Wednesday, February 16, 2005

HOUSEWARMING: A Natural Disaster Part I

Last Friday marked my official "housewarming" party here at 135 Guernsey in Greenpoint. I limited the invitation to people that I am either close with or folks that I wanted to get to know better... ultimately, the goal was to share this new space and open up the doors to some of the possibilities that such a space can inspire. As many of you know, since the move here, my mind began to burn with manic excitement - not only was this space an amazing stroke of luck in terms of location, aesthetic and a statement of my own growth as an adult, it immediately inspired the idea for a possible home business - Post Sweet Studios - and that's only the beginning!

But I digress - for the most part, I think that people were happy for me and enjoyed their time here; however, even with the best of intentions for my houseguests, I watched my party tail-spin late in the evening into such an array of drama-rama that I must ultimately deem the event an unmitigated natural disaster.

Let's go back now... let's have a look at how this started as a party like any other of its ilk before it degenerated into a quagmire of negativity and resentment. Below is the first of three short clips documenting the evening's progression. As more and more people arrive and the going gets good, Anthony Lopez' rendition of Neil Diamond's AMERICA disturbs the trainquility of the tenant below my apartment. She shows up at the door yelling for us to "BE QUIET" donning a tacky purple bathrobe, frazzled hair and shocked-wide eyes. In lieu of having this moment on video, I substituted it with a scene from one of my favorite movies, Roman Polanski's THE TENANT.

photo by amber siegel


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Blogger r.bean said...

oh i hate cliff hangers.
no i hate to love, er love to hate, hate to hate hanging on cliffs.

5:30 PM  
Blogger Cyn said...

Nice reference! I just watched that flick recently upon purchasing it on the cheap from Glad I did...

Anyhoo, I've had the misfortune of being on both sides of the tacky purple bathrobe. My eyes have been wild and I have gone on a bit of a tear, only the guy has a gun and I don't want to piss him off so I just tear up my own curtains and bounce off my own walls.

So now I just imagine that the loud, muffled thumping of "50 Cent" is really the pet giant he has tied to the bannister and smushed into the length of the kitchen, which is directly adjacent to my kitchen. I imagine the giant has a heart condition and cannot help the odd palpatations. ESPECIALLY on a Saturday night!

I also imagine that the giant, too, has a gun, and a much more sizeable one at that.

It makes life so much easier...

6:10 PM  

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