The Gantenbein Party


We were informed of this party by an old friend of ours from Austin. He described it as a dance party for a lady who had recently achieved the comfortable age of 26. We heard music as we rode past a tall manor of a house and stopped to survey the digs. The terrain was rugged to say the least. Not a bike in sight and no discernible motion in the windows. "What do you think?" Chips Down said with a cautionary brow lift. "Into the trenches, old friend?" And yes we went. Peter, there's only one, came out to the porch at that point which pretty much sealed the deal. "My negroes! My boys!" He called out with typical effeminacy, he was dressed in what I can only assume was woven tinsel...and possibly a shirt(?) tied around his jock. Peter, as a rule, dresses in a style I like to refer to as Future-shock. He's one of the coolest party staples in Portland, A veteran of too many tours to remember, as far as I know he lives on the front lines. So in we go. It's a beautiful house with giant windows and rich wooden trim. Lot's of expensive looking antiques but on meeting the people I bet they were just really good finds. See, the problem with being able to immediately appreciate the house is that there were absolutely no people to distract my attention. Granted, it was only 10pm when we arrived and Monday night parties, as a rule, are not to be trusted; I expected though that this was to be the general atmosphere throughout the night. I was not wrong. Only two more people arrived which made the head count, including Chips and I, a full 2 under 10. Oh and 4 people lived there. The first thing I hear the birthday girl say/exclaim belligerently upon our introduction was:
"OH PETER! I'm so happy! I've always wanted to have a dance party!!! Thank you!" Now this is not to say anything on Peter's general skill at organizing a party because I've seen his merits at work and he's earned those metals time and time again, but this was just sad and I felt really bad for this girl cause, shit lady, this is not a dance party and honestly it was no way to spend your birthday. I might have cried and been perfectly justified if it had been my party. But there was beans and rice on the stove, tons of wine, and some sort of cake which I didn't partake in cause as we all know: Uptown doesn't dig sweets. There you have it. The, and I use this title tentatively, "party" was lame. Which brings me to my next item up for discussion tonight: My friend XUI(pronounced: Chouwheiy) claims that I can't just be a hype machine and that I should write some bad reviews. The problem being that mostly I only go to sweet parties and here basically good music. Except for those guys at Centaur Guitar who played before Big Black Cloud I've really liked all the bands I've heard. So here Portland, help me out: I you're a fucking shit sucking band. Hit me up. I'll come watch your show and then write about how horrible you were!