University of Santa Clara - Redwood Yearbook (Santa Clara, CA)

Page 33 text:

MUO near-hysterical Mike. His white suit is wrinkled, his black-banded Panama hat is pushed precariously far back on his head, and he has the wild-eyed look of a concerned calf about to be branded. There you are! he pants. Night- mare — awful — worst night of my life — battery wouldn ' t work, mike screwed up, light went out — everything! he babbles. I notice Dave has already disappeared, ostensibly to find Ronstadt. Mike continues, holding his head in frustration. Just horrible — then I broke a vase. Did you hear me? he cries with genuine fervor. I BROKE A FUCKING VASE! The entire place turned and stared — stopped talking — dead silence — going crazy - gotta get OUTTA HERE! I pat him on his wrinkled shoulder and mumble something vaguely consoling as I continue to scan the room for Nash, wondering if he ' s arrived yet. I push Mike in the general direction of the champagne and follow. I down half a glass of champagne, spill the rest on the legs of various people jostling me as I disentangle myself from the line, and set off to find Dave and learn the whereabouts of Graham Nash. Talking to a few people clustered in different corners of the entry way, I learn that I have indeed missed Nash ' s grand entrance, though no one has any idea where he is now, or even if he ' s still in the gallery. The conversation soon changes to a debate over whether or not Jackson Browne is on the official guest list, and I excuse myself to find Dave. I locate him in one of the galleries, talking with Jim, who ' s completely engrossed in photographing cleavage, and offer to get him a glass of champagne. Heading back to the table, a friend stops me and says she thinks she just saw Neil Young. We trail the back of a head for five minutes until it turns around and proves her wrong. Two of her friends ask me if I know whether or not Ronstadt is supposed to show up. I tell them I don ' t know, leaving them drinking champagne and scanning the room for celebrities. When I finally claw my way back to the champagne table, I ' m told that none is being served for a twenty-minute period. {continued on next page) ' ' What color of eyeshadow does one wear to discuss rare daguerrotypes with a famous rock star? I certainly don 7 know. ' ' 29

Page 32 text:

The Graham Nash Opening many chances am I gonna get to meet Graham Nash? Can I borrow your rhinestone earrings? Sure, I ' ve got another pair I yell as I grab my stuff and head for the shower, knowing full well that this person standing in my room is not my roommate, who considers rhinestones to be the absolute heiaht of tackiness. It ' s 6:25. I ' m standing in front of the mirror, wearing nylons, sandals and a slip. My hair, however, is perfect. Kath is on the sofa, applying a fourth coat of nail polish as Nash and friends sing forgive me if my fantasies might seem a little shopworn, I ' m sure you ' ve heard it all before. . . Kath stops polishing, and peeks out the window. Ummm, you might want to speed it up a bit, she says quite calmly, as I stand, toothbrush in hand, white foam drooling from my mouth. Dave ' s on his way. This provokes a burst of adrenalin unequaled in recent history as Kath flies across the room, snatches my dress from the closet, throws it at me, and races to the lounge to hold Dave at bay for a few minutes. I zip my dress, yank open my drawer, and stand staring in utter helplessness at a multi-colored assort- ment of eyeshadows. What color of eyeshadow does one wear to discuss rare daguerrotypes with a famous rock star? I certainly don ' t know. Fifteen minutes later I emerge from my room, wearing heavy eyeliner but no eyeshadow, and we set off for dinner and The Big Event. And the cannibals are waiting on the edge To eat the meat that they can smell -G. Nash ' ' Mutiny ' ' When we finally arrive at the gallery, things are different from what I ' ve anticipated. To begin with, people have actually shown up on time, the man at the door is seriously checking passes. Lydia Modi Vitale ' s dream has finally come true: by requesting formal attire, she ' s managed to get the students to dress more or less semi-formally. A large number of avant-garde, arty types are wandering around, their creative fashions clashing violently with the attempted elegance of the students. I spot Sean filming students for Dianne ' s show and wonder where Mike is. My question is immediately answered as I enter the gallery and am seized by a 28

Page 34 text:

The Graham Nash Opening These Breaks continue all evening; clearly someone is trying to avoid the usual Opening over indulgence. After searching for fifteen minutes, I find Dave downstairs with Jim who is taking pictures of a crowd of people. I freeze with the thought that it might be Nash he ' s photographing. All the Civil War photos are upstairs and my day- dream isn ' t prepared to adjust to a new setting. 1 move closer, but Nash is nowhere in sight. I tell Dave the champagne situ- ation, and promise to bring him a glass in the near future. You haven ' t seen Nash yet? He nods a no; 1 tell him I ' ll catch him later; I ' m going to keep looking. Determined to find Nash, I begin fighting my way upstairs to the main floor, and up to the balcony. Elbowing my way across the balcony, I glimpse brownish photos of Indians and my stomach churns nervously. But when I see the railing jammed with spectators staring down at the foyer, I realize that Nash could not possibly be upstairs. As I descend, a friend asks me what I think of the exhibit. I don ' t know, I reply. I haven ' t looked at it yet. I ' ve been trying to find Nash. Do you know if he ' s still here? He sympathetically shakes his head, and I walk into Gallery One. No Nash. Gallery Two. No Nash. {continued on next page) 30