On Saturday night, I thought I was crashing the farewell party for a
house known as “the Holy Land,” but once inside I am told differently.
“This house used to be called that,” my host Jay explains, “but now
it’s called ‘Pizza.’” On the living room wall, a score of empty
Totino’s boxes have been cut out and arranged to spell the new name. On
the adjacent wall, some cutout Pabst boxes spell the word
“Beer.” Partyers snap photos in front of the DIY decorations like
they were tourist attractions.
Lots of people are wearing black, as the party is a “funeral,” but
there is little mourning. Mostly there’s dancing. And drinking. And
people making out in the hallway. I catch the tail end of hilarious,
arguably inappropriate conversations: “Dude, Smoosh got soooo hot!” and
“I’ve got a major boner for Jews… It’s ridiculous.” Although
initially shocking, I do agree that Smoosh and Jews look pretty
good.
The dance floor stays bouncing for hours without halt. DJ Lucas
picks classic favorites from the Exploding Hearts, Big Black, and
David Bowie. At the end of his set he gets on the table and says
some words on behalf of the departed. He insists the funeral is only
temporary: “Hang your heads for the Holy Land… All we have to do now
is wait for its rebirth.” Everyone cheers. The credit music from
Star Wars begins to blast over the speakers. Next to Lucas is a
giant Stormtrooper cutout. Someone has drawn a penis on it. JEFF
KIRBY
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rager? E-mail the date, place, time, and party details to
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