Big Chrissy and I just heard an a capella group perform at our bridge partner Pam’s place in Menlo Park tonight. Pam’s son is a member of the octet, and Pam is hosting them for the beginning of their west coast tour. “How many people are in the octet?” someone asked as I arrived. As I surmised, there were eight, all students at Williams College in Massachusetts, and all adorable, especially the dabba dabba guy, Maurizio, with his razor sharp side burns and piercing gaze. Every time he’d “ooh,” I’d get all moist. I’m so getting to be that age when everyone under 25 is just sexual bait. The group started off singing “Brandy”–you know, “…Brandy, you’re a fine, such a FINE gi-irl, what a GOOD wife you would be, such a GOOOOD wife, but my love, my life and my la-dy are the sea…” with lots of finger snapping and dabba dabbas, oohs, and wide open toothy grins. The audience consisted mostly of Pam’s upper middle class over-40 white friends–the type of guys who all move their heads forward to the beat (–imagine, to “Brandy”) with wives in shawls and sipping white wine. The octet’s musical director must have gone to high school with me, mostly REM and such–but “Brandy?” Pam’s husband, Brad, made lasagna for 50, vegetarian, quite yummy. They live in a fabulous sprawling Eichler that they’ve remodeled, which means that the Japanese-style kotatsu is now covered by a wooden floor, and the elegant koi pond that once encircled the fireplace (indoor and out) is now filled with brick. It’s difficult to hold my mid-century tongue when they talk about how impractical those features were–I want to strangle them actually, but I smile and say, “Oh” with a little nod of the head, like those over-40 guys rocking out to “Brandy.”
Tales of Post-Twinkie Ennui