Celebrating upcoming the nuptials of my friends in Little Italy
A bitchy girl gets on the bus pissed that she couldn’t pay with a five. So pouts and says to her boyfriend, “If he would just let me pay with a five, there’d be no problem.” As if driver sets up the machines to only accept singles and coins. God I hate stupid people.
I was heading down to Odea (389 Broome St, NYC) to celebrate the engagement of my friends JD and Laurie. I haven’t hung out with the two of them since JD’s CD release party at the Cutting Room back in July. After the bus arrived in the Port Authority, I did my best to avoid the tourist infected bright lights and noise of 42nd street by walking across to Broadway on 41st street to the ‘R’ train. Thankfully the transit strike has been temporarily averted or I’d be stranded in Hoboken. Running late as usual, I had to hustle by without stopping to watch the midget Michael Jackson impersonator (I kid you not) and a large, fantastic percussion troupe.
Damn my lousy sense of direction! Odea was only about two blocks or so from the Prince Street station, but which two blocks? After walking in all sorts of directions, I found it. Well, I almost walked past its slick yet nondescript exterior. Inside I found dark brown squares. Not the people … the cube-like decor. I was met inside by JD and coming in just behind me was his friend Steve who, at different points of the night would disappear in search of food. This being Little Italy, I could completely understand. Laurie was in the back and it was nice to see her again. She was supposed to tell us all the sorted tale of the engagement and the details of how this was actually JD’s second try, but the party took over and the tale went untold. I’ll have to tap them for it at another time.
Odea is a high-end, chic lounge with a sleek bar area beyond which the room is divided into smaller ‘pods’. You step up into these private rooms built of thick wood and furnished with comfortable sofas, tiny cube tables, a large mirror and lighted by a large chandelier of clear glass, gold-accented globes. Most everything in here is dark except for the beige ‘pod’ privacy curtains, the music and the sexy wait staff. It was amusing to watch the dressed-to-the-nines hot girls get their stilettos tripped up on the steps, spilling their cosmos, martinis and such. This was thanks to the sensory confusion brought about by the brown on brown color, the low placed lights pointing upwards and the serving of potent potions.
One oddity I discovered was that, if I ordered my bourbon back in the ‘pod’ it was $10.00 but ordering the same exact thing at the bar it was only $8.00. This fact bothered me for only a split second as the sweet smile and gentle touch on my back by our server brought instant forgiveness. I went about navigating thru interesting encounters.
One such encounter was with a partygoer that wished to remain nameless. Mainly because he was pissed at the thought that I would actually quote him. But his comments were so classic that I just had to include them here. He described this as a place where you only expect to find blowjobs and misery. He also expressed his concern that there was no longer a true drug culture left to appreciate the tricks this place plays on your mind and senses. We also talked about the music of Andy Partridge. I wonder if that upset him too.
Brian David Cange is a producer who was just in from an eight-week shoot in Saratoga. He was working on a film called ‘The Skeptic’ staring Tim Daly. Tom Arnold has a supporting roll. He described it as a rough shoot mainly due to the length and was impressed with Daly’s steadfastness being there for the full time. Although he did confess that at the end of it all, Daly was beat down. Brian’s wife Marilyn Agrelo (who was not at the party) is the director of the film ‘Mad Hot Ballroom’.
I was joking with Sharon who is from Indiana by saying I was born out west too. Hoboken. She said that when she first got to NYC she’d be teased with idiotic statements such as, “Do you guys drive tractors to school?” She’d answer with, “Oh sure, we’d have combine day and we’d all parade our combines to school.” Always being sure to shoot down the hick stereotype by adding that these were million-dollar tractors. “Imagine driving to school in your daddy’s Maserati. Well these ‘tractors’ are worth more.” She laughed. I found her philanthropic side fascinating as she talked about starting her own non-profit in the area of women’s services.
During this conversation I met Lauren. Though we had a nice chat, I never asked what she did. I hope that future chats will reveal some more details but for now, my assumption is she is a writer, whether it be by hobby or trade. We talked about the discipline of writing being obscured by the distraction of media. She has lived free of the binds of television and radio for the past two years. This has inspired her to go out more as has her dog which she saved from a shelter. “Writers always talk about the benefits of taking a constitutional to get the wheels turning,” she said. Hence my suspicions of her having literary tendencies. Her eye for detail clued me in on the female DJ perched high up in the corner in the only brightly lit spot in the place.
We were somehow lead into a very brief political debate. She is a fan of Hillary Clinton. I said that, to me, Hillary is very much like a man when it comes to politics. Meaning that she is not so much the breath of fresh air many of her supporters expected. Rather she plays all of the same old games. I did confess that I am willing to give her a chance, but so far she has not proven anything to me. Which is OK since I don’t even live in NY. But … if she ever runs for President …
Lauren made me reconsider a thought that I’ve often wrestled with. That maybe I should ditch the TV. I am a self-confessed slave to the box. I often veg-out for hours watching basically nothing. In recent months I’ve tried to watch less and read or write or go out more. Because I’m completely addicted to documentaries, I said how it would be great if one of the cable or satellite providers came up with an on-demand only service. This would be like being able to rent DVDs of TV shows, but while they are still current. Unfortunately to get that on-demand service now, you have to have a million channels of nothing.
Diana, who had earlier in the night promised me some good stories, had returned from having dinner. We found ourselves in a discussion about dating and I made a comical quip about how I like the concept of dating when I’m not doing it and hate it when I am. Though meant as a joke, it did reveal the idea that there are psychos playing on both the men’s and women’s teams. We both confessed to having acquaintances who are willing to settle for someone simply based on age and income. As we were talking I was jotting down notes in my little book as I often do which exposed the evolution of my note-taking style. In the beginning of a night my notes are detailed but shrink steadily to a series of words meant to spark a memory when I go to finalize the story here online.
Diana was peaking into my book as I wrote. I leaned over and said I’m saving my more complimentary observations about her until later. To which she began dictating, “Devastatingly beautiful. Brilliant lawyer.” Both of which are true indeed and were further enhanced by a passing comment about her part in amateur Jell-O wrestling. Was she kidding? It doesn’t really matter and at this point I did what any smart man would do … proposed marriage. She said no of course.
This portion of the night had to come to an end for me. I was off to see Tang at Ace of Clubs (9 Great Jones St, formerly Under Acme). JD, Laurie and a bunch of others were on there way to the Crow Bar for a late night of dancing. There was a possibility that I’d be too late to see the band, so I told them I may show up later and walked up to Great Jones Street.
See Also:
Odea
JD’s CD Release Party
Tang @ Ace of Clubs
