Please, do not let my photo fool you. I was born to get down, to “party.” I’d say it’s in the genes, but I have my doubts.
Not to bag on where I came from, but something tells me that this was a trait acquired over time. One that came with years of extensive training and field research as opposed to something inherited through the fantasy of creationism, or from something as fickle as evolution.
For better or worse, I have gotten around. I have painted Seattle and Austin, Texas, in that deep red shade of mischievous tomfoolery. I have rocked atop hotel rooftops all across the islands of Hawaii. I’ve done the tango with Poseidon.
Los Angeles and Miami bore me with irrelevance, and even though New York proved to be too much for King Kong, I didn’t have any problems — or hear any complaints.
As for Las Vegas, like many of us, she remembers me too. The difference in our relationship, however, is that she actually misses me when I’m gone.
As for Phoenix and the surrounding slab of inhabited concrete affectionately referred to as, The Valley, to say that I have been impressed would be as much a lie as it would be to say that I don’t see the potential that this area has to offer.
Even though my thirst hasn’t been quenched, I know hydration is out there, somewhere (hopefully). It is the desert after all. One must keep positive.
Sure, we have Mill Avenue, Old Town Scottsdale and even downtown Phoenix for clubs, dance halls and bars to frequent. And yes, for those PG-13 evenings we have Tempe Market Place, Desert Ridge and Glendale.
In the conglomerate of cities and personalities that we are and posses, options are abound for us all to enjoy — except for the elusive, often misrepresented — house party.
A lot has been made of ASU’s party school image and rankings, along with the growing tourism to the area, but I’m not convinced – not yet at least.
The simplest solution, I agree, would be to just “throw a party.” However, if life has taught me anything it’s that moderation is the mother of disaster. I’m not looking for one party, I want parties — and I want them all to be legit.
Spread them out over the coming weeks, choreograph with other domiciles if you want, print flyers. Create a Facebook page, tweet about it. Whatever your method of spreading the word may be, start spreading.
Rapidly approaching is that time of year where all I want is to be surround by people I don’t know, preferably all in costume. I’ll be Harvey, a Jimmy Stewart shout-out. It’s tradition.
The ingredients aren’t hard to work with, or find: A house with comfortable furniture (the less, the better), good (not to be confused with “loud”) music and happy, friendly people who don’t play, watch, or worship the uninspiring game of beer pong. Exceptional wall art is a must also.
Bars and clubs are so “early 21st century.” As we continue into the new millennium, let us open our hearts, minds and doors for the resurgence of the once respected and adored, yet now greatly missed, house party.
Reach the reporter @ jbfortne@asu.edu
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