Stop fucking with Librarians.
From the NY Times: Four Librarians Finally Break Silence in Records Case
(registration required)
Don't make us go Medieval Literature on your ass.
Wednesday, May 31, 2006
Two out of three ain't bad. It's worse.
Ooooh... It's eat, drink and be merry. (Or in our case, Mary.) Sunday afternoon/night I learned what happens with lots of drinking and lots of merry-making and no eating. I never got around to taking any food Sunday, but started out with vodka/sodas when I finally arrived at Lorenzo's birthday party. The celebration for Zo started around 4:00, and I didn't get there until almost 7:00. I tell you, this whole running around town on errands without a car takes much longer than I thought.
Zo's friends were total PLU and lots of FUN. I did have my camera, but only took a few shots.
Zo's friends are fab, and I was loathe to leave them but Kate arrived to give me a lift to the Sundance Memorial Day party and I had plans to meet other friends there. I was happy for the ride, and was somewhat bound by it as Space 550 is way out there, and cabs cannot be hailed curbside from either there or Zo's.
I hadn't been dancing in weeks and really missed it, but after I arrived at Sundance I regretted not staying at Zo's with the fun new people. I went a little crazy at Sundance Saloon, but just a little. It closed in about 45 minutes, and only a few of my tight dance buddies were still there. But the vodka had hit me now, and it continued to flow freely from behind the bar. And knowing I would not be driving, I was not pacing myself. And I forgot about the empty stomach.
The lovely and talented Dana generously offered to drop me off in the Castro on his way to dinner, where I could easily hail a cab back to Zo's. His generosity extended to driving me up to the top of 17th and back to Zo's party. Amy and Shilpa had both called to let me know that they had arrived and to demand my return.
By this time, it should have registered that the cocktails were having an effect. But such, I suppose, is the nature of being affected. Dana is tall, fair, and handsome, and a good dancer to boot (no pun intended), and in hindsight I completely embarrassed myself while getting out of the car by professing my attraction to him. In the cocktail party in my head, Subtlety had passed out on the sofa and Flirty and Loud were drawing on her with a magic marker. Slutty was doing shots in the bedroom and getting into costume for a performance later.
The party was still underway with the die-hards at Zo's. And I was very flattered that they were dancing to and singing praises of the mix CD I gave Zo for his birthday. I did intend it to be a good party track, but I had no idea that everyone would want a copy of Zo-Zo a Go-Go. Ultimately, Darien and I moved the chairs out of the dining room and made a dance floor. Again in hindsight, I was a little out of control. Shilpa, bless her heart, kept trying to feed me. I graciously accepted, but surrounded by aerobics instructors I was not inclined to pig out. I was, however, inclined to dance.
With my alter(ed) ego clearly in control, it seems I was throwing myself at Paul like I was a lawn dart. Shilpa may be exaggerating, but these pics sort of lend credence to her assertions:
Not only is Paul handsome and charming, he was also the only other single guy there. I am shamed to say I was on him like a duck on a june bug. If you are checking this Paul—apologies for the messy. And are you free for dinner?
Shilpa is pathologically addicted to taking digital photos. Even after editing out the unflattering pics she still had 181 to post to her Flickr account. Egads!
Here are some of us getting down:
But this was nothing compared to Zo-Zo a Go-Go!
Afterwards, we managed to fit eight of us into Amy Day's tiny hatchback.
(That's three of us in the front passenger seat.)
I completely forgot that there was a Trannyshack/80s night at the Cat Club, which would have been perfect for us. Instead we ended up dancing at Badlands. More of Shilpa's pics:
I remember very little of this. I did wake up the next day and wonder where all my money had gone.
And, it seems, my penchant for licking things/people continues unabated.
Mmmm. That's good Zo.
(Note Darien peeking through! Love it!)
Zo's friends were total PLU and lots of FUN. I did have my camera, but only took a few shots.
Zo's friends are fab, and I was loathe to leave them but Kate arrived to give me a lift to the Sundance Memorial Day party and I had plans to meet other friends there. I was happy for the ride, and was somewhat bound by it as Space 550 is way out there, and cabs cannot be hailed curbside from either there or Zo's.
