Sunday, March 21, 2004

Party in the West Hills

Why do rich folks build their homes on hills? Does this stem back to the days of the feudal castle? I guess most of them don't have to worry about actually getting to work when there's snow or ice. Last night we went to a going away party for a very nice friend of J's. She's headed off to Japan for two years and some very nice friends gave a pretty nice send off with cocktails and sushi appetizers. The masago (smelt roe) nigiri sushi was actually pretty good. I prefer tobiko (flying fish roe) over masago. I've always liked most fish eggs and caviar. Most likely because of the texture and the saltiness. I will not eat ikura (salmon roe) because it's too salty and the texture is a bit too sticky and gooey for me. Yes, Ick-ura!

There were a lot of hoity toity Nike people at the party. As with most Portland parties (with the close to upper-crust) the only good looking men who show up are usually gay and there are far too many people wearing black trousers with blue chambray shirts. What are we? Fucking Amish? Okay, I'll stop now. I think some very drunk woman tried to set me up with her swinging husband. She was a pillow case short of being three sheets to the wind. She asked me the very question I had avoided all evening. "What do you do? Do you work at Nike?" Usually, if I'm feeling like a smart-ass and the person is drunk enough, I usually reply to this question with, "I clean toilets, and I enjoy it very much thank you," or "Actually, I'm a hooker." Strangely enough this woman was drunk and I wasn't in my usual wise ass mode. I think that some creaking gears in my head were trying to assess whether or not this woman might actually be a connection to someone who might hook me up with a better job. So I relented and told her the truth about my place of employment. "Oh, my dear, you do not look like someone who works with crusty engineers. You've just got too much going on. I mean look at the way you're dressed." I guess a compliment from a snockered middle-aged woman is better than none at all.

When I told her where I went to grad school and she started spinning like a fire cracker. "You must meet my husband. He was a graduate from Columbia as well." I felt a bit awkward. I think that I failed schmoozing and small talk even as intermural events. Then he was asking far too many questions along the lines of : are you here with someone? How do you know so and so? So are you and J, married? "Oy, I don't even know you so bugger off," I thought. I knew then that any attempt to network in this situation would be a waste of my time. I'm not any good at climbing socio-economic ladders especially when they have swings attached.

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