I still think it is one of the best parties imaginable. We see some folks only annually at this party. They and we do not exist for each other outside this Brigadoonular fete.
You cannot be deleted from the invitation list, except by a verified report of your death.
The food is always memorable and the bar is like a $2 hooker...oh, figure it out.
This year, I upset a twelve foot ficus tree by sitting on the edge of its pot. Its shaken leaves provided an attractive garnish to the baked ham on the nearby buffet.
Despite their request that friends stop giving them tree ornaments (their collection is rotated in its yearly presentation), I spied an Orbamament that is new and a festive pig that I do not recall.
Here are C, Rob (who spins at Nowhere every second Sunday of the month), his partner Tim who is an admirable artist and our Joey who, at some point in 2008, transcended definition.
As you'll see in this tiny vid, the energy was high and convivial, but I think there was something different in the air this year. An uneasiness about the future. A sense of apprehension. We are entering a season of adjustment. Financial. Political. Social and philosophical. We are all preparing mentally for some not-yet-defined but major surgery. You could almost smell it just above the pine needles and the warm brownies. I listened as a doctor talked about being laid off from his municipal post. There seemed to be less shimmer in the costuming. Less bravado. Less daring. It's as if we have all taken a punch and are getting our wind back as we struggle to our feet. We are far away from the last round. We'll make it. We will win. We just need to pay attention.
