All fellow carousers out there know that "weekend" in layman's terms is a rather dubious and stringent affair. It starts strictly in accordance with the dictatorship of the calendar on the second square from the right, allotting two days - and two days only - to party, dance, wreak havoc, and then to recuperate. The reader would agree with me about this being a restrictive approach to something as important and vital to our existence as the magic notion of The Weekend.

Living life to the fullest is hard work, frequently manifested in ingesting of alcoholic concoctions in a plush, darkened venue accompanied by a couple of cool friends and sweet beats. Such undertaking frequently requires the participants to have energy comparable to that of an Energizer bunny. We must also have a quick ear to pick up danceable beats. Finally, a concrete stomach is a necessity in proper libation processing, and to digest the crude, greasy food needed thereafter.

In Seattle, the landing site for the weekend (which in reality, never ends, but takes a breather on certain evenings) is Pioneer Square's Last Supper Club - serving up boiling House frothy goodness to thankful patrons on Thursday nights. Those in charge of the night surely know good time on a first-name basis, for these weekly affairs have, from its inception six months ago, blossomed into one of the busiest nights in town, monopolizing the time of those who wish to start (or continue, if you will) the weekend a tad earlier than the boring rest.

The delicious beats have not failed to pack a full house worth of bumshakers and revelers for six months running, with Chef DJ's Jordan and Flave, all of InHouse Productions fame, along with DJ Hyperfunk (NextLevel Productions) serving the best, the deepest, and the funkiest Epicurean dance experience to eager merrymakers.

All customary dangling-carrot luring tactics aside, the vibrancy of the crowd needs no mention of "beautiful people." LSC gets filled to the brim with a wide array of audiences for this particular night: club heads - bopping heads by the speakers and on the couches, ex-raver kids - recognizable by their ability to actually dance to the music, tired but happy Downtown nine-to-fivers making a bee-line for the bar, electronic music enthusiasts, and more of the usual array of sub-culture. The jollity has reached unprecedented levels here, we were told by DJ Flave - also known as Paul Graham. On one particular night, probably brought on by the heat which ruled in Seattle over the summer, ladies took the DJ stage and the boxes a-bordage, dancing and shaking. In their musical frenzy, they managed to cause the collapse of one of the speaker towers, which flank the DJ booth. "It was scary," said Graham later, recalling the incident, "luckily, no one got hurt. But man, I was scared watching that speaker crash." To add spice and diversity to the pulsating fusion of party people, a flavor of Drum n' Bass - manifested by prominent Jungle DJing/promoting trio, 360 BPM, was moved into the basement. Self-proclaimed original Junglists, DJ's Zacharia, Demo, and Nitsuj provide a bit of variety to steady House rhythms upstairs with their jagged, raw machinery of beats, interspersed with some quality melodic numbers. "We were looking to open the downstairs," said Paul, regarding the addition of 360 BPM, "and I talked to Zach[aria] and those guys, and they were all for it."

The guys of InHouse do not stop there, as is made evident by their grandiose plans: On September 16th DJ Dan, the house sage, beloved by Seattleites, dropped his beats for an ecstatic crowd. Coming up, DJ Sneak will make an appearance on the 21st of October. It is their way of saying "thank you, Seattle, for making every Thursday night the proper way to kick up one's heels." "The idea is to bring a big [name] DJ every month, but keep it free," said Graham, pointing out the amazing - and one of the most attractive facts about this night - entrance fee, which is rather well-rounded ZERO dollars. That's right - all the fun you can possibly digest after four days of straight working, and you don't even have to pay to party.

Thus you have it - the ultimate jump start for your end-of-the-week revelry at the Last Supper Club, where a red-hot weekend comes your way, blaring its horns and bumping its speakers at 95 miles an hour. There ain't nothing you can do about this, other than raise a glass, cheer the DJ's, and laugh at the old grey men on "60 Seconds" who got it all wrong - our House is a tough one to bring down.