Wow, I just went to a great party. It was my friend David Rolin's 69th birthday party. He is Portland's finest erotic photographer. I have rarely boogied with such an eclectic crowd, from his agepeer wealthy art patrons to his thirtyish pierced tattooed models to OCFairies to Burners to musicians (he's a
magical drummer) and on and on. David and his wife have an astonishing home/gallery/studio in relatively close-in North Portland with a gorgeous back garden. They are consummate hosts. Solovox fucking burned the HOUSE DOWN with his unique synth/DJ blend. And at 12:30 a flying-saucer-like contraption was lowered by chain over the dance floor and, lit by strobe in the puffs of the fog machine, unveiled itself to reveal, suspended above us all as we toasted David, two athletic women making out and dancing as one while David's intimate photos were projected on the wall behind them.
And on and on and oh yes and my my and I have not had such a good time dancing (in my Utilikilt and Power of the Carp shirt) for how long I don't remember.
Parties! How can we describe them in words? I am very happy. May you be too. And when in doubt it is better to grin at strangers, all squinty-eyed, and very slowly, very subtly stick the tip of your tongue out.