Monday, December 12, 2005

Jersey / Brooklyn / Bushwick

What a weekend. I am very, very lucky to have gotten any sleep last night. as if I'd had just one more sleepless (or borderline sleepless) night in a row... I'd have had to take today off.


Friday evening, for example, the night before I headed up to see Jill on Saturday morning... I got zero sleep. Not a wink. Don't know why. To cope, I ended up watching The Treasure of the Sierra Madre (thank you, Netflix) at 3am.

Which felt awful... nights like that are the worst.


So... when I "woke up," I got ready and hit the road at 7:30 or so (earlier than I'd planned to). I got in to Jill's parents' house in North Jersey at about noon, as I made a stop or two more than usual to ensure that I didn't doze off or anything.

It was great to see them again, though unfortunately Jill's mom had prepped some food for me/us, and (more unfortunately) I hadn't called from the road to tell her I'd already eaten. Oh, well. I am many things, but a good houseguest... I never claimed to be THAT.

I'm sure I inadvertently stained some of their furniture, too.

Anyway, that was great, and of course, seeing Jill is always a blast. So much so that it almost (almost) goes without saying.


After Jill was finished getting ready, the two of us drove into the city to see her sister Holly's co-op. It's just a ridiculous place, and she and her vicious cats don't deserve it at all.

Kidding. But the place is tremendous, and very reflective of the unique flower that Holly happens to be.

The fact that she refused to come out with us, though... who does she think she is, making excuses like that? Me?


From there, we had a 45-minute-or-so drive, passing Jill's apartment-to-be on out way to the party. We got there at 6pm or thereabouts... so pacing ourselves was a definite factor.

This party was held at the Bushwick loft of four women (all of whom Jill knows and loves) and one horrible guy who they all hate, but who pays the rent. He was nowhere to be found, thankfully.

Once Jill and I got there... Jesus. I'm sure that, to Jill and to the five (four) of them, Brooklyn lofts are nothing new. But to me... it felt really, really cool. They'd done the place up incredibly well (I wonder if anyone took pictures?), just an incredibly funky/trashy place, in the best possible way.

The party itself? It was great. But describing why parties were/are great... it never really works, does it? Suffice it to say that this was one of the better ones I'd been to in some time. It had much food, drink and music; many beautiful women; a guy in a kilt; tons of Christmas lights (and a neon Guadalupe/Virgin Mary/whathaveyou-- we're talking John Waters-level tacky, here); a great rooftop view of NYC which would have been better had the roof not nearly killed us (ice); some Croatians; some slightly burnt but still tasty prosciutto rolls; the requisite unbelievably striking Asian engineer(s); French 75s (a gasoline/fruity mixed drink made with about five ingredients/alcohols, allegedly following Tallulah Bankhead's own recipe... er... yeah); Christmas trees hanging from the ceiling; Madonna duelling with Gogol Bordello on a pretty great mix; some guy who works at an art gallery specializing in photorealists; random, moderately-well-behaved cats; stenciled walls where the walls weren't already covered by romance novel covers; suspicious-smelling smoke; lasagne made by an honest-to-God Bolognese model (to hear her roommates tell it); dancing, but not too much; air mattresses; drunk Jilly (please never eat a chicken wing in front of me again, k, thx); and a guy who finished the night passed out on a stained couch wearing a bucket on his head, for a very unfortunate reason, indeed.

There was much, much more than this, but these are the things that I remember at this moment.

About 50-75 people showed up over the course of the night, and Jill was fucking great about introducing me to everyone, as for the most part-- she was the only one I knew going in. That all changed, as over the night, random people were coming up to me... which is always nice. Speaking of.

The night went so well that I have three new children... and a fourth on the way in... what's nine months from this weekend?

That was my Saturday night into Sunday morning. I think I crashed at about 1am, 3:30am, and 5:30am, eventually leaving soon thereafter (lack of sleep, cold apartment, Jill's snoring). More on yesterday's travels in a little while.

But thanks, Jill. I really did have a great time.

But you should get yourself checked for sleep apnea. ;)


Rebecca the Hostess said...

Actually, the French 75's were made using the Tallulah Bankhead recipe. And Matthew, the maker and the kilted, should know- since he wrote and starred in the one-man-one-woman show. Thanks for coming, and I'm glad you came and had such a good time. I did, too!

David said...

Thanks for chiming in... but I don't think I made my arched eyebrows clear. I wasn't doubting that the French 75s were made with Ms. Bankhead's recipe at all... just that it was an incredibly random footnote.

You see, in my boring-ass world, Tallulah Bankhead's name just doesn't come up all that often. Let alone her drink recipes.

More importantly... did I get a chance to tell you (a) what a great host you were, and (b) how badly I want to live in your loft?

Just awesome. Thanks for letting me come by!!