The Cokesbury Party Blog

Here at the End of All Things

2010-04-18T14:22:00.000-07:00

I’ve pondered this entry for a while now. Thought about recapping my favorite Cokesbury Party Blog moments. Holding a contest to see which book to roast here next. But, like Plankton from SpongeBob Square Pants, I’m facing reality:

I am small.

The blog will take a hiatus after this post. I may indeed find a new book to skewer, but whether it’s continued as part of the Cokesbury Party Blog or not, I have no idea. That would require some retooling. But I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.

Here’s another bridge: Nobody comes here. Nobody cares. In nearly a year of busting my brains out on this blog, not a single comment.

But I’m not bitter.

I had fun.

So here at the end of all things, let me end, finally, with this:

Week Fifty: Bill Cosby

2010-04-18T12:14:00.000-07:00

Ultimately, no.

I will not write about Cokesbury’s Minstrel Show here. Frankly, it’s embarrassing. The jokes are lame, first of all. Here’s a sample:

End Man No. 1: Mr. Interlocutor, you know Mr. Wise sure owes me some congratulations.
Interlocutor: Owes you some congratulations for what?
End: The other day I heard two boys arguing about him. They sure was arguing.
Interlocutor: What were they saying about him?
End: They said Mr. Wise wasn’t fit to live with a hog.
Interlocutor: What did you say?
End: I took up for him; I said he was.

Hyuck hyuck hyuck.
Then there was this one:

End No. 3 (addresses End No. 4): I’ll bet I can fix you so you will be just like one of Mr. Woolworth’s five-and-dime stores.
End No. 4: What you talkin’ about, Nigger? I’ll bet you can’t.
End No. 3 (lays a dime one the stage): Stand on that dime, Nigger. Now there you is. You is just like one of Mr. Woolworth’s stores.
End No. 4: What you talkin’ about? Why is I like one of Mr. Woolworth’s stores?
End No. 3: Nothing over ten cents.

It doesn’t get any better. In fact, it gets a lot worse.

So, no party. I’m sorry. I’m sure Cokesbury intended to have the book end on a high note. Changes – for the good – in entertainment and attitude make it not so today.

Maybe ending with this would be better:

About that Minstrel Show . . .

2010-04-17T11:37:00.000-07:00

Before we launch into Cokesbury’s final party, the Minstrel Show, pause and ask yourself. Do you want to be associated with the likes of this:

I’m not sure I do. On the one hand, talking about minstrel shows in general may be taken as offensive by African Americans, and for good reason. It’s true as Wikipedia says, “Minstrel shows lampooned black people in mostly disparaging ways: as ignorant, lazy, buffoonish, superstitious, joyous, and musical.” Blackface continued long after minstrel shows fell out of fashion, most notably in film and in “Amos ‘n’ Andy,” one of the most popular radio shows of the first half of the 20th century. The show – and I’ve listened to plenty of them – was pretty degrading and, as evidenced by protests against the show, not universally liked.

Now I couch this next phrase carefully: Degrading if you recall these are white men performing in black face, or degrading if you believe the stereotypes. Amos 'n' Andy are no more buffoonish, superstitious, lazy or musical than, say, Ralph Kramden and Ed Norton of The Honeymooners, who got up to some pretty stupid lower-class antics as well, as I recall.

So that brings in the other hand, shying away from such subjects limits our ability to discuss race openly. If we’re to understand the hurt, we, as a nation, ought to understand the reason behind the hurt. Or result in failing to point out to the oversensitive that in entertainment as in life, stupidity, cupidity, racism and buffoonery knows no racial boundary.

And on that ubiquitous third hand, there’s also stuff like this:

So is “Hee-Haw” a covert way of white liberal guilt getting back at all those who think minstrelsy is so entertaining? After all – and I watched “Hee-Haw” a lot as a kid – the show makes white folks look ignorant, lazy, buffoonish, superstitious, joyous, and musical. I don’t know the answer to that.

I do know Cokesbury’s introduction to the party isn’t promising:

A good way to have a delightful evening of fun and at the same time make some money is to put on a Minstrel Show. A Minstrel Show is a typically American type of entertainment, and to most people thoroughly enjoyable.

I’m not sure I want to have the Cokesbury Party Blog conclude on this note. If anyone out there in Blogland is reading, let me know what you think.

Bonus Party: The Vanishing Party

2010-04-16T11:18:00.000-07:00

So, you want to raise some money. Cokesbury’s down with that; they’ve got plenty of ways and reasons to raise money as well. That’s why they’ve come up with the vanishing Party, which is best described as a multi-level marketing firm that sells tea and “social contacts,” whatever those may be.

Here’s the gist:

Let’s suppose that a group of women in a church, society, or club desires to raise $250. They decide to give a Vanishing Party. Five women meet for an afternoon tea, each of them bringing a donation of 25 cents. This will amount to $1.25. Each of these women decide s to give a tea on each Wednesday for the next four Wednesdays to which they will each be willing to contribute 25 cents. The next Wednesday afternoon there would be five women, each entertaining four other women. This would be twenty-five women each contributing 25 cents.

And so on and so forth until the group’s goal of $250 is made and the tea parties “vanish,” or long before that when the women figure it’ll just be cheaper and easier to fork over enough cash to make the Vanishing Parties vanish for good.

Or throw the parties and insist the attendees wear silly hats. Then sing these songs as they jabber:

Week Forty-Eight: Street Carnival

2010-04-11T10:31:00.000-07:00

Carnival.

Oh, what a joyful word to kids’ ears. Carnival. Cotton candy and scary carnies. The lure of winning a horridly ugly stuffed dog by throwing balls or tossing rings. The thrill of getting lost followed by the inexplicable joy of being found again. And a chance to watch Dad go ballistic when he has to pay $3.50 each when you and your two brothers want hot dogs.

Cokesbury, too, is in a carnival spirit. Behold:

A good way to make money for any worthy enterprise is to have a Street Carnival.

Yeah, making money again. I wasn’t aware that carnivals existed for any other purpose than paying for additional tattoos or having yet another excuse to avoid going to the dentist. But Cokesbury seems to think you can make money by hosting one, preferably indoors so you can filter out the riff-raff, especially when your advert for the carnival is so damned compelling:

Christian Endeavor Street Carnival

Friday Evening, October 10.

A lot of fun for all.

Admission, 25 cents.

Or, alternately:

Big Street Carnival

Tuesday night at eight o’clock.

Come one, come all.

Under the auspices of the Conference Club

Admission, 15 cents.

Kinda reminds me of this:

Wow. “Stimulant properties of the coca plant.” Yeah, before they changed the formula, Coca-Cola was basically liquid cocaine. But since it was a “Syrup*And*Extract,” that took the curse off it.

Anyway, back to the publicity. I love this gem:

The newspapers should have two or three stories about it.

Wow, they were pushovers for a good carnival story back then, were they? Of course, this is back when people actually did read newspapers. And back when folks like George Babbitt could manipulate a reporter at will. Such as:

When the Sunday School campaign was finished, Babbitt suggested to Kenneth Escott, "Say, how about doing a little boosting for Doc Drew personally?"

Escott grinned. "You trust the doc to do a little boosting for himself, Mr. Babbitt! There's hardly a week goes by without his ringing up the paper to say if we'll chase a reporter up to his Study, he'll let us in on the story about the swell sermon he's going to preach on the wickedness of short skirts, or the authorship of the Pentateuch. Don't you worry about him. There's just one better publicity-grabber in town, and that's this Dora Gibson Tucker that runs the Child Welfare and the Americanization League, and the only reason she's got Drew beaten is because she has got SOME brains!"

"Well, now Kenneth, I don't think you ought to talk that way about the doctor. A preacher has to watch his interests, hasn't he? You remember that in the Bible about—about being diligent in the Lord's business, or something?"

"All right, I'll get something in if you want me to, Mr. Babbitt, but I'll have to wait till the managing editor is out of town, and then blackjack the city editor."

Thus it came to pass that in the Sunday Advocate-Times, under a picture of Dr. Drew at his earnestest, with eyes alert, jaw as granite, and rustic lock flamboyant, appeared an inscription—a wood-pulp tablet conferring twenty-four hours' immortality:

The Rev. Dr. John Jennison Drew, M.A., pastor of the beautiful Chatham Road Presbyterian Church in lovely Floral Heights, is a wizard soul-winner. He holds the local record for conversions. During his shepherdhood an average of almost a hundred sin-weary persons per year have declared their resolve to lead a new life and have found a harbor of refuge and peace.

Everything zips at the Chatham Road Church. The subsidiary organizations are keyed to the top-notch of efficiency. Dr. Drew is especially keen on good congregational singing. Bright cheerful hymns are used at every meeting, and the special Sing Services attract lovers of music and professionals from all parts of the city.

On the popular lecture platform as well as in the pulpit Dr. Drew is a renowned word-painter, and during the course of the year he receives literally scores of invitations to speak at varied functions both here and elsewhere.

Yeah, your modern-day newspaper reporters love stuff like that. Call them. Several times. See how many times you’ll be completely ignored.

No matter. Your guests will be battering down your street carnival doors, two bits in hand, waiting for admission so they can see the attractions you’re going to nickel-and-dime them for. Better get going. Here are a few suggestions:

Museum. Have one booth arranged as a museum. A charge of admission of 5 or 10 cents should be made. Some of the following may be placed in the museum:

September Morn (a card bearing the date September 1, 5 am)
The light of the World (a box of matches)
A collection of marble (just some marbles)
Some things out of King Tut’s tomb (anything that has never been in King Tut’s tomb)
The Home of Burns (use a smoothing iron)
Portrait of Penn (a picture of a writing pen)
The Watch on the Rhine (a watch on an orange peel)
A twelve-carat ring (make this with a dozen carrots, placed in a circle)
The One-Eyed Monster (a sewing needle)

For Men Only. The booth for men only should be an attraction for the ladies. But it may be required that when women are admitted they have to go in pairs or be accompanied by a gentleman friend. The booth merely contains articles used exclusively by men. A razor, men’s trousers, leather belt, socks, tie, etc.

For Women Only. The men should be admitted only in pairs or with a lady. The booth contains articles used exclusively by women such as a dress, hose, high-heeled shoes, lip stick, corset, etc. A small admission should be charged.

Here, it’s not clear whether Cokesbury expects men to be the only sex willing to see what’s for women only, or if women are too smart to pay to see the crap their husbands or boyfriends leave lying all over the house or apartment. Either way, just try charging only for the Women’s Tent and see how well that goes over with your feminist friends.

There are more booths, however. Let’s continue:

Wild Animals and Birds. Select people with names of animals and birds for this booth, such as Mr. Fox, Miss Lyon, Mrs. Wolf, etc. Other names that are common are Hare, Bear, Beaver, Crabb. Names of birds are Crow, Drake, Sparrow, Hawk, and Martin. If it is not possible to get people with these names, pictures of people in the city with such names may be used and the names written under the picture.

It will add to the interest at this booth if there is someone on the inside, either with a musical instrument such as a trombone, or some apparatus contrived for that purpose, making noises to represent the roar of wild animals and the squawking of birds.

I tried to think, do I know anyone named after an animal? I know a Martin. I know a little dwarf-imp-girl named after a poison gas (I don’t know why; don’t ask). Maybe this would work where you live.

To continue:

Food Booths. Quite a good deal may be realized from the sale of candy, ice-cream cones, sandwiches, coffee, and cake. If this is donated, all money received will be profit.

To go with the food booth, Cokesbury suggests:

The Green Pig that Eats Human Food. Place a mirror in the bottom of a box about a foot square. Over this box have a large green light bulb and a yellow bulb on a double socket. Charge 5 cents admission to see this show. The person looks in the box and sees his reflection in the green mirror.

If that’s not enough of a money-maker, try this one:

Mystery Fish Pond. Use an ordinary fishing pole and attach for a hook a spring clothespin or other spring snap. Arrange a curtain in such a way that the hook may be thrown over. This may be done over a partition. The customer snaps a dime for bait onto the hook and throws it over. The one in charge on the other side takes the dime and fastens a package onto the snap. Some of these articles may be of value as bait for other customers, but most of them must be valueless to assume a good profit.

Sounds like a great way to clean out lint traps, garbage pails, sink traps and other rubbish bins for the valueless junk. For the rest, just give them their dime back.

This next one, I might actually do, because in a way it reminds me of the elementary school I attended. The fire escape from the second floor WAS A FREAKING SLIDE. WAHOOO! Never got to use it, and it was removed the year I actually got to attend class on the second floor:

A Trip to Mars. The customers are blindfolded and led into the entrance of the road to Mars. Along the route they are rocked and turned in chairs, swung in swings, made to climb out of a narrow window, pass through a narrow passage, climb a ladder, and come down a slide. This slide may be arranged from a window. Care should be taken to arrange such a trip so that it will not be dangerous.

As far as I’m concerned, come do it at Lincoln Elementary School. I’m sure some janitor still has that fire escape slide stashed somewhere.

Speaking of dangerous carnival attractions, why not build your own Ferris Wheel?

The Ferris Wheel. At a church carnival I saw the Ferris wheel which I shall describe. It was strongly constructed with upright posts extending about ten feet from the ground. On either side two pieces of timber two by six inches were crossed and brace together. A hole was bored through the intersection of these timbers, and they were arrange so that they would revolve on the two-inch pipe placed on the upright posts. These two by sizes should be sixteen feet long. At each of the four ends of the timbers seats are hung on three-fourth-inch pipes to that they will revolve. The wheel must be strongly constructed. It is operated by three or four boys, and particularly for the amusement of children. If strongly constructed, grown-ups may patronize it also.

If it were me, I’d stick with the mission to Mars. Remember, describing a home-made Ferris Wheel is a lot different than building such a wheel. Maybe you ought to wait for Popular Mechanics to come out with a set of plans.

Or just do it this way:

Be sure to play some appropriate 1930s music. Like this:

Next you need a sop to throw to the folks who are getting tired of digging into their pockets every time they wander up to a booth. Enter the Free Show:

Usually in every city there is someone who does acrobatic stunts, or tumbling stunts, or someone who performs on the horizontal bar, or trapeze, or plays a violin in some unusual way. Use any of such acts that can be secured for the free show.

Call Ned Flanders. He’s got that stupid sexy butt thing going:

And that’s it, folks. Show’s over, except for this newspaper article as reproduced by Cokesbury, describing such a fair, one which evidently went a long way in fostering improved race relations in the Greater Palm Beach, Florida, area:

It was Whoopee Night last night in the vicinity of the Northwood Church, when the great Whoopee Carnival being staged by the young people of the church was open to the public for the fist run. A huge crowd was there. Everybody was in gay spirits and took in everything that was offered, both in the way of entertainment and refreshments. The carnival runs again tonight. Besides the Main Show, which was a splendid program beginning at eight o’clock, there were two trapeze performers and side shows, including a ten-year-old negro boy weighing 450 pounds, fortune telling, a green pig, a reducing lady, a freak palm reading, and fish pond. Then the Ferris Wheel attracted old folks and young alike, while the watermelon booth, were you could get a slice for a nickel and all you could eat for a dime, the ice-cream stand, the hot dog counter, and so and so on, were busy places every minute of the evening.

Yes, my journalist friends, that is all one paragraph. Remember this the next time you criticize the Internet for being a vapid cesspool of poor journalistic endeavor.

And, frankly, speaking as a fat person, I've never understood why fat people are considered freaks or funny. As noted earlier on this blog, I never cared for the "Our Gang" character Chubbsy-Wubbsy, or the infinite other fatty derivatives out there meant to draw humor. I file fat kids in the same category I file monkeys -- and that is in the very narrow category of things that are considered amusing but really aren't, before you get any radical ideas. And having a fat negro kid? Yeah, Florida, really improving on the race relations thing, right?

So on that note, we leave the carnival and its freaks behind. Tune in next week when the party will vanish. Literally.

A Cokesbury Successor?

2010-04-09T21:40:00.001-07:00

For the past few months, I've been looking feverishly for a successor to the Cokesbury Party Book; a book worthy of continuing the fun at the Cokesbury Party Blog.

I may have found it. It's been on my bookshelf for years, and concerns, in part, this guy:

This is the illustrious Louis Untermeyer, fourteenth poet laureate of the Library of Congress, translator of Cyrano de Bergerac and compiler of humor. I'm going to have to do some more reading and research, but my feelings are optimistic. Copyright might be the biggest issue. I'll have to explore that a bit more.

What Is it With the Sandwiches, Really?

2010-04-08T06:11:00.000-07:00

Regular readers of the Cokesbury Party Blog know that Cokesbury has a thing with sandwiches. For quite a while, I figured it was either a Florida thing, a Methodist thing or simply a Cokesbury thing. Then I read "When Worlds Collide," a seminal science fiction book published a year after the Cokesbury Party Book, and realized that this sandwich fetish transcends Floridianism, Methodism and Cokesburyism. Here's a report on that:

Ah, the simplicity and ubiquity of the humble sandwich.

From lonely Arthur Dent, great sandwich maker and carver of Perfectly Normal Beasts on Lumella, to the famished Bilbo Baggins, longing not for bits of meat toasted on sticks but for a loaf and butter, the human longing for a sandwich knows no earthly nor metaphorical bounds.

Thus it is fitting that the intrepid voyagers in Philip Wylie and Edwin Balmer’s “When Worlds Collide” should share sandwiches, wrapped in waxed paper, as they voyage from the destroyed earth to their new home on Bronson Beta in this classic 1930s Science Fiction novel.

I capitalize science fiction because this was the era of true sci fi, unaided by technology and fueled only by the promise of technology to come and the human imagination. Thus, the vision of sandwiches unaffected by gravity:

Their habit of relying upon the attractive force of the Earth resulted in an increasing number of mishaps, some of them amusing and some of them painful. After what seemed like eons of time someone asked Tony for more food. Tony himself could not remember whether he was going to serve the fifth meal or the sixth, but he sprang to his feet with earnest willingness – promptly shot clear to the ceiling, against which he bumped his head. He fell back to the floor with a jar and rose laughing. The ceiling was also padded, so that he had not hurt himself.

The sandwiches were wrapped in wax paper, and when some one on the edge of the crowd asked that his sandwich be tossed, Tony flipped it toward him, only to see it pass high over the mans’ head and entirely out of reach, and strike against the opposite wall. The man himself stretched to catch the wrapped sandwich, and sat down again rubbing his arm, saying that he had almost throng his shoulder out of joint.

What a joyful cacophony of images: Ordinary human being experiencing weightlessness for the first time, and sharing that weightlessness not with paste glopped onto a tray and scraped out with a spoon, but with sandwiches wrapped in waxed paper. Maybe the authors appreciated the familiarity, the portability of the sandwich, recognizing that here is sustenance that can be manufactured in bulk using simple ingredients, ingredients that can be cooked beforehand and thus not require fancy, open-flamed preparation on a great space ship. Or maybe they just like sandwiches. Either way, bravo, gentlemen.

The rest of the book, too, is most excellent, with the ubiquitous love story only getting in the way marginally. Politically-correct folk will notice the treatment of the main character’s valet, referred to in innocent passing as a “Jap” and identified as “inscrutable.” He does not, however, supply the sandwiches, but the coffee, so perhaps that can be forgiven.

I think the Fourth Earl of Sandwich would be pleased that his namesake food item is a mainstay in science fiction.

Oh, those Sweet, Sweet Delusions . . .

2010-04-06T10:45:00.000-07:00

So, you want to stage a carnival. If you're anything like me, you have these delusions. It'll be great, this thing I create. Just like a Silly Symphony.

Then reality sets in:

Well, maybe with Cokesbury along, you'll have a better chance of getting your carnival off the ground. See you at the Street Carnival this weekend.

Week Forty-Seven: Box Supper and Cake Walk Party

2010-04-04T06:42:00.000-07:00

I’ll confess: This may be one of those instances where the preliminary post to the actual party post is longer.

There’s not much to this party. Here goes:

1) Make Money ® the Cokesbury way.

2) Get plenty of girls to make the lunches.

3) Get plenty of boys to buy (and presumably eat) the lunches. (“There are usually several young women in every organization who do not ordinarily have an escort, and should there be a large number of these prepare boxes and there be no one to buy them, it would e embarrassing,” Cokesbury says.)

4) Auction off the boxes, either without knowing who made them or by knowing who made them. Wrap the boxes attractively, so they’ll go for top dollar.

5) Assign five or six girls to bake cakes for the cakewalk. Sell tickets for fifteen cents each.

End this way: “The auction, the eating, and the cakewalks will consume the evening, and no other games will be necessary.”

It’s over. No long post to read this weekend. Just gear up for next week’s extravaganza, the Street Carnival. Woo-hoo.

