Private Party

My hobby is drinking. On the weekends I enjoy getting
together with my friends and boozing.
-- From Bill Owens, Suburbia


By that thoughtless act, I did map my own doom
-- Will Oldham, Barcelona

When I do business, I do it in Japan
-- Onieda, Doin Business in Japan

Standing in the alley behind the dark bar, the one with all the couches and televisions in the dirty part of town last night, I hugged Remington, Verotia, and Leroy goodbye. Earlier we had made beautiful music together, and I wanted to thank them for letting me sing the songs that I used to admire so much when I was not a part of their band. Then Elema drove me home and we sat outside my place smoking anf talking about French techno. Such a nice prologue to the weekend.

We have incidentally put together quite a group for a one night only performance in our practice space in the east tonight. Since Chic is away on a cruise in Aruba, we decided to switch things up a bit by playing cover songs of the lost romantics, wearing matching black outfits with sequined ascots, and adding a couple more musicians into the fray. We convinced one of the best drummers here in the home town to join us, and added a trumpet player who plays in another band which Rolling Stone magazine called its front man one of the best singer/songwriters in the country. If you think I am bragging, you're wrong, I am in awe. This is some pretty amazing company to keep for a guy who was terrified to play guitar for anyone but his couch, never mind singing. To think that I will be fronting this band for a third of the set seems surreal. How did this happen? I have no idea.

All week we have been practicing, stringing up lights around the stage, cleaning up the space, and buying kegs and magnums of booze. Leroy painted a large mural on the wall, the neon orange paint still covered his hands as he gripped the mic last night to rip into Buddy Holly's Not Fade Away. We hand picked 200 special guests for this extravaganza. No one else will be allowed in without the invite. It will be packed. We stand to make a small fortune.

As if that wasn't enough. Is it ever enough? The film that Frannie has been working on all spring is finished, and the wrap party just so happens to be 2 blocks behind where we are performing. I am on the guest list. The film was produced by a Hollywood producer who has 73 executive producer credits to his Imdb profile, every one of them you've surely seen. Frannie sent me a small sampling of the guest list, and essentially every a-list actor filming in town will be there. I will be at the free bar, dressed in black, with a sequined ascot.

So as I lie here and type this to you gentle reader, my head still cloudy from last nights celebratory double scotches, the hour quickly approaches towards one great summer night amongst a life in ruin. I open letters threatening disconnections of this and that on the toilet, I miss the people that I never get to see anymore even though they've forgotten about me, I surround myself with beautiful women and can't feel a thing, I get daily calls from the bank with all kinds of nightmarish threats, but this, this night they can't take away from me. They're not on the list.