the twenty first century’s yesterday

A weary silence settles on the City, in the aftermath of Winter Ball. Even the rain seems hushed, reverent. One wonders where things can go from here.

Before we begin to look forward, a few more glances over our collective shoulder. Since my hosting the party somewhat precluded my attending the party, stories of mishaps, hookups, and merriment are almost all new to me. Who slept with who, who spilled what on whose dress, who made out with Patrick… the usual. We had our fair share of hearts broken and uplifted, to say the least. Our social web, that tangled mess of friends and ex’s and cliques that already spanned the Western United States (at least the college towns), just got a lot more tangled.

What’s left to discuss but a few overlooked anecdotes, I suppose.

Alcorn, drinking heavily as he directed parking, ordering a cab driver to pull into the lower lot and enjoy himself. He claimed later the cab was not well lit, and that anyone could have mistaken a 55 year old Slav driving a bright yellow Crown Victoria for a guest.

Rousting that huge Asian guy from his varied sleeping places. He must have been taking shots of Nyquil and snorting chloroform at the preparty, because I swear I found the fucker passed out in half the rooms in the house.

The obnoxious Google people… I’d best watch what I say, I suppose. We all know Google people are the secret overlords of the internet, the electronic illuminati pulling all the strings… perhaps these few are not representative of the empire at large. No idea who is friends with these people. None. They keep showing up at my parties, however. Last time, they abandoned one of their own on my couch and drove home to Palo Alto, leaving me to deal with his weird ass. At the Ball, I found one of the abandoners stumbling around near the fountain, perhaps trying to drown himself or find a place to pee. I corralled him back to the porch while he shrieked for his japanese girlfriend, who he referred to only as Japanese Girlfriend, to bring the car around. That was at about 10:30. Another one cracked his dome open on the bottom of the pool, hard drink and a concussed skull combining to make him almost unintelligible. I helped him to the edge of the pool and shouted for his weird Google buddies to take him somewhere for treatment. Compliant and easily frightened in a way that only programmers can be, they hopped up with a start and helped him off into the rainy night. Who are you fucks, and who keeps inviting you to my parties?

Get yourselves under control, Google. You party like sissy highschoolers. You bitches.

Stephanie, forsaking a swimsuit, getting the pool party started off on the right foot.. you go girl.

Me, dancing with some white girl I didn’t know who slipped and fell very damn hard. Serious catastrophe was avoided, and she injured nothing but her pride, but damn girl, whoever you were, two cracked melons in one night would have put me over the edge. There’s only so many headwounds a host can handle. Gotta be careful in them heels, honey.

Many more stories will surface, I’m sure. Although I was there, I feel like I am unable to give the type of true, discerning account of the festivities that my readers deserve, much like the dude selling peanuts at the Superbowl might not be able to give you a dramatic play by play. Yeah technically he was there, but that only counts for so much.

I’m in the process of collecting a massive photo archive of the whole shebang, and if any of you unruly scum out in the Big Dark have pics from the Ball, send them my way. I’ll post the link as soon as I find somebody to host the pictures. and put them on a website. and basically do everything for me because I hate html.

They’ll be up soon.

Let’s draw this whole thing to a close, shall we? It was beautiful, in it’s entirety. Even when Shak’s date was spewing like Linda Blair on rough seas, even when I was muscling some bleeding nerd into the shallow end, even when I was yanking that suicidal ass hat out of the fountain, even when I was sober… I still had a good time.

Plus, we came home with a lot more than commemorative shotglasses and hangovers. We came home with that most desirable and tenuous of currencies, party credibility.

It’s hard to move around in here I have so much party credibility right now. In fact, I’m gonna hire a couple of day laborers down on Army to help me move all this clout down into the garage, where it can be stored until I need it. Lift with your knees, Carlos, lift with your knees.

I can hardly wait till next year.


Now that the Winter Ball is past, all that remains is the future.

Much more on that topic, but now I must rest. These foul holidays drain the very life from my bones just as they drain the dollars from my checking account. Tomorrow I’ll start my campaign to cancel Christmas and instate a second Halloween. If you see me with a clipboard down on Market, cussing at the Salvation Army guy and telling passing children that Santa is a demon conjured by Hallmark and Bill O’Reilly to bring about the End of Days, please stop and sign my petition for Christmas Cancellation.




Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: