Normally, I wouldn't write about my party posse, but this was a special and strange occasion. Somehow, we managed to pick up a group of five high-school kids. I'm still confused about how this happened (I think it involved a ride) but I do know this: These kids had nothing better to do, and I wanted to show them a good time. Walking toward the house party, I laid down some ground rules, as I was the oldest person present: "If anyone propositions you, we're out of there. Otherwise, feel free to lie about everything. Fake names are good party tools." We found the party easily; the house still had tacky blue Christmas lights up. We looked around inside, trying to find where people were having the most fun. That turned out to be the basement, where we were instantly assaulted by pot smoke and black lights. "Let loose!" I commanded.

We proceeded to the dance floor, where people had painted their bodies and clothes (bought at Africa Mama on Broadway?) with glow-in-the-dark rave paint. Bob Marley came on the stereo; a very large man enveloped half the crowd in a group hug. A sing-along followed. Yawn. On our way back to the car, a guy ran out of his house and invited us to a second party, promising a rousing game of Cranium. Sadly, no Cranium ensued, although we were subjected to a weird noise experiment featuring the Butthole Surfers. Ending the night, we asked ourselves, "Were two parties better than one?" Not really.

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