|
Contents
Gift
Guide 2
party!
Women's
Fashions
Men's
Fashions
Party
People Gifts
Entertain
your Brain
Essentials
Goodies
Mood
Music
Boy's
Fashion
Girl's
Fashion
|
|
where's
the party?
A whirlwind tour of the centuries reveals that party
priorities, from time immemorial, have been
1) getting into an altered state of consciousness, and
2) getting laid.
The following is a list of historical hits--including local
haunts that can help you recreate your favorite fête.3rd
centuryROMAN ORGY (3rd century):
After Phoenician slaveboys bathed guests' hands in scented
water (offering their long hair as hand towels), ancient
Rome's corpulent senators rolled the digestive dice and
tucked into a finger-licking feast of fig-fattened sow udders
and roast pig stuffed with live quail. Roman fine dining
was so savory that attendees regularly adjourned to the
vomitorium to void their victuals, returning for round upon
round of wine, meat and servant-fondling. (A note to hosts:
the thoughtful orgy-giver should always provide attractive
slaves [of both sexes] for each guest.) (Spike your own
orgy up at Spartacus, 302 SW 12th Ave., 224-2604.)
4TH-15TH CENTURIES (give or take a couple):
Rise of Christianity. NO PARTIES WHATSOEVER. NOT ONE. NOT
EVEN A SMALL ONE.
MEDIEVAL FESTIVAL (16th century):
Sprawling seasonal market-town feasts for common folk and
high-born alike, where feats of honor were performed amid
the clamor of hawkers, fire-eaters, falconers and those
meddlesome minstrels. The downtrodden of the village glugged
grog served by winsome ale-wenches, swindled each other
with sleight-of-hand stunts, and squandered their pennies
on trinkets and back-alley bawds. Courteous gentlemen and
fair ladies exchanged pinches under the groaning banquet
board, likely to be loaded with dead animals of all description
and a few boiled tubers. (Stock up on ye olde supplies
at Nature's Northwest, 2825 E Burnside St., 232-6601, and
other locations.)
COURT LIFE (17th century):
An ongoing rager that roved through the perfumed royal
palaces of the Continent from Nonsuch to Versailles. The
sovereign's A-list--loose cliques of titled scions and dukes'
daughters--were treated to fireworks, river barging and
the favors of handmaidens. Court composers on the state
payroll were on hand to conjure soundtracks for machinations,
liaisons and assassinations. Seventeenth-century court entertainments
served political as well as festive ends: By befogging them
with drink and devilment, the crowned heads of Europe could
distract restive nobles from fomenting revolution in the
hinterlands. (Sniff around for new smells at The Perfume
House, 3328 SE Hawthorne Blvd., 234-5375.)
MASQUERADE BALL (18th century):
Concocted by the French, these were strictly highbrow flirtations
for a let-them-eat-cake aristocracy in pre-Revolutionary
decay. Guests posed as popular figures from literature,
theater and music in masks, makeup and talc-loaded wigs,
staging an elaborate visual tabloid to accompany the requisite
erotic intrigue. Masked balls gave the elite (who saw each
other all the time) the chance to dress up in outfits slightly
more absurd than usual, pretend not to recognize each other
and duck behind the arras for a little light S/M garter-snapping.
Think PICA benefit. (Spook around for a mask at Subculture,
36 SW 3rd Ave., 417-8184.)
PARLOR GAMES (19th century):
What with the temperance movement gaining steam in the
1830s and rigid moral codes prescribing social segregation
of men and women, the 19th wasn't what you'd call a party
century. Victorians got "it" done in fits and starts. Usually
a chaste or "improving" milieu--church socials, barn-raisings,
concerts, sleigh-rides and theatricals--served as an excuse
for mixing and monkey business. When demon rum did decant
in the drawing rooms of the waistcoated well-to-do, we can
only assume that the ordinarily mild word games and charades
gave way to dodgy double entendres, winks and blushes
and the loosening of corsets. The species didn't die out,
after all. (Pick up your old-school party tools at Restoration
Hardware, 315 NW 23rd Ave., 228-6226.)