Cakewalks; or Walking on Eggshells

2010-03-30T13:49:00.000-07:00

If ever you thought the dance routines of today were odd, take a gander at this:

I don’t explain them. I just find them on YouTube. But this is, they tell me, a cake walk. In musical form. Not the nasty cake walk that has a history in the suppression of African-American peoples. Yeah, that same carnival game you play with your kids? Probably racist. May as well sit down, turn around, pick a bale of cotton as you’re walking. Right? Or is it racist? Maybe not. But you PC folks out there, better be careful, just in case. Next time yhou’re invited to a cakewalk, don’t go. Stay home. Close your curtains. Do not let anyone in the house, or they’ll bring un-PC thoughtcrime in.

Or you could just get over your hang-ups and enjoy the rest of this post. Believe me, when we get to the Minstrel Show in a couple of weeks, those hang-ups of yours will get considerable airing.

I knew this, but then again, I never knew: Scott Joplin wrote a Cake Walk. Swipesy, to be precise:

Even Debussy got into the act:

And it denigrated into this:

Boring as hell. The only problem with taking my kids to cake walks is that they win them and then we have sugared-up kids bouncing off the walls, even when they're outside.

Just think, kids: Something you think is cool and hip and groovy today will, someday, be as boring as a kiddie cakewalk. It’ll happen to you! Just be sure you’re wearing an onion on your belt at the time . . .

Week Forty-Six: The Kid Party

2010-03-28T08:48:00.000-07:00

First off, the invitation:

Backward, turn backward

O Time in your flight,

And let’s be kids again

Next Friday night.

We’ll all meet at Jones’,

On Twenty-First Street,

Dressed up like kiddies

From heads to feet.

Backward, turn backward,

O Time in your flight,

And meet me at Jones’

Next Friday night.

If the first lines of Cokesbury’s invitation to its Kids Party sound familiar, congratulations. You’re as literate as Cokesbury expects. The lines come from (of course you knew it) Elizabeth Akers Allen’s poem "Rock Me to Sleep," a most sentimental poem about wanting to revert to childhood in order to be relieved of the burden of adulthood. It’s a nice one, if you don’t have a heart of stone.

For those who have a soft heart, read the poem, then watch this:

Gustave Flaubert isn’t the only one capable of making one “apitoyer, faire pleurer les ames sensibles, en etant une moi-meme.” His tale "A Simple Heart" will rip yours on out, if you've got one.

But Cokesbury’s aim is not to make you cry, unless they’re tears of laughter. So, on to the party. Here’s the first game:

Bean Bag Scramble. Bean bags are places on the floor as the group stands in a circle. There should be one less bean bags than players. Lively music should be played, and all should march around in a circle until the music stops. When the music stops all scramble for the bean bags. The player who fails to get a bag is out. The bags are again placed in the center, but one is taken away. Again they scramble, and the one who fails to get one is dropped. If it is desirous to speed up this game more than one bag may be removed at a time. Finally there will be only two with one bag. Give a prize to the one who gets the last bag.

Be sure to have plenty of Band-Aids and pressure bandages on hand, and knowing someone who can set a broken nose using two pencils and a sturdy fellow to stop the victim from squirming might also be appropriate.

I almost forgot! The costumes!

Any kind of children’s clothes or imitation of them would be suitable. Short dresses or rompers would be suitable for girls, such as rompers as those worn at Girl Scout camps. Another suggestion for girls would be to dress as babies, with some kind of improvised baby dress. Also they might dress like a schoolgirl with ribbons in the hair. Suggestions for boys would be short trousers, overalls, and barefooted.

BTW: Be careful how you Google “rompers” these days. Apparently, they’ve become a hot item, outside the world of babies’ “onesies,” especially in the world of Victoria’s Secret. Now, where’s my bottle of eye bleach?

On to the next game. It probably sounds familiar because you played the same thing at Christmas. Oh well, if it works one, it'll work again, right?

The Doll Shop. One guest is shopkeeper and another the customer. The purpose of the game is to divide the party into two groups and at the same time provide a lot of action and fun for all. All of the guests are dolls and may be brought out and displayed at the will of the shopkeeper. All must be displayed before the game ends. The customer tells the shopkeeper that he wants to buy some dolls, but that he does not want silly dolls that grin all the time. He wants sober dolls. The shopkeeper argues that it is the mark of good breeding for a doll to smile. The object is for the shopkeeper to make the person who is being displayed as a doll to smile. If he succeeds, that person will remain on his side. If he cannot be made to smile in about thirty seconds, the customer gets him. The shopkeeper may go through all kinds of antics to make the player smile, such as making him or her to say Mamma and Papa or tickling the doll under the chin or saying crazy things about them. If the shopkeeper has a strong imagination and a sense of humor, this can be made extremely funny.

And why divide the group? For the bone-breaking tug-of-war, of course. Remember, you’ve got a First Aid kit and nose setter on call. Tug away.

When all have been displayed and the groups divided, have a tug of war. This may be done by the shopkeeper and the customer joining hands and all the dolls catching each other around the waist or by the shoulders and trying to pull the other group across a line.

To follow is a series of Children’s Games, including Drop the Handkerchief, Walking to Jerusalem (which is what they called musical chairs before Madelin Murray O'Hair got a hold of it), Farmer in the Dell, Last Couple Out, and this gem: The Cat and the Mouse:

The players all form a circle with exception of two. One of these is the cat and the other the rat. The rat is inside the circle and the cat outside. The cat meows and starts to chase the rat. The players are to aid the rat and try to prevent the cat from catching the rat. They raise their arms for the rat to go through and bar the passage of the cat with them. When the rat is caught he chooses one from the circle to become the cat, and takes his place, while the one who was the cat becomes the rat.

For the most anachronistic game of the evening, try this:

Balloon Race. Get some barrel hoops for goals. Strings should be tied to the balloons and small sand bags fastened to the strings so that the balloons will not be entirely blown away. Each player is provided with a fan, and with the fan he must by fanning the balloon make it go through the goal. Of course this game may be played with a large number of players, and the more the better.

Whenever a game description starts with “Get some barrel hoops” you know you’re going to have a fun time. Of course, in this day and age, we’d use hula hoops. Unless, of course, you’ve got the barrel hoops, or know someone who does.

One final game (and a final opportunity for your designated Nose-Setter):

Candy Scramble. Place bags of candy, lollipops, and small boxes of candy in the center of the floor. The players stand around in a circle and at the signal scramble for the candy. They proceed to eat the candy they get.

If you ask me, the “kiddie” attitude displayed in this game is even more of an effrontery to kiddom than “Chubbsy-Ubbsy” here.

And that’s it. Serve the leftovers from the last game as refreshments, or break out some ice cream and cones, popcorn balls, and animal cookies. Or, if you trust your friends, allow them to pop their own corn or toast marshmallows.

That's it. Next week, a rather staid and moribund Box Supper and Cake Walk. Hope to see you there. With that kind of sales pitch, who'd miss it?

Get Ready for the Kid Party

2010-03-23T07:27:00.000-07:00

My advice: Watch this clip about twenty times or so until that catchy song is embedded in your lobes. Then quickly try to find a costume like what they're wearing. You'll be the toast of the party. Or chased and beaten with your own lolly, because everyone has that damn song stuck in their heads.

Week Forty Five: Thanksgiving Party

2010-03-21T07:17:00.000-07:00

I should warn you that I have a Black Belt when it comes to Thanksgiving writing. You’re talking, after all, to the third-place winner in the 1996 Collegiate Associated Press contest in editorial writing. That doesn’t sound nearly as exciting as the Buckeye News Hawk Award, but I tout this award as much as Uncle Rico touts that game coach shoulda put him in because they would have won state.

Here’s the invitation to this turkey of a party:

To our Thanksgiving Party

We want to invite you,

The things that we’ve planned

We’re sure will delight you.

Turkeys and Red Men

Pilgrim Fathers and Football,

Will help to amuse you,

Making sport for us all.

First of all, rhyming “you” with “you” is a stroke of pure genius. And speaking of strokes, you know the progressives in your crowd are just going to love that line about the Red Men.
As far as decorations go, darn tootin’ crepe paper is involved, along with other elements that “typify the harvest season” such as fruit, vegetables, autumn leaves, plus turkeys, pictures of the Pilgrim fathers or Indian pictures. They’re not clear, but I advise against using live turkeys as decorations. They’re rather cranky birds. Given the season, that’s understandable.

Now, consider this for a moment: What kind of Thanksgiving story do you anticipate will be first out of the box from Cokesbury. Consider the source: conservative Methodists from 1930s Palm Beach, Florida. Already a picture is forming in your mind. Probably something like this:

Here’s what Cokesbury has to say:

Story of Thanksgiving. Thanksgiving to god for blessings received had its beginning with the ancient Jews. They left their homes and dwelt for a week in booths made from the branches of palm, olive, or myrtle trees. The Greeks had a Thanksgiving day called by the Feast of Demeter. The Romans observed a day in honor of Ceres, the fabled goddess of corn fields and gardens. In Old England the Harvest Home festival was observed at the full of the September moon. It was as popular a celebration as Christmas in England, and Queen Elizabeth ordered that there should be no servile labor performed on this day.

Oh, I love to see progressive wharrgarbl stopped mid-garble. Though the hard-cores will still find something wrong with this.

Yes, they go on to talk about Governor Bradford, Massasoit, and the venerable Thanksgiving Turkey. But just as part of the whole. It would do progressives well to give conservatives a little credit once and a while.

And while you’re giving credit, it’s time for a dramatic reading, "The Landing of the Pilgrim Fathers," by Felecia Dorothea Hemans:

The breaking waves dashed high
On a stern and rock-bound coast,
And the woods against a stormy sky
Their giant branches tossed;

And the heavy night hung dark,
The hills and waters o'er,
When a band of exiles moored their bark
On the wild New England shore.

Not as the conqueror comes,
They, the true-hearted came;
Not with the roll of the stirring drums,
And the trumpet that sings of fame;

Not as the flying come,
In silence and in fear;
They shook the depths of the desert gloom
With their hymns of lofty cheer.

Amidst the storm they sang,
And the stars heard, and the sea;
And the sounding aisles of the dim woods rang
To the anthem of the free.
The ocean eagle soared
From his nest by the white wave's foam;
And the rocking pines of the forest roared--
This was their welcome home.

There were men with hoary hair
Amidst the pilgrim band:
Why had they come to wither there,
Away from their childhood's land?

There was woman's fearless eye,
Lit by her deep love's truth;
There was manhood's brow, serenely high,
And the fiery heart of youth.

What sought they thus afar?
Bright jewels of the mine?
The wealth of seas, the spoils of war?
They sought a faith's pure shrine!

Ay, call it holy ground,
The soil where first they trod;
They have left unstained what there they found --
Freedom to worship God.

[Pulls up soapbox] Wharrgarbl away, progressives. No use telling you that, hey, the Puritans did come to the Americas looking for freedom. Were they perfect? No. Were they being persecuted? Yes. So they had to go somewhere else. Do they believe they were led by God? Sure did. Do you have to believe so? No. Do you have to respect that others still maintain that belief? Damn right you do. There is no more hypocritical person on the face of the earth than a progressive who will allow for the good in everyone else on the planet to be accepted as gospel and holy; all but the good the conservatives believe. [Puts away soapbox]

If that’s too dramatic, just let this roll. Same idea gets across. Just be prepared for augmented progressive whaaargarbl.

(For additional amusement, read the YouTube comments on this one. Canadians must still be feeling the sting of their preliminary Olympics loss to the team from the United States.)

Breathe, folks. Breathe. And get ready for Follow the Leader:

Each player is given a sheet of paper and a pencil and some colored crayons. The leader then asks them to prepare for a drawing lesson. The leader begins marking on his paper and tells the guests he is drawing a picture of the “Landing of the Pilgrims,” and as he draws he describes the “Mayflower,” which they are to try to draw from his description. The leader should give the students plenty of time to draw and not rush the scene. He should then describe Plymouth Rock. Some description of the scenery along the coast, the shape of the harbor, and the Indians may be given. Give a prize to the one who draws the best picture.

Then there’s this:

Eggshell Football. Cover a table with white paper and mark off a football field. Goals may be made by driving nails down on each end of the field. Prick a small hole in an egg and empty its contents. There should be two or three eggshells in reserve in case one or more are broken. These eggshells may be painted like a football if desired.

A referee is chosen, and he places the ball in the center of the field. There should be about three players from each end of the table and one on each side of the table from both teams. When the gall goes out of bounds the referee picks it up and places it down near the place where it went off. Players do not start to blow until the whistle is blown, or they may be penalized for being offside. A goal will count six. Change every two minutes and put in six new players. There should be a lot of rooting at this game, and it will be found to be very interesting and lively.

That’s a roundabout way to explain how to play the game, but I think you get the general idea. It makes more sense than any explanation I’ve heard of the rules for real football. And guys, make sure to have someone videotaping your wife’s or girlfriend’s face when you drive those nail goals into her nice wooden table.

And lest you think you’ll get out of this party without at least one more slap at the Red Man, here you go:

Indian Drum Race. Line up in two lines facing each other. Keep the same division as for the other competitive games. One side may be called the Indians and the other the Pilgrims. One person is blindfolded and beats a drum. A dishpan may be substituted, although a trap drum is better. One of the players is given a tin can like a baking powder can, with rocks in it so that it will rattle. As long as the drummer keeps beating, the rattle passes back and forth. The line caught with it when the drum stops loses, while the other side wins five points. When the drum starts again the rattle moves on. Continue the game not longer than five or ten minutes. A piano may be substituted for the drum.

Just don’t hurt the piano. You don’t want to upset Miss Leverlily.

And that’s it. Serve your guests pumpkin pie and coffee, or plum pudding with hot chocolate. An alternative is to go all Charlie Brown on them, or actually dip into your rusty wallet and buy an entire Thanksgiving dinner for them. But then you wouldn’t have time for the Indian Drum Race. Better stick with pie and coffee.

We’re coming to the end, folks. Next week, try a Kid Party, complete with costumes. Please, no diapers and bowed legs.

Thanksgiving, Addams Family Style

2010-03-16T08:02:00.000-07:00

It’s time once again at the Cokesbury Party Blog to play Laugh at the Conservatives. Aiding and abetting us in this round is none other than Charles Addams’ The Addams Family, to wit, the Thanksgiving Play scene from Addams Family Values:

This is, of course, only a mild LATC, and actually plays well with many conservatives because it’s also a send-up of rich East Coast snobs. So it works both ways.

It also works to serve as an introduction to this weekend’s Thanksgiving Party, but mostly as an advertisement on the kind of party Cokesbury doesn’t want you to throw. Especially all that talk about highballs. Prohibition, you know.

Serendipity

2010-03-15T09:26:00.000-07:00

Yesterday's post brought fans of the Cokesbury Party Blog, among other things, a Bloom County comic strip featuring Steve Dallas' tacky Sunday suit.

My brain, long ago, catalogued Opus' reaction to his suit ("Perfect! El barfo!") as an item worth remembering, so whenever I encountered tacky clothing, El Barfo immediately came to mind. I even briefly conteplated a novel with El Barfo as the unlikliest of superheroes.

So I knew I wanted to use the comic for the Tacky Party post. But I couldn't find it. My kids have glommed onto my comic books, rendering them into piles of unreadable pulp within months by wearing them out. So I'd been searching for that particular strip for about two weeks before I found it, in a most serendipitous way.

First, I had the strip linked to a court case in which assistant Opus wanted Steve to look his best. Leafed through my books looking for Dallas, Steve, court cases of. Found plenty, but couldn't find the strip. My brain latched onto the El barfo, could not recall anything else.

Then it came to me in a flash. Tess Turbo! He was going to star in a Tess Turbo video! So I Googled Tess Turbo. Nothing, until I got into "Penguin Dreams and Stranger Things" on Wikipedia. Then there the storyline was. Then I saw a link a few levels down -- Tess Turbo at GoComics! I went there. Lo and behold, the previous strip was the one I wanted.

So, to those who condemn the Internet for replacing our memories, I say phooey. The Internet is a resposity for memory, but it takes a good old-fashioned organic brain to be able to sort out the mess and find what is wanted. Even something as ridiculous as a 30-year-old comic strip. Take that, Socrates.

Week Forty-Four: Tacky Party

2010-03-14T08:06:00.000-07:00

“Occasionally,” Cokesbury starts out its spiel on its Tacky Party, “we enjoy making ourselves ludicrous. So, let’s all come to the party in the queerest garb we can find and see who is the tackiest one present.”

It’s like they envisioned our present-day Internet decorum by 68 years.

Oh, wouldn’t they be shocked today.

So here’s your invitation:

A Tacky Party we’re having on Friday night,

And we want you to be there.

Dress up so tacky that you’ll be a sight,

And an evening of fun with us share.

Cokesbury, of course, won’t get as tackily dressed as Wesley Snipes nor Pat Swayze. This is 1932, remember, so the tackiness will be on, shall we say, a Pentecostal level:

The guests should be told in advance that a prize will be given to the “tackiest” person present. It would be well to give one for the women and one for the men. If desired, the prize list could be extended, and in addition to giving prizes for the whole tacky ensemble, separate prizes could be awarded for the tackiest hat, dress, or suit. Any sort of clothing may be worn, just so it is not the present mode of dress. In the days of long skirts, short skirts will seem tacky indeed. The girls could use all sorts of color combinations, with mismated shoes and hose. The old-fashioned clothes of our mothers’ day, some of which nearly every family has stored away, would furnish ideal costumes for the affair. The boys could carry out the same ideas in choosing their costumes. Coats, trousers, tied, shirts, and vets of former grandeur would again come into their won. A tacky effect may be created by a clash of colors, such as a man wearing dark trousers, white coat, and red necktie.

Just go to Steve Dallas' closet:

Games suggested for this party are inexplicably lame. I had to get to Item No. 7 on their list to find one even halfway decent (what you’re missing are the traditional mixers in which you’re forced to get to know someone else at the party than who you came with).

Buzz. The players are all seated in a circle for this game. The leader explains that they are going to count off and each time a guest has a number in it that has a seven or multiple of seven, must say “Buzz” instead. Players who fail to do this are required to sit on the floor in the center of the circle. The counting should go just as fast as possible.

Whoo! Really stretch your friends’ number-recognition skills. That always spells par-tee to me. Next up, calculus:

(Speaking of tacky, that hair net is just wonderful.)

Just in case you don’t want to come across as a total nerd, try this most excellent word game. That’ll assuage the English majors you’ve invited, at least.

One Word Suggests Another. The players are seated in a circle. The leader explains the game and suggests a word. Each player must then think of a word and keep that word in mind which the last work suggested to him. They call out the words as they go. For example, suppose the leader says “post-office.” To the next player, this may suggest “letter.” “Letter” to the next player may suggest “lover.” “Lover may suggest “girl,” “girl” “powder puff,” “powder puff” “powder,” “powder” “gun,” “gun” “war,” “war” “soldier,” “soldier” “Red Cross Nurse,” etc. when these suggested words have gone around the circle, start back and unravel. The last player tells the word that suggested his, and so on around the circle.

Confused yet? I think Bob Wylie is too (forward to 4:02).

Remind your friends that they’re just free associating freely, and they’ll get along with this game just fine.

So you’ve confused your friends with numbers and words. Now it’s time to mess with their physical and temporal placement:

Where Am I? One person is asked to leave the room. In his absence, the group decides where he is and what he is doing. For instance, he might be “in the gymnasium taking setting-up exercises.” He must guess on his return where he is and what he is doing by asking questions that can be answered only by “yes” and “no.”

And that’s it, aside from the apple cider and cake Cokesbury recommends for refreshments. Or get a completely wild hair and substitute hot chocolate and marshmallows for the apple cider. Remember, this is your Tacky Party. Get as tacky as you want. Maybe substitute Yoo-Hoo! Or tomato juice! Or Homer Simpson’s favorite, Royal Crown Cola! Let your imagination go wild!

But not too wild. You’ve got to save some energy for next week’s fling, the Thanksgiving Party. Call Massasoit and all the other folks and tell ‘em to come hungry. Well, puckish. Really, iron-stomached, because Cokesbury’s recommending plum pudding.

Tacky, Tacky

2010-03-09T11:25:00.000-08:00

So, why is it whenever I hear the word “tacky” I’m always reminded of this musical?

There are certainly tackier things out there, to be sure: Most of the young up-and-coming stars and starlets in Hollywood, the entirety of the cities of Los Angeles, Seattle, and Vancouver, B.C., Canada (sorry, Canadians. I’ve been to that city and never have I encountered a more soulless place in my entire life).

Oh yeah. It’s because of this:

More tacky stuff next weekend at Cokesbury’s Tacky Party. Hope to see you there.

One Hundred Posts

2010-03-08T11:27:00.000-08:00

For those of you familiar with my writing style, it should come as no surprise that I've been able to stretch out a 52-party book into more than 100 posts -- this is Post 101, by the way. Yes, I do tend to babble. But that's why the Internet is such a healthy outlet. It lets me babble and prattle and then, when it comes to my "serious" writing projects, I've got a lot of the bad writing out of my system. Not all the bad writing, mind you. But some. Enough, I hope, to make a difference.

