Corinne always talked about this party idea. She'd get a bunch of people to show up dressed in 1912 garb, and she'd play -- let's see here: Irvin Berlin's "He Played It On His Fid, Fid, Fiddle-dee-dee" or his "Pick, Pick, Pick Pick On The Mandolin, Antonio" or, if for some reason she got sick of Irving Berlin on her phonograph, if that's even possible, she could switch to "Beans! Beans!! Beans!!!" or "Daddy Has A Sweetheart (And Mother Is Her Name)" or a song party guests might actually recognize, "It's A Long Way To Tipperary". So people would be partying like it was 1912, and then the news would break (via hand-cranked telephone? A newspaper boy selling extras?) that the Titanic had sunk, and the party guests would act as if they were truly in 1912. "Why, the unsinkable luxury oceanliner? Why, 'twas to make port in New York only this week! Any word on John Jacob Astor?"
Ignoring the logical implications, I thought it was a decent idea. Until I watched Cloverfield last night -- it makes disaster parties seem a lot less fun.
Somewhat Fun Fact: I met the actor holding the videocamera for most of Cloverfield twice, back when he was the fellow troupe member of a friend of a friend of a friend. He was in an improv group called Chuckle Sandwich -- they were so good that I waived the chance to see Carlos Zambrano pitch at Wrigley for the opportunity to eat stuffed pizza and watch comedy.