SPEAKEASY (Prohibition: 1920-1933):
A maze of streets leads to a blank doorway socked in the
shadows of Produce Row. The password is "Algonquin." Once
within, you and your hot tomato tip teacups of suspect gin
and hop to some ragtime, as those haute-hemlined flappers
and the butter-and-egg men scatter cigarette ash, jet beads
and flecks of pomade with their scandalous gyrations. Prohibition
made flouting the law a social pastime (now time-honored).
In those high times, the hip flask was the totem of the
independent-minded, and speakeasies weren't just for mobsters--in
1929, there were an estimated 35,000 secret bars in New
York City alone. (Dish N' Dat is where it's at for hip
barware items, 827 NW 23rd Ave., 279-8946.)
USO DANCES (World War II-The Big One):
The United Service Organization (a supergroup of social
welfare groups) hosted dances as "clean" recreation for
soldiers on stateside leave from the war in Europe. With
risk and peril looming before the nation's young men, wholesome
USO hoedowns accelerated the courtship process--a rollerskating
high schooler could become a war bride overnight. (In
the mood for skating? Roll on over to Oaks Amusement Park,
east end of the Sellwood Bridge, 233-5777.)
TUPPERWARE PARTIES (1950s to 2.5
seconds ago):
Launched by Earl Tupper and housewife Brownie Wise in 1951
to boost ailing shelf sales, the Tupperware home party quickly
became the exclusive sales and distribution mechanism for
Tupper's polyethylene take-out tubs, and the means for suburban
women to earn a little pin money and kick tranquilizers.
The parties were briskly regimented--with a designated social
leader, a repertoire of activities and a "Get-Acquainted
Set" of shared Tupper trifles--filling the social vacuum
in the Levittowns of America and making consumption a cause
to celebrate. Today, a Tupperware party is held every 2.5
seconds. (Burp your way to a happy home with a Tupperware
party by contacting the organizers at 12923 NE Airport Way,
723-5450, or checking out the kiosk at Washington Square.)
KEY PARTY (circa 1970s):
White suburbia, rattled by the social and political upheaval
of the 1960s, ran screaming to their split-levels and barricaded
themselves in with Weber grills and Chevy Novas. Then boredom
set in, and spouse swapping began to sound like a good idea.
Let the disco play, the fondue bubble and the rosé
flow--party-cipants dropped their car keys into a dish supplied
by the host, and agreed to knock boots with the owner of
whosoever's keys they drew on the way out. (Yowza! Get
your '70s groove on with retro furnishings from Gilgamesh
Collectibles, 2800 NE Sandy Blvd., 233-1890.)
OFFICE PARTY(1980s):
Not unique to the era but canonized by it. More office
than party, these legendarily unfun shindigs demand three
tasks of their attendees: schmooze with the executives,
be spotted by one's immediate supervisor and load up on
onion dip. After the strained gift exchange, some employees
take courage from the open bar to consummate a smoldering
office flirtation in the stairwell. Others stage a fight
with a spouse/sick child emergency/food poisoning in order
to leave early. Happy holidays! (Office revelers can
restock the supply room at Office Depot, 1147 N Hayden Meadows
Drive, 240-6040, and other locations.)
RAVE (1990s--but TIMELESS, they say):
All-night techno dance freakout, where merrymakers wearing
forehead-mounted love-phasers emitting positive vibes undulate
and ambulate to the 160bpm ministrations of a benevolent
DJ. Rave M.O. #1 is sensory overload--a barrage of bass
thumps, projections of vintage educational films layered
over colored oil and bright shiny spinny things, drugs if
you feel like it, cute people to rub on, herbal ecstasy,
whistles and glitter. The DJ is a shaman, a priest, a channeler
of energy--s/he controls the psychic voyages of the dancers
with an ongoing--and ongoing--swell of mind-bending music.
Feel the love? (Rave on into the night with Hot Topic,
12000 SE 82nd Ave., 653-6560, and other locations.)
|
