28 May 1999 
 
I just came across an odd article abou online diarists; of course, I'm not 
on the list of people -- mainly because I don't have a following, aren't 
attached to some diary web-ring, but even if my site was known, I think 
many people wouldn't really call this a diary. 
 
The first flaw of "A Meep in Manhattan" diary-wise is that it's not 
exactly daily.  That will never change.  I just don't feel like writing 
most of the time.  Secondly, I actually never really talk too much about 
what's going on in my life, my feelings, etc.  No drama, you see.  I mean, 
how excited can you get when one is reading an explanation of 
fluorescence?  In any case, in my very first few entries I totally 
indicated that this would be an impersonal offering to those out there who 
are interested.  Of course, there's some stories in here, but one can't 
possibly avoid that. 
 
Speaking of stories, an anti-reunion that's going on in Durham reminds me 
of a cute story of the prom my junior year at S&M.  Like all teens trying 
to imbue this essentially adolescent event with sophistication, Brian (my 
boyfriend) and I were going to a really nice restaurant called Parizade in 
Durham.  A friend of ours, Paul Dreyer (that's Herr Dreyer to you) met 
some girl at a statewide German club meeting (or something like that); he 
didn't really want to take her to dinner alone, so we all went to Parizade 
as a party.  Paul decided to get a bottle of sparkling white grape juice 
to add a touch of faux class to the occasion ("occasion" always looks 
misspelled to me, no matter how many a's, i's, or s's I throw at it). 
 
So we duly arrived extra-duded up, guys in their rented tuxes (Brian may 
have owned his, because he had so many music events at which he needed to 
wear one), me in a cute black dress that flared out (and, as I found out 
later, 3 other girls filled out much better), and the other girl in 
something that was very nice, I'm sure.  The maitre d' took us through the 
restaurant, past huge tables, past all the tables actually, seemingly 
parading us in front of the other customers until we got to an atrium.  I 
wasn't quite sure where he was taking us until he opened this big oak door 
- he was taking us into THE CLUB ROOM! 
 
Now, this was class. 
 
Actually, quite a few other of our classmates had the same idea.  Parizade 
wasn't really too far from the school, all of us lazybutts ended up there 
as opposed to Angus Barn or the various snazzy eateries in Chapel Hill 
(and Dr. Knecht had taken us to Nikos' several times already.  Did I ever 
tell you the advantages of your boyfriend and you sharing the same 
academic advisor who's quite the gourmet?)  However, I think we were the 
first of the SMers to arrive. 
 
When the waiter came to take our drink orders, Paul asked if we could have 
the bottle of grape juice chilled (you know, I never checked to see if 
there was a corking fee).  The waiter seemed a little nonplussed, but made 
no objection.  
 
When the bottle had chilled sufficiently, the waiter dextrously wrapped a 
towel around it and filled our glasses.  The eyes of the kids at the next 
table got real big; one of the foursome had presence of mind to ask what 
we were drinking.  As when a magic trick that has been explained, they 
were underwhelmed to find out it was simply grape juice. 
 
You see, one wouldn't necessarily get a strong reaction is some others of 
our class had ordered champagne, but you see, if you haven't figured out 
this as of yet, we were considered pretty straitlaced and law-abiding.  I 
don't think any of us had ever gotten any levels at S&M (I think I got one 
once for not sufficiently cleaning up my room, but that counts as much as 
getting my car towed in the realm of traffic violations). 
 
However, a couple of our friends, Dan & Sue-Jin, were sitting too far away 
to hear that particular interchange.  They simply assumed we were drinking 
champagne.  They decided that if we, the goody-goodies, had the balls to 
order champagne, they would too.  So they ordered two glasses of Dom 
Perignon.  This is one of those situations in which a waiter calls over 
the maitre d' - you have a couple of kids obviously about 17 years old 
asking for champagne _by_the_glass_ of something that is $100 a bottle!  I 
would say the restaurant may have a few problems with this. 
 
The maitre d' is called over, and he and waiter confer.  In the end, they 
got the champagne and a nice little buzz.   
 
You can imagine what they thought the next day when they found we were 
only drinking grape juice. 
 
I still think it's the funniest thing in high school that I was directly 
involved in.   
 
In other news, I'm considering a move to way out in Queens and even buying 
an apt.  This will be interesting.  Oh my head.