Week Forty-Three: Cootie Party

2010-03-07T09:16:00.000-08:00

Dolores does NOT approve

I have to wonder what would happen if you tried this kind of trick today:

While we are suggesting this party for an Armistice Day Party, it has no connection with Armistice Day with the exception of the familiarity of the solider with the military louse.

So it’s kind of like having a Vietnam War-themed party centered around napalm. Or a Gulf War party themed on spider holes. I kinda think somebody today, in our umbrage-filled society, would see something kinda wrong this this.

But Cokesbury tries to take the curse off it with its follow-up paragraph:

This party is suitable for any occasion. The game of “Cootie” is one of the most hilarious and exciting games ever invented.

Wait until the inventors of Pac-Man hear this blasphemy.

Yes, we are playing Cootie. But before you dig through your kids’ toys or head to the Goodwill for one of those plastic fantastic Cootie games, consider this: This is pre-Hasbro Cootie. This is practically pre-plastic Cootie. This is Cootie done by drawing bits of the bug with pencil and paper, viz:

Cootie was indeed around, in one form or another, before plastic. That’s kind of hard to fathom in this day and age, when even our cars are made mostly of plastic. Why, I remember my dad’s old 1948 Ford truck. Metal dash. Metal pedals. Metal ceiling. The only plastic there was the speaker grille for the old radio and for some of the buttons and knobs. It was so metally when you hit a bump and bashed your head on the ceiling, you knew it.

But back to the party. This is kind of like the progressive hearts party, in which competitors keep score and advance to the lead table as their scoring allows. There’s also a provisio for those whose friends may have failed the Cokesbury Dice Screening Test. And yes, more gum-wood is involved:

We wanted to use this game for a young people’s conference group and felt that there might be some criticism in the use of dice, so we went to the mill and had blocks sawed from gum wood three-quarters of an inch square. We had these painted black and lettered in white.

Such far-off, innocent and dice-free times, when one could wander down to the city mill and have blocks of wood made to order at little expense. Nowadays, nobody has a mill except in towns where if you’re wimpy enough to want dice substitutes you’re likely to walk out of the mill with snake eyes where the sun don’t shine.

But back to the party, and to the superfluous quote that allows me to use the whistle tag for this entry:

When the leader’s whistle blows, one person at each table takes the dice or lettered cubes and throws.

I’m sure, if this is a mixed dice-versus-lettered cubes crowd, you won’t want to mix the two. Dice-throwers and cube-throwers at the same table are liable to come to blows.

Of course you want your guests to concentrate on getting a Cootie so all your guests can tabulate their scores thusly:

As soon as someone completes his “cootie” he yells “Cootie,” and the game stops. The game will be so hilarious that it will be necessary for the leader to blow the whistle to stop the game. As soon as a “cootie” is completed, all count up their score for that number and write it in the number. For example, if “cootie” was completed when another player only had a “body,” that player would get “one.” If he ahd a body and a head and one eye and one leg, his score would be four. See the score card and study the marked card until this point is clear.

So I’ll repeat the image:

I do apologize for the smudged margin. Fragile book and cheap scanner.

Here's a blank card for those who might actually want to play the game:

Drill it into your heads. DO NOT GET THE SCORING WRONG, or the Rev. Bruce Gannaway of West Palm Beach Fla., will come to get you. (More on him later.) Also, “use” a lot of quotation “marks” at random in order to emphasize your complete misunderstanding of “their” use.

And I have to ask: Am I the only one who hears Mr. Burns saying “and for the second to last team to complete the race, we have an hilarious World’s Worst Employee trophy” whenever I hear or read the word hilarious?

Play twelve rounds of cootie. Then serve refreshments of doughnuts and coffee. Neglecting, of course, to realize that some of your guests might find doughnuts and coffee more objectionable than playing with (whisper) dice.

Now on to the Rev. Bruce Gannaway:

We do not know the origin of this game of “cootie,” but it was given to us by the Rev. Bruce Gannaway, of West Palm Beach, Fla., pastor of the Sarah Wagg Memorial Methodist Church. He tells us that he learned the game in Atlanta while a student of Emory. Reverend Mr. Gannaway wrote out for us a description of the game, which we are suggesting for this party.

Lest ye be concerned, Cootie is not the Rev. Bruce Gannaway’s only legacy:

The Reverend and Mrs. Bruce F. Gannaway and Miss Grace Gannaway Scholarship was established in 1989 by The Reverend Bruce F. Gannaway, Class of 1925, and Mrs. Gannaway. The scholarship is to be awarded, when fully funded, to upper class students who intend to become Christian ministers and is also open to students who plan to pursue lay careers in the church. The scholarship honors the donors and The Reverend Gannaway's sister, Grace Gannaway.

That’s it, until next week, and boy does Cokesbury have a good ‘un: A Tacky Party – a costume extravaganza – in which you’re to make yourself look ludicrous. If you’ve hung on at the Cokesbury Party Blog this long, that shouldn’t be hard.

Cooties!

2010-03-02T11:55:00.000-08:00

Parents, talk to your kids about cooties.

Week Forty-Two: Birthday Party

2010-02-28T08:41:00.000-08:00

Solomon Grundy was born on Monday
In the long, long ago.
Someone else was born on Tuesday,
Perhaps ‘twas you, we do not know.
But come to our Birthday Party
Next Thursday night at eight,
And we will celebrate your birthday,
No matter what the day or date.

So we begin this party with the tale of a man alive only a week; famed in nursery rhyme, and now film. But that last name sounds familiar. Makes me wonder if he’s related to this guy. Not quite. But for a flipped consonant . . .

As far as decorations go, Cokesbury leaves it up to you to decorate per the whims of the host and hostess and the season in which the party is held. But, to conform to Cokesbury norms, make sure you have a lot of crepe paper.

Then there’s the matter of gifts. Cokesbury is very specific that the gifts – or gift, if the group is buying one together for the honoree (or honorees, as the case may be) – be distributed before the refreshments, and passed about the group along with the card from the person who offered the gift, so all can coo and brag and get jealous and perhaps start a brawl because at the last communal birthday party, the only gifts passed around were cupcake wrappers filled with nuts. Just in general, be on the lookout for any tension buildup in the room. Like this:

And if you invite Milton, make sure he gets cake first. The poor man deserves it.

Now, we all know most of the fun at a birthday party comes in the games. And we also know from childhood (and young adulthood) that the games should be as traumatic as possible in order to build long-lasting memories. I still have vivid memories, for example, from the 8th birthday party I attended for Sue Lynn Plazier, where I was too timid to pop a balloon by sitting on it in order to discover the prize or fortune or whatever it was written on the slip of paper inside the balloon. Sue’s Mom eventually had to pop the balloon for me, with me standing in a corner with my face to the wall, holding my ears against the noise of the imminent explosion. Then there’s the debilitating injury I suffered – and still suffer from – during a game of “Do You Love Your Neighbor,” when, as a 260-pound individual I knocked knees with another weighty soul as we bolted across the room.

Fortunately, Cokesbury’s game elements are much more staid, calm and less fraught with risk than the birthday activities of my youth. For instance:

Obstacle Race. The game is very suitable for a large group, as only for our five on each team are to take part while the others are spectators. The company should be divided into two or more groups and a team selected from each group. If the party is large, have four groups, Spring, Summer, Autumn, and Winter. A number of obstacles have been arranged on different sides of the room, and the teams line up on their side and wait for the blowing of the leader’s whistle. When the whistle blows, they are to run to obstacle number one and do as directed by the sign on it. These may be arranged in any way, and the cleverness of the one who lays out the course is largely depended upon. The following obstacles are suggested:

1) On a table have a paper and one pencil. Each one of the four must write his name, address, and the month of his birth. They may have this instruction in advance, or a sign may tell them what to do at each obstacle.

2) Remove tie and replace it. Other suggestions are: Take off your coat, turn it wrong side outward, and put it back on.

3) Get down on all fours and run like a rabbit to a goal. The second must not start until the first has reached the goal.

4) Eat three crackers (one eating at a time) and whistle, at which time another begins.

5) Hop to next goal on right foot, holding the left foot in right hand. One must reach the goal before the other starts.

6) A folding chair is here. Each one is required to unfold it and sit in it and then fold it back up. Then the next one does it, until all have finished.

7) Run to the next goal, taking three steps forward and two back. This is done one at a time and no mincing of back steps is allowed.

8) Have a suitcase full of old clothes, and better and funnier, women’s clothes. Each one must put on these clothes, run around the chair or table three times, and then take them off and give them to the next.

9) Provide paper bags, about four for each player. They must inflate and pop these, one player doing this at a time.

10) Walk to the goal, advancing only the length of the foot at each step. This is done by placing the heel against the toe at each step. This must be done one at a time, and when the last one gets in, his side is finished.

You know, maybe this will end in violence. I participated in a similar party game while living in France. I and another participant were blinded, then led to a room filled with shoes. We had to find as many matched pairs as we could. I quickly decided that I could win the game not by finding matches on my own, but by stealing matches from the other player. Violence, as Cokesbury would probably say, resulted.

Now that your guests are biffed, gouged, panting and nursing fingers pinched in the folding chair, onto the next game, which encourages them – even the clumsy ones – to play with fire. Inside your house.

Birthday Candle Race. The different groups line up for a relay race; and if there are four groups, they face four tables on which has been placed lighted candles. The players, one at a time, must run to the candles with a candle in their hand which has been given them. They are to light their candle from the lighted candle and race back to the head of the line. Then they must extinguish their candle and give it to the next one in line. If the candle goes out before they get back, they must go back to the table and relight it. When one has run, then he must take his place at the back of the line.

(Go to about 4:19 of this clip for some classic Tim Conway/Don Knotts candle shenanigans.)

One more brief game mention, one that pulls us out of Cokesbury Land and into reality. One game suggests having guest, assigned numbered cards, make up dates the host shouts out. It’s staggering to remember that in 1932, many of these events are not history, but nearly current affairs. Viz:

1906 – Earthquake in San Francisco
1912 – Sinking of the Titanic
1914 – Beginning of the World War
1917 – America enters World War
1918 – End of World War
1927 – Lindbergh’s flight to Paris

Yes, the World War. It was not World War I. Just the World War, in that bygone, innocent era when the war was fought to end all wars.

There are more games, of course, but this suffices for now, because it’s refreshment time:

For the observance of the birthdays of a large group, serve individual cakes with a candle on each cake. Ice cream should be served with the cake, or punch, chocolate, or coffee should be substituted. If an individual birthday is being celebrated, by all means use the proverbial birthday cake, with candles for each year of age. The honoree should cut the cake for each guest present.

Bon appétit.

And next week, something extra-special for the observance of Armistice Day, Nov. 11: A Cootie Party. It is not quite, but almost, what you think it is.

Happy Birthday!

2010-02-23T04:00:00.000-08:00

Who better – well, aside from Guy Lombardo or Tom Jones – to sing a Happy Birthday song at your Cokesbury Birthday Party than Weird Al Yankovic?

It would be fun to get him live, of course. But since you're using this party as an excuse to celebrate everyone's birthday at once, you know you can't afford him.

May as well sing this song while you're at it. Cover all the bases, see.

You know, harking back to a previous post, i have to wonder if Jerry Colonna contributed to the Alice in Wonderland ride at Disneyland. Part of me hopes so. Whether it's true or not, I'll never look at that ride as boring again.

The Coffee Achievers

2010-02-22T09:24:00.000-08:00

In addition to ice cream and sandwiches, one of the more popular Cokesbury Party foodstuffs is the ubiquitous cuppa joe. That got me thinking of this:

So next time you think you're hip sipping a cup of mud, just remember: Hip is extremely relative.

Week Forty-One: Progressive Hearts Party

2010-02-21T08:45:00.000-08:00

We like to make a big deal this day and age about viral marketing. We’re so savvy, so tuned in to the way the Plastic Fantastic Madison Avenue Scene plies us with messages to buy buy buy, we just ignore them. Or not. But when someone comes up with a clever way to advertise, such as posting little digital ad boxes all over Boston and thus inciting fears of terrorist activity, we applaud such efforts. And buy buy buy.
End result: Madison Avenue or viral, it’s all the same.

So it’s no surprise that in announcing its Progressive Hearts Party (no, this is not another political movement) that Cokesbury should seek – and win – permission from Parker Brothers, of Salem, Massachusetts, to use and promote its six-pack of Hearts Dice in its party description.

Parker Brothers of Salem, Massachusetts. That sounds awfully quaint these days. A mom-and-pop (or at least a trio of brothers) game shop. Wow. How times change.

So here’s the game, a la Cokesbury:

Heart Dice is played with six cubes on which are written on the six sides of each the letters in the word “Hearts.” These are thrown all at one throw by each player, and the player is only allowed to throw once, after which he must pass the dice to the player on his left. When four play at a table, the players across from each other are partners for that game, and when one of them scores, both can mark the score and it counts for both. However, as one changes partners after each game, each must keep hiss core separately. So the game proceeds, each throwing the dice one time, until one couple gets a hundred, at which time they yell “Game,” whereupon all stop and count up their score for that game. Then all winner at each table, that is, those who had the highest score, progress to the next table, except the winners at the head table, who keep their places while the losers go to the foot table.

Worried you can’t find Hearts dice? (You should be, because I couldn’t). Buy some Boggle games and steal the proper dice out of them. Or just use regular dice (once again, screening your dice-shunning friends) and have fun.

Or just go with some other hard-to-find retro Parker brothers game. Like this:

Scoring is done thusly. (I’d reproduce Cokesbury’s scoring, but it’s the same as referenced on this web page. Besides, it’s less for you to have to read. On this page. Ha ha.)

And that’s about it. You play Heart Dice until you’re sick of it, or until one or more of the following happen:

Prizes. Prizes should be given, a first and second, to the two players making the highest scores.

Simple enough. And:

Refreshments. Have a bonbon dish filled with heart-shaped candy at each place. Get ice cream in heart mold and serve with cake at conclusion of play.

Once again, Cokesbury at the end of the party drops all pretence of articles and begins speaking in this odd patois. Can’t be helped.

Anyway, get ready to have big fun at Cokesbury’s next extravaganza: The Birthday Party, in which you get to celebrate all of your friends’ and acquaintances’ birthdays at once, once again proving what a cheap bastard you really are.

Turn on Your Heartlight

2010-02-16T12:08:00.000-08:00

Watching this kinda hurts in the way. The feathered hair. the layered sweaters. So '80s. So very '80s. But it's a good prelude to next week's Progessive Heart's Party. Get your guests all warmed up inside.

Ten Parties Left

2010-02-15T11:56:00.000-08:00

It's been a long, odd year here at the Cokesburty Party Blog. Well, almost. But toward the end of May is when we'll celebrate together the passing of a year and, very likely the passing of this blog. I'm running out of parties from the Cokesbury Party Book.

I know, I know. It's a shame. Why couldn't this book be twice as long? Well, maybe it's a good thing it's not. But I'm sure I can find another book to skewer for another year. I've already got a few candidates waiting on the bookshelf, including a girls' camping book my wife inherited from her grandmother. I believe it was published at about the same time as the Cokesbury Party Book, so it ought to be good for something.

Will I rename the blog if I move on to a different book? I don't know. I've spent literally tens of hours over the past year building the Cokesbury Party Blog brand, familiar now to dozens of the most discerning readers on the World Wide Web, especially you folks from Belgium and Florida. I have no idea why the Belgians keep coming. Gasparilla might be why I get many hits from Florida.

So stay tuned. Something magical may happen when that last party goes up. Then again, maybe not. But I've had fun. That's what counts.

You know, this kind of reminds me of listening to the student-run radio station at the University of Idaho when I was there working on the paper. One evening while a few of us were working late, we had the radio tuned to good ol' KUOI. The DJs were holding a contest, inviting people to call in to win tickets. NO ONE CALLED. They kept asking, "Come on, somebody call! Somebody call! Is anyone listening?" Nobody ever called. Not even their compatriots from the newspaper. Well, they were tickets to a rotten concert.

Week Forty: Radio Party

2010-02-14T08:55:00.000-08:00

It’s funny, what the older generations will do to the younger. And what the younger generations will learn to be thankful for.

My mother, at the time in her sixties, introduced me to Spike Jones and the City Slickers thanks to a neighbor, then in her eighties, who had a Spike Jones cassette tape. Mom also introduced me to the likes of George Burns and Gracie Allen, Fibber McGee and Molly, and dozens of other radio show stars. These were her childhood, she said, and she wanted to share them with her kids.

As far as I know, I’m the only one who took the bait. And I think I’m richer for it. What’s old is new when you listen to it for the first time. I love listening in anticipation for McGee to open that famous closet. Despite the blackface roots, I enjoy listening to the antics of Amos and Andy. Bob Hope and Jerry Colona have a wonderful chemistry together.

So it’s no surprise that Cokesbury’s Radio Party should be a popular one with me.

But Cokesbury seems to take radio for granted and the party, I have to admit, is a disappointment for dyed-in-the-wool radio fans. Of course, this was in 1932. The shows I mention weren’t on the air then. But something had to be. True, Cokesbury does mention Amos ‘n’ Andy, but that’s the only – the only – program they mention. It’s like talking about television and only mentioning Seinfeld. Sure, Seinfeld was immensely popular. But what about all the others?

Could Cokesbury have been worried about copyright, even way back then? Can’t be. Why mention Amos ‘n’ Andy then? It’s a mystery for the ages.

So just as Seinfeld is a show about nothing, Cokesbury’s Radio Party is a radio party about, well, the radio. As you’ll see.

Here’s the invitation, finally, after my long preamble:

At our Radio Party we want you all,
Endeavorers short and Endeavorers tall.
The Social Committee has made a decision
To entertain you with radio and television.
Come to the social room on Friday night,
For we promise you an evening of real delight.

Now, without preamble, we get into the radio part of the Radio Party. Literally.

Part of the program should be a radio program. So construct a large radio out of a large box or make a frame and cover it with dark cloth of dark crepe paper. Arrange it so that parts of the program may come over the radio – that is, an improvised radio. Of course, the performers will be the guests. Those taking part should stand in the radio or behind it to perform, so that the program will appear to the guests to come over the radio.

Some of the program may be television and may be acted behind a screen of white sheets, with a light behind it so that a shadow will be cast on the screen. A reader may read the story while the actors dramatize it. Some suggested stunts that might be used are: “The Supreme Sacrifice” and “The Mellerdrammer,” from Handy, by Rohrbough, and “The Delectable Ballad of the Waller Lot,” “The Ogre of Rashamon,” and “An Indian Massacre,” in Stunt Night Tonight, by Miller.

It is our thought that the above suggestions about the radio and television programs should form only a part of the evening program. The party should proceed in the usual way, and the program occupy only about forty-five minutes at the end of the program.

So. Two books I need to look up when I run out of Cokesbury parties this May: Handy Playparty Book, by Lynn Rohrbough, and Stunt Night Tonight, by Catherine Miller Balm. But as I’m at the mercy of whatever books people toss to the local thrift stores, who knows what’ll happen next?

And, really, Cokesbury. You demand a lot from your readers. If this were a modern radio/television aprty, folks would come with their digitized Fibber McGees or DVD box sets of Hogan’s heroes and make a night of it. At most they might play some televison-oriented trivia game. But make shows of their own? Act them out? Build a box big enough to resemble a television or radio in which to perform said pantomimes? Not hardly. You were indeed a hardy folk in 1932. I doff my hat to you.

And for you planning such a party today, maybe find somebody with a cargo container. Or just stage it in the driveway, using the garage door opening for your “television.” That might work.

But back to the party. Or the next, exciting radio-themed game:

Opening Mixer: Radio Stations. Hang around the neck of each guest a card six inches by six inches lettered with the initial of their last name. A string should be tied in each of the corners on the upper side that will slip over the head. Guests should wear them all the evening, for they will be needed in the radio program at the close. Ask each guest to write his name on his card as well as having his initial on it.

Each guest is given a paper and pencil, and the leader explains that the guests are to form the call numbers of radio stations such as WJZ and WEAF, New York; KDKA, Pittsburgh; WAPI, Birmingham; WLW, Cincinnati, WIOD, Miami, etc. When three or four players can get themselves into formation so that they form a call number of a radio station, each of the four may write down the call number of that station. The best radio fan will probably know a large number of stations. Give a prize to the person having the largest number.

You can tell already that anyone with the initial W or K is going to become very popular during this game. If you can get your guests to play, that is. Seems kinda lame to me.

And yes, it might have been possible for you to hear such distant stations, especially at night. Go here for more info. This is the Cokesbury Party Blog, not Radio Amateurs.

But ponder this: Radio was kind of the last truly magical technologies. You could sit in your living room, tinkering with the knobs, and hear, if you were lucky, stations from far away. Radio is still mysterious and magical today, with numbers stations and the ability to broadcast yourself on a microstation. TV doesn’t hold that magical sway. The Internet is kinda like that, but the noise to signal ratio is really high. And aside from GeoCities, do people really get nostalgic about how a web page used to look?

Whoah. I guess they do.

On to the next game.