I hadn't been dancing in weeks and really missed it, but after I arrived at Sundance I regretted not staying at Zo's with the fun new people. I went a little crazy at Sundance Saloon, but just a little. It closed in about 45 minutes, and only a few of my tight dance buddies were still there. But the vodka had hit me now, and it continued to flow freely from behind the bar. And knowing I would not be driving, I was not pacing myself. And I forgot about the empty stomach.
The lovely and talented Dana generously offered to drop me off in the Castro on his way to dinner, where I could easily hail a cab back to Zo's. His generosity extended to driving me up to the top of 17th and back to Zo's party. Amy and Shilpa had both called to let me know that they had arrived and to demand my return.
By this time, it should have registered that the cocktails were having an effect. But such, I suppose, is the nature of being affected. Dana is tall, fair, and handsome, and a good dancer to boot (no pun intended), and in hindsight I completely embarrassed myself while getting out of the car by professing my attraction to him. In the cocktail party in my head, Subtlety had passed out on the sofa and Flirty and Loud were drawing on her with a magic marker. Slutty was doing shots in the bedroom and getting into costume for a performance later.
The party was still underway with the die-hards at Zo's. And I was very flattered that they were dancing to and singing praises of the mix CD I gave Zo for his birthday. I did intend it to be a good party track, but I had no idea that everyone would want a copy of Zo-Zo a Go-Go. Ultimately, Darien and I moved the chairs out of the dining room and made a dance floor. Again in hindsight, I was a little out of control. Shilpa, bless her heart, kept trying to feed me. I graciously accepted, but surrounded by aerobics instructors I was not inclined to pig out. I was, however, inclined to dance.
With my alter(ed) ego clearly in control, it seems I was throwing myself at Paul like I was a lawn dart. Shilpa may be exaggerating, but these pics sort of lend credence to her assertions:
Not only is Paul handsome and charming, he was also the only other single guy there. I am shamed to say I was on him like a duck on a june bug. If you are checking this Paul—apologies for the messy. And are you free for dinner?
Shilpa is pathologically addicted to taking digital photos. Even after editing out the unflattering pics she still had 181 to post to her Flickr account. Egads!
Here are some of us getting down:
But this was nothing compared to Zo-Zo a Go-Go!
Afterwards, we managed to fit eight of us into Amy Day's tiny hatchback.
I completely forgot that there was a Trannyshack/80s night at the Cat Club, which would have been perfect for us. Instead we ended up dancing at Badlands. More of Shilpa's pics:
I remember very little of this. I did wake up the next day and wonder where all my money had gone.
And, it seems, my penchant for licking things/people continues unabated.
Mmmm. That's good Zo.(Note Darien peeking through! Love it!)
Nerd alert
I am a big grammar guy--Dave Barry's "Ask Mister Language Person." While I cringe at bad grammar and punctuation, I will admit to merely typing furiously and clicking "publish" when it comes to the blog. I will correct and tweak posts once they are up, but as ruthless a copy editor as I am, my own faults are often on display in this space. (Say as I say and not as I say?)
Regardless, am I huge nerd for finding this funny?
Maybe so. But you have to give me this:
As Helena Handbasket would say, "C'mon y'all, that's funny." Or at leasting a thinkin' funny.
Found via A Capital Idea. Source and source.
Regardless, am I huge nerd for finding this funny?
Maybe so. But you have to give me this:
As Helena Handbasket would say, "C'mon y'all, that's funny." Or at leasting a thinkin' funny.
Found via A Capital Idea. Source and source.
Tuesday, May 30, 2006
Coffee, break
One last thought on the recent Nashville trip. My mother, my brother Jay, and I are coffee people. For medical reasons, Mom has had to switch to half-caf or mostly decaf, but when I'm home it's an excuse for a full-bodied pot of coffee.
Jay is a purist. He has a an espresso machine at his house and won't drink out of a pot that was brewed more than two hours ago. At his house, the question of freshness is down to the minute.
Mom and I are a different story. At Sheppard Place, when I ask my mother of the coffee pot, "How fresh is this?" the answer is a day of the week.
There is a reason the pot is below the microwave.
image credit
Steeplechase Weekend Day 3: The Races!
