Last Friday we went to Justa's birthday party, which was held on the roof of her building just down the road from our place. We met Justa through our neighbor in the building next door, Lea, whom I met when she and I worked in the same polling station last November. Mind you, it wasn't our polling station (which is across the street), but the next precinct over's polling station. We got to chatting at the polling station and discovered that we were both art historians. Then we discovered that we both worked on non-Western art. Then we began to talk about Andre Malraux's (kind of obscure outside of France) writings on art history and realized that we'd both read it, and that another woman working the polling station had written her thesis on Malraux, and that we three were also French speakers (chances that three random Americans would all speak French?). Walking home Lea and I discovered we lived in buildings next door to each other and have the same landlord. We've been friends ever since.
Hanging out on someone else's roof brought up the decidedly touchy topic of our landlord and roof access. Lea passed on the information that our buildings both used to have roof access, but then some nimrod got drunk and threw a lawn chair off the roof, injuring a pedestrian below. So no more roof access. Unfortuantely, she didn't know which idiot it was or what apartment they lived in. Lucky for them, because this might have prompted a little revenge with the fish sauce.
That's when I spotted the woman with the blue hair and the piercings who looked really, really familiar. Then I realized she looked familiar because I'd had dinner with her. She is friends with my best friend (who lives in Philly)'s boyfriend (who lives in Boston). They know each other from college (which is neither in Philly nor Boston nor DC). A completely random coincidence. Wicked bizarre.
Justa's party was purdy damned fun, I must say. It was also one of those parties where you don't realize you've had too much to drink until you're walking home and it's giving you bed spins. So I went straight to bed immediately upon arriving home, only to wake up three hours later for a photowalk with fellow flickrite gcarrig.
The seven am meet time sounded like a good idea when it was suggested in a hey-the-streets-will-be-empty-and-the-light-will-be-good sort of way. Also in a I-completely-forgot-that-Justa's-party-was-the-night-before kind of way. I was feeling a bit rough when I got to the meetup. But a good sized coffee later and I was good to go. More or less.
The photowalk rocked. I've only ever tried walking around with another person specifically to take picutres twice before, and both were kind of, uhmmm, uncomfortable. One got bored very quickly and stood around sighing a lot. We were on a trip together. After that I usually traveled alone or told people I was going to the most boring site in the country so that I could go walkabout alone. The other time I tried this was with someone who got bizarrely proprietary about everything. He kept saying I was taking "his" pictures. Even when I was there first. Then I was taking the picture he's wanted to take. That was about ten years ago.
This time I had a really good time. I now see that the key to the success of a photowalk is to not go with wingnuts. I'm thinking I could do this again, even.