Names of Radio makes. Give guests blank sheets of paper and pencil and tell them that when the whistle blows, they are to write the names of all the makes of radio they can think of. Some of the makes now on the market are:

Victor
Philco
Silvertone
Atwater Kent
Majestic
General Electric
Apex
Pilot
Crosley
RCA
Stromberg Carlson
Koslter

Give a prize to the one having the largest list. Five or six minutes should be the time limit of this game.

This game is one of my favorites from the book, because it reminds me of the early days of computing when you had your Colecos, your Commodore 64s, your TRS-80s, your TI-994As, and even your Ataris. Sure, we still get that kind of variation today, but nobody – I guarantee nobody – is going to have as strong an emotional attachment to a Lenovo or a Gateway than they would with a Commodore or a TRS-80. It’s just not possible. Computers of today will never love us. Computers of that era did.

Okay, now it’s time to put on your own radio program. Here’s the setup:

We assume that some of the radio program has been arranged in advance, such as a reading or recitation, vocal solo, orchestra, and Amos ‘n’ Andy. A song leader should also be secured in advance who will know how to lead the songs for the sitting-up exercises.

Two of the radio features, however, should be impromptu. The leader selects two stations, WEAF and KDKA. Those having the letters WEAF and those having the letters KDKA to represent the initial of their last name get together and are assigned the task by the leader of “poking about” among the guests for advertisements and news. Let them write this out and get it up so that it can be given over the radio. The leader should take care in making the selection of those wgo are going to do this work, and it might be well go give some notice in advance. When they have finished, let the radio program start as indicated below, and let them take their aprt on the program. One from each of the stations should read the advertisements and news.

Then we go on to the “sitting-up exercises,” which includes singing enormous slabs of syllable and rhyme squeezed into tunes familiar and unfamiliar, such as:

Smile awhile and give your face a rest,
Stretch a while and ease your manly chest,
Reach your hads up toward the sky
While you watch them with your eye
Jump awhile, and shake a leg there sir!
Now step forward, backward – as you were
Then reach right out to someone near
Shake his hand and smile.

This is sung to the tune of “Smile the While You Kiss Me Fond Adieu.”

Now, on to the news. Advertisements. A reading – Cokesbury suggests a story from the Gipsy Party or – for the Amos ‘n’ Andy skit – something from the Cokesbury Minstrel Show, which will be handled with much delicacy later this year on this blog. Then, my favorite:

Orchestra. Gazoo orchestra could be substituted if a real one is not available. See “Kitchen Cabinet Orchestra” in Index. Or just go here.

Now to the refreshments which do not appear to be coffee and cigarettes, the most popular radio station snack I’m aware of:

Refreshment suggestions for this party would be Waldorf salad, sandwiches or wafers, and coffee, or iced or hot tea, depending on the season in which the party is given.

So I was wrong about the coffee.

Hope you had fun. Tune in – ha – next week for a Progessive Hearts Party. The party involves (whisper) dice, so you might want to consider once again screening your dice-fearing friends.

But before you go, Jerry Colonna – who has a face and voice built for radio – has this parting shot for us.

And while we’re speaking of the venerable Mr. Colonna, I never realized this:

But it’s certainly easy to pick out that radio voice, isn’t it?

. . . Sigh . . .

2010-02-13T21:35:00.000-08:00

My wife and I are in the study. Me on the computer, obviously. She's scrapbooking. We're listening to the BBC. Ah, the BBC.

Now, this isn't going to be some snotty, Euro-wistful rant on why the BBC is better than anything we have in the United States. Well, maybe a little.

They have shows on the BBC. And not the politic slop, fat men or skinny women screaming and ranting and foaming about what we should believe. Nor the tweedy snots of National Public Radio smarming about what we should believe. Well, maybe a little of that. A lot of that, if you listen to the BBC news.

But we don't. We listen to the comedies. They have comedy programs on BBC radio. Fun stuff. Quiz shows. Situation comedies. Odd little science-fiction bits. Comics. American radio is a wasteland of music. Around here, anyway. I've written about Bob Ziel before. He's the only thing that approaches a radio show here, and bless him for that. But other than that, nothing. I can only handle pop music for a little while. Classical music a bit longer.

And don't point out things like Prairie Home Companion or Wait, Wait, Don't Tell Me. Shades of the real thing. Kellior gets uglier in face and mein every year. And Wait Wait is so dull it can't compare to what the BBC offers.

But we used to have it. In the world of Jack Benny, Fibber McGee, The Shadow, Orson Welles, Burns and Allen, and the rest. They all went to television. Why, I have to wonder? Television was new, yes. But boring.

Radio Memes and the Radio Party

2010-02-09T10:53:00.000-08:00

Before the Internet had memes like the Heineken Looter, radio had memes (of course, before radio had memes, cave paintings had memes as well, so let’s not all bow at once over creating them or we’ll bump heads).

Here’s one of radio’s memes, translated into film, which seems odd, but so it goes:

I’m sure the young set out there has no idea what this is. And after I explain it to them, not many of them will care. But this was big, baby, big. Fibber McGee opens his infamous closet and – whoooo – all that stuff falls out. Hilarious. Really. I promise.

Yeah. So if you don’t get that, maybe Cokesbury’s Radio Party isn’t for you. But it should be. Those who ignore the past are not only doomed to repeat it, but also doomed to miss out on a lot of great comedy.

This was the “Pants on the Ground” of the day. All done WITHOUT Internet distribution. We didn’t need fancy desktops or wi-fi or iPhones or the iPad. We had radio and that’s all we needed and we liked it!

Week Thirty-Nine: Halloween Party

2010-02-07T07:27:00.000-08:00

Do you remember the killer spook alley you put together with your friends in your Dad’s garage when you were eleven years old? Remember how cool that was, with the eerie sound effect recorded playing in the background as your friends wandered through, getting spooked by your closer friends in dopey costumes, fans blowing gunk in their faces, and such? I hope you kept the plans. . .

. . . because you’re going to need them:

Initiation. Guests should be met at the door by a witch and conducted through a dark passage with a flashlight which is turned off most of the time. This passage should be infested with strange noises like grunts and groans and screams and the hooting of owls. A witch or ghost in the passage extends to the guest a hand which is a glove stuffed with ice-cold sawdust. An electric fan may be arranged in the passage so that it will blow strips of paper into the passing guests. Dress up someone as a dog, in crepe paper, with an improvised tail and false face. This dog should jump out and bark at the passing guests. Weird noises can be made by dragging chains over the floor. One of the ghosts may use a feather duster to tickle the faces of guests. A ghost on stilts has a terrifying effect. One of the ghost guides tells of the death of a friend and directs the hands of the guests to parts of the body. These are placed on plates, and the plates are on chairs or tables. The eyes are represented by two hulled grapes, the tongue by a raw oyster, the heart by a piece of liver, the lungs a wet sponge, the brain a dish of spaghetti.

But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Perfect party planning involves, first of all, getting together the proper items needed to have the party go without a hitch. This is what you’ll need for Cokesbury’s Halloween Costume Extravaganza, in addition to friends willing to show up in costumes:

Lard
One raw oyster
Charlie Brown Halloween sheet
Chewing gum
A box of toothpicks
Spanish moss
Stilts
One glove, electrified
Sawdust
Ice for the sawdust
Flour

And what better way to augment that epic list than with two epic and traditionally irksome Cokesbury party invitations?

If friendly ghosts you’ve never seen,

Come to our house on Halloween

From seven to eleven the hours to stay,

Dressed up in such as unfamiliar way

That we won’t know you from we don’t know who,

But over your costume don’t worry and fuss,

Just dress in a way that will puzzle us,

Either spooky or fancy or all in a muss.

Our home in the trees with fun we will fill,

Reply if you please. Yours, Mildred and Bill.

Remember, for the sake of rhyme, it’s better if you and your spouse go change your names to Mildred and Bill right now. No, I don’t care who you call Mildred.

For this next invitation, Cokesbury says, you’ll need some “small owls and witches” from the five-and-ten-cent store. I can only assume they mean paper owls and witches, since I refuse to believe that, even in the 1930s, such items could be purchased in bulk outside of Hogwarts. Nevertheless, place one owl at the top of the page, with two witches at the bottom. Ink your invitation thusly:

On Friday evening, October twenty-third

The intermediate Endeavorers will meet this wise old bird.

At the witch’s den you’ll meet your fate,

At eight o’clock. Now don’t be late.

One hundred thirty-five Atlantic Avenue, Palm Beach,

is where you’ll have this Halloween treat.

Wear a mask to hide your pretty face,

And be on hand to take your place.

There’ll be cats and ghosts both great and small,

And a jolly good time will be had by all.

Cordially yours, The two (pictures of witches).

This second invitation presents several problems to the would-be party-thrower. Though Palm Beach sounds nice this time of year, it’s hardly practical to throw a Halloween party there when you live in, say, Firth, Idaho. And it’s always a red flag warning to me when someone has to say in their invitation that you’ll have fun if you attend the party. To me, that’s a given, unless, of course, you’re going to a party hosted by SpongeBob SquarePants. Or Roseanne Barr:

Wait a sec. @ 1:03, who decided to invite this guy:

On that note, it’s time to introduce your friends to the ghastly ghouls you’ve also invited to the party, viz:

Meeting the Queen of Halloween. After the guests are brought into the room where the party is to be held, hey should be directed to the Queen of Halloween. The Queen of Halloween is seated on a high chair and has a battery connected to her hand charged with a slight shock. When they shake hands they receive a shock. This will be very amusing to those who have proceeded and will cause much merriment.

Bluebeard’s Den. Have an adjoining room for Bluebeard’s Den. Get some girls or women to pose as Bluebeard’s seven murdered wives. They are arranged behind a shoot through which holes have been cut large enough for them to get their heads through. Red paint or red coloring of some kind should be sprinkled over the sheet. The faces of the girls should be powdered so that they will look ghastly. The light should be dim. Bluebaeard is impersonated by a man who pantomimes the way he killed his wives. He may kill one with a hatchet, cut off one’s head with a butcher knife, shoot one with a toy pistol so that it will make a report, choke one to death, stab one, etc. As he goes through the motion of killing each one in turn, they let out a scream. This screaming and the report of the pistol attracts the attention and excites the curiosity of the guests in the adjoining room. The guests should be brought in about four at a time. If the number of guests is not large, bring them in two at a time.

In other words, it’s kind of like a live version of a Scooby Doo episode, but without the chase scene in which the gang flits from door to door in a hallway, barely missing but eventually encountering and de-masking the villain. Oh. And no bad ‘60s pop music, either. Unless you really want some.

Your next game should make the germophobes in the clan happy, especially if you suggest a model-swap and chew afterwards.

Modeling. Give each guest a piece of chewing gum. They are to chew this gum. Give each one a cardboard about four inches square on which is written the name of something they are to model. Pas around toothpicks which are to be used as tools with which to do the modeling. Some suggested models are: airplane, automobile, lame, horse, cow, church, witch, jack o’lantern, turtle, cat, etc.

Next, Cokesbury insults you be assuming you don’t know how to divide by four:

Apple Contest. Divide into groups of four each. This can be done by counting off 1,2,3,4. Give each No. 1 an apple and a paring knife. No. 1 is to peel the apple and pass it on to No. 2. No. 2 must quarter it, No. 3 core it and drop it into a bowl of water. No. 4 must take it out of the water and eat it. The quartet that finishes first wins.

This is true: Your party planning has reached a nadir if you engage in this game in a non-ironic manner. If, however, you have a lot of guests and a lot of apples you want converted into apple pie filling for bottling, having the game repeat several times and having your guests count off by three so the apple eater is eliminated could help you get out of a rather nasty fall chore.

And speaking of nasty, now, we get to the lard of the matter:

Floating a Needle. Give each couple needles. Provide some lard to great them with and bowls full of water. See which couple can make their needles float. After the needles have floated, it is humorous to watch them. They will do strange things that will cause merriment. They may cling together or go to the opposite sides of the bowl.

Ever notice how much stuff that goes on at a Cokesbury party “causes merriment?” Now, I’ve been to a few Halloween parties, and I can think of many things that “caused merriment” that didn’t involve greased-up needles, including the post-Halloween moment when one of the more drunken attendees woke up the next morning in bed with a bearded man. Neither one of them were too happy, especially after the photos surfaced. Good thing this was in the pre-Internet days, or I might be able to find them even as I type.

One more game to round out the evening:

A List of Bad Omens. Give a prize to the one who can write the longest list of bad omens or superstitions. Have the one who has prepared the longest list in a given time to read his list. Others may be asked to read other superstitions not read by the winner. The following is a list:

1) Don’t wipe on the same towel with anyone else. It means you will fight.
2) Don’t start anything on Friday. You will never finish it.
3) It is bad luck to return to the house after you have left it for a journey.
4) It is bad luck to hear a dog howl at night.
5) Don’t kill hogs on the decrease of the moon; they will fry into grease when you put them in the pan.
6) Throw an old shoe after newlyweds.
7) If you put on any garment wrong side outward, it is bad luck to change.
8) It is bad luck to sneeze before breakfast.
9) It is bad luck to rock an empty chair.

Of course, the worst omen possible would be that the host consulted the Cokesbury Party Book (or this humble blog) as a guide in planning his or her party.

Some of these omens confuse me. Did the believers in No 3, then, believe it was better luck to torch their house and, upon returning from their journey, buy a new one? Or was there a kind of statue of limitations on the omen. Suppose I went back home after two weeks. Would that be okay, as opposed to returning after only 15 minutes’ absence? The anal retentive and gullible need more clarification. And as for No. 6, am I allowed to hit the newlyweds with the shoe, or is that considered bad form? And is bad form worse or better than bad luck? And No. 5 deserves a peer-reviewed scientific study, not like the stuff they’ve done at the MET or for the IPCC.

Now, on to the details. Cokesbury includes the next item almost last, which seems kind of backward, but then again, I’m not a party-planning genius from Palm Beach circa 1932. They must have had sentient pumpkins and cornstalks back then, too.

Decorations. At this season of the year there are always decorations on sale at the bookstores and the five-and-ten-cent stores. You will want crepe paper in orange and black with some red. Black cats, skeletons, and paper jack o’lanterns should be in evidence. The lights should be dimmed with crepe paper or by the use of colored bulbs. In sections where they can be obtained, cornstalks and pumpkins will aid in decorating. In tropical sections use Spanish moss.

Now it’s refreshment time:

Refreshments. Serve any convenient refreshments. Pumpkin or apple pie would be good. Use Halloween napkins. Paper plates of Halloween design may also be secured. Orange and black candy may be used as part of the refreshments. Ice-cream may be secured in Halloween colors. Cookies in shape of moon, cat, or witch may be used.

That’s right. Go ahead and use some of the apples your guests just peeled, cored and quartered for you. They did the work, so they deserve a little pie.

Wow, boys and girls, wasn’t that scary? Whooooo, I thought so. Almost as scary as Count Floyd’s spooky chiller story, “Slinky: The Toy from Hell.”

And be sure to tune in next week – literally – for Cokesbury’s romp with that amazing, funky new technology at its Radio Party. So be ready for some static, I guess.

Spooky Chiller Halloween Party Preview. Owooooo!

2010-02-02T11:04:00.000-08:00

Somehow, given Cokesbury's track record on parties, I get the sinking feeling that their Spooky Chiller Halloween Party is going to turn out something like this:

Cokesbury's opening lines for the party kind of set up the lameness of the whole evening:

Halloween affords a splendid opportunity for a delightful party. As unconventionality is the keynote, the occasion is conducive to a genuine good time. Withces, ghosts, devils and elves have their inning and wander about at will.

Wow. Can't wait. Sounds like your stuffy old junior high school English teacher trying to get you excited about reading "Silas Marner." I hope Ed brings his entire Count Floyd's Scary Stories collection on VHS.

NOTE TO STUFFY ENGLISH TEACHERS: I have read, and quite enjoy, Silas Marner. I'm also rather partial to Steve Martin's adaptation of this delightful George Eliot novel, "A Simple Twist of Fate." So back off.

Week Thirty-Eight: Athletic Party

2010-01-31T09:37:00.000-08:00

There’s a thrill in good old football.

What a thrill one feels

When a player makes a touchdown

With the whole gang at his heels!

Same is true of good old baseball

When a player makes a run;

But you’ll get a thrill at our party

And have a lot of fun.

Nice Hat, Mr. Nagurski

Yes, we He-Men and She-Women are here to honor the might of our, uh, mighty athletes for their skill and dedication. (Hey Bernie, cue the clip!)

And what better way to honor your local football or baseball team for their awkward, leather-bound, scraggly-limbed victory than by engaging in party activities that resemble sporting events, but in name only. Such as playing a round of Random Utensil Golf?

Bean Bag Golf. As the guests arrive they are divided into couples by the leader and matched to play bean bag golf. The game is played in the following manner:

Different kinds of vessels and utensils are set around over the house or perhaps hung on the wall or placed on top of the piano, and these are numbered as the eighteen holes of a golf course. Have someone get from the country club in your city enough score cards for your guests and change these numbers to fir your course. For example, if the score card shows a 500-yard hole with a five par, you might change this to five yards, three par. Each couple marks their own score, which score is the number of throws it takes each one to get their bean bag in the vessel The rule of the game is that they must stand erect when they toss the bean bag; and if it falls in a place where they cannot stand when they throw it, the penalty for moving it will be one stroke.

The game will create a lot of good, wholesome fun and will consume from twenty minutes to half an hour.

To Cokesbury’s credit, this is the first time in nearly 300 pages that they use the word “wholesome,” which I figured would be featured in every party, certainly much more than whistles and five-and-ten cent stores.

Additionally, I appreciate their use of the word vessel, which always brings this to mind:

Today, we’d probably say container, not vessel. ‘Container’ just doesn’t have that magical ring to it. “The pellet with the poison’s in the container on retainer . . . no, the container on the hanger has the pellet with the poison . . . uh, forget it. I’ll just run into the hills like the Maid Jean said.”

But let’s move on from such obscurities to other obscurities, viz, the naming of athletes:

Cut out from the sporting page of the newspaper or from baseball and golf magazines the pictures of well known athletes, such as Babe Ruth, Bobby Jones, Bill Tilden, Jack Dempsey, and Helen Wills. Also there might be included pictures of those who are prominent in their connection with athletics, such as Conney Mack. Number these and pin them on the draperies and place them about the room. Give slips of paper to the guests, and have them identify these athletes. Give a prize to the one getting the largest number correctly.

Give an even bigger prize to writers who don’t use adverbs in a superfluous manner and who can spell the name of sports-associated greats correctly.

With that all done, it’s time for another bean bag game, because tossing around light bean bags while chatting insipidly with your cohorts is what honoring athleticism is all about.

We could move on to the next game, Bean bag baseball, but as your guests are already tuckered out from tossing around the ol’ beans in bean Bag Golf, we’ll move on to something more exciting. Like this:

Blindfold Boxing Match. This is an excellent fun-maker, but must be carefully handled by the leader. Get two pair of boxing gloves, put them on two boxers that have been chosen, draw a circle, put the boxers inside the circle and carefully blindfold them. Turn each of the boxers around several times, so they will lose their sense of direction, and blow the whistle for the fight to start. They should be blindfolded so that their heads will be protected in case either of them should happen to get hit, but this is not the intention at all. The intention is to have them so widely separated that they cannot hit each other. Have two or three boys act as teasers, and make them think that they have found each other. After the gun has gone long enough, give both a prize as the winner.

Be sure, folks, not to pick trained pugilists for this game, as the teasers – lacking the protection your average, run-of-the-mill blindfold can offer in a boxing match –a re likely to get cold-clocked if a real boxer happens to make contact. And you might consider even among the untrained masses whether it’s a good thing to pair up, for example, two individuals who have had a running animosity between them. Oh, whatever happens, I see this game ending in tears.

To conclude our series of games meant to honor athletes and athleticism, let’s play a game that required virtually no athletic skill whatsoever:

Balloon Volley Ball. Stretch a string across the room about six feet from the floor, or if the ceiling is high, it is better to have it even higher than this. Inflate a toy balloon to use for the volley ball. Each side tries to keep the balloon from touching the floor on their side. If the ball touches the floor on their side, the other side scores a point. Ten points will be sufficient for a game, the first side winning ten points being the winner of the game.

Another way to play this is to forbid the use of hands, allowing players to strike the ball only with their heads. This should not be played, however, with a mixed group.

That last sentence really confuses me. What mixed group? Ladies and gentlemen? That begs the question – why should a game where groping and poking is not allowed suddenly be banned from mixed group play? Are we afraid that men, robbed of their hands, will engage in French-style head-butt lunges in order to come in contact with the “toy” balloon, which you should use as opposed to he industrial balloons you could smuggle home from the workplace? I just don’t get it.

