It was a lovely Memorial Day. We drank and reveled and ate—my god we ate—at Liz’s house. I arrived in the afternoon, about an hour after the party started, to a mostly finished cheese plate, a group of 15 or so cheery folks pontificating over music and the rise and fall and rebirth of pinball, and a managed chaos happening in the kitchen. These days, I find the best dinner parties (or afternoon parties, for that matter), are fluid affairs…
