Russell and the Matthew Barney of LAC Arts play a drug-fueled game of "No, you're a genius! No, you are!" for a brief spell, but they're interrupted when Anita washes her face and realizes aloud, "This is so incredible. You guys gotta come take a shower with me." Russell and the Matthew Barney of LAC Arts are so there, which leaves Claire and Mena Suvari to immerse their hands in jars of paint because that is what Foxy Roxys on Foxy do.
Worst. Birthday. Ever. First of all, let the dude take off his tie, for Chrissakes. David sits at the head of the dining-room table, accompanied by Keith, Rico, Vanessa, and George. Ruth asks where Claire is, and Nate jumps up to call her because it's easier than suffering the rest of those people for any length of time and maybe on his way to the telephone he'll find a dog that contains the reincarnated spirit of his dead wife Lisa. Rico sits down at the table and asks Keith what touring with Celeste is like, and Vanessa sings a lick of a song that goes "Gimme gimme some of your candy," exhibiting vocal strength that far surpasses Michelle Trachtenberg's or that of any of the barely veiled pop icons she so cumulatively portrays. George asks what other cities are on the tour, and Keith basically makes a list of where the heart of rock and roll is still beating, saying he looks forward to Austin, Boulder, and Miami. Naming cities is fun! It's Iceland. Or the Philippines. Or Hastings. Or...or THIS PLACE!
"Claire, I don't know if you have friends over there or what, but dinner started and you should really get over here." Russell, Anita, and the Matthew Barney of LAC Arts subvert the dominant paradigm by mounting each other on the bed, and Claire laughs at Nate's message and screams, "Oh, fuck! My brother's birthday party is tonight!" Claire thinks that is hilarious, and you know what else is really funny?
Juxtaposition! In the staid, drug-free, silent dining room, Nate takes a bite of a lentil-y looking soup concoction and asks Ruth what it is. She volunteers that it's a "pumpkin mulligatawny," which is the most fun thing ever to say and makes me want to write David's birthday card to him entirely in rhyme. Luckily for all involved parties, I am not going to do that. Claire comes barreling in just then and apologizes for being late, her excuse being "We were making art." Which would totally not fly at my family's dinner table, either, what with my grandmother repeating it in a loud voice -- "You say you were 'making art'? Is that what he said?" -- and then suggesting another course of action for my evening instead, ie. "Why don't get yourself a job where I understand what you're doing. I tell my friends you write about the television, they say Muriel what are you talking about." And so on.