But that’s okay. It’s time for refreshments, which you can dole out once your guests have picked their refreshment partner, which is done by having the men hide behind a curtain and extend their “athlete’s foot,” which the female counterparts must pick to find their refreshment partner. Refreshments, by the way, are “things generally found at athletic games” such as peanuts, pop corn, cracker jack, bottled drinks, and ice-cream cones. If y’all eat your treats in a sitting position, it’s likely that you’ll have hosted the first Athletic Party at which none of the guests broke a sweat.

That’s it until next time, when we get to see Cokesbury’s Spooky Chiller Halloween Party. Owoooo! Owoooo! Heh heh heh. Sorry. Suddenly channeling Count Floyd there.

Ah, Sport, Georgie-Boy!

2010-01-27T15:32:00.000-08:00

Ah, sport. And American Sport, on top of that. What could be more wholesome? More life-affirming? More Republican? Well, not watching sports, if you ask George Babbitt – a Sinclair Lewis character we’ve neglected here at the Cokesbury Party Blog for quite some time, and I do apologize for it.

Here’s ol’ Georgie’s interest in sports (read the whole thing here):

Baseball, he determined, would be an excellent hobby. “No sense a man’s working his fool head off. I’m going out to the Game three times a week. Besides, fellow ought to support the home team.”

He did go and support the team, and enhance the glory of Zenith, by yelling “Attaboy!” and “Rotten!” He performed the rite scrupulously. He wore a cotton handkerchief about his collar; he became sweaty; he opened his mouth in a wide loose grin; and drank lemon soda out of a bottle. He went to the Game three times a week, for one week. Then he compromised on watching the Advocate-Times bulletin-board. He stood in the thickest and steamiest of the crowd, and as the boy up on the lofty platform recorded the achievements of Big Bill Bostwick, the pitcher, Babbitt remarked to complete strangers, “Pretty nice! Good work!” and hastened back to the office.

He honestly believed that he loved baseball. It is true that he hadn’t, in twenty-five years, himself played any baseball except back-lot catch with Ted—very gentle, and strictly limited to ten minutes. But the game was a custom of his clan, and it gave outlet for the homicidal and sides-taking instincts which Babbitt called “patriotism” and “love of sport.”

Lewis, of course, uses sport and Babbitt’s lukewarm fascination with it as a way to show Babbitt attempting to forget his disaffection with life. What better way to show such disaffection than by throwing a party? That’s what the Cokesbury Party Blog is for, folks. Disaffection in an Affectionate Manner!

Athletic Party Preview -- DON'T HIT ME!

2010-01-26T09:23:00.000-08:00

Before you completely flip out, yes, I know Leni Riefenstahl made propaganda films for the Nazis. Even though propaganda, in of itself, is not an arrestable offense – because if it were every actor, actress, writer, pundit, broadcaster and talking head would be in jail right now, sitting in the same cell with Rollo the Mad-Dog Rapist – I know I could have chosen a different film clip to promote next weeks’ Athletic Party at the Cokesbury Party Blog.

But look at the technique here. The camera angles. The focus on the shadows, rather than the persons. Quite remarkable. For a propagandist. Which, if you get right down to it, is what I am. A propagandist for the Cokesbury Party Book.

Week Thirty-Seven: Alphabet Party

2010-01-24T08:01:00.000-08:00

Oh, those punsters at the Cokesbury Party Book. Check out how they introduce their, ahem, unique party idea this week:

A novel idea for a social is an Alphabet Party.

I’ll pause a moment while you’re lol-ing all over the place. Huh? Well, you know, novels, they’re . . . you use an alphabet to . . . okay, so it’s not that punny. Maybe not even intended as a pun. But you do have to agree with Cokesbury: an Alphabet Party is certainly a novel idea for a social. Especially if you charge attendees two cents for each letter in their full name, in order to defray party expenses, but come on, how much can sandwiches and ice cream cost?

On to the first game, which is a real corker:

What Letter Is? Each one is given a mimeographed or typewritten sheet of paper on which the following questions are written with the answer left blank:

What letter is

1) An insect? B
2) A large body of water? C
3) A naughty letter? D
4) A slangy letter? G
5) Our busiest letter? I
6) A bird? J
7) Part of a house? L
8) Familiar with Emma? M
9) A verb of debt? O
10) A vegetable that rolls off the knife? P
11) A clue? Q
12) A drink? T
13) The letter you love best? U
14) What green apples do to you? W
15) A sheep? U
16) Direction for a horse? G
17) The questioning letter? Y

This game kinda reminds me of this great Bugs Bunny joke:

I have to confess I tell this joke all the time, and always end it with the “hyuck hyuck hyuck” that Elmer Fudd tacks on. This is why I’m PERFECT for the Cokesbury Party Book.

The game also brings this popular tune to mind. Sing it with your guests if they've really got a wild hair and want to get their groove on, yo.

But then of course Cokesbury is taking the alphabet very seriously here. Kinda like James Earl Jones does in this early, kinda creepy clip from Sesame Street:

He really looks a bit beatnik-ky in this clip. Imagine watching this late at night when you’re really tired and a bit freaked out by the thunder and lightning and that weird creaking your house makes when it’s windy out. I’m getting the shivers.

Yes, the alphabet is serious in Cokesbury land. Here’s your next game to prove my point:

Dumb Spelling Match. A number is selected for this dumb spelling match, or if the group is small the whole group participates. When one spells a word incorrectly, speaks a letter when he should make a sign, or makes the wrong sign, he must sit down. The object is to see who can stand up the longest.

With me so far? Too bad. Because I’m confused as heck. Maybe they explain further:

Words are pronounced by the leader, and should be selected in advance, those being chose that have large number of vowels in them. These are spelled by those participating by speaking the consonants and making the following signs for the vowels: for A the player holds up his right hand. For E he holds up his left hand. For I he points to his eye. For O he points to his open mouth. For U he points to another player. If any of the vowels are spoken, if the wrong sign is given, or the word is spelled incorrectly, the player must be seated. Spell down.

Okay. So aside from not really knowing what they mean by saying “Spell down” at the end of the description, we’ve also got a party built to offend those who are hearing impaired. I’ll give this to Cokesbury: Party after party, they find ways to offend. And this is beyond any modern political correctness; it’s just being mean.

But forget that. You want your Alphabet party to be whimsical. Entertaining. Like this one, thrown by the Three Stooges:

Note when the Stooges encourage the “girls” to sing along, the one guy in the audience takes no offense; he sings too. We need more of this kind of cooperation in the world. Maybe that’s what Cokesbury was trying to achieve with this game:

Spelling Fun. Divide into two, three, or four groups. Each group is given an alphabet on cards six inches square with duplicate vowels. If the group is too small to give each one a letter, the leader should give some two letters. If this is not desirable, take out letter such as Q, Z, X, and J that are not so frequently used before distributing the alphabet. It is not necessary to have a whole alphabet for this game. Each group selects a leader. The object is to see which group can spell the most words in a given time. There should be a scorer selected in advance; and if you have four groups, there should be two scorers. The scorer gives each group a mark for every word spelled. The words are spelled by the leader suggesting the word and the players who hold the letter arranging themselves in the proper order to spell them. Every word spelled counts one score or tally for the group spelling it. The winner has the largest number of tallies when the whistle blows.

Sesame Street purists like me, of course, are cringing. When you do the alphabet, buddy, you do EVERY SINGLE LETTER. You can’t do something like this by skipping those not-so-frequently used letters:

This next game reminds me of a joke a friend of mine liked to tell about how people speak in Tennessee, speaking of doing everything politically incorrect:

A,B,C,D Fish. Much amusement can be caused by the following display of letters which have been written on a cardboard in advance b y the leader:

A B, C D fish.
L, M N O fish.
O, S A R fish.

Of course, you know the answer to this one:

Ask the group to read what is written on the card. Perhaps someone will be clever enough to read it: Abie, see de fish. ‘Ell, ‘em ain’t no fish. Oh, ‘es ‘ey are fish.

And so on. Here’s that longer bit, from Tennessee:

M R snakes.
M R not.
S A R 2. C D EDBD I’s?

You have to say “EDBD” very quickly for the best effect. And I could go on like this. But I won’t. Because traffic here at the Cokesbury Party Blog is pretty dismal and I don’t want to drive my loyal followers away.

Now it’s refreshment time. And there’s a game for it:

Ask the guests what they want to eat. Tell them for an answer they must arrange themselves in formation so as to spell out what menu they want. There will be much fun as they try to get each other into formation. This can take place while the food is being prepared. Serve anything that is thought suitable.

But unless you’ve got a grocery store and a bevy of short order cooks on hand, just do what Cokesbury does and serve alphabet crackers with punch or tea, or apple pie a la mode, despite what your guests spell out. After all, if they spell out caviar, they ought to be bright enough to bring it with them.

Next week’s party is excruciatingly more active than this one. Put on your runnin’ pants for Cokesbury’s Athletic Party.

Alphabet Party Preview

2010-01-19T12:40:00.000-08:00

There are many ways you could go with an Alphabet Party, and you can be sure that the Cokesbury Party Blog will present at least two options here that Cokesbury itself won't mention.

First, a Madrigal Alphabet Party:

Aw, bless.

And, a bit more awful: A Richard Gorey Alphabet Party:

Turn up the volume for this one. And pity poor Clara. She tries to hold it together to the end.

I Wonder . . .

2010-01-17T09:32:00.001-08:00

I wonder, as the kookabura sits in the old gum tree, if he ponders the acceptability of making the tree he perches on into dice.

I probably wonder too many things.

Week Thirty-Six: Fifty Party

2010-01-17T08:08:00.000-08:00

Cokesbury maybe possibly hints that some of your more conservative guests might, well, have a problem with this party, as it involves (whisper) dice. Personally, I’ve never understood why some people are shy of dice. What are they aside from being black-and-white polyhedral objects used in a wide variety of games?

Well, there’s the Flanders View:

Lisa: Where are the dice?
Todd: Daddy says dice are wicked.
Rod: We just move one space at a time. It's less fun that way.

But Cokesbury, ever-faithful to the faithful set, offers this delightful anti-dice workaround:

If it is not desirable to use dice, cubes can be made at small expense from wood. Any mill could make them out of wood. Gum wood cut into blocks three-quarters inch square could be painted white with black figured on them. For fifty cents any mill would make as many as twenty-five of these, but of course would not paint them. It is not even necessary to have them painted, and the figures could be printed on with ink [or] have figures printed on them corresponding to the numbers on a dice.

In other words, if your friends are uncomfortable with playing with dice, make some cubic, black-and-white dice-like objects. But they’re not dice. Having these dice-like objects manufactured, painted and stamped to look like dice doesn’t make them dice, per se, or . . . okay, they’re dice. Tell your dice-hating friends either to suck it up, or to stay away from the party or go play with the Flanderses.

Gum wood, Cokesbury advises, is the best wood to use for making your anti-dice dice:

It will be found that in using a wood block, made from gum wood, it is almost impossible to drop the block even a distance of three inches without having it turn over.

You may learn many, many, many more of the qualities of gum wood by visiting this site, populated by a man – or at least a clip art – that resembles Harrison Ford with a Walter Matthau nose:

I’m told this is Gustav Stickley, a name you would certainly anticipate going with a mug like that. Mr. Stickley is credited with being a “leading spokesman of the American Craftsman movement,” which explains his overt fascination with gum wood.

Let me back up a little here. Several paragraphs about dice for this party, and I haven’t even explained why you need them. It’s because you’re going to play a money-making dice game – Cokesbury doesn’t express any concern about you sponging your guests for money with a dice game, note – and you’re going to need a lot of dice to do it.

You’re going to play Fifty, a dice game to be explained in a few moments. More importantly, Cokesbury wants to point out that “this party may be used as a money-making party by selling the sides of the tables at from twenty-five cents to one dollar each, depending upon the financial ability of those who are to attend.”

So let’s tote that up. If, as Cokesbury recommends, you have six to ten tables, four sides per table, that means if you go cheap and charge four bits a side for ten tables, you’re going to gross TEN WHOLE DOLLARS. If you go totally bursar and charge a dollar a side, well, buddy, your gross will be forty big ones, enough in 1932 to buy several hundred ivory-handled backscratchers.

Now that you’re totally pumped with the Vegas casino-like profits of the evening, here’s the game:

The game is scored as follows: Anything double except three and six counts five. Double three cancels all your score for that game as well as that of your partner. Partners must begin again from zero, and mark only the score then made until the whistle blows. Fifty is a game, and the object is to see who gets to fifty first. The leader blows a whistle and all start throwing. Each player gets only one throw and the cubes then pass to the left. They all play until some couple gets a score of fifty, at which time they yell “Fifty.” The game then stops, and all players add up their score for that game. If the game is too fast like this, and it is desirable to slow it up, have the whole group controlled by the head table. All must play until the head table scores fifty. This will eliminate some of the necessity for haste.

Now I’ve read this party several times. I’ve used candles and lemon juice to try to find invisible writing in the margins. But nowhere can I find what happens if, for example, one rolls a double six, or any dice combination that isn’t a double of anything. Are those rolls scored? What do double-sixes equal? I’m so confused.

Cokesbury advises that it’ll take twelve to fifteen rounds to fill the evening. After the game is over, remove your dice-like objects from the table and serve . . . cake and punch or cake and ice cream. No sandwiches. Unless you’ve got loads left over from past parties.

There you go. Now, on to next week and the Alphabet Party. Cokesbury naturally chooses the Roman alphabet, but it’s possible to modify this to Greek or Cyrillic or whatever. Unless, of course, you’ve got guests who are afraid of any letter outside the traditional twenty-six. In that case, get some more gum wood . . .

Preview: Fifty

2010-01-12T08:18:00.000-08:00

First of all, these guys are twenty-five pounds of groovy in individual ten-pound bags. Much too groovy for Cokesbury's Fifty Party, coming up this weekend.

To test potential guests to see if they're ready for a Fifty Party, show them the following photograph. Those who run away in fear might be better off not showing up. Trust me.

If they're okay with that photo, show them this one:

This one probably weeded out those who were faking being stouthearts. This last one will get rid of the weenies:

Whatever you do, DON'T show these photos in reverse order. Those who fled at the first one would likely spontaneously combust if exposed to the third photograph. Even those who made it through the first photo will likely wither at the sight of the third. Don't ask me why.

Week Thirty-Five: Measuring Party

2010-01-10T12:45:00.000-08:00

Some time last year, I read a posting on a national news story that went something like this: “Nowadays it’s only the fatties and the Mormons you can make fun of. But at least the Mormons have a sense of humor.” That immediately came to mind when I read Cokesbury’s Measuring Party, which encourages “some organization in the church” to make money for some purpose by charging party attendees a penny per inch of waistline. I can see this party going over very well these days, especially if fatties have developed a sense of humor since that posting was made.

Cokesbury suggests you invite a lot of people. That they be fat may be implied, though it’s telling in Cokesbury’s description that obesity was not yet an epidemic in the United States in 1932:

A hundred people averaging thirty inches waist measure would bring in thirty dollars.

It’s also telling that it’s not only our waistlines that are inflated:

This is more money than the average group will make in one night on a dinner or other feature.

Remember, this was 1932. Most of your guests would have had an onion tied to their belts as well, which was the style at the time.

Here’s the invitation:

This little apron is sent to you,
And this is what we wish you’d do:

A little pocket in front you’ll see,
And for a special purpose it’s meant to be.

Measure your waistline, inch by inch;
Don’t draw in your breath, don’t pull, don’t pinch.

Then for each inch you measure round
In the apron pocket put a penny sound.

This game is fair, you will admit;
You “waist” your money, we pocket it.

Now if the size of your waist you will not tell.
Just slip in a dollar – ‘twill do quite as well.

All “waist” money which the pocket pays
The Woman’s Council will use in the wisest ways.

Bring your apron with you and don’t be late;
Place: First Christian Church; September 1, the date.

So dig up the cash and put on a smile,
And we’ll throw care away for a little while.

The assumption here is that you’ll substitute the name of your group and the place of the party in the invitation. Unless of course you want to enrage your feminist/atheist or feminist and atheist friends with the obvious cultural underpinnings of holding the party at a Christian church for a woman’s organization. Since both are said in company, it’s a guarantee they won’t be burning their bras. Cokesbury also advises sending overalls to the men, rather than aprons. Unless, of course, you’ve got metrosexuals in your midst who aren’t shy about being seen in an apron. Or if the fatties on your list just want to go with a muumuu.

Of course you’re not literally sending aprons or overalls. That would be cost-prohibitive and wasteful, unless, of course, you were planning on later hosting a Hobo Party or School Days Party, in which the garments could play a costuming role. Still, you’re better off following Cokesbury’s advice:

These aprons and overalls are very little trouble to make. They can be made from scraps of material. Just a piece of cloth cut in the shape of an apron or overall with a bit of binding around it will suffice. Be sure to get the pocket on it, for that is the important part.

From here on out, you’re pretty much on your own, party-wise. With this many people at your party, it’s “impractical,” Cokesbury says, to play games. So you’ll want a program. They do offer some advice:

Orchestra. “Almost any orchestra will be glad to give their services for such a program,” Cokesbury says. If, of course, they’re not busy recording music for George Lucas’ next film and you can afford their massive fee. Orchestras aren’t as charitable these days as they were in the ‘30s.

Recitation or Monologue. Humorous, if possible. I’m sure Kenny Kynoch is available. (Understand my ramblings by reading the latter half of the School Days Party entry.)

Comic Skit or Black-Face Comedy. “If there are two who are good black-face artists, they may be able to use material given in Chapter LII, ‘The Minstrel Show.’” That’s a party the Cokesbury Party Blog will handle with nuclear criticality care, to be sure, if I’m not sued into oblivion by the Revs. Jesse Jackson and Al Sharpton before then for even bringing the subject up.

Of course, they haven’t sued Neil Diamond. Yet.

You’re on to refreshments now. The obligatory sandwiches are mentioned. As is this doozy: “Almost any bakery will donate paper plates to a church organization for a party of this kind as a means of advertising.” Try that today and you’ll get laughed out of the store with a sizzling donut hole stuck to your melting forehead.

Be sure to drink your Ovaltine.

No, that’s a crummy commercial.

Be sure to tune in next week for Cokesbury’s exciting Fifty Party. No, I don’t know what it means either.

Gonna Have A Good Time!

2010-01-04T15:43:00.001-08:00

I hinted last week that I wasn’t exactly sure how I’d present the next few parties Cokesbury has in store for you, as they shifted gears enough to make presentation on my part a bit more challenging. I toyed around with a few ideas and then it hit me: Just let the parties sell themselves. That’s what they’ve done all along.

So as you prepare for next weekend’s Measuring Party, keep this song in mind.

It might make your party more financially rewarding if you can find a lot of Fat Alberts to attend.

Week Thirty-Four: Indian Party

2010-01-02T07:18:00.000-08:00

We’ve all been to parties like this, where the evening goes so entirely awkward from the first second that the party ends abruptly, early, and with an air of relief. Marge Simpson knows the feeling – she attended that infamous New Year’s Eve party at Lenny’s, “and he didn’t even have a clock.”

Cokesbury’s Indian Party is like that. It wouldn’t even be held in these politically-correct times (but if you think this is bad, wait until we present, with much trepidation, Cokesbury’s minstrel show). And although Cokesbury declaims in its introduction to this party that the “Indians were a picturesque people, and some of their manners and customs are well known to all,” it seems the only customs mentioned in the party are those you’d see in a vaudeville act about Indians in full wampum-paying, scalping, peace pipe-smoking glory.

Here’s the invitation, patterned, Cokesbury says, after Longfellow’s poem Hiawatha:

By the side of Tenth and Olive

Stands the wigwam of the princess,

And she sends to all the village

Messengers with wands of willow

A sign of invitation,

As a token of the feasting,

And she bids us all assemble

For an Indian Party, Friday

And at eight we are to gather.

With Longfellow’s romantic ode thus butchered, it’s time to move on to other incorrectness, such as costumes.

Request should be made that everyone come in Indian costume as far as possible. If costumes are not available, each guest should be provided with a feather headdress made of paper. These may either be made or secured from the March Brothers publishing Company, Lebanon, Ohio, at a low price. A blanket and beads can be worn in such a way that they make an effective costume.

In other words, try to look like these guys. (Old-timey Indian action starts at 2:14) Bonus: Watch this clip from the beginning and try to spot Jackie Coogan/Uncle Fester. And don’t get me wrong. This film, The Shakiest Gun in the West, is one of my favorites. But that doesn’t mean they depict the Indians correctly.

With your authentic Indian costumes on display, it’s time to move on to some authentic Indian games, showing that indeed, as Cokesbury says, Indian manners and customs are known by all:

Big Game Hunt. Before the guests arrived the hostess has hidden around the room animal crackers with numbers on them or animals cut out of cardboard with numbers on them. The guests are told to find them, and the tribe that finds the largest number will get a prize. Prizes for the evening may be feathers to put in the headdress. In this case each one in the tribe that finds the largest number or whose total score, taking the numbers from the animals, makes the largest total wins.

This is, of course, mirroring the fine Indian tradition of scurrying around the house looking like an idiot, trying to find animal crackers, trying not to tread on the crackers and trying not to eat the crackers before the score is tallied.