The 65th running of the Iroquois Steeplchase was a blast. Ginger and I were very excited about being each other's date in Mom and Dad's box this year. At the last minute, the Tyrell's offered Ginger their box, free of charge, as they were going out of town and wouldn't be able to use it. We were in the very fortunate if not busy position of being guests to Fran and John and playing with that crowd, and being hosts to another set of people in different box. Ginger and I love to play "the game." Now for us "the game" is either at dinner, the practice of ordering a variety of dishes and all sharing, or at dinner parties intentionally inviting people who may be strangers to each other, but are all so fascinating and entertaining that we know they will enjoy meeting each other and an unexpectedly good time will be had by all. We played the game with this box and found a really good group: Robin Campbell, Elizabeth Estes, Sandy Nelson, Steve Sirls & Allen Decuyper, Keith Hinkle, and to arrive when possible, Keith's boyfriend/'guy he's dating' Shamus. SUCH a good group to throw together, and throw down together.
While the days beforehand had been hot and stormy, race day proved nearly perfect. The skies were clear with only the occasional clowd to offer shade, but the air was cool and the breezes felt like A/C. The wind was a bit much, causing havoc with some hats, but this was so much better than last year with the downpours or the year before with the heat stroke. This was a nearly, if not truly, perfect day.
I collected box lunches for most everyone from Bread & Company, and we packed up no fewer than three coolers before we left Sheppard Place. By far the favorite drinks of the day were the Mandarin & Sodas and the Greyhounds—perfect for the sunshine. In addition to the box lunches, Allen and Steve (or perhaps just Allen) prepared some wonderful tasty bits. Complete with sterling serving tray, Allen prepared for us bitesize cucumber sandwiches and little tomato/bacon/mushroom/something marvelous bits.
While Mom and Dad's box has the enviable position on the finish line, the Tyrell's box is on the end which allowed us to spread out and have unobstructed views of the home stretch.
Steeplechase is always a special treat for me as I get to see all sorts of folks I would never see on an average day in Nashville. Particularly wonderful is the annual appearance of the fourth Hardcastle son Joe Calvin—who long ago gave us the adored race tumblers we use at the races, and he long ago dubbed my father "Papa John" (which now is what my generation and his grand kids call him). Sadly, Joe is getting a divorce soon, and (clever mother that she is) Fran wasted no time introducing him to the currently single and fabulous Ginger.
Also at the races was author/artist/friend Emme Nelson Baxter and her kids. Bradley went to hang out with Gage for a while, and Sloan was surrounded by her pre-teen posse. They were impressing their friends by calling out to "cool Uncle Wilson who lives in San Francisco." I felt pretty cool myself being the object of such adoration by a crowd of 11- to 13-year-olds.
So wrong
Now while most folks at the Steeplechase look resplendent, as more raff and less riff participate some serious mess is finding its way up the hill from the infield. Not to get all snotty, but I felt the need to take this picture just to give the caption "so wrong:"Here are my points: The seersucker is fine, and completely race appropriate. But now that you can get seersucker at Target or Old Navy, it's gotten a bit ubiquitous. The seersucker, in and of itself, not so bad. But for God's sakes, put on some shoes. Southern men are not expected to wear socks with loafers in the summer, except when it might be too sudorific or odorific not to do so. Personally, I hate flip-flops as men's shoes unless you're waterside. And don't wear them with a suit.
There are certain men who can pull off the bow tie and look sharp—even handsome. Joe calvin is one of these men. This guy, like Tucker Carlson, is not. Seersucker plus bow tie equals either "Norman Rockwell," or "trying too hard." The cell phone is slightly forgivable. Logistics around the boxes can be problematic at best. The cigar is the last straw. This turns "trying to hard" into "TRYING TOO HARD" to look cool. Flips+seersucker+croakies+bow tie+cell phone+cigar=huge poser.
I present to you the poster guy for "so wrong." I was just glad I could not smell his after shave.
Now the infield is a different story. This used to be a small tailgating crowd watching the races. It is now a frat party bacchanal gone apeshit in pastels. There are the trashy guys, dancing muscled and shirtless for the adoring crowds of girls (I admit these hard-bodied A&F rejects turned my head too and made me wonder just how drunk were they...)
And the ever-so-subtle beer bong:
There are also roving cliques of girls who look WAY too young to dress so trashy. If you've just turned 14, should you really be trying so desperately to get hammered and date raped? What the F are these girls thinking? I was thinking at one point if the infield were a band or an album cover, it would be called Whores in Ralph Lauren. I am saying this as a gay man who enjoys Folsom and the PowerHouse: these kids were skanky whores in good clothes. The guys weren't much better, but they are the kind of skanky whores I can get behind. So to speak.
