It's amazing how a burlap sack can make an evening -
I totally screwed up a night. On Tuesday, while getting shaky on coffee at a
ridiculous time of night, I was told that the 30's Depression-era themed party
I was hoping to go to was NOT on Friday, but on Thursday - a day I had double-booked
with a picnic with someone much older than me that I'm sort of well, seeing.
Shit. Shit shit shit.
I didn't want to miss the partay, since I told the adorable and cute and wonderful person that I would be there and I can't wait and all that.
I'd also somewhat half-heartily attempted to look for a costume to put together, the main
problem being: what was men's fashion in the 30's. No idea. All I knew is
that plastic was out, since plastic was invented around WWII. So, I just bought some
cruddy clothes that were too big that I guess I'd cut holes in and stitch severely
back together and get a piece of rope for a belt - etc and call it Good.
And until Wednesday, that was the plan.
And then I found a Burlap Sack in my kitchen. It took me forever to figure out where it came from.
It's been laying around for what seems forever. Was it mine? A roommate's? A current roommate?
Would they get mad if I just, you know, stole it? Would I care, or would I laugh at them, show them my
superior strength, intellect and creativity like the little asshole I am sometimes, and call it good?
It just occurred to me that Chicken John, of all people, sent the burlap sack to me, as part payment for some nerd work I did for him. His lady friend works for
a Soviet-themed coffee company in San Francisco. There was coffee involved as well. This all gets strange, as if you look at a picture of Chicken John (straight stolen from his site):
And take a look at some photos of me from this past year:
That shit's uncanny. I digress...
So, I took this burlap sack that was just hanging out near the microwave and went, "I've got scissors!" snip snip snip and all of a sudden, I have a top that ruled and I was looking forward to the party.
I wasn't really looking up to it before, since I screwed up the picnic thing and had to call lady-friend about that and get that straightened out.
Party itself is strange and sorry - I'm going to talk about my life right now: Lady-friend picked me up at 9:00pm and promptly started driving to her house. I asked, why - well, she said we had a picnic!
"At, NINE?!"
"But I thought we planned one?"
"Not really - remember? I told you about the party, I wanted - needed to go and you were more than welcome to come along? And that you were going to call me TODAY to make solid plans, which you didn't?"
And of course, we had differing views of the chain of events, which will never be figured out - just miscommunication.
So, we still had to go to her house because she had candles on. I have no idea why she had candles burning with no one home - but! she did and they had to be blown out.
On the way to the party, she informed me that she does not like parties. At all.
"Then, why did you agree to come?!"
"Because, I like you."
That's sweet and all and after a few drinks, she was OK. The party itself was somewhat magical. The sky threatened to rain on us the entire night and did! with the only cover being a leaky tarp between two small houses. There was a string band that played music for everyone at an agreeable noise level, lots and lots of chatting and costumes and themed liquor.
Gary was also there and he had set up fancy lights and had a beautiful polaroid camera - taking pictures in both color and black and white. I cannot tell you how amazing his photos look. They make me realize that I am never going to be a photographer, myself but it's worth enough to just marvel at Gary's talent.
I found the lady-friend and told her we're getting our picture taken. Gary told me to go first, then her - and then both of us. Which we did. Mine is at the top, there. We took the other photos and the sky just opened up and everyone scrambled for cover, especially Gary, who had all his photography equipment - film/camera/ligts, etc to get out of the rain.
With all the hustle and bustle, the last two photos taken of that night, of her and of us, were lost and the one of me - above, was the last taken of the night.
I can't put my finger on why I find the polaroid picture so amazing, as most every guest had some sort of camera, able to take an infinite number of pictures for practically nothing, but Gary's polaroid setup, with lights and chemical/paper process was, to me, the cornerstone of the entire party - let alone the birthday girl and the couple celebrating their four-year anniversary. I don't quite want to think too hard about it, but it's nice to think that the magic of the polaroid photos, which can easily be described as, "lush" can mix and mingle with the shitty digital camera and cellphone pictures everyone else was taking.
I was going to write more about drama with lady-friend, but it would be incredibly self-serving, so I won't. People are just strange, I guess and find comfort in pathetic things. Myself, included.