Then we move on to this game:

Indian Tribes. The guests are supplied with sheets of paper, typewritten, using carbons, or mimeographed:

What Indian tribe is
(1) A girls name? Sioux
(2) Flowing streams? Creeks
(3) Known by its caws? Crow.
(4) The name for a South Atlantic state? Delaware.
(5) Slang for “you’re wise to it.” Huron (You’re on).
(6) A vowel and an herb? Osage
(7) The lower extremities of a Negro? Blackfeet.

And we stop there. See? You’ve managed to offend two races in a single party. Care to try for a trifecta?

And note: I love the celebration of ‘modern’ technology in this game. The sheets are typewritten. And duplicated using carbons or a mimeograph. A mimeograph! How quaint.

Let’s move on to the word you’ve all been waiting for:

Squaws’ Relay. An equal number of squaws are chosen from each tribe. They stand in parallel line facing a goal. The goal is about twenty feet from the head of each line and is made by a circle drawn on the floor about eighteen inches in diameter. In this are placed five Indian clubs or Coca-Cola bottles. Each squaw runs to the circle, the first taking the clubs out of the circle, the next placing the clubs back in the circle. The tribe that finishes first wins.

Squaw squaw squaw. Once again Cokesbury presents a party meant to make progressive heads just explode.

Here’s another chance for some good old-fashioned Indian fun:

Archery Contest. Secure from the five-and-ten-cent store a bow and arrows. The target may be the usual target with circles on it, numbered so that the center circle about four inches in diameter counts twenty-five, the second circle, twenty, the third fifteen, the fourth ten, and the fifth five. The score of each one is kept and the score by tribes. A prize should be given the best individual archer and the prizes to the best tribe.

Another way to do this would be to cut from cardboard the shapes of animals, mounting these on bases so that they will stand up. Have some larger and some smaller. Graduate so that to hit the small one will count twenty-five, the next largest twenty, and next largest fifteen, and so on. Give prizes in the same manner as described above.

Just remember when you get a bunch of enthusiastic folks in the same room with archery equipment, hijinx can result. Observe:

On to something perhaps a bit more sophisticated. No more politically correct, of course.

Medicine Dance. Squares or circles are marked off on the floor in such a way that couples marching around will not be able to avoid them. Somone plays a lively tune, such as “Turkey in the Straw” and all march. When the music suddenly stops, whoever is inside a ring must take a seat. This is done by couples, and if one of the two is in the ring, both must be seated. The object is to see which couple can remain on the floor the longest. This may be done twice if it goes over well the first time and there is plenty of time.

Turkey in the Straw. That song just oozes Indian sophistication:

That’s George Rock on the trumpet, by the way.

One last game. Because Indians do a lot of hopping. And spelling, apparently.

Hopping Relay. Six contestants are selected to represent each group and are arranged in lines at one side of the room. At the opposite side of the room a large blackboard should be provided. The first contestant in each group should be given a piece of chalk and at the signal will hop on one foot to the blackboard, write the letter “I,” hop back, and hand the chalk to the second man in his line, who hops to the board and writes “N,” and continuing until the word “Indian” has been written.

And so on. Maybe after this party, you’ll understand how Chief Joseph felt:

That’s it. Time for refreshments such as apples, nuts, pop corn, and “laughing water (lemonade), wolf meat (hot dogs).”

How?

How.

Aaand be sure to tune in next week, when you’ll see the author stumble over how to present the next few parties in the book in a way that makes sense. It might not be easy. So next week might be a Measuring Party. Or it might not. Stay tuned.

What Makes the White Man Blush?

2009-12-28T06:25:00.000-08:00

If you're hoping that Cokesbury's Indian Party will be a nuanced exploration of Native American culture, I have to wonder if you've been paying attention. Plan on lots of stuff like this:

And this:

Truth be told, these presentations of the "red man" are, in fact, a bit more palatable to our politicially correct times than Cokesbury's party. But perhaps I should let you judge.

Week Thirty-Three: School Days Party

2009-12-27T12:15:00.000-08:00

Now that Christmas is over but Christmas vacation still has its legs, the following party is meant to offer a bit of solace to all those parents who have spent their holiday in the bosom of their family but are now really, really ready for school to start again.

Here’s the invitation:

School days, school days,
Dear old Golden Rule days’
Readin’ and writin’ and ‘rithmetic,
But without the sound of the hickory stick.
We will live all over again,
So don’t come like women and men;
But come like kids you used to be,
And we’ll have an evening of fun and glee.

More proof – as if we needed any – that some people will do anything for a rhyme.

As this is a costume extravaganza, Cokesbury advises thusly:

For the girls, play dresses with bloomers, sunbonnets, middies, and skirts. Some may care to go back to their grandmother’s day and wear the pantalet dresses of that day. The boys should wear overalls, knickers, short pants with old-fashioned waists, with round collars, and perhaps some come barefooted. A toe tied up with a rag would add to the effect.

So, basically, come like the kids from The Little Rascals:

Maybe folks back in the 1930s had it easy. I’ve got my 20th high school reunion coming up this summer and, as far as I can tell, we’re being encouraged to come dressed as we were in high school. And seeing that my high school was about seven years behind the times national trend-wise, that means we’ll be smack in the 1980s, so we’ll have to come dressed like this:

Complete with the Futura font. Eew.

Let’s move on to something less nauseating. Like Cokesbury’s School Days Party decorations:

If it is possible to use a room that can be transformed into one with the appearance of a classroom, this would be ideal. At any rate, try to create this atmosphere by the use of blackboards, globe, maps, etc. In a home, remove the lighter furniture and bring in a desk for the teacher. Borrow blackboards from a school or church to put around the walls.

Use the following dialogue when you ask your church or school for the loaner blackboards:

You: Hello, [principal or clergyman]. I’d like to borrow several blackboards for a school-themed party.

Principal/Clergyman: What?

You: Blackboards. You have them I presume?

P/C: Well, yes we do, but . . .
You: Loan them to me. I paid for them with my tax dollars/donations so by right of payment, they are, indeed, mine.

Let me know how that works for you.

Be sure to jolly it up with your atheist friends that you borrowed the stuff from “the church,” just to make them really antsy and make the more militant ones grumble about separation of church and state. Then explain to them that you’re not a “state,” and that if they really want to whine, what they ought to be whining about is the fact you used Holy Water from the church to make the post-party punch. Then once they’re really riled up, move them into head-explosion territory with the following Cokesbury activity:

Opening of School. School should be opened in the regular customary manner by the salute to the flat and the singing of “America.” Perhaps there might also be a good morning song.

If their heads fail to explode immediately, be sure to emphasize the “regular and customary” portion of Cokesbury’s description. Boom Boom!

A good morning song? Something like this?

In case your party is suddenly getting too artsy, assure your guests that the next game will have them using their mathematical brains. If that doesn’t glue them to their seats, nothing will.

Arithmetic. The fist class should be a class in arithmetic with the students reciting orally. Call one someone to recite the nines of the multiplication table and another to recite them backward. If one pupil makes a mistake, call on another to finish. Ask another pupil to count with Roman numerals to ten, and give the Roman characters to one thousand. Ask others to give some of the tables, such as the table for liquid measure, dry measure, and weights and measures. Those making mistakes should be put on the dunce stool and made to wear the dunce cap. Successful pupils should be given lollipops.

This is a game that separates the men from the boys, literally and metaphorically. You’ll soon find out whether any of your friends are smart enough to know that four gills equals a pint in liquid measure, or that 63 gallons equals one hogshead. Or that a rusty can of corn equals a moosehead, or three sick chickens equals a bag of potatoes. But that’s for barter. I get all confused.

So let’s move on to geography, in which Cokesbury immediately shows its, ahem, colors:

The next is to be a lesson in geography. Give each pupil a paper on which the following questions have been typed, making carbon copies, or mimeographed. Give each one a pencil. A definite time may be set for the completion of the lesson. The teacher should then collect the papers, grade them, and perhaps reward the pupils with lollipops.

(1) What state is the Negro state? Col.
(2) What is Noah’s state? Ark.
(3) What state is a girl’s name? Minn.
(4) What state is a Catholic Church service? Mass.
(5) What state is a physician? Md.
(6) What state is Coolidge’s state? Cal.
(7) What state is a letter of the alphabet? O.
(8) What state is a mineral substance containing metal? Ore.
(9) What state is a personal pronoun? Me.

This game, of course, won’t get past the first question. Maybe you’d best save it for last, and then only if the party is bombing so badly you want the guests to leave angry.

Let’s move on to something less controversial: Declamation.

Yes, there was a time, folks, when people had to memorize things. They couldn’t rely on the Internet to be their long-term memory. So here’s Cokesbury’s memorization game:

Mother Goose rhymes could be recited, and the pupils should use as much rhetorical display as possible.

You know, this kinda reminds me of something that happened to me in high school. A few friends and I were in a study room off the library when we heard what we thought was either an argument or a person having a nervous breakdown in the next room. One of our group ventured next door to see what was happening, only to find our resident Thespian with the capital T, Kenny, reciting a declamation for a drama competition he was heading to. We, the callow, shallow talentless souls that we were, thought it was really weird that he was making such a spectacle of himself. Now one of us is an artist-slash-mailman, the others have dropped off the face of the earth and I work at a dump. Kenny’s still out there:

So it’s time for refreshments – box lunches consisting of random sandwiches, cakes, fruit and the aforementioned Holy Water punch. The randomness is meant to afford the activity of lunchroom trading. Eat your lunch in peace, while I try to figure out how to recover my shattered hull of a life. And Kenny, I’m sorry we laughed at you.

Be sure to tune in next time for an enlightened Cokesbury look at the Native Americans in its Indian Party. Ugh, and How!

No Hiatus for You!

2009-12-26T08:24:00.000-08:00

Because of the sour economy, we here at Cokesbury Party Blog International Headquarters are working for extra-free over the holiday period in order to keep the bosses happy and all those eyeballs rolling. Rolling in, I mean. Because blogs, you know, depend on eyeballs for whatever revenue we . . .

Let's face it. Nobody comes here, except a few random people from, inexplicably, Belgium, according to our Google Analytics. So in 2010, don't be surprised if you find a more Belgium-slanted feel here at the blog, with more Walloon in-jokes and references to Tintin.

But back to the original intent of this post: A party! We're not taking a hiatus, according to our Soup Nazi boss, so in a few days expect to revel in a School Days Party, just in time to send your own rugrats back to the No Child Left Behind factory.

Merry Christmas from the CPB!

2009-12-25T09:28:00.000-08:00

Okay. The presents are all opened. The kids are napping with their zeppeleins or trying to snitch some of the Old Man's wine. But I'm sure somewhere in the family you can find someone still ready to party. So Cokesbury presents a few quirky science projects for you to wow and entertain your friends.

Merry Christmas!

Bonus Party: It's Beginning to Look A Lot Like, Well, Christmas

2009-12-22T10:43:00.000-08:00

From its first sentence, you can tell Cokesbury’s Christmas Party was written in a more innocent, less politically-correct time:

Every group of young people, every Sunday school class, and every society expects to have a party for Christmas.

It’s actually kinda cute, reading that sentence these days. You wouldn’t dare write such a thing today, for fear of offending someone outside of the everys mentioned because the exceptions are no longer content – or mature – enough to brush off this innocent Judeo-Christian all-inclusiveness and instead scream not for inclusion of their belief or non-belief, but for the abolition of what was believed and celebrated by

SMACK!

Sorry. Feeling a little persecuted these days. But still, you have to agree that sentence today would either be replaced by this:

Non-progressive, easily-offended conservative Republican young people (all three of them, two of them named Biffy), conscripted enrollees in parochial, partiarchally-oppressive Jebus-schools, and societies embodied by the cranky, evil-looking old people taking the Pledge of Allegiance as they begin their Christopher Mott Society meeting at the beginning of the Dick van Dyke film Cold Turkey expect to have a Christmas party in which they can espouse their evil, monocultural beliefs in order to perpetuate oppression of atheists, progressives and other open-minded folks who see Jebusism for the crock and fraud that it is, so they may as well celebrate stupidly. Because they’re progressively and morally and ethically bankrupt individuals who will die and go to hell, that is, if there were such a place, you know, which really isn’t a progressive thought, so let’s not even go there. But we’ve got a urinating dog and Bob Newhart! What could be better?

Or this:

[Embarrassed silence, feet shuffling, um, let’s not offend anyone by suggesting, you know, anything about Christ -- ]

SMACK!

I know. I suppose I’m feeling a bit persecuted these days. But on to the party:

Three nights before Christmas,

When all through the town,

Wise men and wise women

Will be looking around

For evenings of fun

And places of cheer,

Don’t look any further,

Come right over here.

For Thursday at eight,

The time has been set;

Bring a gift for another,

And see what you get.

Then, Cokesbury advises, “Give the address of the place where the party is to be held.” Don’t want people wandering the town searching in vain for your party now, do you?

Here’s the first game, a real corker:

The Doll Shop. All the even numbers are placed on one side and the odd numbers on the other. Two persons are selected from the even number group to be the shopkeepers, and two persons are selected from the odd number group to be the doll shoppers. After the game has been played for five or six minutes, depending on how much time the leader wishes to take up with it, a change is made, and the odd group become the shopkeepers and the even group the doll shoppers, and an equal amount of time should be allowed the odd group. The object of the game is to see who can have the largest number on their side when the time is up. The game proceeds in the following manner: The buyers come to the doll shop and say they are interested in buying some dolls. They do not want dolls that are too serious. All the dolls that they take must be laughing, giggling dolls. The shopkeeper then demonstrates the dolls, which are the persons on his side. They walk with stiff legs and try to imitate dolls. The purchaser asks questions about them such as, “Will this doll go to sleep?” “Does this doll say Mama?” The shopkeeper must demonstrate by making the doll say “Mama.” Any other crazy question may be asked by the shopper, and if the doll laughs he gets it. If the doll remains serious, he goes back to his side and another is demonstrated. After sides have been changed and the odd side has had an equal amount of time, a prize may be given to the winning side, such as a small jar of candy, or a bag of peanuts, or something that can be divided among the players of the group.

Or, they could just pull a Dick Van Dyke/Sally Anne Howes (so you don’t think I’m down on Mr. Van Dyke):

Bonus points to the shopper who can bombast as much as Baron Bomburst.

Now it’s on to a more sophisticated game:

Hang Up the Christmas Stocking. A mantel has been drawn on a sheet with crayons or lamp black. A place is marked for the stocking. Each guest is blindfolded and turned around and must walk to the mantel and pin the stocking the first place he touches. Five a prize to the one who gets the stocking nearest to the right place.

And this is why the Jebus-lovers are so feared these days. They get to five a prize, you know. I’m sure it’s a typo. I’ve never fived a prize my entire life.

Here’s another game sure to offend the atheists on your non-denominational winter holiday list:

Christmas Stagecoach. This is played like the game of Stagecoach. One person reads the Christmas poem, “’Twas the Night Before Christmas” as the other players sit in a circle with all chairs full. The players are given words in advance, for example, house, mouse, reindeer, stockings, toys, etc. As the poem is read, the one who has the word must get up and turn around. At any time the person who is reading may yell “Santa Claus,” and when he does so all must change seats. If the leader secures a seat, the one left over becomes the reader.

(Yes, yes, I know the poem by Clement Clarke Moore is really called “A Visit from St. Nicholas,” but “Twas” is an alternate title, so don’t get all knotted up about it. I guarantee there’ll be other stuff you can get knotted up about here. This is, after all, the main, central celebration of the Jebus-freakin’ capitalism-lovin’ hypocritical hypocritin’ booger-beings.)

Of course, there are three ways you can do this game. You can do it straight right out of the Cokesbury Bible (I hope I didn’t offend anyone by using that word – straight – because I suppose folks could use it queer right out of the Cokesbury Bible . . . what? Why are you all leaving? Was it something I said?). Or, alternatively, you could do it in a way that makes people move whenever they hear an offensive word or idea in the poem. Or you could substitute the Larry the Cable Guy version:

Uncle Jessee. Whooooooo.

And yet another game:

Christmas Presents. These have been brought by each guest and placed on the tree and numbered. The number should be concealed, or perhaps it would be better to have the presents put in a basket and numbered by the leader and then have the basket brought in just before time to give out the presents. Of course there will be a lot of crazy presents. Nothing should cost over ten or twenty-five cents. As the numbers are called, the one holding that number comes up and gets his package and opens it and plays with it. This will cause a lot of fun.

Confession time: My family, for years, played a similar game, but with white elephant gifts specifically chosen for hilarity. The most popular was a pair of Argentinian underwear – a pair of yellow briefs – that appeared from year to year. Once they were used to construct Noah’s Ark. Another year they were artfully folded into a rosette. They did cause a lot of fun. This game is actually worth doing, folks.

Now it’s refreshment time. You already know, of course, what Cokesbury’s first suggestion is. Say it with me:

Sandwiches and coffee.

Or, alternately, Christmas cookies cut in the shape of stars. Or coffee and fruit cake with red and green candies. Or whatever it is that Jebus-freaks like to eat this time of year. Babies or something.

Week Thirty-Two: Hobo Party

2009-12-20T11:45:00.000-08:00

Only 900 Miles to Go

So, let’s get right down to it, given the introductory stuff is out of the way:

A Hobo Party we’re having

Next Friday night at eight;

Come dressed like a vagabond

And bring along your “date.”

I have to agree that this is one of the snappiest invitations Cokesbury has come up with in nine months of trying. Short, sweet and to the point.

Decorations for the party, however, are pretty elaborate:

The social room or recreation room might be arranged to resemble the interior of a freight car. Sacks of straw or sand, old boxes and barrels, broken-down chairs and planks could be substituted for regular seats. Placards reading “No Loafing,” “No Tramps Allowed,” and “No Smoking” would also create the desired effect. If desired, an outdoor setting could be arranged for the party. Plants or green foliage brought in from the woods could be used profusely about the rooms. A camp fire, simulated by colored lights, with a battered pot or so, and from which place the refreshments might later be served, would add effective scenery.

You know, that’s putting me right in that good old Hobo spirit. Maybe a tune would help as well:

(Yes, I’ve used this song before. But this is more old-timey. And we all know we like old-timey. Be sure to consult your hobo nomenclature dictionary to identify the hobo code words used in the song.)

Best thing about the decorations? This final sentence:

The hobos should all be forced to gain admittance by a rear door.

You might also encourage come hamboning and eefing at your Hobo Party, just to add a bit of surreality to your old-timeyness.

This is old-timey for epileptics.

Costumes, of course, are encouraged, and I love how Cokesbury words their costume request:

Faded, patched, and much worn clothing, shoes and hats are certainly easily secured by all, and so everyone should make the most of the occasion to wear them.

This is from the era, of course, when nobody threw anything away, including tatty clothing.

On to the games:

Marathon Hobo Dance. On the floor draw a number of fairly large circles. (The circles should be numerous enough and large enough so that it is necessary to walk through them as the music plays.) As the piano plays a march all start marching around. The music suddenly stops, and all must stand right where they are. Those who are in a circle must drop out of the game. If either a boy or his partner are in a circle, both must drop out. The music is continued, and the marching begins again. Whenever it stops, those on circles must drop out. The couple remaining in the game the longest wins. A hamburger or hot dog sandwich might be awarded as a prize.

A hot dog sandwich. Really. Once again, Cokesbury trumps an odd game with an even odder prize. The game harks back to the hobo custom of suddenly dropping off the face of the earth due to some unforeseen, Grapes of Wrath-inspired tragedy, such as:

I know, it’s not really a Grapes of Wrath tragedy, but just try watching Steinbeck’s warped lips and visage in this “virtual movie” of the author speaking about the societal tragedies that led to some of the tragedies he wrote about in his great novel without squirming. I’d rather be a kitten in Lenny’s Of Mice and Men hands than ever watch this movie again.

Cokesbury suggests a few oddball games that really don’t match in with their hobo theme – a word-guessing game, a marble exchange, and such. No self-respecting hobo would be caught dead playing something called “Jenkins Up.” He’d be off with that handout quarter in a trice. So we move on to more hobo-appropriate games.

Hobos Seek a Hand-Out. Divide the guests into groups by counting off after the old army style, one, two, three, four, etc. Have about six players in each group. Give each group a name, such as rooster, cow, dog, or cat. Have each group choose a leader. Then tell the groups that they are to search for their food. The food might consist of animal crackers, small candy hearts, peanuts, or jelly beans, hidden about the room. At a given signal, all start hunting. No one is allowed to touch the hidden food except the leader of the group. When a member of the rooster team finds the food he must stand and crow like a rooster until his leader comes to pick it up. This rule, of course, must be observed by all the groups. The group finding the largest number should be rewarded by being allowed to eat all that the others have found also.

This game, of course, is more typical of tramps and bums, not of the noble prairie hobo, who of course would make a mulligan stew of the whole mess and invite everyone in the jungle to eat, not unlike in the tent village Steinbeck (for good hobo literature – for good literature, period – we always have to go back to Steinbeck) describes in In Dubous Battle. If you have never read the book, read it. It’ll make a communist bastard out of you.

