new year's eve.
i dressed like a sort of haphazard victorian orphan for this warehouse party that was supposed to be about the turn of the century and the future.
i got on the 5 to the Q. i found pinky in park slopeish. i ate thai food with pete & urcella.
at pinkys, we filled up the flasks: one with rum, one with bourbon. we headed to the train, switching from the Q to the R in times square where we could hear the HUGE crowds above us. i shivered with the energy of it, like i had moments before when the train was stopped at penn station. (penn station is a place that makes me feel really good, it's so strange, but it makes me feel so great to be in or near penn station, it just hums so hard. i once sat across the street from it on the steps to the great castle of the midtown post office and chanted some sikh chants i learned from the 3HO kundalini sikhs that were at omega. SAT NAM. because the energy just felt like it was there for the taking. you can just pluck it out of the chaos.)
when we got to the party, we got in line. the line snaked up the stairs past the loading dock. and then a bunch of cops showed up. we were told to clear out of the hall and go out into the loading dock and parking lot. at this point it didn't seem busted, just delayed. time passed as we waited in the cold. pinky greeted many friends, and everyone was wearing fun costumes. it seemed like a really friendly crowd. at around 11:40 as we huddled, some angel appeared with an amp and set it up on the dock and plugged a guitar into it. some people joined in with an accordian and a tambourine. the band played a circusy rhythmic cacophony and we leapt around in the cold, waiting for word on the bustedness and sipping from our flasks and greeting each other. more cops appeared. it didn't bode well. we counted down and kissed and threw confetti out in the parking lot while the band played. it was actually totally heartwarming and great, especially the impromptu band. finally we got word that the party was indeed busted and then we saw one of the organizers being led out in cuffs. fuck.
i have to say, if you're going to be at a party that gets busted and then contains the expected fallout of concerned women walking quickly to and fro, their brows furrowed, puffing cigarettes, it would be best if that party was a costume party that encouraged period dress. i say this because when those concerned partygoing ladies are in bustles and corsets and feathered hats and look like they just rolled out of a brothel, AND it's all set against the urban wasteland of long island city, there is a certain theatric elegance that is irreplaceable.
so, in the chaos that followed, i ended up in a car full of jaunty hooligans all looking for somewhere to go. we headed to the ART WHATEVER COLLECTIVE PLACE called rubulad, which it seemed my friends in the car were way familiar with. i had heard of this place but never been despite my affinity for partyart warehouses and freaks with hula hoops. the car was a fun place to be. i passed the flasks in the backseat and my new friend jason sat next to me video taping the voyage.
when we got to rubulad, it was fucking packed. and it didn't feel good. i'm about to pass some judgment. here i go:
about ten minutes after we were grabbed and told to "get inside, there's cops outside" and pushed into a staircase full of people trying to force each other into a room too full of people, the party was busted. and you know what? it totally should have been busted. it was dangerously dangerously overcrowded.
i won't talk shit about the music, the scene, or anything else about that place, but i will say that i think it's really fucking irresponsible for the people throwing the party to have let that event get SO overcrowded. i had a whole thought process about it while i was in there, thinking, well, am i just OLD? am i just not COOL anymore so i don't "get" this scene or dont enjoy being sardined in here? no, i'm not, i'm just someone who can see that when you are part of an underground party scene, and you throw big renegade sort of parties, you are actually shitting on the people in your community by not being smart about making your parties a safe place to be. because then your shit gets busted and you give everyone similar to you a bad name, and NYPD busts the hell out all of it all. not to mention the basic disrespect of putting your partygoers in danger. the whole thing made me angry and it gave the whole party a really unfriendly bad vibe. because how can it be a friendly party if basic respect is lacking? call it PLUR, call me 30, call it my SF ideals, call it whatever, i just feel like, party organizers have a responsibility to each other and to their community when it comes to these things. it could have been the whiskey rage that got me so mad, i guess, and, it could be that the party got out of control without anyone meaning it to, which sometimes happens. but still. it was bad.
some other stuff happened after that, like i charged my cellphone off a strand of christmas lights while we waited to be finally officially booted from rubulad, and i got super angry and sad about other personal shit, and i listened to this song like 40 times in a row, and i thought about the moments today when i was really actually happiest, and they were: when that girl was talking to me about indigo children in caravan of dreams and when i was sewing patches onto my hoodie.
