The End of the 00s: The Life of the Party, by Doree Shafrir

by The End of the 00s

It was 2004. We lived in Philadelphia. I’d bought a house in June on South 13th Street, in a neighborhood that had at one time been nearly all Italian but was now a mix of Mexicans, gays, Vietnamese, and Urban Outfitters employees. Real estate was cheap. I had an adjustable-rate mortgage. I rented out the downstairs apartment to a costume designer with bad credit and Moe moved into my second bedroom upstairs. I worked at an alt-weekly and rode a bike.

We had spent that spring and summer hanging out. I was sort of single for most of it, which is the best way to be in the summer. We saw Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind and drove to Atlantic City afterwards; we got pulled over on our way out at 3 in the morning and my friend flirted with the police officer and didn’t get a ticket. I was in a band with her boyfriend and a couple other guys. Everyone needs a girl in the band but I wasn’t quite winsome enough, or musical enough. I had played piano as a kid; how hard could it be to play keyboards in an indie-rock band? It was hard. They bought me Piano for Dummies for my birthday. I wrote a song about life on the moon and quit the band. We had a studio, a massive loft space in Kensington in a former factory building that cost $1000 a month. I said maybe I’d go there to write. I went there to hang out. I had the landlord build a darkroom and then never developed any pictures. We had a party and grilled s’mores outside and afterward went to Hollertronix, the dance party that was thrown every few weeks or so in the in the basement of a place officially called the Ukrainian-American Citizens Association, which everyone just called the UACA or the Ukie Hall. There was another place, the RUBA Hall, which was officially the Russian Ukrainian Boating Association, that also had parties. No one did much boating there.

Hollertronix parties were sweaty, messy, dirty affairs. They were the best parties in Philadelphia. You went to them to get drunk and dance all night. The DJs-Diplo and Low Budget-were kings. On Halloween there was a special edition of Hollertronix and there were rumors that M.I.A., who was dating Diplo, was going to show up and perform. Diplo had met M.I.A. when she was producing her first album, Arular. Diplo had remixed the songs on Arular from his apartment in North Philadelphia and turned it into a mixtape called Piracy Funds Terrorism, whose tracks had leaked online.

There was a debate about where to go on Halloween. One of our friends was having a party, but a lot of our friends were also going to Hollertronix. I was dressed up like Punky Brewster. This was not so much of a stretch; when I was 8, everyone said I looked just like her. (She later had her breasts reduced. I did not.) My boyfriend was dressed as Superman, in a costume that in retrospect erred too much on the side of male ballet dancer. Moe and our other friend Jessica were dressed up as Grunge, or maybe The ‘90s.

I can’t remember why, but we decided to go to the friends’ party. Probably because it was closer and we wouldn’t have to wait in line to get in.

Everyone said the Halloween Hollertronix was the best one ever. M.I.A. threw copies of Piracy Funds Terrorism into the crowd. It was insane; amazing; off the chain. The party we went to was boring and we left early. Even though I saw M.I.A. perform at the UACA a few months later, she had already gotten famous. It wasn’t the same.

Moe moved out to live with her boyfriend, then moved back in when they broke up. Jessica and I moved to New York. I stopped going to dance parties.

Doree Shafrir is a writer living in Brooklyn.