Helen of Troy, but sympathized, and told him that we too had been teased. Suddenly, he kissed our cheek in sympathy.

A dozen years of childhood trauma were instantly erased.

Next up was a thunderous performance by a rapping and crooning Mary J. Blige, followed by a long set by John Legend, and then another by Marc Anthony. At least, the program said Mr. Anthony was to perform, though by that point Nocturnalist â€" and even one of the evening’s hosts, Katie Couric â€" were headed out. It past 11 p.m. and the event was nearing five hours long and still kicking. Ms. Couric said she had hit another party that night: Howard Stern’s 60th birthday. “He has really evolved,” she said.

Nocturnalist, less so. As we left, we ran into Ice T, or as we cannot help but think of him, Detective Tutuola on our favorite television show, “Law and Order: S.V.U.” We rushed out with him and his wife, Coco Austin. Overcome, we expressed our ardor.

Ice T seemed moved, enveloping us in a kindly hug. But fan adoration as an interview technique, it seemed, left something to be desired: He would say little of the Super Bowl, or the rash of parties around the city. “It’s something to do,” he said, striding away. “It’s something to do.”