Ah, the party: the Royal Flush of Friday night affairs. Few of us are immune to its appeal. We search tirelessly for parties, and upon their mention, all other plans become backup plans, only needed in case of police or parent intervention.
Art by Liora Ostroff/Staff
Whatever it is that makes parties so appealing, the appeal is universal. Freshmen carefully dip their feet in the novelty of the party, while seniors have already perfected the art, fluidly operating the party and eliminating all but the inevitable resulting damages.
It may seem radical, but I suggest that the party be removed from its seat at the throne of weekend plans. I do not find the party stimulating, enjoyable, or fresh. Furthermore, after a few years of careful observation, I have arrived at the conclusion that the majority – a “silent majority,” if you will – of students at LM do not enjoy parties nearly as much as one would think.
On weekend nights, people seek refuge from the stress and responsibility of school and work. I suppose most students would say that drinking at a party is an effective method of accomplishing this. While this sounds stress-free and therapeutic, in reality the ordeal of navigating the phases involved in a party is quite the opposite.
Getting in and out of a party is a tricky endeavor. Countless carpools and sleepovers must be arranged and parents must be avoided. These processes are made no swifter by the presence of alcohol in the brain. I abstain from drinking, but I have seen countless incidents of drunken behavior becoming problematic. Friendships get ruined; infidelity runs rampant; possessions get lost and destroyed; physical violence often results.
For whatever reason, getting a large group of people to agree on a time, place, and method of transportation is also difficult. The larger the group, the more tedious this task becomes. A friend of mine commented that 5:30-8:00 p.m. is designated “plan-making time.” Why must we require two and a half hours to plan fun? We should use this time we spend planning our relaxation to, well, relax.
When the party finally begins, all partygoers must deal with the ADD-aspect inherent in the affair. Parties are short: you usually don’t end up getting there until around 9 or 10 p.m., and if you don’t have your senior license, this means that all but one or two hours of your night have already passed. Parties are loud, crowded, and uncomfortable. There is not sufficient space, time, or privacy to carry on a substantial conversation. There is a constant shift of people around you: people entering, leaving, or just stumbling into you.
If you look around at a party, you see a surprisingly small number of people who look like they are legitimately enjoying themselves. Looking especially distressed is the party-thrower. The host endlessly cleans up spilled drinks, sweeps up broken glass, and makes sure the noise level is below the level audible by the neighbors; they spend most of their time worrying. To me, this sounds worse than an in-class essay or a midterm exam–precisely the things a party is meant to erase from the minds of all attending.
I admit: I was enticed by the prospect of the party when it was new to me. I didn’t realize I wasn’t having fun until I spent a few good nights with a few good friends, sitting in a restaurant or living room just talking about the things we found interesting. A party is like an ocean: an endless expanse of salt water, not a drop of which has any hydrating potential. A hangout with your close friends is like a tall glass of cold spring water: brimming with solace.
This is where I propose we begin to break the cycle: by setting aside this next weekend to stop texting frantically for plans, and to start enjoying the conversations we can have with our closest friends. Once this happens, I am hopeful that other plans – simpler plans – will muster the courage to stand up to the Friday night Goliath.
By Jake Wellens
Class of 2011
