Imagine if you would, being invited to a party.

Not just any party, mind you. A special party. A party with rules you never knew and regulations you never saw. A party where adults play suck and blow, dance the electric slide and eat chocolate covered bananas. A party where the waitresses are definitely up to something, and the strange guy with the camera keeps asking for your number. A party where your sexuality is questioned, your motives are investigated, and your identity is put to the test.

Welcome to the Purple Door. You enter through a door that you've seen a hundred times before. Someone takes your mugshot, leads you down the stairs, and you're free to enter a world where the surreal is par for the course.

Once inside, you're presented with what looks like exactly what it is -- a party in the warehouse of a bookstore. However, after 10 minutes of random party music and mingling with the crowd, a bell starts to ring, a fairy makes her way through the masses, and the performance begins to unfold in front of your eyes.

The Purple Door (www.purpleoo.com) was created by Gabriel Washington, a local performance artist, as a way for himself and the public to explore their sexual identities.

Two performances of the Purple Door were held in State College on Friday and Saturday evenings in front of crowds of various ages, shapes and occupations. Everyone came expecting a party, and most left with a sense of gratitude for what they'd been a part of.

As for my part in all of this, well, in the words of Jerry Garcia, "Lately it occurs to me what a long ... strange ... trip it's been." Less than a week ago, the artistic director of the show, Todd McCannon, contacted me about needing someone to help with their floundering Web site. I investigated further, and after sticking my nose through the looking glass, I found a world that I am glad I didn't let pass by.

I was (informally) inducted into the crew of the Purple Door with a handshake and a smile Wednesday afternoon, and by that evening's end I was running cables, planning operations and constructing the "space."

"Space" is one of those words that you hear often in the harrowing world of art production, and just when you thought that you had heard the last of it, someone finds another inventive place to stick it in a sentence.

You see, I am not an art major. I'm not even a great Art 100 student. I don't really like the buzzwords like "feel" and "space," and art -- performance art especially -- isn't something that I used to take all that seriously. Let's just say that if you would have mentioned something about performance art to me before this past week, I would have rolled my eyes and mumbled something about glorified actors.

However, as I began to pour more of my blood, sweat and myriad of expletives into the project, I began to realize the weight of what we were doing. It wasn't just art; it was the entire process leading into it. The idea that it was our job, as members of this crew, to communicate another person's ideas and beliefs to a crowd meant that we had to make ourselves invisible. It was about Gabriel and the crowd, and our job was to connect the two.

I don't know that I'll ever watch another TV show, movie or concert in the same way again. The amount of work that our small crew (consisting of a handful of technicians, Todd, myself and a few other helping hands) had to do for a show like this was absolutely astounding. I virtually pulled back-to-back all-nighters and ran myself to the point of exhaustion.

I can't imagine the amount of planning and preparation that goes into something like a KISS performance. We had something like 120 square feet to wire -- compared to The Bryce Jordan Center, our job was nothing.

And that was just the set-up.

Todd and I were also responsible for filming the two shows, and after having a few brief discussions on the subject, we ended up with a couple characters that would allow our filming to integrate itself with the show. He was the documentarian, I was the tourist. Two relatively simple characters in what was becoming an increasingly complex performance.

Our alter egos, however, were not so simple. Todd and I decided to play the "anti-heroes" of the party. We were the pig-headed, sex-oriented guys who everyone has grown to know and avoid. We really just wanted to get laid that night, and anything that stood in our way (including Gabriel himself) was dealt with in the end. By the end of the show, I had probably asked more girls out than I had in my entire life.

The Purple Door was something of a white rabbit for me. I followed it down into a world where I got to be someone I was always too cynical to be. I learned invaluable information about the work that goes into the shows I take for granted every day. I met a lot of really great people, learned a little bit more about myself and most importantly, had an experience I will never forget.

Your purple door could be waiting right around the corner from you.

If you ever get the chance to work on a project like this one, do not pass it up. The time seems like a waste, the work seems unrewarding, and the effort seems incongruous with the final product. But trust me on this -- until you follow that white rabbit down into the hole, you'll never really know for sure.