Party Crashers

This photo emerged from the Deeps of Time today. Mitchell and I were both guests on a live radio show in Chicago, hosted by the wonderful Scott Duff, and it was a bit of a dream come true, a weird dream, like you aren’t even sure it is happening while it is happening. Mitchell and I have known each other since we were teenagers, really, and here we are, so many years later, chatting with one another on the radio about women in film this past year. It was so much fun, and I’ll provide a link to it when it is available. In the wake of that event, Mitchell suddenly dredged up this photo and put it on his Facebook page and we have been laughing about it ever since. It was taken on an infamous evening. I don’t even know who took it.

This is me, my friend Mitchell, my friend Jackie. We are in college. 19, 20 years old. We crashed a party at the Biltmore Hotel in Providence, an invitation-only black-tie party on the top floor. I remember us waltzing in, like we belonged there, and no one questioned us or asked to see our invitations. We were determined to be at that party. We had a blast. There was a deejay. We danced. We drank. We knew no one at the party. Did anyone ask us, “So who are you guys?” I don’t remember. We took this obnoxious photo. I look at this photo and think: “Guys, you weren’t invited. Go home.”

And each facial expression in this photo is funnier each time I look at it.

1. We all look like we are in different photos.
2. Jackie is always glamorous and the most photogenic person I know.
3. Mitchell did not own a suit and was wearing his brother’s cardigan. His facial expression makes me roar. We have no business being at that party and we know it.
4. My dress was a see-thru black lace flapper-style mini dress. To say my outfit did not fit in at that upscale party would be an understatement. I look like a dead-eyed nocturnal creature. BFF with Bela Lugosi.

Time loops around. As far back as I go (almost), Mitchell has been there. And we’re still here today.

Think where man’s glory most begins and ends,
and say my glory was I had such friends.
— W.B. Yeats