TV Party

Last night I went to a little TV party at Andy’s place to watch his film Scaredycat on PBS. It was a last minute get together, but he still managed to have a cheese selection and a platter of devillied eggs. He descibed how he lost the tip for his piping bag, but not to be deterred, he carved one himself so that his egg filing would look perfect.

As the POV credits flashed on the televsion, a hush of anticipation crept over the crowd, and so we were all somewhat disappointed when we realized that the film would follow an interminably long documentary on some untalented nobody. Champagne had already been poured in preparation for a congratulatory toast, but instead we just had to drink it and press mute. For the next hour and a half, we chatted and drank and noshed, occaisionally glancing at the TV to sneer and make bitchy comments about the subject, Tony Kushner. “Look at how he dresses.” “A person I hope never to meet.” “You can just see the nasal in his voice.” We were bitter. It was ugly.

Eventually, emails began to flow in from the east coast, where the entire program had already been broadcast, and we managed to judge when Scaredycat would finally show. Anticipation grew steadily, and a cheer rang out when “Epilogue” flashed on the screen. We settled in all over again, and another bottle of champagne was uncorked. (So prepared!) Then we toasted cheerily when Andy’s film began.

Not surprisingly for a room full of film people, talk all evening was about film, especially festivals. Has the Slamdance deadline passed? Does Tribeca have a premier clause? Is it worldwide? …North America? …just New York? One very quiet guy I’d never met before finally relaxed around me when he found out I was not a filmmaker. (Andy told him, “John doesn’t make films. Other people just make films about him.” “I’m a muse,” I joked. “…ing.” Andy quickly added.) Away from the crowd, Joe, the shy guy, confessed that he felt stupid admitting to the others that he wanted to make a film. I said I know just how he feels.

Epilogue
We all stayed to talk well after the program ended, so long that I missed my bus and had to catch a ride home. However, I was actually dropped off just part of the way and ended up walking about two miles, which was luckily quite pleasant on such a dry, crisp winter night. It was good to walk off the booze, too.

On my fairly short trip, I passed a bus stop where someone had put out some free groceries. Got myself a two pound bag of great northern beans. A few blocks later, I picked up a six pack of perfectly good imported beer that someone had left, and then a few blocks after that I rifled through a box of clothes in a doorway. By the time I got home, I was actually a little sweaty from carrying all of my “purchases.”

All told, it was a quintessentially Portland kind of evening.