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all tomorrow's parties
Aug. 11th, 2001 05:21 pmImagine it:
You climb up a rickety wooden ladder and step into a scene straight out of a movie or a book...
You're standing on a moonlit rooftop in the grip of a clear, warm Seattle night; salt breeze blowing in off Elliott Bay. The perimeter is lined with Christmas lights and caution tape. You can see for miles up here, from the docks of the bay to Beacon Hill, and from the Space Needle to Boeing Field.
And you're not alone. There are three hundred beautiful black-clad people talking, dancing, drinking and smoking out here. The goth clubs of Seattle are empty tonight; even the DJs are here, on their day off, spinning strange and wonderful music out into the night.
This isn't a commercial event. This isn't a promoted thing. This is just a girl with a cool artist's studio who decided to throw a party on the roof of the converted warehouse in which she lived.
This is the most beautiful party you've ever seen.
That's how it was. Things like this don't actually *happen*; we *Dream* about them happening, or see them in the movies. We don't actually get to go to parties like this!
And yet I was there. It should have been impossible; nothing so perfectly stylish, hip and cool could really be true.
...Yet it was. And I stood on that rooftop with my trenchcoat blowing rather flatteringly in the breeze, dressed to kill, as I smoked my clove cigarettes and traded sips of absinthe. And I thought to myself, 'This can't be happening. This moment is too perfect. This place is too beautiful. This party... is a miracle party.'
Can you imagine it? They stopped counting after two hundred and fifty people on that roof; most estimates place the number of attendees between three hundred and three hundred fifty. Can you imagine what that party was like?
I can't, and I was there.
The music was beautiful. Heather (aka DJ Hana Solo) and her colleague Xavier13 played most of my favorites; even a The The song! Nobody ever plays The The! I danced, I sang, I was full of joy.
It didn't even ruin my night when the cops made us get off the roof at 3:30. If they hadn't, the party would have gone till dawn.
I loafed downstairs with Six and Hardrock (who I oddly hadn't met before, and liked instantly) until I was sober enough to drive; I crashed on Six's couch. I had an unbelievable hangover today.
But like scratches on your back from a favorite lover, the mark of pain served to remind me only of the joy, the wonder, the sheer impossibility of it all.
Please, whatever gods there may be, let there be another party like this. And let me go. But if this was a once-in-a-lifetime, I am so utterly happy to have been there.
You climb up a rickety wooden ladder and step into a scene straight out of a movie or a book...
You're standing on a moonlit rooftop in the grip of a clear, warm Seattle night; salt breeze blowing in off Elliott Bay. The perimeter is lined with Christmas lights and caution tape. You can see for miles up here, from the docks of the bay to Beacon Hill, and from the Space Needle to Boeing Field.
And you're not alone. There are three hundred beautiful black-clad people talking, dancing, drinking and smoking out here. The goth clubs of Seattle are empty tonight; even the DJs are here, on their day off, spinning strange and wonderful music out into the night.
This isn't a commercial event. This isn't a promoted thing. This is just a girl with a cool artist's studio who decided to throw a party on the roof of the converted warehouse in which she lived.
This is the most beautiful party you've ever seen.
That's how it was. Things like this don't actually *happen*; we *Dream* about them happening, or see them in the movies. We don't actually get to go to parties like this!
And yet I was there. It should have been impossible; nothing so perfectly stylish, hip and cool could really be true.
...Yet it was. And I stood on that rooftop with my trenchcoat blowing rather flatteringly in the breeze, dressed to kill, as I smoked my clove cigarettes and traded sips of absinthe. And I thought to myself, 'This can't be happening. This moment is too perfect. This place is too beautiful. This party... is a miracle party.'
Can you imagine it? They stopped counting after two hundred and fifty people on that roof; most estimates place the number of attendees between three hundred and three hundred fifty. Can you imagine what that party was like?
I can't, and I was there.
The music was beautiful. Heather (aka DJ Hana Solo) and her colleague Xavier13 played most of my favorites; even a The The song! Nobody ever plays The The! I danced, I sang, I was full of joy.
It didn't even ruin my night when the cops made us get off the roof at 3:30. If they hadn't, the party would have gone till dawn.
I loafed downstairs with Six and Hardrock (who I oddly hadn't met before, and liked instantly) until I was sober enough to drive; I crashed on Six's couch. I had an unbelievable hangover today.
But like scratches on your back from a favorite lover, the mark of pain served to remind me only of the joy, the wonder, the sheer impossibility of it all.
Please, whatever gods there may be, let there be another party like this. And let me go. But if this was a once-in-a-lifetime, I am so utterly happy to have been there.
