Party Crasher

A party is a risk. Take a drink at a party, and you may quench your
thirst or black out and wake up in the street. Make a pass at someone,
and you might get rejected or wake up the next morning with him or her.
Tease a stranger, and they’ll become your best friend or maybe punch
you in the face. The party I’m attending tonight took a risk and lost
before it started. The invitation featured a caricature of a Native
American, which (when someone put the invitation up on a UW
listserv) landed the hosts in front of an unfriendly room of 50 people
at a racial-sensitivity roundtable.

But the party goes on, and the tiny apartment is stuffed with people
decked out in fake headdresses, mascara war paint, and Indian
names (they name me “Drinks-for-Free,” and “Ruins-the-Joke” and
“Was-a-10-Now-a-6” are in attendance). It’s supposed to be a
joke—nearly everyone here recalls making these same fake
headdresses in grade school. No one claims any native roots, but
neither can they ignore the genocide our Thanksgiving myth glosses
over. They claim that the party is supposed to mock the pervasive
ignorance about Native American history we learned from our
schools.

Enough drinks in and the party takes on the usual risks of
flirtation, screaming angry neighbors, shots at the Irish, and
bingeing. The racial satire has been forgotten. Though the
hosts’ right to mock stereo-types may be in question, there’s no shame
in living out the self-destructive impulse in anyone who
throws a
party. Regardless of race.

Want The Stranger to charm you, even though you originally
wanted to hassle the party reporter at your house party? E-mail
the date, place, and party details to partycrasher@thestranger.com.