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)

But Seriously, Let's be Ironic

For a long time, irony was synonymous with sarcasm, in all its cynicism and sometimes-subtle deprecation. It was difficult to reconcile a love for joking and absurdity with my love for others, especially when my dad maintained that "Sarcasm is a sin," quoting Matthew 5.37 (Simply let your 'Yes' be 'Yes,' and your 'No,' 'No'; anything beyond this comes from the evil one). How, I wondered, could it be sinful not to say what you mean? Don't we do that all the time? Is it ever possible to say what we truly mean?
Contemporary culture has been critiqued as pervasively ironic beyond any semblance of intentional sincerity (think: the hipster ethos, complete with Kanye West sunglasses, mustaches, Nike hi-tops, other tongue-in-cheek accouterments). However, in his editorial for Image magazine, Gregory Wolfe argues that irony is something quite different from that which is often labeled as such in contemporary postmodern culture. Irony, he believes, is something different from the "bad faith" we often see manifested through attitudes of evasiveness and biting insincerity. He writes,

"The simplest definition of irony that I’ve encountered is “the recognition of a reality different from the masking appearance.” The goal of the artist is to enable his or her audience to encounter irony as a moment of recognition, an awareness of the disparity between appearance and reality. Like many of the artist’s devices, irony is something of an interactive game, requiring a discerning mind that is willing to sift through the evidence and draw conclusions. When irony is used by the greatest minds, recognition can become revelation, a way of piercing through the ambiguities of daily life to a fleetingly-glimpsed truth."

Irony is not condescending or embittered. It "reminds us of how difficult it is to achieve the transparency of true sincerity" with our words. There is a playfulness to it, a recognition and acceptance of the limits of language and communication that can be used to great effect (see: "A Modest Proposal," and try to take it seriously). Sincerity is, I believe, one of the most noble aspirations in a relationship. And for a while, I believed that sincerity meant approaching conversation with a somber, no-nonsense attitude. However, after meeting certain people and seeing how they go about play-talking with one another, I saw the joy and imaginative liberation of irony.

Recently I've come across a few thoughts on Jesus' irony and playfulness, which breathe fresh air into the figure who is, more than maybe anyone else in history, painted as dull and vapid. This, from Wolfe's article:

"To my mind, Jesus is the supreme ironist. It is impossible for me to think of his parables, or the many koan-like conundrums he poses to apostles, Pharisees, and gentiles, without sensing his playful use of indirection, that teasing form of testing those who encounter him, that is the essence of irony."

And, from the book A Matrix of Meanings: Finding God in Pop Culture commenting on this passage: "The Bible is a subversive document with a wicked sense of humor that spares no one. Unfortunately, many of its pointed words shoot right over our heads and miss the opportunity to liberate our hearts." I don't think God didn't smile a little bit to himself when identifying himself as "I am that I am" to Moses in Exodus 3.

It seems that we need to recover this playfulness, this teasing indirection that relieves much of the tension of somber dialogue. There is a time for direct addressing of issues, when jocularity ought be put on pause. However, Wolfe's distinction between irony and "bad faith" is especially relevant when trying to figure a way of delightful indirection in a culture of cynicism and condescension. We would do well to learn from Swift, Sedaris, and even the Son of God.