Notes From the Spiderland Book Release Party

Tonight I was graciously invited to attend the official book release party (and belated birthday party) for Spiderland, by Scott Tennent. Scott contacted me about a month ago to ask if he could send me a copy of the book, as a now-ancient Swan Fungus post had provided him with a goldmine of information regarding the pre-Slint band Squirrel Bait. From there I was invited to the release party, which I agreed to attend even though I knew I would know nobody there and probably end up sitting at the bar getting drunk alone without uttering a single word to anybody. I really should have more confidence than that. I turned that party with The Frisky into a good time, and I didn’t know anybody there…

I made sure to arrive an hour late, fashionable as I am, and valet parked my car (it was free!) near a gallery down the street. The bar was on La Cienaga, in a part of town I’m pretty sure I’ve never visited before. But they had Knob Creek on hand, so I grabbed a stool and sat down. Content with my drink, I decided I’d wait for someone else to say hello.

Less than five minutes after I arrived THEALLSEEINGI from The Cargo Culte waltzed in. A familiar face! Oh, joy! He knows Scott well, so he introduced me to the author and we spoke for a few minutes about the book, our travels, and Louisville. Before long it was time for a second drink, and I was invited back to the outdoor sitting area to join a group of friends in conversation. I suppose I held my own among this group of friends to which I had no real connection, but then again it was impossible even for I to out-wit the guy who called Radiohead “faggotry”. That was by far the best quip of the night, and I will regret not thinking of it first at least for a week or two. Maybe longer. Maybe I’ll re-appropriate it in a future blog entry.

Hmm…some of the people in attendance have lives and children, so by 10:30 or 10:45 it was time to leave. They pay people to watch their children, and in such instances time equals money. I thought everyone else leaving was a good opportunity for me to leave as well. I hit the head and then I strolled out of the bar to find the valet who parked my car.

The valet was gone. Not in the sense that the guy who took my keys was gone, but in the sense that the actual valet operation had disappeared. There was no sign, no umbrella-topped stand, no nothing. I walked around the block twice assuming maybe they moved to a busier area in order to increase business, but the streets around the bar were empty. I started to freak out. I reached into my pocket for my valet ticket and sighed as I saw a phone number printed on it. I called the number. A voice mail message informed me that the valet service’s hours were from 9am until 5pm (odd, considering I parked my car at 8pm) and that if I had an off-hour emergency I should call a second number. Too bad the voice leaving the message became distorted as it attempted to annunciate one of the numbers. I still don’t know if I dialed correctly. The closest number, I think, led me to another voice mail for a third different phone number. I started to panic. I walked back towards the bar and, after reaching a third or fourth voicemail, sought desperate measures. I asked the bartender if he knew about a valet parking operation down the street. He mentioned that the valets usually worked in conjunction with a local gallery (who knew!?) and that the gallery owner was in the bar. He might have the valet’s contact info. Within 5 minutes the gallery owner was at my side, and the first thing he said to me was, “You must be the Volvo. I have your keys over at the gallery.” It was kind of awkward, walking down the street with the guy talking about his gallery opening that I didn’t attend but mooched parking off of…I told him I really loved his space, and mentioned that I didn’t often make it over to this side of town but I was intrigued by the event tonight. I don’t know if he bought it or not, but the fear of losing my only set of car keys and the excitement about getting them back was really fucking with my mind. I probably mentioned — completely out of the blue — that I took art history in college. Who the fuck would give a shit about that? Big-city galleries have nothing to do with art history. If anything, our conversation helped me Get my car keys from him, and all he got from me was that I was a little  sissy. Thanks art.

Other than that, it was a fun time. Hopefully this won’t be the last time I drink with THEALLSEEINGI or chat with Scott…