GPS

June 27, 2008

I caught up with my friend E.V. at the Cheim & Read gallery in Chelsea last night for a show called I Won't Grow Up, featuring a group of E.V.'s mummified Barbies. We had previously made plans to go to a different art opening, but then E.V. emailed me to let me know about her show, which she'd somehow completely forgotten about. When she sent me the information and I saw the list of artists included (Andy Warhol, Jean-Michel Basquiat, Kembra Pfahler, et cetera), I found it impossible to believe she'd forgotten about it.

"You're getting too successful," I said.

"I feel like a dingbat," she said. "But, you know, it's not my gallery, and the pieces of mine are old; they asked me about it a long time ago, and I agreed, but then I forgot. The gallery never sent me an invitation or anything."

E.V. and I are both newlyweds, and we compared rings. Or rather, we would have if I'd been wearing mine. I had to explain: Deborah designed our rings, made a wax mold, and had them cast in silver, and we wore them for the ceremony and honeymoon, but now the silver rings were back at the caster's to have rubber molds made. That way, in the very likely case we lose one, we can make another.

"It's always good to have a backup," she said.

Despite being newlyweds, E.V. and I were both flying solo. Deborah was visiting her friend Melanie in Park Slope to pick up a painting Melanie made for us as a wedding gift, and E.V.'s husband, Ted, a food writer, was off touring the south, investigating regional barbecue joints. He and his brother, Matt, bought a 72 Buick convertible just for the trip. They didn't feel right cruising around in a rental car, but on the other hand, they were concerned about hooking up their GPS unit and charging their cell phones in such an old car. "Oh, that shouldn't be a problem," the car salesman assured them. "The car has five cigarette lighters, and they all work."