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last night we did his 'n his parties: one of his friend's (harlem) and one of my friend's (west village), so it was mostly on the subway. at his friend's, we got there at 5pm. it's a housewarming, but the buzzer evidently isn't working yet, and neither was his cell phone; i was sitting on the stoop feeling grumpy until the roommate came by with beer, and up the stairs (fifth floor) we went. everyone was introduced by titles, so i met the Roommate, the Ex-Roommate, the Friend, and the Nephews. i was introduced as the Friend's Friend's Boyfriend. there was confetti on the floor that the little kids kept on pushing into piles and the Host kept kicking back into studied scatter.
by now it was nighttime, but not nighttime enough to arrive at party number two, so we walked down to the water and discovered a sprawling park/recreational center around 138th street and the hudson river. for the millionth time i thought about getting more space and less rent by moving to harlem. there was a track and soccer field and indoor pool and auditorium—civic guilt feels, i repeat, good.
finally we trucked downtown to christopher street. it turns out that my friend lives upstairs from ty's, a venerable village institution, and the party was on the rooftop. we stood up there in nipple-hardening cold (we left in the afternoon in t-shirts and shorts), made small talk, and shared nut brown ale while developing acute apartment envy at the lofts whose floor-through windows we could look into. my friend worked at yale for a while, and so did another woman that i chatted with, but they both said they worked "in connecticut." every yalie i've ever met does this, so i said so, and she said, "well, it just sounds so pat, you know?" mental note to look up the word "pat" used in this context when i get home.
posted June 09, 2002 in delivery. 20042003