Party Crasher

I walk in the door, economically beleaguered and financially
distraught from my journey, to find myself in the Great Depression.
Homemade cider mixed with rum is offered as a defense against the
chilly night. One partygoer, somehow able to find a bit of merriment
in the midst of the current credit crisis, laughs and bandies about
observations on fascism.

I am standing against the oven, still fighting off cold and despair,
when I notice the most well-ordered magnets I have ever seen on a
fridge. Each is perfectly and geometrically arranged so that, even
during a month of calamitous upheaval and change, I have some semblance
of order in my life. It is at this point that I notice a bathtub full
of beer. Unfortunately, the bathroom’s double-duty leads to a group
of people with conflicting motives waiting outside its door. In the
background, a small record player struggles to pipe out some cheery
jazz, but the party’s chatter drowns it out.

Flappers and fallen stockbrokers mingle easily in the brightly lit
living room. A blogger from a large local paper sits quietly near a
window, staring into space. It also appears that the entire 826
Seattle group is in attendance. My fear of their
fiction-peddling ways is affirmed as they playfully toss a red Martian
invader around the coffee table.

Someone arrives brandishing a key lime pie, and the party
collectively sighs a hungry “whoa.” Food and drinks are passed around
freely, as is the good cheer, and everyone joins in the Sisyphean task
of consoling each other in these times of uncertainty.

Want The Stranger to lament the rapidly declining fortunes
of print media at your house party? E-mail the date, place, and
time to partycrasher@thestranger.com.