A Vin-Tastic Night Out
We went out tonight, a week night. What an unusual state of affairs. Someplace to go and Gran here to baby-sit. Friend Pablo was having a do at his place in the City of San Francisco. The Evite billed the party as “Vin-Tastic”; by that, he meant something about wine tasting but I of course took it to mean he was organising a Vin Diesel film festival, and I was sorely disappointed to not find The Chronicles of Riddick already underway when we arrived. In fact, the movie referenced most frequently in the course of the evening was Sideways. The wine even started off with some very good bottles of pinot noir and a bunch of cunningly arranged plates of hors d’oeuvre. Pablo didn’t do the doovers. He’s a tad metrosexual, but not quite that metrosexual.
It was a small and pleasant crowd, none of whom we knew other than Pablo. There were two single men, two single women, and three couples, of which we were the most elderly. At one point in the conversation, several of the women talked about either dreading the imminent arrival of or regretting the recent arrival of their 30s, a time we now distantly recall as the golden years. I’d say the days of wine and roses, but the night was vin-tastic, and I don’t want to confuse matters. Curiously, all three of the couples featured really white guys married or engaged to Asian or Eurasian women. Does that mean anything? Just that we live in the Bay Area, I guess. We drank wine and ate cheese and talked party talk.
Pablo likes him some memorabilia from a time before any of us could memorabile. He had an 1891 Harper's. The Classics Illustrated of The Red Badge of Courage. He fired up 78s on a hand-cranked Victrola; Bob Wills and his Texas Playboys. He showed off his mantelpiece full of antique commercial packaging. A Lucky Strikes pack from the 50s. A tin of Chesterfields. A Log Cabin syrup tin shaped like a log cabin. A pack of Camel brand tire patches – same Camel as the cigarettes, different product entirely. Mama Dog enthusiastically picked up a tin of some ancestor of cellophane tape. Pablo chided her for messing with his display, put it back…and dropped it on the floor, denting it. Oh no! But isn’t looking thrashed part of the charm? Maybe not.
We left early because we’re old and we have a nine-and-a-half-month-old at home. All the young folk oohed when they heard that. Pictures were requested. Pablo had a copy of the birth announcement on a shelf in his room, so we got that out and showed it around; Baby Dog, five days old, photoshopped onto an oyster, the tiny little Birth of Venus. All the young folk aahed. With that we took our leave, then got lost trying to leave the neighbourhood. We somehow found our way back to Mission Street, and cruised through a neighbourhood familiar to me from weekends with Avenuu many moons ago. It was later than I’d meant to stay out, and it was taking longer to get home than we’d planned, but there’s nothing more pleasant than having Mama Dog to myself for a bit of quiet conversation. Home again home again, jiggedy jig. Gran was waiting up on the couch, having put Baby Dog to bed hours before, singing her to sleep with Schubert lullabies. I had thought ahead and put the garbage out before we left, so al that remained was to crank out a quick and meaningless faversham post before bed. And so goodnight to one and all.
P.S.: Friday night I’ll come clean about the April Fool’s Post. So if you haven’t voted yet, the next 24 hours are your last chance.
P.P.S.: Full disclosure - I wrote this post last night after returning from the party. I had it finished at 10:35, went to publish - and Blogger crapped out. Kids, I stayed up to midnight on a school night trying to get this posted, but Blogger never reconnected for me. It still wasn't working when I got up this morning. It's working now, at work - I'm not sure whether the fault was with Blogger or with my computer at home. In one sense I suppose my streak was broken last night, but in another sense I think it wasn't - I had my post done on time but was stymied by bad technology. After some soul-searching I've decided on a compromise, which is that although I'm noting the technical streak-break here for the record, I'm going to set the time posted on this entry for the time I clicked "Publish" last night.
It was a small and pleasant crowd, none of whom we knew other than Pablo. There were two single men, two single women, and three couples, of which we were the most elderly. At one point in the conversation, several of the women talked about either dreading the imminent arrival of or regretting the recent arrival of their 30s, a time we now distantly recall as the golden years. I’d say the days of wine and roses, but the night was vin-tastic, and I don’t want to confuse matters. Curiously, all three of the couples featured really white guys married or engaged to Asian or Eurasian women. Does that mean anything? Just that we live in the Bay Area, I guess. We drank wine and ate cheese and talked party talk.
Pablo likes him some memorabilia from a time before any of us could memorabile. He had an 1891 Harper's. The Classics Illustrated of The Red Badge of Courage. He fired up 78s on a hand-cranked Victrola; Bob Wills and his Texas Playboys. He showed off his mantelpiece full of antique commercial packaging. A Lucky Strikes pack from the 50s. A tin of Chesterfields. A Log Cabin syrup tin shaped like a log cabin. A pack of Camel brand tire patches – same Camel as the cigarettes, different product entirely. Mama Dog enthusiastically picked up a tin of some ancestor of cellophane tape. Pablo chided her for messing with his display, put it back…and dropped it on the floor, denting it. Oh no! But isn’t looking thrashed part of the charm? Maybe not.
We left early because we’re old and we have a nine-and-a-half-month-old at home. All the young folk oohed when they heard that. Pictures were requested. Pablo had a copy of the birth announcement on a shelf in his room, so we got that out and showed it around; Baby Dog, five days old, photoshopped onto an oyster, the tiny little Birth of Venus. All the young folk aahed. With that we took our leave, then got lost trying to leave the neighbourhood. We somehow found our way back to Mission Street, and cruised through a neighbourhood familiar to me from weekends with Avenuu many moons ago. It was later than I’d meant to stay out, and it was taking longer to get home than we’d planned, but there’s nothing more pleasant than having Mama Dog to myself for a bit of quiet conversation. Home again home again, jiggedy jig. Gran was waiting up on the couch, having put Baby Dog to bed hours before, singing her to sleep with Schubert lullabies. I had thought ahead and put the garbage out before we left, so al that remained was to crank out a quick and meaningless faversham post before bed. And so goodnight to one and all.
P.S.: Friday night I’ll come clean about the April Fool’s Post. So if you haven’t voted yet, the next 24 hours are your last chance.
P.P.S.: Full disclosure - I wrote this post last night after returning from the party. I had it finished at 10:35, went to publish - and Blogger crapped out. Kids, I stayed up to midnight on a school night trying to get this posted, but Blogger never reconnected for me. It still wasn't working when I got up this morning. It's working now, at work - I'm not sure whether the fault was with Blogger or with my computer at home. In one sense I suppose my streak was broken last night, but in another sense I think it wasn't - I had my post done on time but was stymied by bad technology. After some soul-searching I've decided on a compromise, which is that although I'm noting the technical streak-break here for the record, I'm going to set the time posted on this entry for the time I clicked "Publish" last night.
posted by PapaDogDuvalier | 10:35 PM
2 Comments:
I had a horrific time with Blogger last night, too, and on their help site, it says if you had problems last night you will need to delete your cookies to get it running again.
All I can figure is that blogger hiccupped into all our files last night and blew a fuse. Time to reload!
ERRATA
- It is not a Victrola, it is a Columbia Grafanola.
- The tin was not thrashed by it being dropped, it was dropped by me being trashed. 14% alcohol: who knew???
- All the young folks were so very impressed with how sprightly you both were. For your age.
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