A Prairie-style place on a big corner lot, Kim Mitseff’s house could easily melt into its Oak Park neighborhood. But on May 5, it was pretty hard to miss. There was a rockabilly band playing in the backyard right next to a big wooden half-pipe. A trailer full of white marble pebbles was parked at the curb, and these big palm-frondy sort of lamppost things led up the path to the front door. People were hanging off the porches and milling around the grounds, holding beverages.
a bed set as if it were a dinner table, with a huge, elephant-shaped cake for a centerpiece;
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a frantic film director in red pants standing in the kitchen, yelling, “Everyone that’s not in the scene get out of here right now! I’m trying to make a movie!”
It’s hard to tell if people will be interested in the detritus of a party they didn’t get to attend. “I hope they’re not disappointed,” she says. “I’m not even serving alcohol this time!”
