Abroad Abroad

I love theme parties. Sometimes they make me feel all warm and tingly inside, but that’s usually the rave and circuit themed. This time, it was an international theme. And, just this once, it was during the daytime.

Well actually, there’ve been a couple fun instances of daytime drinking, but that’s for later.

I’ve been anticipating the International House’s Soiree Party for a week. Set my clock for noon exactly. Plenty of time for a warm shower, a leisurely breakfast. In reality get out of bed at 1:50. This doesn’t shock anyone. Fuck the morning shower; it’s afternoon anyway. And fuck breakfast. Beer is high in calories.

I’m slightly lost. I can’t figure out just how to get to the party. But by chance, I happen to pass an older gentleman in a checkered kilt, clutching a bagpipe to his bosom. This is probably the right road.

The party is a sprawling maze of outdoor booths. Which wouldn’t be a problem, except for the fact that the winter sun is blazing my balls off. 80 plus and humid. SPF50 can’t save me now. They’ve really gone all-out in decorations: flags everywhere, confetti, balloons, and a giant cloth spiderweb draped between two buildings like that scene they cut from Spiderman post-9/11 like a bunch of PC pussies.

Entertainment too. On one stage, a woman with a silky smooth voice croons in an indecipherable language. Shitty j-pop blares from distant speakers. In the back, the cover band plays a low-quality cover of average British rock songs. Glorious cacophony.

I wander around, sampling my heritage. Polish sausage, Russian dumplings, an Israeli cheeseburger. Food is cheap, but beer is expensive as all hell. I make the mistake of wandering to my friend’s booth. Syrian Beef and Sri Lankan beer. 5 bucks a cup makes Union Jack’s look cheap, but I suppose UJ is only pretending to be British. And I suppose I didn’t have a choice about buying expensive beer at my friend’s booth.

I settled down to eat my Arabic meat and Sri Lankan beer next to a man playing a PVC didgeridoo. Surrealism is my favorite state of existence.

I know you’ve been wondering this the whole time, “What about the American booth?” I feared Budweiser, but was pleasantly surprised by Sam Adams and Moosehead from Canada. Seems they lumped them with the USA, proving my theory that Canada is actually the 53rd state.

Anyway, at 5 bucks a pop, there’s no way I’m getting sloshed this morning. Might as well take my leave. The party is also a bit of a disappointment. I wanted more of a real international feel.

As I walk towards the gate, I coincidentally run across the other Americans. Pleasantries, without real interpersonal communication. But as I start to walk down the street, I overhear my pretty female American cohorts being oogled and catcalled by the African guards on duty. Just for a fleeting moment, this party lived up to its promise.