Friday party, naturally!
Man, you know how this crazy big world is. At all times, while it spins, there are dudes dotting the surface of it, completely doing the best possible job at their respective tasks. There are always dudes out there who are giving not just 110%, but, at times, 100% factorial (do not challenge me at math concepts, I have Toilet Tim's Big Book of Manageable Math, and I am owning at all ways of thinking about math).
Tonight, while planning tomorrow's week-ender bash, I am one of those dudes. Sure, a man is probably sitting in a computer laboratory somewhere in Wisconsin, completely jazzed that he figured out how to create a computer code that automatically reduces the amount of computer code it takes for itself to exist, but my party plans are also humongous.
For starters, I have Zen-embraced the basic idea of the party. In the past, I have just made available a lot of things that partygoers like to enjoy, but I have not given any deeper thought as to the complex reasons why they enjoy them. Sure, if you put a drop of blood on a microscope slide and then on Friday evening around eight o'clock you put a drop of Bombay onto that blood, the blood will be observed as having more fun, and listening to Aretha Franklin and The O'Jays, but there is more to it than that. There is also the romance of the animal brain. Stay with me, people.
A man goes to a party, sure, he likes that he can put on the booze bag and eat snacks of delicate cheeses and teriyaki drumettes. But WHY does he do that? It's because he wants to find a lady (or, in certain cases, a playful dude). Now, here's where Ray gets a bit outta' town: why does he want to find someone?
It's life, man. And I don't mean life how like a distraught lady takes over her dead dad's established chimney sweep company and it goes bust because all his old-school customers don't think a female can do that kind of work. I mean life like this basic signal in all our cells that says
I guess that's my way of sayin' that life wants more life. Some old grumpies use the sentence, "misery loves company," but that ain't at all what I mean. I go against that sentence. Life, me, wants to see life, you, havin' some fun. Life wants to share. Sharing is the essence of life. A party is the essence of sharing. Hello. Come to my party. I have a lot of activities where life can seek itself out. I have trampoline Twister, which really blurs the lines between contact that was intended and contact that may only have just been subconsciously wanted. I also have a crepe bar, and a place where you can change into your swimsuit such that only your head and legs show, and in the middle is a 36" plasma TV showing old workout videos from the 1950s.
You know what? I forgot Little Susan's. That was my Lazy Susan-themed restaurant where each table...
You know what? I'm high. I'm not kidding. This may be the first time I ever broke into a thought to relate my situation, but I am high. I've got like six guys down in the living room all completely amped up to watch Braveheart, and it looks like I typed over seven pages about some kind of idea about a great party, but I am high and I just don't care. Sorry if you think this is bad or low to abandon a thought like this. I kind of see it as convenient, and easy. Sure, there will be a party tomorrow, and everyone will have a great time. It only takes me like half an hour to get that stuff together, including twenty minutes where I read magazines on my bed. Oh, man. I really need to get downstairs. What if everybody's mad at me? What if they LEFT? Crap!