Well now I understand the main draw of a masquerade party: No pressure to socialize. I mean, you can if you want to—many do—but if you don’t, nobody know it’s you who’s the party pooper. They just know it’s the guy in the gold mask with the big nose. Could be anyone really.
Slave of the Muse held it’s fifth annual Anonymity Masquerade Ball at the Bootlegger last weekend. On the inside: A dark, sensual fantasy. The outside: Friendly, family-style Italian restaurant.
By midnight, I’d met a Chinese dragon-inspired monkfish, a stilted Soul Walker, a hula hoopist in a black leather bodysuit and a smirking evil clown (who turned out to be my friend Dave). The hula girl performed a light-up hoop routine to the most beautiful, indescribable music I’ve ever heard. Indian-inspired? Asian-inspired? No, this music must come straight out of Gulliver’s Travels. From the flying island of Laputa.
“You want me to Shazam it?” Dave asked.
“Sure,” I said.
Turned out the music came from some Disney basketball movie, Glory Road. That’s probably my cue to stop drinking for the night.