I believe I was the only person wearing shorts at the birthday party on Saturday. No disrespect, Frances. The beer garden at the Standard gets really crowded, especially on bright, sunny days. It was a bright, sunny day and I wore shorts so sue me.
Delightful to see people like James and Miranda, who I haven’t seen since Pookie T. I copped a feel of Miranda’s belly the current home of a happy lil’ person, who’s lease is up in like 10 days. The firmness of Miranda’s area is quite foreign to me and thumbing through my history of touch, perhaps it most closely resembles the rear cartilage of a wombat.
A peculiar game called I Spy was played and I am not even sure if it qualifies as a game — more like a gam or a ga. How it works is someone thinks of an object and your only hint is its first letter and the fact it is located within the visual vicinity. I was a naturally good player, quite gifted really. Gavin and Jane’s two young daughters, despite their extensive experience playing I Spy did not control the game nearly as much as everyone expected. There were regarded as early favourites but there was some disappointment when they did not live up to their expectations.
Polly and I had Flywheel t-shirts on, although I came wearing mine, it’s yellow; and hers’ she had in her bag, which she put on, a green one, in an attempt to show me up. A vote on what colour t-shirt was better went to me hands-down. I did not feel good about winning the vote so unanimously, but the truth hurts sometimes, just like love does, as the Nazareth song goes.
David and Annabel were dressed as Robert De Niro and JoBeth Williams in the Deer Hunter. Searing stuff.
Later that night, a contingent of painters, writers and rockers led by F to the J to the G came over and offered gardening advice and irreverent humour. Stephen had a premonition he had been in our house before with the guy from the Pansy Division. It left him in the grips of a very interesting séance that was intense viewing for all.
De Campo is effusive in the praise for the burgers I barbequed last night. I think she likes me. They tasted to me like someone else had made them that’s how good they were. I managed to fire the barbeque up, cook and round-up condiments in the time it takes to play Pavement’s Brighten the Corners in its entirety.
There was a quite gust out there so I put on a lightweight jacket; the sun was shining and while the burgers fried I read a story on Diane von Furstenberg, interesting at first and then growing impatient and skipping to read all the dish about her flings of legend. Would you believe Ryan O’ Neal, circa Love Story? Seriously who didn’t he do it too.