Here’s another game:

Packing Time for the Hobos. Have everyone seated in a circle. The leader begins the game by saying, “I am going on a trip, and I am taking an umbrella.” Those in the circle do likewise, each one naming some article he is taking with him. The leader then tells what he is going to do with what he is taking, as “I am going on a trip and take my umbrella with me to keep the rain off.” Each of the players in turn must repeat the leader’s sentence, substituting his article for the word “umbrella.” Anyone who laughs while he is repeating the sentence must take the leader’s place in the center. This might go around the circle several times before it becomes tiresome. When the second round is started, the one who is leader then tells why he is taking his special article, and the others must repeat the words, with the exception that they always substitute the name of their article for the one the leader has mentioned.

This is of course the kinds of games hobos play when someone in the jungle puts a lot of spirits in the mulligan stew. And that Cokesbury doesn't mention "bindles" is a travesty to true hobos everywhere.

Only one thing to do now: Eat (except for the group that gorged during the “Hand Out” game; they’re busily puking up in the alley). Here’s the food. Any guesses?

If you guessed sandwiches and coffee, you’re right. Of course, However, Cokesbury does throw a loop:

The sandwiches should be of various sizes and shapes, and not the dainty, well-cut ones that we usually associate with party refreshments. Serve coffee in tin cups. Buns could also be used if they are served “hot dog” or “hamburger” style, and chocolate could be substituted for the coffee, if so desired. One group we know served at a Hobo Party potato salad in milk cans with cracker sandwiches. Later “Green River,” which was green punch, was served in the same can.

Hobos really do live the high life, don’t they? I’m having cracker sandwiches tonight.

Next time: We at Cokesbury Party blog International Headquarters will work double-time this week to present you with Cokesbury’s Christmas Party, after which we may be sorely tempted to take a hiatus until the New Year. We’ll see what the month presents. Thanks for tuning in.

Modern Cokesbury

2009-12-15T06:12:00.000-08:00

It's so weird that I stumbled across this story during my morning perusal of our regional newspaper websites. Someone named Carma Wadley of the Salt Lake City, Utah, Deseret News has, in effect, created a latter-day Cokesbury Christmas Party, or at least the games for one. And the graphic artists at the DN have created the following Creepy Grandma art to go along with it. Maybe I'm glad Cokesbury skinted on the illustrations if they have to look like this:

Granny Needs a Shave, or so the Kids' Faces Say

Here are a few of the suggested games:

All I Want. Players sit in a circle. The first person says her first name and something that she would like for Christmas that begins with the same letter. For example, "My name is Mary, and I want a motorcycle." The next player says his name and what he wants, and then must repeat what the other person has said. And so one, with each one having to repeat the entire list. If someone messes up, he is out, and play starts over. Christmas gifts cannot be repeated by other players with the same letter. Go until only a few are left, and give them prizes.

Sock Match. Players sit in a circle. Find as many shapes, sizes, colors and styles of socks as you can. Mix them all up, and put them in a pile in the middle. When you say go, players must try to find as many pairs of socks as they can. The one with the most pairs wins.

And, last but not least:

Reindeer Art. Have each player wear a blindfold, and give them a piece of paper and a crayon. When you say, "go," have them each draw a reindeer. You can give a variety of prizes for such things as the one who finishes first, the one that looks the most like a reindeer, the one that is the funniest looking.

It's good to see that the Cokesbury party form survives today.

Truth be told, I have played a game similar to the Sock Match game, but this one involved trying to match shoes while blindfolded. It was rather boring until I decided, mid-game, to tackle my only opponent, steal the shoes he had, and then emerge victorious. That was a pretty good day.

Hobo Primer

2009-12-14T11:18:00.000-08:00

NOTE: In preparing for this weekend’s Hobo Party, I decided I ought to do a bit of research, as I do for most of my posts on this blog. Little did I know, however, that the rich history of hobos would provide such interesting fodder and force me to write a Hobo Primer entry, so that those, like me, who are unfamiliar with the life of the hobo come to the Hobo Party prepared.

Oh the freedom of the hobo. Who wouldn’t want to emulate one of these toothless, smelly wanderers of the byways and railroads. Cokesbury, in promoting its Hobo Party, makes the life of wandering with a bindle over your shoulder sound damn right idyllic:

Every now and then, when our duties seem a little irksome, we are inclined to envy the freedom of the vagabond of the road and field. So for one evening let’s pretend that we are hobos and revel in the freedom of clothes and manners that they seem to enjoy. A hobo party would fit well into the Fall social program, because it is then that the southward migration of the hobo begins, or it would fit equally well into the Spring program, when the return to the north is made.

So, are they talking about hobos or monarch butterflies?

Before we continue with the ribbing, however, we’d best educate ourselves about the hobo. They’re more organized than you’d think, what with their annual Hobo Convention in Britt, Iowa, and their Hobo Code.

Hoboistas are also wont to point out the subtle difference behind words that are interchangeably used to describe a hobo among the general, non-hobo population, to wit (and from Wikipedia):

A hobo is a migratory worker or homeless vagabond, often penniless. The term originated in the western—probably northwestern—United States during the last decade of the 19th century. Unlike tramps, who worked only when they were forced to, and bums, who didn't work at all, hobos were workers who wandered.

I offer this bit of education here because Cokesbury seems to use these terms interchangeably, when obviously they are not meant to be used one for the other. Bear in mind, then, if in a quote from Cokesbury the term “tramp” or “bum” appears, it is a quotation only, not a slur on true hobos. Thus I hope to assuage any conflict or hurt feelings that may come from the world’s Hobo Community. Bottom line: don’t call a hobo a bum or a tramp. Bums and tramps probably wouldn’t mind a bit of hobo upward mobility, if it meant a change in title only, not in obligation.

Hobos also seem to have their own national anthem or theme song, namely the ever-popular Big Rock Candy Mountain.

I’ll close this entry with the cherubic face of Burl Ives. So until this weekend, keep singing!

Hobo!

2009-12-14T06:57:00.000-08:00

Ah, yes, the carefree life of the hobo. Hopping trains. Eating sardines. Singing away until you annoy the hell out of the annoying guy who hopped the same train. Join Cokesbury's Hobo Celebration this weekend.

Bonus: Who is the Chicken Boy?

2009-12-13T19:55:00.000-08:00

By the way, can anyone out there in Cokesbury Land identify the young man with the chicken in this video?

If you can, meet me at Plassy's Candy Store. Bring your gun, because I saw some grizzly bears.

Week Thirty-One: Bean Party

2009-12-13T12:17:00.000-08:00

Bean.

Sometimes, to the satirist's joy, someone else does his work for him. That is indeed the case for Cokesbury's Bean Party. Their introduction:

The bean, in times past, was quite imporant and played a prominent role in the affairs of men.

It gets better. After prattling on about how the Greeks and Romans used beans in the election of magistrates, Cokesbury goes on with what really sounds like a lot of nonsense:

A white bean signified absolution and a black one condemnation.

For whom? Where? I'm not sure. (Nor do these folks, though they're pretty anxious to pass on that obscure bit of folklore.) And it doesn't end:

[Beans] were also used in a sort of ceremony in which the master of the family after washing his hands three times, threw a black bean over his head nine times, saying, "I redeem myself and my family by these beans."

I have a question about that one. Did he throw nine beans over his shoulder, one at a time, or did he have to toss the same bean over his shoulder nine times? If it's the latter, I'll bet the abjuration was more along the lines of "I'd redeem myself and my family by these bloody beans if I could find the stupid thing. Next time, watch where it lands!"

(And, just so you know, Veruca Salt knows exactly what she's talking about when she says she wants a "Bean Feast." They do exist. Or at least did. Today, we call them company parties, evidently.)

"So," Cokesbury asks. "Why not build a party around the bean?"

So while we're asking questions, here's another: Why not start off this party with a really lame invitation. Cokesbury, of course, is up to the challenge.

Bean porridge hot, bean porridge cold,

Bean porridge in the pot nine days old.

Some like 'em hot, some like 'em cold.

Some like 'em in a pot nine days old.

So we're having a Bean Party and want you sold

On the idea of coming. Like 'em hot or cold?

I have a story about beans nine days old. When I was a kid, we had a manx cat. We also had a father who occasionally liked to dabble in the kitchen. At one family feast, he created a kind of bean casserole that was kind of like chili but chili made by a Dutchman. They were good, but produced in their consumers terrible, bloating gas. When it came down to the last serving, nobody wanted it. So Mom put it in a bowl, heated it up, and offered it to the manx cat who sniffed it, got wide-eyed, then ran away. And this is the cat who would catch bunnies and pheasants and mice and bring them home to eat, so not a particularly picky eater. We called them the Beans that Went Bump in the Night. They sat in the cat's dish for a week. They did not go bad. Dad never used that recipe again.

But back to Cokesbury. Decorations for your Bean Feast are in order:

Use green and yellow crepe paper streamers for decorating. Green bean vines, if they are available at the time of the party, may also be used.

Yes, Abner, let's harvest the beans early and string the plants all over the parlor. That'll liven up ol' Veruca's Bean Party.

And of course since you're hosting a Bean Party, one of the first fairy tales that comes to mind is: Cinderella.

Cinderella Partners. Have each girl place one of her shoes in the middle of the room. The shoes are mixed up and piled in a heap. The boys stand in a circle or in two lines on either side of the room. When the leader's whistle is blown they all grab a shoe. The boy must then find the girl with the mate to his shoe, who becomes his partner during the party.

There are other games, of course. The ol' standby: Fill a jar with beans (count them first, natch) then have your guests guess how many beans are in the jar. Award a bag of jelly beans to the winner. Don't invite Monk.

The Bean Party also offers to professional technical writers a real stumper. Cokesbury suggests the game of Bean Bag Baseball for your Bean Party, but refers you to the index for the game. The index, int its helpful way, refers you first to the Bean Party on page 242. Only in the Athletic Party, on page 283 -- also mentioned in the index -- can you find instructions for Bean Bag Baseball. You professional (read anal retentive) writers out there like me are already twitching. Why not include Bean Bag Baseball in its first mention in the book, rather than the second? What amaterus put this book together? Well, the same amateurs who included a rather amusing and flatulence-implying typo in the Bean Party's opening sentence, which, in honor of the indexers of this book, I mention in my second reference to that opening sentence:

The bean, in times past, was quiet important and played a prominent part in the affairs of men.

So, only modern beans, it seems, have developed that flatulent-inducing quality. Explains the Beans that Went Bump in the Night. That manx cat certainly was a smart one.

On to another game, with another bag of jelly beans for the winner:

Circle Throw Relay. The groups that have been divided for the baseball game may not have a relay. Have five bean bags for each side. Draw a circle about eighteen inches in diameter on the floor in front of each line and about twelve feet away. The first player, when the signal is given, must throw the bean bags one at a time, attempting to throw them into the circle. They must bea ll the way in to count. Then this player must run up to the circle and pick up the bags and run back with them to the next man in line, taking his placea t the rear of the line. There should be a scorekeeper for this game, and he is to give one point for each time the bag is thrown into ther ing to the side whose player gets it in. Give a bag of jelly beans to the side that gets most points and another bag to the side that finishes first.

Now, in case you thought the people at Cokesbury are completely bean illiterate, comes the Jack and the Beanstalk-themed game.

Jack and the Bean Stalk. Lest the leader may have some difficulty in securing a copy of the children's story "Jack and the Bean Stalk," we are giving below the story. Name the characters after the objects mentioned in "Jack and the Bean Stalk," as: Jack, Mother, house, cow, food, beans, window, bed, sky, road, woman, kitchen, giant, Englishman, supper, moneybags, gold, magic hen, table, golden egg, money, magic harp, boy, hatchet, vine. As the story is told and of course elaborated on by the teller as he calls the names of the different things mentioned above, each guest who has the word called must get up and turn around. When the leader uses the words "Bean stalk," all must change places. The leader then tries to get a place, and if he succeeds, the one left out must continue the story.

Given that the story Cokesbury provides is three pages long and in small type, I'm not going to reproduce it entirely here. I will share this amusing little tidbit:

Jack just had time to jump into a big copper kettle beside the fireplace, when in came the Giant crying: "Fee, fi, fo fum, I smell the blood of an Englishman!"

"No, no," said the giant's wife. "It is the crows who have brought raw meat and left it on top of the house Go wash yourself and get ready for supper."

When the giant had eaten his supper, he said to his wife, 'Bring me my magic hen!"

The wife went out and came back with a big, black hen with a shiny red comb.

The Giant put the hen on the table, and roared, "Lay!" and the hen laid an egg, all of gold.

"Lay another!" he cried; and the hen laid another.

The Giant played with the hen until he became tired . . .

There are several things wrong with this story. First of all, who plays with a hen? I grew up with about 60 chickens in our back yard, and I know hens to be fairly dumb, cranky, temperamental animals not known for their companionability. I'm pretty sure the Giant played with his hen until it crapped on the table again or pecked the back of his hand repeatedly.

Second of all, how big was this hen? It had to have been a giant hen a la The Hoboken Chicken Emergency, else the hen would be laying golden eggs that, to the Giant, would appear to be little bigger than grains of sand. So with a bigger hen in mind -- a bigger, temperamental hen, part of a species known, at least in our back yard, for cannibalism -- how does Jack get the thing down the bean stalk without becoming chicken feed? I know. I'm analyzing a fairy tale. But still.

Since I'm too lazy to repeat the story here, I'd suggest using a few YouTube versions to create your own versions. Using this anime version of the story from Japan, for instance, you could call one of your friends "Character whose mouth animation consists of opening and closing its gob like a portal into another dimension." Be sure to pick a robust individual, because he or she will get a lot of exercise.

Here are a few others:

Muppet Style

1933 Musical Cartoon Style

Disney version

Now it's time to mause your friends with any number of bean-themed games. I'll sum up:

Bean Bag Jump. Trip your friends as they try to jump over a bitty bean bag tied to a string. Use a Beanie baby for this game to traumatize the more cute-prone female friends in your entourage.
Pass the Beans. Watch your friends try to suck beans up straws and into their lungs as they attempt to pass beans from one cup to the other.
And so on.

You're done. Just serve up your Boston Baked Beans with brown bread and butter. And coffee, because alliteration will only take you so far. Avoid the Beans that Went Bump in the Night.

And hold on to your leftovers, because they'll go with your next party like a hand with a glove. Beans and a Hobo Party? What could be a better combination?

Bean Preview

2009-12-10T08:01:00.000-08:00

If you're thinking next week's Bean Party will be as fun as this, you don't know Cokesbury very well. It may well be as bizarre, however, so chins up.

Week Thirty: Old-Fashioned Party

2009-12-09T07:57:00.000-08:00

Underwires by Carl Sagan

First of all, who wouldn’t want to wear an outfit that, if set up under the right conditions and attached to a car battery, could be used to track satellite telemetry or to search for extraterrestrial life?

Well, okay, I wouldn’t. Unless, of course, I was headed to Cokesbury’s Old-Fashioned Party, which kicks off with this invitation:

Twenty-year endowments,

We hear of every day;

They’re always in the future –

Let’s look the other way,

Twenty years behind us

And maybe twenty more

And practice all the pleasures

They liked so much of yore

So borrow grandma’s petticoat

(Grandpa’s flannel underwear for boys)

And find yourself a mate

And come to 14 Macy Street

On Friday night at eight.

So, twenty years from 1932 puts us at 1912, the year Arizona and New Mexico became states, Road Admunsen successfully reaches the South Pole, the Boston Red Sox play their first baseball game at Fenway Park and the Titanic sinks. So a good year for James Cameron.

Another twenty years puts us at 1892, the year in which Ellis Island opened in the United States, James Naismith published his rules for the new game of basketball, Rudolf Diesel patented his eponymous engine, and the Limelight Department, one of the world’s first film studios, is founded in Australia. So, again, another good year for James Cameron.

But that’s enough history. Let’s move on to costumes a la Cokesbury:

Hoop skirts and tiny hats would be appropriate for the girls. They might wear their pompadore with rats in it. Men wear the most antiquated cut of clothing that can be obtained. Costumes should be judged, and the one having the best or funniest costume should receive an appropriate prize. There should be prizes for both men and women costumes.

For an authentic pompadore, I’m told, you can’t use hair gel or hairspray to keep the hair in place. You have to use the pomades common with the original hairstyle, meaning beef tallow or bear grease. These hairdos have the additional advantage, then of attracting wildlife. So you may as well roll your pompadore in nuts and seeds so the birds have something to eat along with their suet.

Remember, the larger the hair, the smaller the lips.

Cokesbury, in its approach to planning games for this party, is evidently taking a page from the Jane Austen Playbook, as one of the first games suggested is this:

Shouting Proverbs. One person or couple is sent out of the room. The group decides on a proverb that they are going to shout. Suppose they decide on the proverb “All that is not gold that glitters.” This is given out one word at a time to the circle; the first one is to shout “All,” the second, “is,” and the third, “not,” and so on around. The proverb may go around three or four times – that is, three or four in the group may have the same word. When the person or couple that has been sent out returns, at the signal from the leader, all shout their words at the same time. If it is not guessed the first time, two other trials may be allowed. If not guessed in three trials, the proverb is told and another person sent out.

Cokesbury is kind enough to suggest some proverbs, including some real tongue-twisters:

There’s many a slip ‘twixt the cup and the lip.
A bad workman quarrels with his tools.
A creaking door hangs long on the hinges.
After dinner sit awhile, after supper walk a mile.
Plow deep while sluggers sleep, and you’ll have corn to sell and keep.
When angry count ten before you speak; if very angry, count a hundred.

Be sure not to shout these kinds of things at your more timid or paranoiac friends. You don’t want your party to devolve into a guilt or panic attack.

Here’s another game:

Clap In, Clap Out. All the boys retire into another room, and the girls place before themselves chairs. The boys are brought in one at a time. They take a seat. If everybody claps, they are in the wrong seat. That means that the girl who asked for him was not the girl in whose chair he seated himself. If desired, two trials may be given each one. If he gets the right chair, he remains in the room and is privileged to sit in the chair. After the boys have all come in, the girls may go into the adjoining room and be brought in one at a time in the same manner.

Can’t you just see Col. Brandon playing this game? And being absolutely bored with it?

Here’s another game that’s even more exciting. Even the name gives me goosebumps:

Thimble. The leader takes a thimble and stands in the center of the room. All the guests are seated around the room and are told to put the palms of their hands together. The leader then passes around and makes a motion as if she leaves the thimble with each one. When she has finished, she starts asking each one, “Who has the thimble?” They all guess who has it. When all have guessed (of course the one who has it has to guess someone else, and does not have to pay a forfeit for so doing), the leader says “Rise up, thimbler.” The one who ahs the thimble then rises, and all who guessed wrongly pay a forfeit. The one who has the thimble then passes it around again, and the game continues as before.

To make the game more exciting for our modern times, one might capitalize “Thimbler” and treat him or her as a superhero; the forfeits in question might be each guest suggesting a superpower for the Thimbler to possess. A few examples:

The ability to prevent needles from entering fingers.
The ability to expand his/her thimble to use it as a life raft, cooking pot, et cetera.

I’m sure you can do better than I.

Now get your pencils and notepaper ready folks, for the next game is even more exciting than the shouting proverbs one:

Old Sayings. Give each guest paper and pencil and ask him to write as many old saying as he can think of. Give two or three examples out of the following list of old sayings. Also the leader may read the first part of the old saying and see who can give the last part quickest.

According to Cokesbury, all old saying are similes. Observe:

As busy as a bee.
As green as grass.
As bitter as gall.
As sly as a fox.
As fat as a pig.
As neat as a pin.

And so on. Man, those people of twenty to forty years ago (circa 1932) were boring.

All that’s lest is refreshments. And it might be a stretch (pun intended) to put them together:

If sorghum can be obtained, have an old-fashioned candy pulling and use some of the candy for refreshments. Another suggestion would be hot biscuits and honey. Pop pop corn by the fire. Apple or berry pie.

And use fewer verbs and nouns as the evening continues. Conservation, that’s the old-fashioned byword.

So that’s over, and thank goodness. But next week, be on the lookout for one of the oddest parties Cokesbury suggests: The Bean Party. Rooty-toot.

Week Twenty-Nine: King Neptune's Carnival

2009-11-30T10:42:00.000-08:00

All I can say after reading Cokesbury’s King Neptune’s Carnival is this:

William Wyler would be proud.

