smart phone to Accord
Sunday, January 1 2012
In keeping with the gluttony of socializing, this afternoon Gretchen and I went to yet another party, this one south of Accord at the residence of someone Gretchen knows through the local literary scene. We'd been to a party there once before, but got lost on the way, but of course it's impossible to stay lost for long with modern smartphone technology. Whole swaths of plot devices are being ruined for the makers of future narratives.
It being an afternon party of people whose ages averaged in the mid-50s, it was a sedate affair. Gretchen had made a cracker-and-dip plate and we'd also brought a bottle of amaretto liquor (a regifting of something given to us by an erstwhile friend), and it ended up being by far the strongest beverage available at the party. This was a pretty hip party given the demographics, but wisdom about what is and what is not a quality IPA was about seven years behind the best available information. How do I know? They were drinking Saranac IPA, which is what I used to get seven years ago when I couldn't find (or afford) Hurricane Kitty.
Pot lucks can be hit-or-miss, and though this one had a couple meh vegan options, one lady saw fit to bring a plate that was covered in slices of salami and what looked like American cheese. Interestingly, though, the guy from the Big Cheese in Rosendale (the same guy whose lentil soup contains cow) arrived with a totally vegan spread of Middle Eastern dips and spreads. Too bad all the pita bread had already been eaten.
We found ourselves back in a lightly-traveled part of the main room, near children and a Christmas tree. Gretchen went out of her way to be nice to one bored-looking little girl, but she had more luck befriending a 94 year old woman with macular degeneration and a powerful hearing aid. The old woman said she can no longer read (not even newspaper headlines), but she loves books-on-tape (or whatever it is audio books are recorded on these days).
Shortly before we left, I overheard a woman telling someone that her "daughter" (a three-or-four-year-old baby-doll-clutching short-haired kid in a black ninja suit) was actually a boy who "wanted to be a girl," and that it was okay. (The other day at Brian and Tara's party, this same "girl" had been wearing a dress.) Given all the authoritarian gender assignment I see nearly every day even from liberal parents (the month-old infant at Brian and Taras was swaddled in pink, of course), this seemed like a remarkably-enlightened attitude.
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