While roving around with Keith and looking for Mike Smith, we marveled at the sight of it all. One guy bumped my shoulder as he successfully frizzbee'd his dip can into a box of empties. I think this pic sort of sums up the infield this year:
There was one infield incident that surprised me. Sunshine being strong and my hairline being thin, I was wearing a cap for a lot of the day. A slightly activist of me, the ball cap I keep in Nashville is a Human Rights Campaign hat. Very subtle, but still a little assertive. (Assertive but not acerbic?). One guy stopped me as I walked past,
"Hey man, what's that mean?""What's what mean?"
"The sign on your hat."
Internally I brace. "Are you kidding me?" Basically, I'm trying to figure out if he is starting something. This is a very drunk, southern, frat-boy bunch.
"No seriously. I see it all over town and I don't know what it means. I'm so glad to ask somebody."
"Oh." I pause. This is an opportunity for education. But how best to explain it? Slightly swayed by sunshine and vodka, I kept to the simple truth. "This is the sign for the Human Rights Campaign. (I took off the hat and showed him the back where it was spelled out.) It's an advocacy group supporting equal rights for gays and lesbians. It's an equals sign, because we should all be equal."
Slightly surprised, "Oh. Cool man. Thanks. I had no idea. Very cool. Have a good one."
And we parted ways. Later I wondered where exactly he had seen it. Roommate perhaps? Hmm.
Before I conclude with the Ballad of the Seersucker Drunk, I feel the need to share two more pics, which may put me more towards the infield than the boxes. Even box-goers have to take emergency measures now and then. But we all stand together, as it were.
After the day at the races, Mac and Emily hosted an after party. We were all pretty wiped out by this point, but I was happy to have my camera handy for this:
She's got the whole world in her hand.
All Steeplechase photos.
(note: this link will only be active for a few months)
....................................................................................................
Ballad of the Seer Sucker
We were packing it up for the day, having waiting out the mass exodus. Really, why leave and fight traffic when you have good food, good drinks, good company, and good weather? Our box was perhaps the last to leave the hill. Just beyond the fences in the public hill area, there was a guy who had clearly passed out hours earlier and whose friends had left him there. We noticed him because other people leaving the hill would stop to have their picture taken with him, pose with him, or pile objects on him for the photographs. His face was also roughly the shade of a lobster, in high contrast to his suit. Ultimately one woman, clearly a mother, tried to rouse him and see if he was all right. Note that she did this after she took a series of photos. She roused him, got him to shake it off, and gave him some water. He continued to assert that he was fine, but was clearly confused as to where everyone had gone. He got up and started walking around the hill. Just wandering up and down. (Click the image to enlarge.)
He would stop to pick up a paper plate, walk 15 feet, carefully put it down again, and repeat the process with other bits of trash, ultimately making it back to his lawn chair, where he passed out again. I got a few seconds of this on video with my little digital camera:
Steeplechase Weekend Day 2: the Hunt Ball
So Friday night (5/12) was The Hunt Ball. I had been invited as the date/ boy toy of the FABULOUS Elizabeth James. EJ ROCKS! And both "Fab" and "Rocks" are understatements.
EJ looked great. But I do notice that in this photo her fleur looks comically enormous.
We were excited to see some of our favorite people immediately upon entering. Here were are with Zulu Scott-Barnes.
Zulu was so nicknamed by his English boarding school classmates as he is from South Africa. Zulu occasionally identifies himself as an African American. Before marrying one of my best friends and "settling down" in Nashville, Zulu traveled the world as a professional polo player and later dealer in thoroughbreds.
I've attended the Hunt Ball several times before, but this year was far and away the most fun. Either the crowd is getting younger, is getting more of the younger, or I am just getting older and of the age of those who like the Hunt Ball, but aren't associated with a Hunt Club. At any rate, the company was lively and Pat Patrick's Band was as amazing as ever. Their genres for mood music for the various stages of the night were different than usual, unexpected, and spot on. The martini luge was more gimmicky than classy, but it was a welcome attraction. The BMCC also kept dining tables out of the main ballroom, which made for a much better dance space (mood, lighting, flow) as well as allowing more actual space for dancing. And adding a bar inside the main ballroom was genius.
