We're attending a Sex and the City party at the Glass Olive, south county's newest — and very possibly first — martini bar. We've shimmied into a bright red skirt and high heels for the occasion, noting that our entire outfit probably costs several hundred dollars less than some crazy bandana the free-spirited sex columnist would've tied onto her bicep as a sort of whimsical afterthought.
And so the poor waitress apologizes again for the fact that the SATC reruns are showing on just one TV screen with no volume. It's karaoke night and we hear country song after country song while the DJ keeps whooping, "Sex and the City Night! All right!"
"Why do they keep calling it that?" we wonder out loud. "Because it sounds better than 'Horrible 55-Year-Olds Singing Bad Karaoke' Night," our friend Carrie retorts. She makes a good point and goes back to trying to lip-read the actors' dialogue.
Sure, we've seen plenty of Sex and the City episodes, but we're not at the manic level as many of our friends are. We heard about the Glass Olive's SATC party and were curious about the turnout. We couldn't help but wonder: Is that the best transition sentence New York's favorite sex-kitten-next-door could come up with in six seasons? And also: Why do so many people connect with Carrie (or Miranda or Samantha or Charlotte) when the viewers' lives, in all likelihood, couldn't be more dissimilar from the sassy foursome who have money and men to burn in New York City?
The Glass Olive has a Vegas-lounge feel: The walls are deep red, the low sectionals are black and shiny, and soft red light radiates from behind the bar. The martini-glass motif is everywhere: They're centerpieces that hold votive candles; they pose as sconces and chandeliers.
And sometimes, the martini glasses even hold drinks. Tonight, the Glass Olive is offering four different martinis meant to evoke the essence of each of the principal SATC characters. As a columnist, we opt for the Carrie — Skyy vodka, Cointreau, mango puree, simple syrup and lemon juice — that the table tent touts as "A tropical twist on the classic Cosmopolitan...sure to please even Carrie's sophisticated and flirty palate." To us, the bright-orange drink tastes like nothing so much as peach schnapps with vodka and orange juice, and they could have used a lighter hand with the simple syrup. Nonetheless, we drink two of them.
Meanwhile, across the table, our friend Carrie is busy filling out a comment card. It reads in part: "Your Sex and the City party needs more...Sex and the City. For an event that was advertised as such, I expected much more than bad karaoke and no sound from the one TV showing reruns. Very disappointing."
We shake our head and laugh, marveling at her forthright nature. It's one of her best qualities. And as a silent first-season SATC episode plays on the flat-screen, we channel our inner Carrie Bradshaw and realize: Maybe it's not that these Manhattanites' lives are similar to ours at all, but that friendship is a universal theme that streches across economic, ethnic and social lines. At its core, that's what the series is about, and it's what makes it relatable. And who cares about a television show when we've got the real thing — friendship — all around us? [Sits on bed cross-legged and thoughtfully closes laptop.]
But seriously. Some sound really would have been nice.
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