Week Twenty-One: An Evening With the Gods

First things first. Let's get into the proper mood for An Evening with the Gods:



Thor, of course, plays no role in Cokesbury's party; they're stuck in the more familiar Greek and Roman theology, but this video does show you some Zeus costume possibilities and, perhaps, suggestions for a few lines of snappy dialogue.

Here's the invitation:

This message comes from Jupiter
and is sent by Mercury with speed
to summon you next Friday night
bir a big party and a feed.
Wear the garb of a god or goddess
and take care lest you lose your heart
for Venus, the goddess of love, will be there,
and Dan Cupid with his bow and dart.

Yup, there's that Dan Cupid again. Honestly, can you take any god seriously if his first name is Dan?

And yes, this is a costume party. Cokesbury has a few suggestions:

Suitable Greek costumes bay be made of loose pieces of cheesecloth, draped around the body in various ways and fastened with pins or brooches. The boys might leave the left arm and shoulder exposed by fastening their material under the armpit. Girdles of various colors should be fastened around the waist and any superfluous material pulled up under the girdle and allowed to fall in a baggy fold over it. The girls should dress their hari in Greek style with fillet and psyche. Elaborate earrings, necklaces, bracelets, and hair ornaments should be worn by the goddesses.

Allow me to paint a picture here. Your guests may arrive thinking they look like this:



Well, perhaps a little happier. This Bluto is a bit somber. Instead, imagine Bluto here with a smile on his face, a bare arm and -- I can't put this delicately -- a hairy armpit. (Tip: Do NOT search for hairy armpit photos on the Internet. They are naturally there in legion.) Go for the original. Take advantage of the "baggy" portion of the description to arrive at the party looking like this:


You'll make much more of an impression. Trust me. Much more of an impression than Cokesbury's decorations, to wit:

The room should be decorated with streamers of crepe paper in pastel colors. Cardboard with Greek letters printed on them and hung on the wall would add to the effectiveness of the decorations.

Now honestly, what else could add to the effectiveness of pastel-colored crepe paper in evoking the worlds of the gods than Greek letters cut out of cardboard? Okay, someone could toilet paper the party and that might make it more festive . . .

On to the first game, which will tell you something about seed merchandising in the early 1930s:

Seeds from the Garden of Ceres. Secure as many kinds of seeds as possible, and put a small amount of each on separate saucers or small paper plates. Give each kind of seed a number. Any seed store would doubtless be glad to furnish samples of various kinds of seeds for this game. Give each contestant a pencil and paper, and ask them to write down all the seeds they know or can guess. The one who guesses the greatest number might be given a packet of seeds as a prize.

Huh? Unless folks in the 1930s were much more acute horticulturally, this game makes no sense whatsoever. Plan this kind of game today and you'd better limit yourself to popcorn and sunflower seeds, because that's all anybody's gonna get. And why Ceres? Here's why. She is the goddess of cereals and motherly love. Wonder what she'd think of that stupid Trix rabbit?

Then there's Atlas. What would the bearer of the Entire World, inspiration of Ayn Rand, think of this:

Atlas Relay Race. Secure three or four medicine balls. Divide the guests into a group for a relay race and have them line up in rows facing goals twenty or thirty feet away, if possible. Give a medicine ball to the leader of each group. The leader of the group must place the ball on his shoulder, holding it in place with his arm, in the way Atlas appears to be carrying the world on his shoulders. The leader runs to the goal and back, touches off the next player, who does the same, until all in the group have had a turn. The group to finish first wins.

Ensure your guests don't get too rambunctious, as medicine balls, being heavy, can cause considerable damage if thrown about. Entice the more unpopular guests to engage in a game of Atlas Shrugged by encouraging them to play dodge ball with the medicine balls.

If not enough aggression has been pumped from your guests by the preceding game, bring on the next one (Note: For the more timid host and hostess, I recommend arrows with rubber tips).

Cupid's Archery Contest. Secure bow and arrows from the five-and-ten-cent store. There should be about five arrows. Have the names of guests written on large red hearts mounted on a base so they will stand up. This could be done by writing a boy's name on one side and a girl's name on the other. Let the girls and boys shoot any heart they desire. Give candy hearts as a prize for those who it.

Watch the fun evolve as singles hunt singles, married individuals "miss" the names of their spouses, et cetera, leading to a free-for-all of unbridled hostility.

Now wind down with a quieter game, one that's sure to bring a note of solemnity to the evening, as it involves infectious diseases.

Pandora Will Open Her Mysterious Cakset. Each player is given a sheet of paper at the to of which is written "Pandora will open her mysterious casket." Theya re told that out of Pandora's casket excaped all the passions, sorrows, and diseases of the world; that only hope remained in the casket. They are told to write all of the passions and sorrows and diseases that they can think of which can be made by using the letters given above. The one having the largest list is the winner, and his list should be read.

And, as this is the 1930s, most lists will resemble this:

scrapula
the staggers
dum-dum fever
climactic buboe . . .

make sure every guest has an onion tied to their belt.

It's time now to move on to refreshments, and, perhaps, the most enigmatic phrase thusfar to be found in the Cokesbury Party Book:

For refreshments serve "Food for the gods" (angelfood cake). An ice course would also be suggestive of their immortal qualities. Another suggestion would be to have Bacchus preside over the punch bowl and serve punch and sandwiches to the mortals.

An ice course? I'm a bit confused. Ice cream? Ice cubes? And since when does iciness imply "immortal qualities?" Can anyone help out with this?

No matter. Sit back, watch Bacchus, imagine him at your punch bowl, and get ready for next week's party, the Treasure Hunt Party. Cheerio.