And it was a pretty fun time. One downside of our $1-for-unlimited-wop policy was that one of us always had to be in the bathroom dispensing drinks and guarding the wop. Jubb also had someone stationed at the door to direct new arrivals and deal with more duty-bound RLAs.
And of course, when I wasn't in charge of something, I was taking pictures. Like that one of Jonas and Katie, whose b-day was that night. Note the "My Little Pony" rub-on tattoo.
I'm not sure I'm built for large-party mingling (in fact I'm pretty sure I don't like it) but there's always an annoying trade-off when I decide to record life rather than participate in it. I don't remember participating in any interesting conversations or crazy shenanigans: I got drunk (three glasses) and took pictures.
Just after midnight, the wop ran out. That's my fault, as I hadn't had enough money to buy the six liters of Everclear that Jubb had requested. I got four instead, and after mixing it with about twenty-six liters of cheap punch and throwing in a few pounds of fruit and letting all that sit overnight, the resulting concoction tasted pretty good.
But there just wasn't enough. Which was all well and good, since we got quite a few noise complaints through various channels. This party ended comparitively early.
And since then we've had a few other sorts of parties. There was poker night on Tuesday, under the eager supervision of Freshman Matt. Texas Hold 'Em, tournament style.
Apparently poker ability is one skill (like mastery of semiotics) only useful around similarly talented people, because for all his experience Freshman Matt never seems to win with us class C amateurs. The unreadable Jubb — our resident idiot savant — took the pot. I broke even after a cowardly fold late in the game.
I like that kind of gathering, though the shop talk is probably as uninteresting to me as the standards-and-scandal conversations every Wednesday night at the newspaper are to the average Lawrence illiterati.
Even more comfortable for an embittered introvert like myself are our movie parties. Jubb and I watched Sneakers this week, which doesn't qualify as a party. But when Jubb's friend Alan wheeled a big t.v. in on Friday and more than a dozen people showed up to watch Brain Candy: that was a party.
A quiet party, with nothing to do but drink beer and make the occasional snide reference to Jubb's god-fuelled homophobia, which makes my awkwardness-fuelled homophobia seem less problematic.
The mature adults went to a few bars afterward, ending up at Firefly, hands down my favorite Appleton bar. Though, deep down, I know that bars are just a big waste of money.
And then there was Appleton's big party Saturday, "Octoberfest" (note the sanitized spelling). Jonas had some scheme to start drinking at one, but no one was up to that and we only made one brief foray out onto the Ave, to look for cheap food as the booths closed down.
For a study in parties, I'd hold up the wine and cheese party in Meg(h)an's room that evening as a rare specimen. I'd been suggesting such an event for a little while now, because I don't think our room has the social atmosphere to support chit-chat and crackers, and I was glad it happened so soon.
I actually had a bit of conversation with the Poet while I was pouring myself champagne. I've had probably half a dozen classes with her, and I'm not her biggest fan. But her earnest assessment of my character was disarming, not to mention apt.
Instead of darting off to the next room, I sat down for five minutes and had an actual conversation. Then the Politician called me over for another errand… I can be such a tool, when my heart's in the right place.
One thing I should mention is that, since working on The Lawrentian on Wednesday night, I've been tired. I've just wanted to lie down and relax all week.
I almost went to sleep after the wine and cheese party, but since it was only eight I decided that lazing about would be an almost equally good use of my time.
Because my night wasn't finished, after all.
The Lawrentian ed board party ranks, oddly, next to the wine and cheese party as one of the most enjoyable parties this year. At first there were just three of us: the op/ed editor, myself, and our host-in-chief.
But soon enough we had about seven people and some decent discussions. I nursed a rum and coke then swallowed my pride and had a few wine coolers. The a&e editor and I had a "girlie drink drunk" moment.
I remember calling Representative Man an elitist when he mentioned his subscription to the New Yorker. He led me to a hidden corner with a stack of Atlantic Monthly.
Two gaffes. First, I kept sniping at our managing editor (who wasn't there) for the horribleness of last week's issue, which she laid out while I was in class. Especially painful: despite Representative Man's objections, she didn't give my smoking halo editorial a byline. It looks like a letter to the editor.
And, when a gay Lawrentian (and party guest) was mentioned, I blurted out some facetious nonsense about how I was shocked to see a gay guy at Lawrence. Not PC, not at all. I'm used to 218, this year's designated PC-free zone.
We spent a long time discussing a collection of sex-ed videos for "trainables" ('70s code for the mentally retarded), but that party couldn't last. I wandered over to a disappointing house party, but thought the better of it and went home to wind-down.
And if not for the two hours I spent tutoring tonight and calling more tutors in to the writing lab to satisfy a crush of procrastinist freshman, I'd be relaxed right now.
As is, I've got to do some reading still. There'll be no parties for a while, now.
