The soiree got hopping some time after sundown. The White Russians were flowing; Creedence was blaring.
It was my job to answer the door. Wearing thrift store stilettos and a cheap white nightie, I intoned, “You must be here to fix the cable” to all who arrived. Many were bathrobe-clad.
The more savvy of the bunch would retort with “That is why they sent me, I am an expert” in German accents.
For those who are privy, it’s obvious that the aforementioned events occurred during a Big Lebowski party. I was clearly dressed as Bunny (there is nothing blonde about me, but female character options are sparse here). I greeted at least two Walters, three Maudes, countless Dudes and a Jesus or two.
It was as though we had our own dialect. The script for The Big Lebowski is constantly running in my head, and among other Lebowski infatuates I felt at ease dropping quotes as I pleased — not something I can really do in the button-down day-to-day (try saying “This aggression will not stand, man!” to your editor).
This week’s Lebowski Fest (Feb. 25-26) seems an ecstatic mass-scale version of the Dude-centric house party. Several Lebowski Fests take place throughout the nation each year.
And the fact that it has finally come to Tampa suggests a cultural groundswell.