Almost all of the dining tables were outside under a tent beyond the main patio, and the weather was perfect. The centerpieces were also a bright stroke of inspiration. I have seen art cakes around SF, but never in Nashville.
The centerpieces to each table were colorful race hats, and also our desserts. So much better than flowers which block the view of people at your table. And as is rarely the case, these cakes were even better tasting than looking.
Ridley Wills III cuts a hat.
A feast for the eyes and the tongue. And my company a feast for the ears (and also pretty).
Always a pleasure are Susannah (friends since we were four) and her husband Zulu (aka Alec Scott-Barnes).
And luckily for me my favorite cousin Biz was there with her husband David.
Elizabeth and David Dingess
And if you look even moderately closely you may notice one of the family jewels. I do love Biz's taste and she has, or has access to, some wonderful accessories (other than me).
I told her how much I loved her in "Titanic."
Other fun and pretty people at the party:
Trisi and Ken Larish
Kim Simonton, visiting from New York, and the always handsome Mark O'Bryan
And the always lovely Carolyn Thombs, whose husband is ever so patient with our affections and my monopolizing her company on the dance floor.
Of course, there was a jewelry designer there with pieces on display and for sale.
And as brilliant as they are, they are not as pretty or expensive as I am.
Speaking of brilliant, pretty, and expensive, my parents looked fabulous as well:
As I may have said before, I may get my penchant for themes from my Dad. Suitable for the Hunt Ball, Dad wore the Children's Hospital tie I painted for him a couple of summers ago,
and his new hound-handled cane.
Beyond the company, the delectable menu (the BMCC has a new chef who is superlative), and the music/dancing, one of the highlights of my night is when Alice Randall crossed a room to take my elbow and say, "Wilson Hardcastle, I love your blog."
Holy crap. I quickly tried to remember what I had posted recently, and apparently the blood drained from my face as I did so. This is just for fun. And for the dozen or so friends who follow the (my) weirdness that goes on in this City. (Okay, more than 12. I get around 60 to 80 hits a day now.) I know that potential employers and boyfriends read this, as well as my family on occasion, so I try to keep the action here above the belt. But still, I'm just sayin' here. And what I'm just saying isn't exactly meant for the 37205/parental set. Well, it is what it is. Wholesome and Folsom alike.
And, let me tell you, such a compliment coming from Alice Randall, award-winning author and songwriter, is high praise indeed.
Alice Randall and Wilson Hardcastle
Another moment which completely cracked me up was when EJ left the ballroom to join the few but desperate smokers on the back patio. Ever the lady, EJ does not want the smell or stain of cigarettes on her fingers. And so she keeps a single smoking glove in her purse with her smokes!
The smoking glove.
And my favorite caption of the night (not truly spoken, but imagine the southern drawl please):
"This is my smokin' hand and this is my drinkin' hand."
And, saving the best for last, here are my best "overheards" scrawled on cocktail napkins and rediscovered in the morning:
"...saggy bosoms." (these words caught my ear and I started paying attention.)
"Who has saggy bosoms?"
"'Saggy bosoms.' Sounds like bad name for a band. Or an old bluegrass song."
"Isn't that a place near Bersheba?"
"No, that's Soggy Bottom."
"I just like to say 'saggy bosoms."
"I once dated a Sally Bosoms. Popular girl."
•••
[Unremembered unintelligible name]
"What kind of name is that?"
"It sounds dark and uncircumcised."
•••
and my all time personal favorite:
"Who was that?"
"That was [so and so]."
"Isn't he running for something?"
"Yeah, Judge. But he used to shit himself when he got drunk and I just can't see myself voting for him."
----------
After the party was over, I weighed my options of (1) wisdom: go to bed, get some sleep, and rest up for the Big Day starting in the morning; or (2) wanton: go out to Tribe and be with my other people for a drink and then go to bed. At the bar I met Jake, who had ditched the shirt and tie parts of his tux, but recognized me from the Ball.
Photos on flickr.
EJ looked great. But I do notice that in this photo her fleur looks comically enormous.
We were excited to see some of our favorite people immediately upon entering. Here were are with Zulu Scott-Barnes.
Zulu was so nicknamed by his English boarding school classmates as he is from South Africa. Zulu occasionally identifies himself as an African American. Before marrying one of my best friends and "settling down" in Nashville, Zulu traveled the world as a professional polo player and later dealer in thoroughbreds.
