I’m not very good at parties. I don’t have very much to say to strangers and I’ve never found silence uncomfortable. This, as you can imagine, is not a winning combination. Throw in my natural misanthropy and you could have a disaster. Combine with alcohol and you do. But I don’t drink anymore. This allows things to remain calm and non-violent. While sober, I just don’t terrorize the public in the manner they so richly deserve. Instead, I sit quietly and feel like a tree with a bunch of woodpeckers knocking at it. That’s not so bad. It gets the grubs out.

Maybe that’s why, in spite of my handicaps, I still enjoy a good party. And last night I had the good fortune of attending a good party with two people who are great at parties. You may even say that they’re experts. One was Christabel and the other Sonja from Toronto Street Fashion. Watching those two work is fascinating. Frightening but fascinating. That is a team. Sonja can talk to everyone and everyone wants to talk to Chris. I just get blown about in the whirlwind. Certainly not uprooted but definitely blown about.

I still cannot believe that Sonja had the unmitigated gall to smack my ass like I was horse in need of goading. That simply is not the sort of thing that happens to me. Well, I suppose it is now, but it shouldn’t. And I cannot fathom why people react so well to compliments. I hate them. Insults, I trust. Silence, I prefer.

Apparently the party at the abandoned Bay Subway Station was full of the elite. (Perhaps that’s why I’d never heard of anyone there.) But I wasn’t fooled by the gauche red carpet or free wine. If I’m at a party, it just isn’t elite. Even if Sonja managed to get Christabel and I past the door without any trouble, my mere presence proves that they’ll let anyone in. That’s just how it is. I’m dreadfully common. Rare to be sure, but common.

A lot of people were taking pictures and looking at each other. I really don’t know what they were looking for. It certainly seemed like something was happening. Christabel was happening but I’m fairly used to that. I’ve been watching him happen in one form or another for years. And Sonja was happening. That was a novelty. I was sitting. That’s about all I do since I’m not a performing monkey or a horse to be goaded with smacks on the bottom. Just a tree. And other people were milling. The masses love to do that. They’ll just mill about all day if you let them.

What can I say? It was hopelessly stupid, of course, but the fun things in life often are. And it was quite easily the most fun I’ve ever had on a subway. That is, however, a low bar to jump.

All pictures stolen from Sonja. But pictures steal my soul so, I dunno, it’s even or something.