"Hey, Flo!" "Oh, hey, how are you?" "Oh, fiiiiine, how are you?" "Fiiiine!"
Lenny? Still hot. Still tall. "We've come a long way since the Manhattan Chili Company," he says. For some reason, I repeat my "guy throwing up out the window" line, which wasn't that good the first time. That is a poor showing on my part.
I miss Phil. First, I hear that he's there, and then, I hear that he's gone. I'm not sure Phil ever made it more than ten feet into the party. Hmph.
I miss Brandon and Nicole. I see his hair a few more times over the course of the party, but I do not talk to them.
I miss the Moms. I see them once or twice, and they look faboo, but I don't talk to them. It's the year of missed opportunities.
Chip and Kim are working their way through the crowd when I sneak over to them. I start to pick up my name tag, but Chip says, "I know who you are!" You would think Chip would give a great hug, right? He does. He tells Kim who I am, and she acts excited too, which…always surprises me. I tell her how incredibly excited everyone was to see them win, as people stand around and take our picture a lot. I tell her that among other things, it was wonderful to see people win who weren't a team of boys with big arms. "You know, the reason why we sometimes looked like we were out of shape…is that we were out of shape," she tells me with a laugh. They introduce me to their son -- so cute, seriously -- and point out some of the rest of the folks with them. They're utterly delightful, exactly as you would expect.
Late in the evening, Oswald slides up and gives me a hug. We chat a bit about this and that, and I tell him I've been having all kinds of interesting conversations with people about editing. "Eeediting," he says, a little dismissively. "I understand that, but...you know...it's not Pixar." From this point on, "It's not Pixar" may very well replace "Editing, Schmediting" as my dismissive retort of choice. Also, he has grown his hair out so that it is long and curly, and he is seriously the only guy I've ever met who can wear his hair literally any way at all and look equally good.
Brennan and I barely even talk at these things anymore. "Hey." "Hey." "Everything good?" "Yeah. You?" "Yeah." Him: "You know, the only things people ask me at this thing are where the leather pants are, and where's Rob." Me: "They ask me the same things." He tells me the leather pants are "retired," and it occurs to me later that I should have told him to say that's the answer to the other question, too.