If you’re here, in my class, then you already know my story. Until I was 21, I’d never been to a party. And then everything changed. I went to a party, I learned the tricks, and yes, it was the first and last time I felt alive. Let’s begin.Congratulations! You’ve been invited to your first party. You scared? You should be. I remember my first party, because it was hosted by a guy whose dad was really into Charles Manson, and their basement was awesome.
Let’s start with the invitation. You want to make an impression with your response, so go big: Invest in calligraphy lessons and respond with a handwritten scroll that says “Yes!” Before you send it, dip it in your dad’s Paco Rabanne.
Hair and makeup. I like to do my own hair. I’ve only got one and it’s thick and curly and in the center of my head, but I always slick it straight back. I suggest you do the same. I can see some of you are dermatologically hopeless, so let’s skip straight to wardrobe.
You ever been in an all-out brawl? Dress comfortably, in case you find yourself in an all-out brawl.
Next: “Do I bring a gift?” It’s a hot-button issue, since most people can’t afford healthcare. My suggestion: Write a poem, and ask the host if you can perform it. Make sure it rhymes, or they might say “no.” They won’t actually, literally say “no”; they’ll be gracious about it, but that’s what they’ll mean.
Snacks: Bring some. The party host won’t spend money on food; they’ll spend it on a fog machine or hire the co-worker they’re sleeping with to do their magic show.
The party will be at a location. How do you get there? Have you considered a milk truck? Hop on the back—it’s free, and you’ll get to see the city how it’s meant to be seen.
Sidenote: Is that the right address? To that I ask: Is any address wrong? Walk up to the door and tell the owners you’re “here for the party.” As long as you’re not murdered—or, worse, sold bitcoin—then no address is the wrong address.
You’re in. Look around, and scan for the exits. If there’s only one, make sure you stand by it the entire night. If there’s more than one, well, LOOK AT YOU—you know rich people!
Fall forward onto your fingertips and check if guests are wearing shoes. They aren’t? Oh, Mama! Put your walking poles away (most foyers have hooks), kick off your open-toe fisherman sandals, and get into it!
Find the host and thank them for having a party, then mention the poem. Sprinkle some of your loose snacks on the couch, wait for their dog to sniff them out, then tuck him in the hockey bag you brought. Leave that by one of your fancy, multiple exits.
You’re in a conversation with someone new. You’re telling them about what you learned in my other course, “Westworld Is a Show with Symbolism,” but they’re looking over your shoulder for someone else to talk to. Rude. If that’s the case, grab them by the chin, look them right in the eyes, and tell them: “All of the Power Nine should be allowed in tournament play.” THAT’s a conversation.
Which brings us to your Number One question: “Drinking?” You might see an alcohol at a party. If someone offers you one, tell them it causes you to burst into flames, then say you’re kidding, then respond however you want. Be gracious, or don’t. Some dudes are creepy (not you, though).
Next slide. You ever been in a brawl before? No? Well, start practicing. And—all together now—“DRESS. COMFORTABLY.”
Is there a TV? If not, bring one and don’t forget your RCA adaptors. Make sure everyone hushes so they can see the commercial you’re in. Daddy needs to sell some open-toe fisherman sandals.
So there you have it. I know I said I’d do an hour, so we’ll leave the last 53 minutes open for questions. Oh, and if I could get a volunteer to help me with the projector—the hotel doesn’t provide staff after setup.
Matt Corluka has a fun last name and his original sitcom was a finalist at the Austin Film Festival in 2017. He would also owe you a unique and personalized handshake if you donated to the Ottawa Hospital Cancer Centre.