I miss em, the crazy bastards.
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The party Saturday was a blast. We had a great time, and I can't say enough to thank everyone for showing up and having a good time with us. It made us very happy to see all of you. Our guests are an extremely generous bunch. We ended this party with possibly more booze than we started with, we've got new tiki accessories and a vintage album by cocktail comedian Woody Woodbury titled "Booze is the Only Answer." Beautiful cheesehead pastry chefs showed up bearing sweets. People brought desserts and more desserts, and more wine. To those of you who couldn't be here, well, hopefully next time?
I think, counting kids and teenagers, there were about 60 or 65 people in and out. We managed to have enough food, enough ice, more than enough beer and sangria (anyone want to stop by for a drink or three?) and everyone seemed to get along fine. It's always fun to introduce people who've never met and then see them talking away later on. We had bakers, writers, cops, artists, entrepreneurs, sign language interpreters, engineers, internet musical geniuses, social workers, unofficial mayors of Chicago, IT professionals, HR marketing professionals, stay home dads, stay home moms, sophisticated European businessmen and mysterious beautiful women who asked not to be identified on this page in order to protect their privacy.
Here's the thing about parties. You do all this work, you get ready, make lists, clean, cook, all that stuff. You set up places to eat and drink, you arrange chairs in a way that you hope will encourage people to socialize. You worry about how you're going to deal with all the garbage when your cans are already half full from housecleaning, and all the food packaging you got rid of. You wonder if anyone will show up, because this might be the time that people realize they're just tired of your bullshit.
Then the party starts, and at some point--Saturday it was about an hour in--the number of guests hits a critical mass and the party starts. And, quickly after that, you lose control and the party becomes almost a living thing on its own. The chairs you set out get moved around, people end up hanging out in places you didn't think they would, your guests start to find their way around your place as they get comfortable and things just seem to run themselves. I love that ride.
So...it turns out that there's always enough food, and if it all gets eaten that just means people liked it. You can always find a good-humored kid who'll take a buck or two to climb into your garbage and recycling cans wearing a pair of your daughter's rain boots and jump up and down, compressing your trash into more manageable piles. When that one defective firework misfires and nearly hits a young girl in the head, setting her hair ablaze, her father doesn't punch you in the face and she actually turns out to have been excited about the whole experience. Lord, I hope so anyway.
See you later, alligators.
I think, counting kids and teenagers, there were about 60 or 65 people in and out. We managed to have enough food, enough ice, more than enough beer and sangria (anyone want to stop by for a drink or three?) and everyone seemed to get along fine. It's always fun to introduce people who've never met and then see them talking away later on. We had bakers, writers, cops, artists, entrepreneurs, sign language interpreters, engineers, internet musical geniuses, social workers, unofficial mayors of Chicago, IT professionals, HR marketing professionals, stay home dads, stay home moms, sophisticated European businessmen and mysterious beautiful women who asked not to be identified on this page in order to protect their privacy.
Here's the thing about parties. You do all this work, you get ready, make lists, clean, cook, all that stuff. You set up places to eat and drink, you arrange chairs in a way that you hope will encourage people to socialize. You worry about how you're going to deal with all the garbage when your cans are already half full from housecleaning, and all the food packaging you got rid of. You wonder if anyone will show up, because this might be the time that people realize they're just tired of your bullshit.
Then the party starts, and at some point--Saturday it was about an hour in--the number of guests hits a critical mass and the party starts. And, quickly after that, you lose control and the party becomes almost a living thing on its own. The chairs you set out get moved around, people end up hanging out in places you didn't think they would, your guests start to find their way around your place as they get comfortable and things just seem to run themselves. I love that ride.
So...it turns out that there's always enough food, and if it all gets eaten that just means people liked it. You can always find a good-humored kid who'll take a buck or two to climb into your garbage and recycling cans wearing a pair of your daughter's rain boots and jump up and down, compressing your trash into more manageable piles. When that one defective firework misfires and nearly hits a young girl in the head, setting her hair ablaze, her father doesn't punch you in the face and she actually turns out to have been excited about the whole experience. Lord, I hope so anyway.
See you later, alligators.
