It's definitely a Communist Party. An Olympic gymnast is perkily chatting up Kim Jong Il and a cosmonaut, and somewhere, Gorbachev (complete with Sharpied-on head melanoma) is telling anyone who'd care to listen about perestroika and glasnost, which are possibly the only two Russian words he knows. Behind the bar a hammer-and-sickle flag looms in an anachronistically ominous kind of way.
A five-foot-tall ice luge is the main focus in the living room. One of our hosts, an engineer, drilled the holes himself: shots of vodka rappel down five chutes and come out at the bottom freezing cold. "This is what happens when science nerds get bored," a partier laughs on first seeing the monolith, although later in the evening, his face numb from booze, he will amend: "It's 2006... nerds are the new jocks." Our host also brewed up two beers on tap: Petrograd Pale and an especially delicious Ivan the Red Ale.
All the chilly vodka is getting people riled up—when we compliment her pants, a charming woman dressed as a "Castro groupie" informs us that "Old Navy is an asshole," but that the pants were $5, so she couldn't resist. A parade of fur hats flows into the backyard to watch two impressive fire spinners do their work, and then it's back inside for some hot dancing with the proletariat. Frankly, if Khrushchev had spent less time banging tables with shoes and more time throwing blow-out recruitment parties like this one, the Red Menace would still be around today.