Party AnimusPosted by admin - 11/11/10 at 10:11 pm
Just once in my life, I’d like to go to a real party. You know, like the ones they see on TV. Like the kind Aziz Ansari would throw. I want to be served tiny amounts of expensive, well-orchestrated food off of a serving plate that costs more than my car. I want to stop in a professional photobooth and take a few snapshots to remember the occasion, without having to take a picture myself and pretend I don’t have a left arm. I want to go somewhere with a dress code, but a cool dress code. You know, not like “jacket and tie required,” but one like “guests must wear all white,” or “partiers should wear only vests, with sultan pants.” Something cool to break the monotony.
For snacks, I want the waiters to bring around things I’d never eat in a million years, or perhaps haven’t even heard of. Like a tray of Braised Panda Niblets, with Apple Blossom dipping sauce. Or Bat Fritters. Or perhaps Spring Rolls made with freshly typing paper recycled from George Lucas’ wastebasket.
Is that so wrong?
Back in high school, there were two kinds of parties. Ones with girls, which were awkward, and ones without girls, which were oddly violent. I’d rather not repeat those again.
— Reid Kerr wants to party all the time, party all the time, party all the time.