A darkened venue, a C-list celebrity MC, award recipients thanking a crowd who doesn't care, creatives aghast their work was beat out by apparent dreck. The only difference was this was all in French.
The afterparty also featured fancy-looking but mushy-tasting appetizers and music levels that prohibit decent conversation. Normally, I can put up with this for a couple of hours. But last night I split after 15 minutes.
In Chicago, I could always approach people I didn't know at parties, even just to say, "Hey, man. I like your work." Friends would introduce me to other friends. I'd finally meet people I'd only spoken with on the phone. I always had someone to talk to...in English. But not knowing anyone outside of my agency, and not really feeling like practicing my "Où est la bibliothèque" French with a bunch of sauced and smokey Swissvertisers, I split.
I did, however, thoroughly enjoy the tram ride home. I don't usually get to ride the tram, which is much more spacious and futuristic than the bus.