Wolf Party
I just came home from Accordion Guy's cool downtown pad where I and approximately one hundred of his other closest friends helped celebrate his birthday. Accordion Guy has 50,000-odd (some of them very odd) readers but invitations were extended only to those who promised to abide by his rules.
Which I did. I even brought a birthday present from Graceland: An Elvis party tablecloth and matching paper plates. I oohed and ahhed at Wendy The Redhead's ring. Jokingly, at first, because to do so was not only expected by protocol but mandated by blog, and then for real, because I'd never before seen a diamond that big on the third finger of the left hand of anyone I know personally. I asked her how many carats it was (I hope that's not an impolite question?) and accessed my schema for a reference point. Found none. She said it was two carats, and that the smaller ones were, well, smaller. I'm not sure how blingworthy two carats is on a scale of THAT'S NICE to HOLY MOTHERFUCKING ICE, BATMAN but if I recall correctly previous acquaintances and friends expressed their diamond's size in terms of decimal points.
I met Accordion Guy when he showed up at my favourite guilty pleasure, Kickass Karaoke at the Rivoli. With his accordion. I've lived in Accordion City for many years, and I've seen my share of the startlingly surreal, the stunningly stupid, and the sensationally spiffy, but a guy walking into a hip Queen Street bar with an accordion on his back hadn't yet been one of them.
After depositing my B as in BYOB in one of the two ice-filled bathtubs I returned to the front room and examined Accordion Guy's book and movie collection. Everything you need to know about a person can be gleaned by looking at what they read, watch, and listen to. I'm most interested in the latter, but Accordion Guy's music collection is on his computer and therefore not easily snooped, especially during a party.
Knowing what this Guy does for a living I expect to see Snowcrash and am not disappointed. Several Douglas Coupland books are right at home in Accordion Guy's home, but I wasn't reckoning to find David Foster Wallace's A Supposedly Fun Thing I'll Never Do Again. Accordion Guy's rating on my admiration scale goes up two points. Another two when I see High Fidelity in his movie collection.
Then the bright orange spine of The Cluetrain Manifesto jumps off the shelf at me and the scale goes off the scale. I ask Accordion Guy if he reads David Weinberger's blog, and he replies, "Of course!" then adds, "And Wendy works with him!"
The world gets smaller every single day. In another city, in another year, and under another name, I worked for David Weinberger, too. My autographed copy of Cluetrain reads, "To a true cluetrainer." He is one of my heros.
The Redhead lives in Boston, as does Weinberger. I feel like one of those Americans who asks, when I tell them I'm from Toronto, if I know their friend Buddy who lives in Calgary.
I guess sometimes you do.
Out back on the smoking terrace, abiding by rule #2, I meet Terrence and Darryl, who remind me vaguely of Penn and Teller. Terrence (Penn) tells me I look like Nancy Sinatra. I tell him I get that all the time, and am flattered, thank you. He asks if I know any of Nancy's songs, and I assure him I know all of them. As if to test me, he starts singing Jackson, one of the Lee Hazelwood duets. He's only three words into it before I join him. In harmony. When we're done we light a cigarette and argue about whether Lee Hazelwood is dead or alive.
The party is a success, I judge, because it followed my rules:
That last one hadn't happened by the time I left, which was after 3:00. But I did get a parking ticket. Does that count?
Finally, because you're wondering: Wolf Party, by The Blood Brothers, is the only song ever written that includes both the words "accordion" and "party" in the lyrics. Unfortunately, the lyrics are execrable.
In the next story, Postmodern Sass explains the title of her blog, Postmodernes Sprachspielen.
Which I did. I even brought a birthday present from Graceland: An Elvis party tablecloth and matching paper plates. I oohed and ahhed at Wendy The Redhead's ring. Jokingly, at first, because to do so was not only expected by protocol but mandated by blog, and then for real, because I'd never before seen a diamond that big on the third finger of the left hand of anyone I know personally. I asked her how many carats it was (I hope that's not an impolite question?) and accessed my schema for a reference point. Found none. She said it was two carats, and that the smaller ones were, well, smaller. I'm not sure how blingworthy two carats is on a scale of THAT'S NICE to HOLY MOTHERFUCKING ICE, BATMAN but if I recall correctly previous acquaintances and friends expressed their diamond's size in terms of decimal points.
I met Accordion Guy when he showed up at my favourite guilty pleasure, Kickass Karaoke at the Rivoli. With his accordion. I've lived in Accordion City for many years, and I've seen my share of the startlingly surreal, the stunningly stupid, and the sensationally spiffy, but a guy walking into a hip Queen Street bar with an accordion on his back hadn't yet been one of them.
After depositing my B as in BYOB in one of the two ice-filled bathtubs I returned to the front room and examined Accordion Guy's book and movie collection. Everything you need to know about a person can be gleaned by looking at what they read, watch, and listen to. I'm most interested in the latter, but Accordion Guy's music collection is on his computer and therefore not easily snooped, especially during a party.
Knowing what this Guy does for a living I expect to see Snowcrash and am not disappointed. Several Douglas Coupland books are right at home in Accordion Guy's home, but I wasn't reckoning to find David Foster Wallace's A Supposedly Fun Thing I'll Never Do Again. Accordion Guy's rating on my admiration scale goes up two points. Another two when I see High Fidelity in his movie collection.
Then the bright orange spine of The Cluetrain Manifesto jumps off the shelf at me and the scale goes off the scale. I ask Accordion Guy if he reads David Weinberger's blog, and he replies, "Of course!" then adds, "And Wendy works with him!"
The world gets smaller every single day. In another city, in another year, and under another name, I worked for David Weinberger, too. My autographed copy of Cluetrain reads, "To a true cluetrainer." He is one of my heros.
The Redhead lives in Boston, as does Weinberger. I feel like one of those Americans who asks, when I tell them I'm from Toronto, if I know their friend Buddy who lives in Calgary.
I guess sometimes you do.
Out back on the smoking terrace, abiding by rule #2, I meet Terrence and Darryl, who remind me vaguely of Penn and Teller. Terrence (Penn) tells me I look like Nancy Sinatra. I tell him I get that all the time, and am flattered, thank you. He asks if I know any of Nancy's songs, and I assure him I know all of them. As if to test me, he starts singing Jackson, one of the Lee Hazelwood duets. He's only three words into it before I join him. In harmony. When we're done we light a cigarette and argue about whether Lee Hazelwood is dead or alive.
The party is a success, I judge, because it followed my rules:
- A good party must break the 3:00 barrier
- A good party must have as little furniture that allows people to sit still as possible
- Bonus points if the police are called
That last one hadn't happened by the time I left, which was after 3:00. But I did get a parking ticket. Does that count?
Finally, because you're wondering: Wolf Party, by The Blood Brothers, is the only song ever written that includes both the words "accordion" and "party" in the lyrics. Unfortunately, the lyrics are execrable.
In the next story, Postmodern Sass explains the title of her blog, Postmodernes Sprachspielen.
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