they pulled my hair at charm school.
they
stole my guestbook during
rolecall.
echoes in architecture + February.21.2005 = 1:14 a.m.
+
Friday night = late to meet Professor Toomey & co. at The Algonquin. Realize am wearing too little (in effort to summon spirit of D.Parker, circa 1920 something, but of course!???) too late and nearly pass out on walk from F to 44th St.
David is all tweed and wiry grey hair and gin. Oh, and the P.Posey story. He has convinced his troupe of Professors that I could, at any moment, pick up my phone and invite the whole group over for drinks. For real. Ah, right. They spend much time trying to convince me to do just this. I play good sport and answer every question thrown my way for the next hour...
I am easily youngest person in lobby. Feel that particular brand of impatience from teenage yrs. surfacing as I answer questions about buying NYC real estate (which, for the record, I know nothing about...surprised?) and laugh at stories about the vicious inner faculty circles at U__.
Really, between you and me, want to ride the elevator around for awhile and then sit down in the Rose Room for a long, liquid dinner.
(Also, easily distracted by all of the John Cheever types milling about in their sport jackets, picking the cashews out of the silver dishes of nuts, helping their faux-blonde wives out of fur coats.)
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