CATCHING UP I: SOIRÉE AT THE FRENCH CONSULATE

Thursday, 12/15: While I might have had more fun at the Stonewall Democrats' holiday party down at the Girlsroom, the "hot new lesbian nightclub on the Lower East Side," I answered the call of spousal duty, put on a jacket and tie, and went with my wife to the French Institute Alliance Française (FIAF) Members' Holiday Fête. It was held at the French Consulate on Fifth Avenue--a just slightly fancier address than the Girlsroom's. Of course these days the Lower East Side is not exactly the hellhole slum it used to be.

Actually, the FIAF party wasn't bad, once you got past the perfunctory security check at the front door. (The guy asked me if I had anything in my pockets!) Also, once you navigated the horribly laid-out buffet table. (I really think culinary schools should include some lessons on elementary systems analysis: sequential vs. random access, entry and exit points, bottlenecks, etc.) The food was very good, if you could get to it. The champagne was quite nice, and they had enough for most of the evening. When they did run out though, there was still plenty of regular wine. It was served in large glasses which they filled completely. I was feeling the effects of the alcohol by the end.

There was a traditionally-costumed woman strolling around playing a French accordian, which was almost inaudible in the din. I'm not sure the costume was totally authentic, though--did Frenchwomen traditionally wear leopard-print tights?

I did experience a rather interesting bit of gender dynamics at one point. We arrived a bit late. A friend had already been there a short while, and she told us there was this guy following her around bothering her, paying her ridiculous, exaggerated compliments. She had tried to get him to stop, but he wouldn't listen. Sure enough, as we were standing and talking, he comes up and asks me, "Isn't she the most attractive woman here?" I said, "No, she is," pointing to my wife. He dismissed my response and started going at our friend again directly. She asked him if he knew the French phrase, "Laissez moi seule?" (I think that was it)--this was the FIAF party, an organization dedicated to French learning, after all. It was pretty obvious he didn't understand it, so I said, slowly and forcefully, "It means 'leave her alone.'" He took one look at me, and disappeared. I didn't see him again all evening. It's really sad that he wouldn't leave her alone until a man told him to. And it was really weird having to "act like a man"--something I really haven't concerned myself with for the last few years.

The truth was, our friend did look very attractive, wearing a great scarf that was just perfectly arranged on her shoulders. There were a good number of women with great outfits there--and a few gorgeously dressed little girls, also. But the hands- down winner was this tiny woman "of a certain age," as the French say, wearing this stunning gold, bubbly top that continued up to become a head-dress. I'd be willing to bet this piece graced a model on some Parisian designer's runway some number of decades ago.

At one point there were a few remarks from the French Consul Général. He pointed out the ambassador was in attendance--I assume this was the French ambassador to the U.N., not the one to the U.S., who is normally in Washington. The head of FIAF also spoke, and eventually the door prizes were awarded. The grand prize was a pair of round-trip tickets to Paris, courtesy of American Airlines (not Air France--hmmm). But we didn't win it, or anything else for that matter--the basket of goodies from Fauchon would have been very nice, also.

After a couple hours it was over, and we joined the long line to reclaim our coats. The checkroom operation was close to chaos. Several people were working there. They tried to get ahead by going up the line and collecting tickets. The problem was, we were still a distance from the actual checkroom when one took the ticket, so when the coats were retrieved we weren't yet at the checkroom to get them. When we did get to the front of the line, our guy was working on someone else. Presumably he just put the coats down when he couldn't find us. My wife lost her patience, went into the checkroom, found our coats and took them herself.

I wonder if they'd consider subleasing the coatcheck operation to the German consulate.

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We went home, had a little dinner, and watched the final episode of the costume epic/soap opera Rome on HBO on Demand. It's the Ides of March, so you may have some idea of what happens. They have announced there will be another season of the series. I wonder how they will explain Mark Antony and Cleopatra, since they never showed her coming to Rome where she met him--at least that's how Richard Burton and Elizabeth Taylor did it.