On Sunday I took Isa to a birthday party of her friend. The dad and step-mother happen to live in the Hollywood Hills. The expansive, modernist house has all the trappings one would think a house like this would have: a gorgeous view (see the ocean on a clear day!), palm trees, celebrity neighbors, a pool, and so on.
A bottle of red wine was opened and I was handed a cup with a “taste this!” so I took a sip. I examined the cup; it was what I would call a Dixie bathroom paper cup. It brought back memories of my humble background with the Dixie cup factory (above photo) in Easton, PA, being a place I drove by often (I assume it’s still ‘being converted to luxury lofts’ as I write this).
My mom used to buy them for the bathroom. My brothers and I were constantly assailing each other with the trite riddles on special ‘Riddle Cups’ (with no internet research, I’m assuming these went by the wayside years ago, had some sort of resurgence recently which hasn’t really gone anywhere).
Along with the rest of the partygoers, it was clear after a few refills that my Dixie cup was to be my cup for the party.
And after cake, I felt it only wise to refuse coffee.
Jack Silbert, curator