For the second week in a row, I’m confident I’ve made the most of my weekend.
Friday I spent quality time with quality people from Oklahoma. We watched home movies from the ’50s and ’60s before my favorite French-speaking drummer and I headed south for beers and exceptional conversation. We came up with a new dance move, which I’ve decided to call “the canoe.” Ask me sometime to demonstrate.
I stayed up all night and watched the sunrise from my roof. After a night of persistent rain, the morning was clear, chilly and beautiful.
And then, Saturday night. I’m pretty sure that when I look back at my nights in New York, last night will be among the most memorable. It began with an art show, at which I got to see a dear family friend and his brother’s work. I’m not remotely familiar with the art scene, and I was pleasantly surprised at how down to earth the people at the gallery seemed.
Then my friend and I went to the east side for a rooftop party, which featured wine, a projector, soft cheeses and, inexplicably, pie. The hostess showed a Western movie and then something about Playmates. I met some friendly fashion-industry people, but mainly talked to my friend. Nearly a year into our acquaintance, he still says things that throw me. There’s much to be said for people with strong opinions and exacting taste.
The building the party was in (on top of?) is shorter than those that surround it. Nearby stood a beautiful old church, the steeple of which shot far into the air. I felt a little hidden, a little sheltered from any noise or ugliness that might be going on below.
Anywhoodle, after the party we went to this fantastic bar on the lower east side, the name of which escapes me. There I consumed without question the most delicious drinks I’ve ever had. They squeeze the juice fresh for each drink, and oh-sweet-Mary are they good. And expensive. But they were worth it.
And, AND … Scarlett Johansson was there. She was wearing a large hat to obscure her face, which I think is pretty damned silly. In her supposed effort to avoid being recognized, she just drew more attention to herself. She’s just as utterly gorgeous in real life as she is on screen, by the way.
After, ahem, closing down that place, three of us landed at an apartment roughly 8 million times as large as mine. It was beautiful and had the distinct just-shy-of-clean look and feel of a bachelor pad. I was comfortable there, as I generally am in settings of elevated testosterone. What can I say? I don’t like doilies and throw pillows, yo.
Anyway, one of the roommates shuffled into the living room at one point and ate chips with us. To be honest, I can’t begin to remember what we discussed, but I think laughter was involved. He left after a brief visit, and not so long after the sun had risen and the birds had announced their waking, the party wound down.