Viv and I attended the soiree for Donnie Darko at Consolidated Works on Saturday night. Free drinks, nibbles, etcetera. We ran into Karla and her husband Diego, and Gillian and Kristopher. I saw Brad go by but didn’t run into him again, which is too bad. At any rate I had gallons to drink.
At one point I overheard two people, possibly writers, discussing the coverage of the festival they were doing. I’ll describe it in greater detail at the Siffblog, but the highlight of the conversation was when one described Gillian’s “great gig.” As he understood it this constituted of writing about the SIFF-related parties on “some blog for Tablet.”
I hadn’t considered the blog a ‘gig,’ exactly, but I suppose that’ll work.
We adjourned from the party to close down the Lobo in the company of a batch of punk rockers who were singing drunkenly along to what I think was Iron Maiden, and noticed a rave in a back yard across the street. They wanted money to get in though, so we skipped it. Walking down the hill to Kris’s house, we went by yet another loud party, this one filled with eary twenties yutes sporting all the variety of pot smoking fashion this year. Kris adamantly desired that we should not go into the party, even though a band was just getting set up to play.
Naturally, Karla dives right in to the scrum, Diego close behind. In the kitchen, Diego saw a refigerator sporting the charming sign “Do not even think of opening this unless you own it, bee-yotch.” Naturally, he grabbed the last can of Pabst and we split.
I spent today recuperating.