daily preciousness

Friday, November 26, 2004

the night I danced with Andrew Sullivan

DC was a gray ghost town yesterday at 4. The sun set just as I popped in some local alternative. Reflective pop and reality collided while I sang along to the district sleeps alone tonight. The streets were nearly abandoned. Just a handful of cars scuttled through the discomfiting, silent landscape. "Everybody's escaped. We're the only ones left here." That was the emotional landscape. Fifty mile per hour winds gusted and the traffic lights were swinging like trapezes. It was a dramatic tableaux, offset by the princess parking that I got as I pulled up to the Columbia Heights party venue.

Got to Tasty's place a little early (as I didn't require 15 minutes of parking-hunter/seeker-time) and stirred up the mad delish soup while he was downstairs in kitchen number two.

The main floor housed a kitchen right out of Star Trek.
I felt like Kes, cookin' up a special dish for Captain Janeway.

Everyone soon arrived and I broke bread with Tasty and a delightful crowd.

Phil and Ted were there, the A-list power couple who take busloads of guys up for rafting, gay Disney and paintball. Phil had just come back from his appearance at the Macy's Thanksgiving Parade. (Kinda cool.) Tasty also invited Sarah, Derek and Doug, charming area marketing/advertising gliteratti. There was a token straight couple with Mom in tow. (The Mom was adorable and reminded me of Madeline, Henry's New Yawkese-accented mother.)

Snapshot of the socializing just before dinner: I was chatting with Phil and noticed the Mom's red wind had little dark lumps floating in it. I thought that she had some megalodon-sized dregs in it and I wanted to make sure she didn't choke on them. I asked her if she saw the mysterious chunks and she told me it was not a beverage malfunction at all -- she simply preferred her red wine a little chilled. "You should have been with me when my husband and I went to Italy. When I asked for ice for my wine there, the waiter refused. I pleaded and pleaded, but he wouldn't do it. Finally, he got so upset that he threw the ice at me!"

We sat down at the beautifully arranged table and got served.
The menu:
- Carrot Soup

Main Course:
- Ginger Rum Glazed Ham
- Duck with Honey Glaze
- Cranberry Compote with Ginger and Molasses
- Ginger Pear Relish
- Scalloped Sweet Potatoes and Apples
- Garlicky Mashed Potatoes
- Braised Baby Bok Choy

-Key Lime Pie
-Pumpkin Bread"

During the meal, Cute Straight Mom spoke of maggots and menstruation. Michael, a cute writer from New York, spoke of sticking his fingers up stripper's orifices. (He also let loose this shocker about the beauty industry: "These people are selling a perfume that they said smells like complete shit!" Let's hope that the mainstream media doesn't hear about this. Mark, if you're reading this, you CANNOT mention this on the radio show.)

Doug schooled us on how to make an indoor waterslide in your fraternity and get away with it. I also enjoyed his stories about the Bright Lights, Big City glamour of the 80s.

I sat back, mellow and chillaxified, just high on my full belly, Buddha like, except for the hooch.

We might have conversed on topics of great import with philosphical and humanistic reprecussions beyond the immediate sphere of human understanding, but I was a little too hammered to care or recall all of that. So I'm just going to assume that we did. Maybe.

After dinner, we watched a firetruck, an ambulance and two police cars race down the street. I wonder if there was a gangsta shooting down the block? I mean, there could've been a disagreement over how many helpings somebody got of chitlins and gravy. These things can and do escalate sometimes.

Just look at the Vibe awards and that basketball game in the news last week. (Thank God that I passed on that pair of tickets to the Vibe awards! I mean, Dre-Dre was disappointed and all, but he knew that I had to get that paper done for my linguistics class. I think he'll let it slide.)

So we sat around, basically "keepin' it real" while we digested our food. The party thinned out and Tasty took Doug, Derek and me to 9:30 for a night of gay punk fun. The rock and roll wasn't really my thing, but I enjoyed watch Tasty get hasty with random hottie Geoff. And Tasty's lock-and-load performance showed that his skill at the club matched his skill in the kitchen. So I have to give my annual Thanksgiving tip of the hat to honorary player Tasty. (God, I love the word player. How funny!)

I got to stay and watch people snort cocaine (frightening and very Bright Lights, Big City). But it was worth it to visit with Derek. Derek has generous sized (almost Carter-like) grin. He graced me with it while we sobered up and enjoyed the eclectic mix of alt house and intelligent dance music. Very enjoyable.

When he left, I stole a dance with conservative gay writer Andrew Sullivan. He has the best shoulders. They were about the size of the ham that Tasty served us. Massive. And he'd obviously just shaved them recently, because they were mostly smooth. Shout out to you, Andrew, for transforming my Thanksgiving night out into a celebrity dance party. I enjoyed dancing with you and you were the highlight of the evening... until Janet Reno showed up and made it into a real dance party!

All in all, it was just THE BEST THANKSGIVING EVER because of the company, the convo, the food, the music and the "just wear flannel" X-treme casual attitude. Seriously.

So... thanks and much love to Tasty for being such a great host.


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