When I sat down to write a bit about the holidays I realized that I couldn’t write about the holidays in D.C. without talking about Halloween, which has become fairly out of hand.
My Halloween weekend started off in a big way. Brightest Young Things (BYT) is the popular music blog in town; it’s run by a crew of hipsters my friend Claire likes to call “the cool kids,” and they periodically sponsor events. This fall’s big event was a 3D Halloween party in the Newseum featuring DJ Questlove. The Newseum, for those of you not familiar with D.C. pay museums, is a 250,000-square-foot museum of news. It has 7 floors that wrap around an open glass atrium, so that on any floor you are basically walking around a box with a hole in the middle. The Newseum holds roughly 4,000 people, and BYT managed to pack it full at $25 a head.
Being the cheap bastard that I am, I normally wouldn’t pay that kind of money to be at a party where drinks are pricey and the dance floor is so packed that I’m grinding up on some guy in a tacky Mario brothers costume (there were lots of those). But this year, I got offered a free ticket in exchange for being part of the midnight zombie flash mob, so I figured, why not go? There were about 20 or so of us, and the zombie choreographer was a bit ambitious with his moves. There were about 10 total including a spin and a couple of shuffles in order to keep us looking zombie like. He actually thought – get this – that drunk hipsters could dance. Hahahaha.
When midnight struck, so did the zombies, covered in blood yet ironically still wearing their tight jeans and clever patterned skirts. While the rest of the party was in full Halloween gear, most of the “cool kids” stuck to their usual hipster garb plus blood and puss. The exception were a few girls who decided to rock the onesies, and a gal covered entirely in green make-up Beetlejuice style. What should have been a fun and wacky dance through the crowd turned into an angry procession of pushing, shoving, drink spilling, biting (yes, biting), and me screaming “Brains!” at the top of my lungs. Mob mentality is frightening anyway, but when you put people in costumes, they lose their inhibitions a good deal more, and by the end of the dance floor, I’m pretty sure not all the blood we were dripping was fake.
One very hammered zombie I’ll call Little T turned to me with a wicked little smile and said, “Watch this.” He then proceeded to get onto his stomach and slither at remarkable pace to the first girl wearing a slutty outfit, grab her ankle, and start to bite. I must say that despite myself I was totally entertained. It broke every social norm in such a way that the girl had no idea how to react, other than with pure shock. Little T proceeded to repeat this act on about 10-12 groups of slutty costumed girls, all with similar reactions until he finally met the Duffman.
Duffman in full Duff form looked down at Little T and said, “What the fuck are you doing to my girlfriend?” The look on Little T’s face was much like that of the girls he had been biting, and while the muscles on Duffman might have been fake, his ability to beat the crap out of Little T was real enough. I’ll give D.C. one thing: We know how to do security, which luckily for T happened to be right nearby.
Despite the drunken mob, I must say that overall the party was way more fun than I expected. DJ Questlove was great, the upper dance floors were less crowded and fun, some of the costumes were amazing, and it was pretty cool to see the exhibits after hours. But the best party by far was being able to drink and smoke in a bloody costume on the balcony of a prestigious museum overlooking Pennsylvania Ave. If there is one thing D.C. loves, it is to flaunt its debauchery in the face of its national pride. Hurrah, youth of America, this is how we party!