Party Crasher

As I pause to double-check the address, one partyer yells from the
porch, “If you have beer, you are in the right place!” Yes, this is a
college party. We are to celebrate Chris’s birthday and Alison’s
departure to Spain, dressed in one of the “optional” themes: “long
T-shirt and no pants, or a character from any Robin Williams
movie.” I was hoping to see someone in drag, straight out of The
Birdcage, but am sorely disappointed to find that only one girl dressed up—a tall blonde in a not-so-long T-shirt.

The house is packed with recent UW grads. The sangria is already
gone and no one is drunk enough. Many guests seek redemption in cans of
Four Loko (a get-shitfaced-for-cheap alcoholic energy drink). Soon
after my arrival, a succession of karaoke singers ensues. There is
truly nothing like a September rendition of Mariah Carey’s Christmas
carols to clear a house, fast.

I make my way to the kitchen, where I meet a soft-spoken young
documentary filmmaker named Sean who announces, “I’d rather read
Bill Clinton’s memoir than stay here.” Other emerging talents are
in attendance, including hairdresser diva William who boasts, “I blew
out Jen Graves.” Later in the evening, the East Coast transplant
resurrects his old high-school step routine. As he dances, his
herringbone blazer is flying and his expensive shoes are stomping, and
you can feel all the glory of past performances returning to him. Just
after 2:00 a.m., the party’s remaining guests are finally enticed to
the dance floor by a techno mix supplied by the birthday boy.

Want to inform The Stranger that your new documentary
about Seattle’s history, Seat of Empire, is due out this month
at your house party? Send the date, place, and party details to
partycrasher@thestranger.com.