Whig Whig Whig

They say everything that goes around, comes around.

The recent notification in my Facebook feed proves that. It was an invitation to join America's fastest growing alternative political party -- the Whig Party.

For those of you who didn't skip class during 11th grade American History, the Whigs rose to prominence prior to the Civil War. Their heyday was in the 1840's.

I'd be lying if I said I could articulate their policies and where they might stand on the issues of the day. But, in the fine tradition of willful ignorance, misinformation and downright dumbery, I'm not going to let that stop me. It hasn't stopped Sean Hannity, Lou Dobbs and even our own modern day Eva Braun, Laura Ingraham.

My fascination with the Whigs started a long time ago, a lifetime ago. And it has less to do with their platform and more -- much more -- to do with their homophonic name.

Shortly after transplanting myself from NY to sunny Southern California, I found myself living in a ramshackle bungalow, deep in the heart of Mar Vista. It was the worst house on the block. And it was directly across the street from a halfway home where they incarcerated Fatty Arbuckle for child molestation.

One night, my roommates and I started scheming, as twenty year olds are wont to do. It was a presidential election year and we thought it would be fun to throw a party.

Not some little get-together. Not some, "hey let's put on some Fedora and Pork Pie hats and lounge around on our expensive patio furniture" hipster shindig. But a real party -- a Whig Party.

300 people showed up.

All of them wearing wigs, short wigs, long wigs, rainbow colored wigs, merkins-turned-into-wigs.

If they showed up without a wig, we provided one (we visited Robinson's Beautilities on Venice Blvd and actually purchased 50 used wigs just for the occasion.) To this day I love the fact that we didn't go in for a dime, we went in for a dollar.

The entire house was festooned with streamers, banners, balloons and buntings.

Moreover, since we were all in the advertising/entertainment/arts field, there were posters and campaign slogans everywhere you looked. We staged the entire thing like a political convention, with two competing candidates: Arnie Rolaids and Herman Hardwick.

The police showed up twice.

One woman went to the Emergency Room.

And for months, dare I say years after that, friends who attended, friends who still have their wig, would attest to being at the greatest party ever thrown west of the 405.

Who knows, perhaps one of them is behind today's Whig Resurgence?

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Pictures?

Did someone say they want to see pictures?

Oh yeah, we even had our hand gesture.