It was, unsurprisingly, gay-man central at dinner, among them some of my favorites: our hosts Greg Kucera and Larry Yocom, artists Robert Yoder and Sean Vale (my date for the evening), SIFF's Director of Marketing Bill Kapfer and his boyfriend Eric (sorry Eric, I've forgotten your last name). Waters' companions for the evening were bitch superstar Roseanne (formerly Arnold, formerly Barr) and her sister; it might have been Roseanne's presence that made me shy, since I kind of love her. Dinner began with heavenly pigs-in-blankets and grilled cheese and me quickly bolting three glasses of wine (the good kind, not the toe-curling kind) in order to work up the courage to speak to the guest of honor.
Bravery kicked in after the fourth glass and, our plates loaded with asparagus and crab-and-halibut cakes, Sean and I went to sit on the floor at the feet--clad in pointy Day-Glo orange surf shoes--of the master. Roseanne and John were talking about talk shows and people who have been abducted by UFOs, and then John began to tell a searingly funny story about Faye Dunaway. Before he got too far into it, he checked himself and asked if anyone in the circle was the press. Good-citizen Sean outed me; John said, "Well, this is off the record," and Roseanne shouted, in that tremendous gravelly voice, "IT'S ALL OFF THE RECORD," so I can't tell you anything else.
I can tell you that Greg's three cats were confined to the bathroom because Roseanne is, I heard, "a germ freak," and that the caterers were not judgmental when I went back for more wine.
And so it happened that I was very drunk indeed when John said it was time for him to go. He shook hands with all the men, hugged Sean and gave him a peck on the cheek, and then paused when he came to me. "You have the best shoes of anyone here," I said. He shook my hand and said, a little sadly I thought, "Comme des Garçons."
