Something to Talk About

When planning a party, you try to anticipate every twist and possible turn throughout the evening. You overload on meat trays, purchase excessive amounts of vodka and arrange furniture for easy flow and socializing. Yet, with all this preparation, there never fails to be one event that creeeps into the evening - one moment that defines the party. On New Year's Eve, it wasn't the birthday boy or the countdown, but rather the swaying chandelier and its ability to withstand a gust of wind that eventually ripped the canapy from the back porch.

I found myself on the outdoor landing quite often throughout the evening. With its canvas covered roofline overhead, it was a cool oasis from the heat indoors. I never should have worn a black turtleneck and wool jacket, but with my options limited, it saved me from spending hours shopping amongst the gift card redeemers throughout the city. So there I sat in the corner with a rotation of friends, watching the wind whip the canapy and dangling chandelier.

It gave people something to discuss. So with those useless conversations of "one year catch-up," you had a topic, focal point, and shared experience to lessen the burden of finding an out such as going to the bathroom or grabbing another drink. But it wasn't until a gust of wind tore away the flapping roof that the quintessential moment had arrived - cementing its place in future conversations for years to come.

Fortunately I was in place to capture the event. With my camera above the crowd, I raced to the patio entrance behind my friend Mel. As "girls" shrieked in amazement, I snapped away as the canvas thrashed about. Amazingly, the chandelier remained in tact. So as most had predicted a "Phantom of the Opera" moment with the light fixture crashing to the ground, it demonstrated its tenacity by withstanding the elements and ear piercing gasps from the crowd below.

With the destruction of the patio environment came a gust of wind indoors to cool us off. Unfortunately, it was short lived. The staff quickly stepped into action to relocate the bar - thereby closing the deck only for desperate smokers. And though I detest the toxic smoke, I found myself frequently joining them outside. I didn't want to shine or sweat. But when I did, at least I had a starter converstion. "My, look at that chandelier."