A Housewarming Party on Elm Street
Oct. 2nd, 2006 09:24 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
saavedra77Another aspect of Saturday's--in fact, this weekend's--splendidness derived from attending my friends Pam and Kerri's housewarming party, that evening. Pam's a former coworker with a rock-star swagger and seemingly boundless energy, and she and Kerri form two-thirds of Danielli, a favorite local band. (I knew that Danielli was my kind of band before I ever heard them, when I read that their influences included Neko Case, the Dead Kennedys, and Carson McCullers ...)
Pam and Kerri's house is charming, but with Friday the Thirteenth and Halloween both right around the corner, I suppose that it was inevitable that the party's theme was hell and damnation: They asked that guests wear red. I didn't think that I owned anything that qualified, but then I remembered a certain devillishly sueded maroon dress shirt. Black slacks and pointy black dress shoes were pretty much inevitable, then. And it was a cool night, so I draped myself in my long black coat and set out for the party feeling like ... Spike.
Having my goatee back probably added the whole diabolical-camp effect.
Between bus connections, I had the pleasure of making the acquaintance of a former film major currently working for an affordable housing agency, with whom I whiled away a good forty minutes jawing about movies, music, and not having your dream job. We split up in Ballard (she was off to the Tractor Tavern to see the Clumsy Lovers--confirming for me her good taste), but not before exchanging emails. Finally! Someone I can go see The Science of Sleep with!
I arrived at Pam and Kerri's at around 7:30, finding Pam in the back yard standing over a grill, wearing fuschia Archie McPhee horns. I met some interesting people there, too, including a French woman who needed to tell me ... how much she loved New Jersey. (Later on, I was relieved to meet another Garden State refugee, with whom there was much commiseration.)
Against my better judgment, I kind of got my drink on, after that. I was more than a little tipsy by the time that I decided it was time to tumble back to Market for the ride home. But before I left, Pam bottonholed me to talk about how cool Kent Haruf's prose is. Before I left, I had a novel in my coat pocket and an earful of Pam's advice about how I should write historical novels.
Cool, if somewhat bewildering night ....
Pam and Kerri's house is charming, but with Friday the Thirteenth and Halloween both right around the corner, I suppose that it was inevitable that the party's theme was hell and damnation: They asked that guests wear red. I didn't think that I owned anything that qualified, but then I remembered a certain devillishly sueded maroon dress shirt. Black slacks and pointy black dress shoes were pretty much inevitable, then. And it was a cool night, so I draped myself in my long black coat and set out for the party feeling like ... Spike.
Having my goatee back probably added the whole diabolical-camp effect.
Between bus connections, I had the pleasure of making the acquaintance of a former film major currently working for an affordable housing agency, with whom I whiled away a good forty minutes jawing about movies, music, and not having your dream job. We split up in Ballard (she was off to the Tractor Tavern to see the Clumsy Lovers--confirming for me her good taste), but not before exchanging emails. Finally! Someone I can go see The Science of Sleep with!
I arrived at Pam and Kerri's at around 7:30, finding Pam in the back yard standing over a grill, wearing fuschia Archie McPhee horns. I met some interesting people there, too, including a French woman who needed to tell me ... how much she loved New Jersey. (Later on, I was relieved to meet another Garden State refugee, with whom there was much commiseration.)
Against my better judgment, I kind of got my drink on, after that. I was more than a little tipsy by the time that I decided it was time to tumble back to Market for the ride home. But before I left, Pam bottonholed me to talk about how cool Kent Haruf's prose is. Before I left, I had a novel in my coat pocket and an earful of Pam's advice about how I should write historical novels.
Cool, if somewhat bewildering night ....
