Conversation Swirling Into Cocktail 1

New year’s eve 2001 was approaching and I had spent every night previous with my musician friends. A love filled bunch, but I felt I was wearing out my welcome. I called the head of my art friends to hear what might be going on. Johnny explained a party with Mary the gallery gal and that whole crowd. He insinuated heavy cocaine use a couple of times. That turned me off and said that I told a guitar player I was doing whatever he did. Which was the truth.

On the Eve I couldn’t contact the guitar player, so I called Johnny to see how it was going. I successfully invited myself to the party. I got dressed wearing the new red silk boxers and sexy socks I bought the day previous. I went to his place; one of the gallery guys was there already. We worried about drinks. Knowing the place would be stocked, it is still bad manners to not offer a gift. John was sure there would be too much traffic by the gallery to get the champagne there. We had a little coke. Johnny finished shaving and we were off to the gallery (no alcohol sales on Sun) by taxi.

Up the stairs, past the alarm. I saw the show at the opening but I re-enjoyed the soft light-switch by Oldenburg and the giant felt thing with turmeric powder in a depression in the top. In the back were new Tom Wesselmans in crates with color xeroxes of the work on the outside. There was also a new large one on the wall. Exciting for me, I like this artist. In the fridge were two big champagnes and a respectable red.

Taxi to midtown. Swanky neighborhood. Inside many shoes were left on a rug by the stairs. I was undecided what to do. I had already had a shoe dilemma. I bought some new boots two days prior because of a foot of snow in the city and very spotty plowing. (I had put off buying boots for many years, but now I couldn’t even cross the street. Luckily there are several shoe stores around the corner.) They are cool and new and the streets were still sloppy, but they are boots. I can’t wear boots to a sophisticated party. I also cannot wear the other inevitably slush and snow covered shoe choice.

The boots came off. I also had new socks to show off. A woman came down the stairs to greet us. Peter the gallery guy introduced me and Johnny to her. She was nice and took the wine. I lamented not being able to show the bottles we brought publicly. She said it was ok; she was the hostess.

There were several people I know and more I didn’t. Champagne was all there was to drink. Yack yak yak. oooo dinner. Very good food. Heard stories from the French artist ,the leading turkish video maker, and some Israeli dude. Then some walking around.