NYC Part II

NYC Part II.....In which I will continue my story with some more of the story.....

A party on LI…

So there I was....first time on Long Island; first time anywhere for quite some time. The three of us: Lou, Jamie and I were arrived, and as with all post-drive arrivals the "things" must be unpacked and crammed wherever it is they go. As I was a guest, my things didn't "go" anywhere, so I stood for a moment while my bursting duffel bag threatened the right side of my body with degenerative tissue damage. In perfect-host time, Jamie showed me to the computer room where I'd be sleeping, prompting me to leave my jean-packed treasure-chest on the floor beside a sofa/bed, which, at first looked ill-fated and feeble, like something you'd find in an art major's dorm, or an old couple's sun porch, but it was a place to plop after what I was certain would be long jam-packed days, leaving gratitude to punch out the dent left by this fleeting, unwanted scruple . I was now settled, and excitement at the prospect of fun with my friends had returned!

This night I accompanied Lou and Jamie to a familiar, commonplace, and very American event; a sprightly tradition perfected by our elders - consistently revitalized by youth. I'm speaking, of course, of the yard party. Kevin and Alley, two native Long Islanders I'd had the pleasure of meeting once or twice back home, were hosting a house warming party that had friends, and friends of friends modeling plastic red cups on every inch of the property BUT the house. Oh the red cups! Like ‘mini monuments of liberal inebriation’ invisibly engraved with their own doctrine: “Anywhere you find us there will be beer. There will be beer games. There will be music shepherded by a ‘getting drunk if not yet drunk’ patron drinking beer. And depending on just how mixed the company, perhaps a fist-fight, or at the very least a shoving match accompanied by idle threats and expletives bellowed by born ruffians….drinking beer.” I love how the red cups upgrade status throughout a party; beginning at incipient and finishing the night as nothing short of ubiquitous! They’re EVERYWHERE!

For Lou and Jamie the party began as parties do. The frequent familiars let loose with hugs and handshakes…high-fives and “how ya’ been’s?” I did my best to appear anything but the awkward friend who will remain awkward until he’s been formally introduced. I was left to my own devices in this manner…and as I hadn’t been spoken to by anyone, I had not the power of my own voice to address these momentary strangers, so I threw on my casual cloak and tried to emanate a sense of “pay me no mind….I was invited” with body language, which is impossible to do with body language, so looking back I imagine I looked, well…awkward. After several introductions it was universally acknowledged by all attendees that I was a guest to their fair city, and after a wonderfully scrimp amount of “What’s your name again?” I was soon addressed by my given name and treated as the first-time regular of the group.

It’s worth mentioning that Kevin and Alley are one of the coolest, most care-free couples this side of the Atlantic. Alley is a deceptively quiet, coquettish girl who maintains a sort of chaotic control over her company as she mingles and maneuvers all through the night. She exudes a sexy librarian vibe that I’m fairly certain she’s completely unaware of, which only serves to make it more apparent to everyone else. Kevin is, as Lou puts it, “a bull dog”; a decidedly happy, ‘handsome devil’ of a ‘mannish boy’ so full of mirth and madness he seems reliably volatile and perpetually poised to rouse rambunctious revelry. Another familiar friend at the party was one of Jamie’s best friends, Bettina. I’ve met her on numerous occasions and from our very first meeting to this she’s never ceased to be delightful. Bettina is, as I understand it, a German speaking, and oft-inspiring artist in graphic design. Now, not for nothing, but a lot of times you’ll meet an artist and lightly sprinkle your small-talkish compliments about their work on their papier-mâché ears just to move the conversation away from the art itself. This is simply not the case with Bettina. I’m not gonna launch head-long into a celebratory rundown of her work, but I have seen it, and she’s “got the chops”.

To effectively illustrate the rest of the company I’ll have you remember that cool people attract cool people…which should provide some insight into how easy it must have been for Lou to become an integral link in the circle of friends. Another couple attending was Tom and Deirdre. I’d met them upstate as well, and my memories of that first meeting are of a card game called “turrets”….I will not explain. Just ask someone. Tom was the “grill master” and Deirdre played the quickly tipsy girl napping in a flimsy folding chair. They are, among other things, another remarkably serendipitous couple. Another character I remember is Kevin’s brother Scott, suitably known as “Scotty”. Scotty’s one of these guys you hope to engage in a tête-à-tête or at least a group conversation in which your attention is expected. He’s filled to the brim if not overflowing with stories anywhere from years past to earlier that day. He’s never without a beer and cigarette and the ambidextrous multitask of speaking, drinking and dragging is just as, if not more impressive than knife juggling. His tale-telling and vice indulging are so precisely interwoven, one without the others would quell the alarmingly entertaining peril of his delivery. At times he’d give you a gang of sentences – take a drag – wash it down – take another drag – continue the story – and flail his limbs for emphasis. By the end of the story the cup is empty, the cigarette has lost its inches and been dashed to the ground as Scotty collects his well-deserved laughs and smirks. I’m sitting in astonishment and relief at the fact that I hadn’t been soaked in ale and set on fire.

