Another party turned out to be barely worth the RT subway fare. Promise me a cranberry bog in midtown and I want surreal, goddamn it. The pearly-whites CEO who seemed to have been swiped from “Dancing With the Stars” nearly qualified, as did the puffy celeb “chef” (I don’t think I’d like to meet his tailor). But the “bog” looked exactly like what it was, fresh berries wasted on a one-layer-deep stunt, and the fake harvesters looked even more so. I left before they got through all the “prizewinning” dishes; pork and more pork with endless guancialeboning just doesn’t do it for me anymore. Fire-roasted or not. Jeebus, does everyone learn menu-writing at Applebee’s these days?