We swung through the elegant junior common room (presumably the reason it's always locked and unavailable to members) outfitted with balloons, crepe paper and exquisite hors d'oeuvres.

But the really defining element awaited in the dining hall. Rock music? Slow dancing? Nope. Booze. Much booze. As many fillings of the non-recyclable plastic cup as could be drunk.

The entertainment began later, as those who had already partaken danced--some of them still partaking away, dance partner clutched in one hand, champagne bottle with the other. All quite romantic.

This extravaganza comes courtesy of the highest House dues on campus, and very much in the tradition of old Master Heimert's cocktail parties, symbols of the extravagance, elegance and downright elitism that have marked Eliot as long as anyone can remember. Ah, those were the days.   --Brian D. Ellison

Kirkland House

Virginia, the house committee chair, kept promising me it would happen. "Wait until Secret Santa. You'll never even visit other houses. It'll make you a K-House slave forever." Well, I still visit other houses, but Virginia had a point. Holiday spirit is the crucible of Kirkland. Survive it, and you become one of the K-House elect.

If you haven't heard about Secret Santa at Kirkland, let me assure you that it is quite a production. The favorite gift: a skit engineered to embarass any self-respecting santee. Kirkland's famously well-lit dining hall fills up early and stays crowded. Every accidental clink of glass hushes the crowd in anticipation of another announcement. Some days the skits begin at five o'clock and don't stop until after seven. People sing, people dance, people ride each other like horses. It's a week-long festival for the talented and the aggressively untalented alike. Adams may have the gong, but Kirkland has the show to go with it.

But the skits are an exception. The Winter Dinner is Kirkland spirit at its zenith. The dining hall, lit by candles, is the scene of a fife and drum procession. Students carry a fake boar's head while accompanying the corps...on kazoo.

But the real house spirit can be found in the quiet nods you get in the courtyard, the gruff salute of Security Officer Bob and the gravelly roar of Paulie the kitchen guy. It's these little, friendly exchanges that make the house what it is.   --John Aboud

Leverett House

Imagine an orange--a big, juicy mandarin. Now take a knife--a gleaming, sharp serrated one. Slice the orange and check out the cross section. Now you've got the essence of Leverett House in the palm of your hand.

It's crazy? Well, Leverett is pretty crazy. It's house with multiple personalities and we're damn proud of it. We've got an immensely successful contingent of athletic stars, a film society so lucrative it probably sent Orion packing, an obsessively kick-ass intramural squad and a crowd that takes house spirit seriously. We've even got own pack of crazy little kids roaming around the dining hall.

What's the craziest thing I've ever seen at Leverett? It happened at our all-male "Wet T-Shirt Contest" last year. The best bod in the house came in second to what was, inarguably, the skinniest bod. But that wiry frame belonged to our venerable, oft-worshipped I.M. head who eventually led us to our second straight Straus Cup victory.

Oh yeah--several of the contestants also mooned the fawning crowd as they strutted their stuff. And, ever watchful of setting a good example for the toddlers, one of the contestants sported a "Don't Do Drugs" bumper sticker on his derrier.

It just goes to show that Leverett sometimes does things differently--but it's definitely our way