Friday night was Jamie’s company’s annual Holiday Party, which I was contractually obligated to attend (or something). It was held at one of the Threespot co-owners palatial estates homes, but the scene was decked out with high-end food and bar service manned by seasoned professionals, and no expense was spared.
And because I so totally rule, over the course of the three-ish hours I was in attendance I managed to make just about every single person there uncomfortable by, among other things, calling the tuxedoed wait staff brought in to work the swanktastic gig “servants” (not to their faces or anything, but more like: “Hey what is this, a Merchant/Ivory Film? I feel like we’re back in 19th Century India, oppressing people and shit! Awesome!”) — loudly, and with a lot of superfluous, broad hand gesturing and cartoonish facial contortions.
Needless to say, Jamie’s coworkers loved the crap out of me.
Luckily I’d established a circle of tolerant friends at Jamie’s work years earlier, ones who are willing to humor me and put up with my absurd shtick, including the great and powerful Bill Colgrove, one of the Threespot owners and the absurdly talented designer responsible for the look and feel of Sweetney.com (who is also apparently something of a vampire magnet, if this photo is any indication) (his neck does look supple and inviting, you must admit):
Tell me I look like Kevin Spacey and I’ll punch ya, sucka. HARD.
I also got to spend some time with friend of Sweetney.com Adam Good and his lady Kat. Some of you may remember Adam regaling us with a humorous tale involving Rip Torn?
I have a story about Abe Vigoda too, if you wanna hear that one.
And then my camera’s battery unexpectedly died, and absent that amusement I commenced with swigging pitcherfuls of pomegranate Martinis while secretly pretending I was Elizabeth Taylor’s Martha from Who’s Afraid Of Virginia Woolf. As is my way.
I think Jamie still has a job. Errm, fingers crossed?