The party continued in this fashion and the sun’s setting introduced what I remember as phase two of the party. I’ve separated the evening into two parts because the moon introduced me to the lunatic in everyone still in attendance. Whether these remarkable shifts in character were elicited by lunar rays or alcohol I’ll leave you to imagine……

I’m going to first describe the whims of a few select madmen. While I’ve forgotten the names of two of these men, (I was moderately high at this point) I do know that one of them was Scotty and the other was Bettina’s guy Dave. I would give you a nice descript of Dave but we didn’t converse all that much. I can tell you that if he’s with Bettina he must be cool, and he was the only person at the party who managed to retain my name and match it to my face after one brief and fleeting introduction. So…Scotty, Dave and two others decided to show me what can only be the invention of drunk, community college Phys-Ed majors. It was called “beer dodge-ball”. Now forgive me if this game has been around since the dawn of the frat house and I hadn’t crawled out from under my rock for its creation, but it was hilarious, and I must ramble on about it for a just a few moments. Four cans of beer (that’s right ~ no red cups required) – four people – two ping-pong balls – and a table….and the game is on. Each player sets a full can of beer at their respective corners of the table. Two players make up a team and place themselves at parallel corners on each short side of the table. One team has both ping-pong balls and they toss them at the opposing team’s beer cans. When the ball hits the can it almost always dances away in an awkward direction, leaving the thrower to drink his beer while the chaser scampers (in due time, drunkenly) in search of the ball; first team to finish both beers….wins. None of the four participants were drunk at this point, “buzzing” perhaps, so their aim was impressive. I’d say 7 out of 10 throws from either team hit the opposing team’s cans. About three games into this, the physical effects of gradual drunkenness began to appear; namely loss of balance. To watch these four madly scrambling through the yard (which has a big tree at its center) looking for capriciously zigzagging ping-pong balls was absurdly funny. To think of this game played in dorm rooms and fraternity houses all across the country….even funnier. Can you hear the lamps breaking and windows shattering? I can. Ut……”Theta Beta Hot Potata” just lost some front room glass; oh, and it was such a pretty lattice……

Anyhow, along with the drunken slurs and haphazard staggers alcohol invokes, there’s also liberation from shame. This is what commonly prompts even the most bashful among a given party to ‘cut a rug’. While males do possess a more hardened constitution and can effectively resist the bump ‘n chop beats of a hip-hop ditty, the girls are slaves to the song and find themselves conquered completely by an iron longing to ‘shake their groove-things’ and yell “woohooo!” My absolute favorite thing about this is how you can measure the drunkenness of the dancers by what they’re able to dance to. There were several occasions during this impromptu ‘Soul Train” audition when a perfectly ‘stand still and just listen’ song would come on….”Don’t Stop Believing” for example, and the girls would not only continue dancing, but they would make startlingly snappy shifts in speed and motion. You know that thing girls do when they’re dancing where they separate their legs and bend their knees so that their bottoms nearly graze the floor? Okay, now that I’ve got you remembering the numerous times you’ve seen them do this, try and hear “Another Brick in the Wall” and sync it up. I’m tellin’ ya…..girls make it work ;) Among these gals was Alley. I’m not entirely certain what she was drinking, or how much she threw back, but she put on a performance my memory has refused to shed to this day. It was when Etta James’ voice came thundering out from the speakers singing about her love coming along ‘at last’ that Alley did a ‘just reserved enough’ stripper style hustle. It was a remarkably well-meshed combination of 50’s Chicago dance and ‘Elizabeth Berkley isn’t Jessie Spano anymore’ dance. What brought the situation to pitch-perfect hilarity was the moment Alley’s three minute show caught Kevin’s eye. I’m not sure how many of you bothering to read this have seen Body Heat; but remember the scene where William Hurt is circling Kathleen Turner and eventually forces his way into the house so he can “take her”? Kevin’s steady stare and slow lurch toward Alley had an acute resonance of that scene. I do however, consider it a damn shame that Kevin’s notice was captured with only thirty seconds of the song remaining….by the time he made it to his girl she was just about rapping it up. Too bad, I guess.

Eventually the drunks and sobers, dancers and standers about came together for the end of the night rants and rambles. This is where cognizance and dazedness sway to and fro on the colloquial tilt-a-whirl. Where they can be, goodbyes and call me tomorrows were slipped in, and the crowd began to thin. Eventually Lou and Jamie remembered the blissfulness of sleep after buckets of drink and curtains of smoke and suggested we mosey our way back home. I remember seeing a fleeting snapshot of my own room when I heard the word “home”, but I remembered I was a good distance away from there and prepared myself to fall asleep on a couch in a room not ten feet from Jamie’s parents. If you remember from my previous entry, I wasn’t particularly “siked” to meet Jamie’s dad, and my utterly unfounded fear of him had manifested completely cartoon inspired images of that first encounter. Would he break my hand in the shake and interrogate my very presence?! Would he tie me to a chair with a fire house and force me to become a Republican?! Welcome to my disheveled mind.

Next entry….in which I meet Jamie’s father – have a mighty fine breakfast sandwich – await the intrusion of a fella named “Kitty” and a dame they call “Molly” - and visit New York City for the first time in this life of mine….coming soon.