The red lightbulb on the porch is a good sign, a signifier of sexy
goings-on. Indeed, something sexy might happen tonight: This house
is hosting a cabaret show. Inside, people are mingling, wearing
frilly outfits, drinking delicious home-brewed beer and waiting for
the sun to set so the show can start. It’s a little hard to feel sexy
in this living room, as it has to be a hundred damn degrees in here.
There’s some sort of champagne punch with sherbet in it that’s nice and
cold. It’s too easy to chug a whole glass and fill up another.
The “Cabaret Rouge” is quaint, like a sexed-up talent show.
There’s dancing and singing, a band has their first live
performance—they play the theme song from The Muppet Show and the victory music from Final Fantasy. The living room is
packed with attentive friends cheering and hollering. (It is so
fucking hot in here.)
During a provocative dance, a girl kicks off her pants to
reveal a pink skirt and an audience member shockingly exclaims, “Oh my
gosh!” For some people, this is kind of naughty stuff; it makes me
realize how jaded I’ve become in my line of work. Cabaret is sexy
entertainment’s frigid little sister; her tease is more clean-cut and
refined. Still, from my profuse sweating in the front row, you’d think
I was perving out, wasted on ice-cream hooch, hiding a shame
boner.
Want to make The Stranger feel dirty and lazy when we see
how immaculate your house is? E-mail the date, place, time, and party
details to partycrasher@thestranger.com.