It's a Saturday night and I ain't got nobody

It's a bit of a late night. It began at J.C.'s 30th birthday party. She held it at S.'s new bar, which is not quite ready for prime time. The interior has yet to be finished, but his drinks are still some of the best I have ever tasted. The construction site look of things has some cachet, however, which makes me think it might be interesting to open a bar called "Work in Progress," with the smell of fresh cut wood and wet paint about it. You'd have to be careful where you put your glass. I left with black paint on my fingertips.

One of G.L.'s friends, a costume designer, wore a dress made of feathers. She had bought it, but she could have made it. She insisted we all could have. "It's not hard to hot glue feathers to tulle," she said. Throughout the night she molted, leaving feathers in her wake. She gave them away as souvenirs. I stuck one behind my right ear and then G. insisted I tuck another behind my left. "Doesn't he look like Puck?" she asked. I was worried I'd be mistaken for Mercury. "It's so Dead Poets," her friend said. I told her I'd kill myself later for her. She told me I had to get naked first and stand in front a window.

Three drinks later I left for S.J.'s loft party. He had moved in months ago, but this was the first time he was inviting people over. The space is beautiful. A few weeks ago, B. was talking about the lack of loft parties in Manhattan, due to the few who can now afford them. They've been moved to Williamsburg and the like. S. seems to be one of those fortunate few to be able to revive them on the island.

Just after arriving the music stopped. A fuse had apparently blown. S.J. fiddled with the stereo as his roommate looked on anxiously. "You know, you can play cds through the DVD player," she said. She moved S. away from the stereo. Moments later, 50 Cent started pumping out of the TV. The screen held a static Panasonic test image.

Around two I got up to leave. It was raining; I was hungry. After seeing T.J. to a cab I called G.L. She told me she had just arrived at Hop Kee and to come eat. We had met up the night before for dinner with J.C. and D.I. The birthday girl was nowhere to be seen. "She went home," G. told me. We ate salt and pepper squid and then string beans sauteed with garlic. I ate and dropped grains of rice on my sweater.

When we left, the staff played cards near the kitchen. G. excused herself for a moment and I talked with her friend about umbrellas. G. returned and as we walked out, S. walked in with the remnants of his party. "Stay for a drink?" he offered, motioning with his hand. I told him I was going home, and that I was with the two people who just walked up the stairs. We said goodbye a second time and I climbed the stairs of Hop Kee to emerge for the second night in a row onto the shuttered streets of Chinatown. Posted by eku at March 21, 2004 3:29 AM