Uncharacteristically Social Sunday
With Halmonie babysitting, this afternoon hearkened back to our days as childless social butterflies. Did we actually have such days? I guess we must have, what with all the hearkening.
We didn’t really intend to do so many things today…we just somehow overbooked. First we went to San Francisco, to the sort of place we never go to anymore (and never really went to in the days to which we hearkened), a hip and happening SOMA club. As befitting our status as calcified old social stalagmites, what brought us to SOMA was not some hot new band you’ve never heard of but a baby shower. One of Mama Dog’s orkers is “expecting,” is “in the family way,” is “in trouble,” as they used to say, and the boyfriend of the friend organising the shower happens to be part-owner of this club. Very strange venue for a baby shower; full bar lined with baby food jars for a taste test contest, balloons and streamers hanging from the exposed ductwork. It was raining pretty heavily and the day was CFC*. With the front doors open, the cavernous concrete-floored space felt like a draughty old castle. We were glad we hadn’t brought Baby Dog along. Mama Dog would have kept her bundled up the whole time.
There was a fine spread of food and I gamely hobnobbed to the best of my abilities, but it wasn’t until I looked in the back room and found a pool table that I was truly happy I’d come along. I haven’t shot pool in ages, and I’ve been hankering too ever since Charles’ last visit, when I was twice thwarted in attempts to get in a game. I shot a game of eight ball against myself. The felt was a bit nappy and the cue was a bit wobbly and my game was as rusty as you’d expect, but I did clear the table quickly, if largely by accident. Unfortunately, it was a dollar a game and I only had so many quarters. Plus there were two little girls waiting to play, so I gave the table up to them and went back to the party. Still, it was a nice little taste of applied physics, and it made me want to seek out a table near my office to spend the occasional lunch hour striving to regain my former level of mediocrity.
We headed back across the Bay and Mama Dog dropped me off Cody’s in North Berkeley, then went home to spell Halmonie. An old friend from New Orleans was doing a signing, and the Funkadelics were going to be there too. Baby Funkadelic spent a while sitting on my lap before the reading began. Papa Funkadelic expressed surprise; “Look how good he’s being! He never sits still like this for other people.” I flatter myself that I exude dadhood.
After the reading there was a Q&A period, then we all trooped off dutifully to get our copies of the book and have them signed. He also had one-sheet poster of the cover image, done up by some friends in LA and used in a postering campaign while he was doing readings down thataway. I got a copy of that, which is a nice memento though of course we don’t have anyplace to put it in our tiny little house.
Mama Dog showed up as things were winding down, and we went off to meet the Pirates at Picante. I had hoped we might do a repeat of a reading in Palo Alto seven years ago, when the whole crowd of us repaired for a meal afterwards (and where Mama and Papa Funkadelic first spoke to one another), but the Funkadelics had to get Baby Funkadelic home and the author was meeting his cousin for dinner, so it was just us and the Pirates. We didn’t even have Baby Dog with us, which was very strange. Usually we have the two girls in high chairs side by side. Having no child of our own with us at Picante left me feeling like I do when I go out without my case…like I’ve left something behind somewhere. We were very happy to get home and see our little girl again.
So, three seamlessly attended social occasions in one day. Not bad for tired old parents who think they never get out of the house.
___________________
*Cold…for California.
We didn’t really intend to do so many things today…we just somehow overbooked. First we went to San Francisco, to the sort of place we never go to anymore (and never really went to in the days to which we hearkened), a hip and happening SOMA club. As befitting our status as calcified old social stalagmites, what brought us to SOMA was not some hot new band you’ve never heard of but a baby shower. One of Mama Dog’s orkers is “expecting,” is “in the family way,” is “in trouble,” as they used to say, and the boyfriend of the friend organising the shower happens to be part-owner of this club. Very strange venue for a baby shower; full bar lined with baby food jars for a taste test contest, balloons and streamers hanging from the exposed ductwork. It was raining pretty heavily and the day was CFC*. With the front doors open, the cavernous concrete-floored space felt like a draughty old castle. We were glad we hadn’t brought Baby Dog along. Mama Dog would have kept her bundled up the whole time.
There was a fine spread of food and I gamely hobnobbed to the best of my abilities, but it wasn’t until I looked in the back room and found a pool table that I was truly happy I’d come along. I haven’t shot pool in ages, and I’ve been hankering too ever since Charles’ last visit, when I was twice thwarted in attempts to get in a game. I shot a game of eight ball against myself. The felt was a bit nappy and the cue was a bit wobbly and my game was as rusty as you’d expect, but I did clear the table quickly, if largely by accident. Unfortunately, it was a dollar a game and I only had so many quarters. Plus there were two little girls waiting to play, so I gave the table up to them and went back to the party. Still, it was a nice little taste of applied physics, and it made me want to seek out a table near my office to spend the occasional lunch hour striving to regain my former level of mediocrity.
We headed back across the Bay and Mama Dog dropped me off Cody’s in North Berkeley, then went home to spell Halmonie. An old friend from New Orleans was doing a signing, and the Funkadelics were going to be there too. Baby Funkadelic spent a while sitting on my lap before the reading began. Papa Funkadelic expressed surprise; “Look how good he’s being! He never sits still like this for other people.” I flatter myself that I exude dadhood.
After the reading there was a Q&A period, then we all trooped off dutifully to get our copies of the book and have them signed. He also had one-sheet poster of the cover image, done up by some friends in LA and used in a postering campaign while he was doing readings down thataway. I got a copy of that, which is a nice memento though of course we don’t have anyplace to put it in our tiny little house.
Mama Dog showed up as things were winding down, and we went off to meet the Pirates at Picante. I had hoped we might do a repeat of a reading in Palo Alto seven years ago, when the whole crowd of us repaired for a meal afterwards (and where Mama and Papa Funkadelic first spoke to one another), but the Funkadelics had to get Baby Funkadelic home and the author was meeting his cousin for dinner, so it was just us and the Pirates. We didn’t even have Baby Dog with us, which was very strange. Usually we have the two girls in high chairs side by side. Having no child of our own with us at Picante left me feeling like I do when I go out without my case…like I’ve left something behind somewhere. We were very happy to get home and see our little girl again.
So, three seamlessly attended social occasions in one day. Not bad for tired old parents who think they never get out of the house.
___________________
*Cold…for California.
posted by PapaDogDuvalier | 8:27 PM
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