I've attended the Hunt Ball several times before, but this year was far and away the most fun. Either the crowd is getting younger, is getting more of the younger, or I am just getting older and of the age of those who like the Hunt Ball, but aren't associated with a Hunt Club. At any rate, the company was lively and Pat Patrick's Band was as amazing as ever. Their genres for mood music for the various stages of the night were different than usual, unexpected, and spot on. The martini luge was more gimmicky than classy, but it was a welcome attraction. The BMCC also kept dining tables out of the main ballroom, which made for a much better dance space (mood, lighting, flow) as well as allowing more actual space for dancing. And adding a bar inside the main ballroom was genius.
Almost all of the dining tables were outside under a tent beyond the main patio, and the weather was perfect. The centerpieces were also a bright stroke of inspiration. I have seen art cakes around SF, but never in Nashville.
The centerpieces to each table were colorful race hats, and also our desserts. So much better than flowers which block the view of people at your table. And as is rarely the case, these cakes were even better tasting than looking.
A feast for the eyes and the tongue. And my company a feast for the ears (and also pretty).
Always a pleasure are Susannah (friends since we were four) and her husband Zulu (aka Alec Scott-Barnes).
And luckily for me my favorite cousin Biz was there with her husband David.
And if you look even moderately closely you may notice one of the family jewels. I do love Biz's taste and she has, or has access to, some wonderful accessories (other than me).
I told her how much I loved her in "Titanic."
Other fun and pretty people at the party:
And the always lovely Carolyn Thombs, whose husband is ever so patient with our affections and my monopolizing her company on the dance floor.
Of course, there was a jewelry designer there with pieces on display and for sale.
And as brilliant as they are, they are not as pretty or expensive as I am.
Speaking of brilliant, pretty, and expensive, my parents looked fabulous as well:
As I may have said before, I may get my penchant for themes from my Dad. Suitable for the Hunt Ball, Dad wore the Children's Hospital tie I painted for him a couple of summers ago,
and his new hound-handled cane.
Beyond the company, the delectable menu (the BMCC has a new chef who is superlative), and the music/dancing, one of the highlights of my night is when Alice Randall crossed a room to take my elbow and say, "Wilson Hardcastle, I love your blog."
Holy crap. I quickly tried to remember what I had posted recently, and apparently the blood drained from my face as I did so. This is just for fun. And for the dozen or so friends who follow the (my) weirdness that goes on in this City. (Okay, more than 12. I get around 60 to 80 hits a day now.) I know that potential employers and boyfriends read this, as well as my family on occasion, so I try to keep the action here above the belt. But still, I'm just sayin' here. And what I'm just saying isn't exactly meant for the 37205/parental set. Well, it is what it is. Wholesome and Folsom alike.
And, let me tell you, such a compliment coming from Alice Randall, award-winning author and songwriter, is high praise indeed.
Another moment which completely cracked me up was when EJ left the ballroom to join the few but desperate smokers on the back patio. Ever the lady, EJ does not want the smell or stain of cigarettes on her fingers. And so she keeps a single smoking glove in her purse with her smokes!
And my favorite caption of the night (not truly spoken, but imagine the southern drawl please):
And, saving the best for last, here are my best "overheards" scrawled on cocktail napkins and rediscovered in the morning:
"...saggy bosoms." (these words caught my ear and I started paying attention.)
"Who has saggy bosoms?"
"'Saggy bosoms.' Sounds like bad name for a band. Or an old bluegrass song."
"Isn't that a place near Bersheba?"
"No, that's Soggy Bottom."
"I just like to say 'saggy bosoms."
"I once dated a Sally Bosoms. Popular girl."
•••
[Unremembered unintelligible name]
"What kind of name is that?"
"It sounds dark and uncircumcised."
•••
and my all time personal favorite:
"Who was that?"
"That was [so and so]."
"Isn't he running for something?"
"Yeah, Judge. But he used to shit himself when he got drunk and I just can't see myself voting for him."
----------
After the party was over, I weighed my options of (1) wisdom: go to bed, get some sleep, and rest up for the Big Day starting in the morning; or (2) wanton: go out to Tribe and be with my other people for a drink and then go to bed. At the bar I met Jake, who had ditched the shirt and tie parts of his tux, but recognized me from the Ball.
Photos on flickr.
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