‘Humping the dream’ at Snow King Halloween

Wednesday, October 31, 2007

By Grace Hammond

Jackson Hole, Wyo.-“I’m expecting it to be like a high school dance.”
My cactus-costumed friend and I were on the same wavelength. We were also freezing. We hurried toward the Snow King entrance.

“But even the chess club is probably drunk,” I added.

Such was the banter of girls who had never yet been to a KMTN Halloween Bash. We came in a posse, decked out in too-small scraps of costume, glitter and false eyelashes. We’d “heard tell” about this Halloween event. The grizzled old Jackson party veterans – you know, the people who’ve been here a year or more – said it was the party to end all parties. So there we were: Snow King or bust, ready to partake in a fundraiser for the children.

The party was still at half-mast but picking up steam when we came through the door. The crowd bottlenecked at the lobby. Masked men and painted women displayed their (or someone else’s) IDs to get into the 21-plus room of revelry. In the arena, the most fantastical dreams of every child born in the early ’80s materialized.

It was a 20-something wonderland – a place where you wouldn’t be surprised to see the unicorn from Tom Cruise’s “Legend” brush past you and give you a little wink.

The Publisher’s Clearinghouse Guy wove through the crowd, flanked by a camera crew and clutching a check he could barely carry, his glorious grey hair slicked back, perfect. A group of American Gladiators – Storm, is that you? – danced with be-glittered jousting sticks held high, seemingly ready for the gauntlet. “Where’s Waldo” was as elusive as ever, popping up like a prairie dog throughout the crowd. Even our middle school days got some play: Flava Flav pimped by with a trademark clock around his neck, and Jay and Silent Bob skulked in the corners.

Next year, I’ll jump on the bandwagon and pay homage to my ’80s and ’90s roots. I’ll go as the Oregon Trail Video Game and walk around telling people they just lost three oxen or Becky has died of cholera. Or I’ll show up as Gem, Rainbow Brite or maybe the kid from the Flight of the Navigator.

The chess club was there, as predicted. Whether or not they were drunk, I don’t know. There were too many of them. The audience was littered with nerd costumes – taped glasses, pocket protectors and a smattering of Urkel-ized pants. The most important figures of the day danced, drank and made out. A gaggle of fairies with wrinkles painted on their faces –  really St. John’s Laboratory Department – practically filled the floor at the beginning of the party, dancing to soul, R&B, funk and Motown by local favorites Soul Impressions.

“We’re Hillary Clinton’s Nutcracker Sweet,” said Beebe Shield, spelling out “sweet.” “We say to Hillary: You go, girl!”

Paris Hilton, of perhaps greater notoriety than Mrs. Clinton, was appropriately lanky and snide. There was more than one variation on the Britney Spears theme: the classic and unfortunate oversized-sunglasses, lollipop and muu-muu look, and an “Oops I Did it Again” costume that featured a double imaginary nip slip, half-shaved head and an innocent baby doll tied about the ankle. Kid Rock’s character needed a little coaching on the recent and infamous Waffle House incident, but once aware of the nefarious scuffle, he assured me he had “kicked [the guy] all over that mother******.”

Nary a moment passed without a costume coming apart at the seams, breaking in half or skittering across the floor as the result of an overzealous attempt to bump ’n’ grind. The success of the party owed in part to the invisible yet omnipresent existence of  “the pre-game.” Pre-gaming gets people in the party mood. It’s customary to arrive at this type of event fashionably late, having clocked several hours at a before-party to-do. The pre-game can even be the hallmark of the evening: you and your besties, hosing each other down with glitter or body paint, jammed into a bathroom that reeks of burning hair and nail polish remover. You’ll remember this part fondly. In fact, it might be the only part you remember at all.

More than anything, the party was “so Jackson.” I was wrong thinking that it would be just like high school – it was like college. It’s not an insult to point out that there are a disproportionate number of sexy, fabulous Jackson residents for whom this place is the “to be continued” of undergrad. And why not? They’re living in party houses, surrounded by exciting, interesting people their age, working the same dishwashing jobs they did for work study. “Humping the dream,” my friend Cheryl calls it.

On the dance floor of the Snow King arena, hump they did, happily and unapologetically. And they looked damn good doing it.

Photo by DEREK DILUZIO
Bunnies and pimps:  an interesting juxtapose.

PERMALINK:
‘Humping the dream’ at Snow King Halloween | Planet JH News Article: General Music Arts and Culture

Leave a Comment