The Onion Christmas Party

Brooklyn

The Empire State Building was lit blue and white for Chanukah as my cheap, smelly Chinatown bus (although it wasn't as smelly as the Starbucks on K Street I went to yesterday) headed toward Manhattan. Nearby, a lesser but still beautiful skyscraper was in Christmas red and green and Jersey City was Jersily Christmasy in the foreground.

In about an hour I would be at the Onion Christmas party at Union Hall in Park Slope. The party gained some web notoriety in recent days as a lot of people were informed it was overbooked and ,as non-invitees, they were being dropped from the rsvp list. (I think it's impressive that someone contacted them to tell them that.) I got the bus driver to drop me off on the west side rather than Chinatown, 'cause it was closer to wear I would be meeting my friend Alan, who I was taking with me (among other reasons) so I would not be alone in a crowded bar, looking for love (or business advantage).

The not going alone thing worked out well, so I didn't look conspicuously needy as I otherwise would have. But my friend, who I haven't seen a lot in recent years, has apparently become somewhat depressed, spending godly amounts of time alone with his computer rather than going out and fighting the fight. And this brought me down.

I've still got this damn beard. I don't hate it but I don't know how to control it. It was really getting unruly down in Virginia but I trimmed it as best I could before going into DC yesterday, so it's better, I think, but how much is the question.

From time to time, I fall into the sense that the thing makes me hideous. Like this morning on the DC Metro, when an attractive blonde -- intelligent-looking and seemingly normal in the best possible way -- dressed in a manner that was modest and yet did not conceal her enormous gazongas, sat nearby.

I, of course, stared at her whenever I thought I could get away with it. But I feared that if she saw me she would wonder why this "Beardface of Notre Dame" was giving her the evil eye and recoil in terror. However, when I looked at her one last time as I left the train, she seemed to smile warmly at the notion that someone was admiring her.

Maybe the timing was a coincidence. Maybe she was smiling at something in the book she was reading. But she seemed to be looking right at me. Perhaps it helped that I , for reasons unrelated to her, was singing to myself, "I'm giving you a long look," Elvis Costello-style, as I ogled her.

In any event, I checked myself out in the nearest reflective surface and I didn't look that bad.. Actually, I looked pretty good.

Now, you might ask yourself, "Why is he keeping his face covered with hair if it causes him so much agony and confusion?" Well, it's because when I accidentally grew it by not shaving for a long time, women in the UK seemed to respond favorably to it. I'm not even sure women in the US would particularly like it in even the best of circumstances and I think to myself that it would be so easy to shave my head clean once more, But goddam it, other people have beards and manage to control them; even to inflict their will upon them. If there's any chance this is actually a good look I should at least take the time to prove it.

And, interestingly, women were reacting to me in a not disgusted way at the party. Smiles and chit-chat, even.

For a while, anyway.

After a walk to the Tea Lounge, I returned to Union Hall to find the vibe from women I smiled at as I strolled past had gotten odd. I wondered if playing with the beard had given it a sloppy look that cast me in a lesser light but I had been playing with it all day and it had remained intact, so I figured I must have simply been fading. But the bathroom mirror revealed unsightly protuberances. Obviously the beard had started turning on me again, now that enough time had passed since it had been trimmed for its imperfections to begin revealing themselves.

I fixed myself up and when I went back upstairs, there were warm, accepting smiles again. But I ran into Holly, who co-produces Eugene Mirman's Wednesday show, and my fear that I would come off badly, beard-wise (and otherwise) made me uncomfortable. I knew my mojo was fading. And it didn't help that the first time she saw me, Holly had laughed in a not unaffectionate but clearly pitying way. (This relates to the last time I saw her which I have not written about yet. . . . But I will.) I decided I would leave.

Nothing terrible happened at the party. So, my first night back in New York was a successful one.

Other people who were there:

David Cross, who performed comedy and sang with a band that was on the bill. (Did very well, too.)
Conan-writer (former?) Andy Blitz.
Todd Barry.
A lot of people from "the scene".

Goodnight.

(If you liked this post better than some of the recent ones, maybe it's 'cause (I think) someone was smoking pot nearby while I wrote this in front of the (colloquially-named?) Tea Lounge. Kinda smelled like it anyway and I starred to feel high. Normally that would cause me to abandon the post but I like it too much and I don't know if someone was smoking, so if you think this is better than usual. don't give me credit, it's the dope. If you think it's bad, blame me.

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Originally posted December 17, 2006, 06:53 GMT @ http://blogs.chortle.co.uk/andrewjlederer