pARTying

This past Saturday I partied. There, I said it. Mom, Dad, younger brother, I hope you are reading.

Walk past a certain suite on campus and you will see a few dozen wine bottles lined up on the windowsill. Before rushing to the nearest RA, however, look closer and see that the wine bottles are, indeed, Welch’s brand ® sparkling grape juice. Still made from grapes, with 100% less alcohol! These are remnants of parties past, obelisks reminding of many a laugh and song sung, a dance move dropped, and possibly a tear shed. Wait, sadness? No, art!

Recently, I have had the privilege of attending a unique type of party on campus with some good friends of mine, who, in their individuality, share an appreciation for many kinds of art. Our conversations often touch on music, movies, books, or other media that elicit enjoyment. From the bold, seemingly pretentious idea of incorporating aesthetic appreciation with the delight that is simply sitting around and talking with friends comes the birth of “art parties.”

Tongues firmly planted in cheek, wine glasses are brought out, filled, and, keeping proper etiquette in mind, toasted. Scarves, sport coats, accents, ties, heels, and other tasteful accoutrements are donned, though the merit of fake glasses, worn in an attempt to broadcast sophistication, is questionable. Cheese and crackers travel about the room, carried restaurant waitress-style by the hostess (a party has yet to occur in a male place of residence) and one might hear such utterances as, “Darling, I love what you’ve done with the place. The bunked beds are absolutely brilliant and inventive!”

The guests find comfortable seats after the greetings and small talk wind down and the needle of the turntable runs out of track on the record. Most have a book, a folded piece of paper, or a song at their fingertips. The art-sharing portion of the party commences, generally, with a volunteer willing to break the murmuring with a poem or excerpt of their own creation or that of an admired artist.

Despite the not-so-subtle mockery of art elitists, the guests of the party give respect and attention to the art shared or performed. They have circled around a grand piano, sat enthralled at an enthusiastic performance of a slam poem, and pensively reflected upon a somber monologue or prose passage. They do not shy away from stark, honest pieces and receive whatever is presented openly. Each piece is a unique, wonderful, shared moment, individually significant and something neat to be shared. Applause, or snapping, depending on the mood, abounds after each work as the performer bows and resumes his, or her, seat among the others in the room, glad to have been able to contribute to the lovely atmosphere. There is certainly a balance of somber as well as hilarious pieces. A spicy Latino interpretation of one of Juliet’s monologues by a theatre major led to a laugh or three.

I have questioned the nature of a “party,” when a gathering of people turns into a “party,” when one is officially “partying,” how many hugs or high-fives or drinks it takes to achieve the state of “partying,” and it is becoming clear to me that to “party” is simply to enjoy the company of others, having fun as a group. For some, alcohol and pyramids of plastic cups seems to be a necessity. For others and myself, shared art provides all the entertainment and enjoyment we could ask for.

(originally published Fall '08 in Illinois Wesleyan's Newspaper, The Argus)