Talk about spectacle. Talk about sweeping drama. Talk about a cast of thousands, or at least dozens, in period costumes that look as new as if they’d just come off the loom even though we’re suppose to believe the folks in them have been wearing them for years. And talk about a party for which you’ll have to dragoon at least 50 friends – but who has that many; better dig deeply into your pile of Facebook acquaintances – to produce a poolside spectacle not seen since the likes of the Rowing Scene in Ben-Hur:

This will be no mere vaudevillian telling of the story of Neptune and his nubile mermaids, farting about on the shore or in the water in costumes that look like they were ripped off of curtain rods. Nay, this will be an Esther Williamsesque spectacle complete with snazzy jazz bands, impetuously looming trumpet horns (It’s a damn good thing this movie wasn’t filmed in 3-D as the first few seconds would have killed folks):

Or, since it’s being put on by you and your friends on a shoestring budget and, let’s face it, half-assed and at the last minute, it’ll probably look something like this:

Anyway, have fun.

First, the Cast of Thousands. At minimum, this is what Cokesbury says you need:

King Neptune – Long gray beard and hair; greenish draperies; gold crown; trident.
Mermaids and Mermen – In bathing suits.
Tree Princess – Green costumes.
Sea Prince – Sea-green draperies, etc.
Mr. World, Mrs. World, Sister World, Brother World – Typical family in street costumes.
Davy Jones – Rakish sailor suit; black patch over eye; red nose; cocked hat.
Swimming Instructor – A typical pool instructor in bathrobe and wooden clogs.
Mr. Stonehatchet, Mrs. Stonehatchet, Sammie Stonehatchet, Susie Stonehatchet – Cave dwellers of the stone age; simulated animal skin costume over bathing suit; man carries stone ax or club.
Greek youth and Maiden – Short white slips; girl has ribbon-bound hair; sandals.
Cassius and Caesar – Roman soldiers; silver cloth suit over bathing suit; silvered helmet. (May be made of gauze hat fram painted with aluminum paint.)
William Trudgeon – Old-fashioned English bathing suit; with sleeves (short) and skirt; has sideburns or long chop whiskers.
Richard Cavill and Two Opponents – Dressed in old-fashioned bathing suits.
Dignified Swimmer – To swim side overarm stroke.
American Crawl Swimmer – To swim crawl.
European Backstroke Swimmer.
American Backstroke Swimmer.

Warned you you’ll need a lot of friends. A lot of pool-worthy, sea-worthy friends who don’t mind reciting dialogue that likely inspired George Lucas to his Star Wars heights.

But more on that in a moment. First, you need the setting:

An ideal setting for such a pageant or water carnival as the one described in this chapter would be a pool where guests could be seated on the edge to watch the proceedings. It might be presented as a money-making program and admission charged or merely as an entertainment program. Such a program would be ideal for a civic club picnic program or a church Sunday school picnic. If the pool was lighted, it would be better to have it at night.

Yes, best have it at night. The effect of watching Neptune rise out of the water, fighting the drippiness and overall sagginess and sogginess of his grey hair and bears as he has to deliver his lines in the best imitation of Grand Moff Tarkin is probably best done against a dark background with spot illumination. That’s why the Death Star interiors are mostly black, you see.

Cokesbury has thoughtfully provided synopses of the five “episodes” which your friends will have to painstakingly rehearse and memorize:

Episode No. 1 – Mr. and Mrs. World come to the pool to find out about getting swimming lessons for their children. They begin to discuss the origin of swimming and are surprised by Father Neptune, who appears suddenly in the center of the pool. Neptune declares that he has a wonderful manuscript compiled by Davy Jones, which gives the history of swimming. He calls Davy Jones, who brings the manuscript. While Neptune reads aloud the history of swimming, shades of the departed swimmers he mentions appear and go through the actions and events credited to them in the manuscript.

This episode, of course, is accompanied not by a jazz band but by random thumps, yelps and splashes as your guests, seated on tenterhooks around the edge of the pool, nod off and either fall to the ground or into the water because the history is so boring. An excerpt from King/Father Neptune’s soliloquy on the history of swimming:

Pictures on the walls of ancient tombs and on pottery show that very early in the world’s history swimming was practiced by various peoples. In fact, an alternate overarm stroke was practices by the Assyrians. Records also show that these people crossed streams on inflated goat-skins, which they called “musseks.” It is conceivable that this stroke was developed because they found themselves better able to pull themselves along by alternate strokes than by the rowing motion. It is quite possible, too, that other slipped from their inflated skin bags, which were the early water wings, and in reaching for them alternately developed the ability to do without them. So we will picture for you a group of Assyriansddkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk

Sorry. Drifted off for a moment there. Have a bad case of Keyboard Face. But you get the point. Dull as if the Trade Federation were about to pump the waiting room full of poisoned gas. And, of course, now we know why no sailor ever wants to visit Davy Jones’ locker: He makes them read his manuscripts.

The vignettes, acted out by your pressganged friends, may allow for a little more entertainment value but still border on the farcical. For Cassius and Caesar, for example, Neptune recites a bit of Cassius’ tale from the second scene of Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar, which your friends are encouraged to act out:

I was born free as Caesar; so were you:

We both have fed as well, and we can both
Endure the winter's cold as well as he:
For once, upon a raw and gusty day,
The troubled Tiber chafing with her shores,
Caesar said to me 'Darest thou, Cassius, now
Leap in with me into this angry flood,
And swim to yonder point?' Upon the word,
Accoutred as I was, I plunged in
And bade him follow; so indeed he did.
The torrent roar'd, and we did buffet it
With lusty sinews, throwing it aside
And stemming it with hearts of controversy;
But ere we could arrive the point proposed,
Caesar cried 'Help me, Cassius, or I sink!'
I, as Aeneas, our great ancestor,
Did from the flames of Troy upon his shoulder
The old Anchises bear, so from the waves of Tiber
Did I the tired Caesar.

As Neptune “declaims” these lines, or so Cokesbury says, “Cassius and Caesar enter through the portal in light armor and swords and enact the scene in the water, Cassius rescuing Caesar, towing him to shallow water and bringing him out with the saddleback carry.”

And it goes on like this. Episode Two consists of mermaids and mermen paying tribute to King Neptune as he ascends to his throne. Episode Three has the mermaids and mermen compete in races, “demonstrating graceful aquatic accomplishments,” and an umbrella and nightshirt race (of which, I might add, no explanation is given).

Episode No. 4 starts out promising, but degrades into a Red Cross swimming rescue lesson:

The Tree Princess and the Sea Prince. Mermen and mermaids resting on an enchanted island. The Tree Princess descends from her tree castle and is discovered by the surprised sea nymphs. Sea nymphs welcome her and invite her to her castle beneath the sea.

Prince Neptune, heir to the sea throne, falls in love with the Tree Princess, who scorns his advances. Frightened by his pursuit, the Tree Princess flees in anger. In her haste she falls into the water of the lake. Having lived her life in the trees, she is unfamiliar with the art of swimming and sinks beneath the waves. Prince Neptune immediately dives and in making the rescue demonstrates the holds, breaks, and carries used in saving drowning persons. After bringing the apparently drowned Princess to the shore, the Prince restores her to consciousness, using the prone pressure method of resuscitation.

Grateful for her rescue, she accepts the proposal of the Prince, and accompanied by the sea nymphs, the Prince takes the Tree Princess to his father, King Neptune, who bestows his paternal blessing. They then go to his castle beneath the sea and live happily forever after.

I dunno. Needs more Hasselhoff.

All that’s left now are the refreshments, and what says King Neptune’s Carnival better than a box lunch consisting of a ham sandwich, a pimento cheese sandwich, a cup of potato salad, a deviled egg, and a cup cake? Well, maybe watermelon instead of the cup cake.

What would be better? Well, practically everything.

Anyway, be sure to tune in next week when Cokesbury presents another costume spectacular, the Old-Fashioned Party. Dust off your hoop skirts and get rats in your pompadore, buddy.

King Neptune's Preview

2009-11-28T21:06:00.000-08:00

As a preview for this week's King Neptune's Carnival party, a quite lovely Sherman Brothers song from Bedknobs and Broomsticks:

Listening to this takes me back. The one and only movie review I wrote as a professional journalist was of the remastered Bedknobs and Broomsticks, a movie I loved as a child and still love -- probably because I've retained many childlike qualities. My review was so poorly received I never wrote another. But that's okay. I have this to remember:

And I love how David Tomlinson sings. He's kind of a Rex Harrison, in that neither of them really sing; they both kind of shout. But David Tomlinson shouts a bit more melodically.

Week Twenty-Eight: Celebrities Party

2009-11-25T10:33:00.000-08:00

We all love a celebrity. Even Homer Simpson, in creating his Hollywood Musem of Jerks, admitted to loving celebrities to the point he put their underpants on display. So why not, the folks at the Cokesbury Party Book thought, put on a Celebrities Party so all of our chums can dress up as their favorite celebrities and pretend to be glamorous and famous and important for an evening?

Even the invitation is inspiring. Hope you know someone named Smith:

If your name is not in Who’s Who,

You can be great just the same.

Come dressed like a celebrity, any will do

If he’s in America’s Hall of Fame.

Come out to Smith’s on Friday night,

And act the part you dress.

We’ll live in the past and present both,

And have a good time? Well, I guess!

So, the long march equating celebrity status with greatness began long before anyone in the modern age realizes. But of course I’m sure there were cavemen who followed the likes of Oog, Inventor of Fire, and Mog, Inventor of the Wheel, if not for their intellectual prowess but because they were famous.

A cultural note: Cokesbury isn’t dissing their party when they suggest they “guess” they’ll have a good time at this party. The English language is ever-evolving. Back then, “I guess” was the equivalent of today’s “Of course,” or to put it more colloquially, “Duh.”

But then there’s celebrity trouble. Back then, there were no Charles Nelson Reilleys, no Paul Lyndes, or whomever is the hot, edgy character popular today among those who are not hopelessly stuck in the 1970s as I am. Cokesbury has a few celebrities to suggest.

First, Celebrities of the Past:

Alexander Hamilton (Ed: or, alternately, Aaron Burr)

Andrew Jackson

Edith Cavel

Woodrow Wilson

Knute Rockne

John Philip Sousa

Gen. Robert E. Lee

Gen. Ulysses S. Grant

Betsy Ross

Thomas Alva Edison

Abraham Lincoln

Carrie Nation

Pocahontas

(Note: It seems the name "Gertrude Ederle" flummoxed either the writer or proofreader of this text. The only reason I found out the correct spelling were the clues scattered throughout the book. I felt like a treasure hunter.)

Now, Celebrities of the Present:

Douglas Fairbanks

Mary Pickford

Herbert Hoover

Calvin Coolidge

Charles Lindbergh

Will Rogers

Admiral Richard E. Byrd

Gertrude Elder

Buddy Rogers

Charlie Chaplain

Clara Bow

Babe Ruth

Helen Wills Moody

Helen Hicks

Just to illustrate how far American culture has evolved – if evolved is the proper term for it – in the ensuing 70-some-odd years, here’s a list of celebrities one might pick today:

Perez Hilton

Al Gore

Steve Jobs

Bernie Madoff

Ronald Reagan

Bill Clinton

Larry King

Madonna

Michael Jackson

Johnny Depp

Tiger Woods

So you’ve still got your jocks, your politicians, your actors, your wonks, your captains of industry, your brainless twits (that might be redundant with politicians), and your reformers and rabble-rousers. But with a lot less clothing, particularly in the case of Madonna. And Larry King.

Guys: For a real challenge, I suggest going as Carrie Nation, pictured here. Bonus points if you can find and bring a little hatchet, and then know the story of why Miss Nation was so hatchetlery famous.

"Who is it, Norman?"

For Cokesbury Party Blog readers already a-prickle with the nationalistic bias of the lists proffered by Cokesbury, don't worry. Cokesbury admits its bias. And encourages it further (in other words, 'Heads, get ready to explode.').

The list of famous persons suggested here is confined to American names, so it would be well to use the national colors in the decorations. Streamers of red, white, and blue, with bunting and flags, would be a very effective setting for such a group of people.

You might have to go to Wal-Mart to buy more bunting. Put a plastic bag over your head so your Whole Foods friends don't see you.

Now we all know dressing up as celebrities is only hafl the fun. We also need to act like celebrities in order to make the evening a success. This is probably a good reason not to dress like modern celebrities, whose behavior as of late has boiled down to defrauding via Ponzi schemes, organizing dog fights, getting pancreatic cancer and inventing even more useless, expensive gadgetry, and bloviating. Instead, Cokesbury suggests the following:

Have the impersonations which are given below written on slips of paper and put in a box. The lader draws them out one by one; and if she draws number seven, she starts counting at the head of the line of guests and counts to seven. The person who is number seven must do the impersonation indicated. In every case she starts from the same person, counting frmo that person to the number whis is on the slip of paper. The following are suggested impersonations:

Betsy Ross making the flag

Babe Ruth knocking a home run

Charlie Chaplin making a movie

Gertrude Elder swimming in the English Channel (Ed: Ah! One of the clues to Gertrude Edler's real identity!)

John Philip Sousa directing a symphony orchestra (Ed: Didn't he direct marching bands?)

Mayor James J. Walker making an after-dinner speech. (Ed: I have NO idea who this guy is. Maybe he's the guy who said "Dy-no-MITE!")

Herbert Hoover fishing

Admiral Byrd flying over the North Pole

Tom Mix on horseback

Charles Lindbergh making love to Anne Lindbergh (Ed: Honest, this is exactly how this suggestion is written. Please keep it G-rated, for the children.)

Aimee Semple McPherson delivering a sermon. (Ed: Make one of your liberal friends do this, but a la "Beavis and Butthead" in No Laughing)

Martha and George Washington doing the minuet

Clara Bow flirting

Calvin Coolidge riding his mechanical horse

Buddy Rogers directing a jazz orchestra

You know, I kinda like the image of one of our less-colorful presidents using a mechanical horse as an exercise device, and "whooping it up" like a cowboy as he rode it. All we seem to get nowadays are Vietnam vets and community organizers with good pectoral muscles. Can't have everything, I guess.

"Yee-Haw!"

But let's move on to celebrating another of the 1930's presidents, one Herbert Hoover, in a game that I'm sure would make Archie Bunker go postal:

The Stock Market Has Crashed. The guest impersonating Herbert Hoover should start this game off. Have him to rise as the guests are seated in a circle with all the chairs filled, and as he calls guests by their famous names they rise and folow him around. When he says, "The stock market has crashed," all try to get charis. The one left out has to continue the game, calling the names as before.

One final game, then we're on to refreshments.

The Head of George Washington. Give guests a half cake of Ivory soap and a paring knife. The boys, of course, may use their pocket knives. Any kind of sharp instrument could be substituted for a paring knife. Give a prize to the one who can sculpture the best head of George Washington. Newspaper whould be provided so that the scraps of paper will not get on the floor.

This game, in its four simple sentences, is a minefiled of anachronisms for modern man. Soap, fortunately, is universal, though with the advent of liquid soap, such carving activity might be harder to accomplish. And, of course, no one dares nowaways to carry their own personal pocket knives or any other sharp instruments for fear of being expelled from school for having it on school property, kicked off an airplane, tasered if one brings said sharp instrument out in public or frowned upon by the same people who want to put padding around poles in London to prevent texticated individuals from injuring themselves in a collision. Pad the world, Mitch Benn said. Save it from a soap-carving activity. Then there's the newspaper thing. You might get away from this by lining the floor with iPod instructions, but they're so damn small you'd need a thousand of them to do any good. And you can't have it outside, what with all those phosphates from the soap leaching into the soil. Maybe you'd better collect the shavings in a bowl, invest in a soap-making kit, or just bag the whole thing and use the suggested alternate refreshment as carving material, as there's no way anyone is going to eat it.

Refreshments, as suggested by Cokesbury, include the mundane (cake and ice cream with Boston tea) to the absolutely frightening. And I quote:

Another suggestion would be a salad of cottage cheese, covering the cheese with crushed pineapple, and topping with mayonnaise. Serve with crackers and coffee.

And barf bags.

That's it, thankfully, until next week and the gala Fish Under the Sea Dance. No, wait. The gala King Neptune's Carnival, which Cokesbury describes as a "water carnival or pageant). Bring your swim fins and snorkel. Leave the cottage cheese at home.

Barf-O-Rama Warning

2009-11-23T07:33:00.001-08:00

One of the refreshment suggestions offered by the Cokesbury party Book for its Celebrities Party got five out of five Mr. Yuk Faces from testers polled at the Cokesbury Party Blog International Headquarters, and that was just from reading the list of ingredients. There is no way in heaven we were actually going to make this refreshment item because we’re fairly sure this unholy combination of ingredients is really a method Wiccans use to summon demons. We cannot be held responsible for queasiness or any outright barfing that occurs if anyone gets sick reading the refreshment description. And if anyone actually makes this concoction and then eats it, please send us a culinary review, including a photo that clearly shows the Death X’s over your eyes. Thank you.

Costume Head Start

2009-11-19T10:20:00.000-08:00

Just in case you want to get a head start on costumes for next week's Celebrities Party, here are a few pictorials.

President and Mrs. Herbert Hoover, who -- and I don't know the woman, she may be very nice and such -- looks like her husband in drag. So if your husband has a black dress, he can go either way to this one.

Clara Bow looks kinda James Deanish in this photo. Of course, chronologically, it should be that James Dean is looking kinda Clara Bowish. But that's all semantics.

What I like about this era (remember, the 1930s) is that there were parts of the world still being explored by white guys in goofy-looking headgear.

Bonus!

2009-11-16T09:02:00.000-08:00

As part of the Gipsy Party, Cokesbury suggests that, either during the festivities or during dinner, that gipsy stories (or at least stories; they don't necessarily have to be gipsy) be told, and thoughtfully offer a few, one of which is reproduced here:

Why the Chinese Have Short Names

Long, long ago, in far-away China, there lived two little boys. One was named Choy, and the other Tinky-tuky-timbo-no-si-nembo-hooy-booy-bousky-peooy-pen-do-hickey-pon-pon-nickey-no-me-on-don-peooy-eo. He was named this because it was a custom in those days for the mother to name her child a long name just according to how much she loved him.

One day, little Choy and Tinky-tuky-timbo-no-si-nembo-hooy-booy-bousky-peooy-pen-do-hickey-pon-pon-nickey-no-me-on-don-peooy-eo were playing beside the well, when all of a sudden little Choy fell in the well. Little Tinky-tuky-timbo-no-si-nembo-hooy-booy-bousky-peooy-pen-do-hickey-pon-pon-nickey-no-me-on-don-peooy-eo was so very frightened and ran. “Mother, Mother, Choy has fallen into the well. Come quickly and get him out.” She said: “Little Choy fell in the well? Oh, little Choy fell in the well. Well, darling, run tell the gardener to get little Choy out of the well.”

So little Tinky-tuky-timbo-no-si-nembo-hooy-booy-bousky-peooy-pen-do-hickey-pon-pon-nickey-no-me-on-don-peooy-eo ran to the gardener and cried, “Oh, Gardener, Gardener, poor Choy has fallen into the well. Come quickly and get him out.”

“Huh, what’s that you say?” he asked.

“Oh, come quickly. Choy has fallen into the well.”

“Oh, Choy has fallen into the well. Well, we well get Choy out right away.”

So the gardener ran and put a ladder in the well and climbed down and got little Choy and brought him out of the well.

Many weeks after that when Choy got well enough to play, the two boys were playing beside the well again, when all of a sudden poor little Tinky-tuky-timbo-no-si-nembo-hooy-booy-bousky-peooy-pen-do-hickey-pon-pon-nickey-no-me-on-don-peooy-eo fell into the well.

Little Choy ran to his mother and cried: “Oh, Mother, Mother, little Tinky-tuky-timbo-no-si-nembo-hooy-booy-bousky-peooy-pen-do-hickey-pon-pon-nickey-no-me-on-don-peooy-eo has fallen into the well. Come quickly and get him out.”

She said: “Little Tinky-tuky-timbo-no-si-nembo-hooy-booy-bousky-peooy-pen-do-hickey-pon-pon-nickey-no-me-on-don-peooy-eo fell in the well, Oh little Tinky-tuky-timbo-no-si-nembo-hooy-booy-bousky-peooy-pen-do-hickey-pon-pon-nickey-no-me-on-don-peooy-eo fell in the well. Run, darling, and tell the gardener to get little Tinky-tuky-timbo-no-si-nembo-hooy-booy-bousky-peooy-pen-do-hickey-pon-pon-nickey-no-me-on-don-peooy-eo out of the well.”

Little Choy ran to the gardener and cried: “Oh Gardener, Gardener, poor little Tinky-tuky-timbo-no-si-nembo-hooy-booy-bousky-peooy-pen-do-hickey-pon-pon-nickey-no-me-on-don-peooy-eo has fallen into the well. Come quickly and get him out.”

“Huh, what’s that you say?”

“Poor little Tinky-tuky-timbo-no-si-nembo-hooy-booy-bousky-peooy-pen-do-hickey-pon-pon-nickey-no-me-on-don-peooy-eo has fallen into the well. Come quickly and get him out.”

“Oh,” he said. “Little Tinky-tuky-timbo-no-si-nembo-hooy-booy-bousky-peooy-pen-do-hickey-pon-pon-nickey-no-me-on-don-peooy-eo has fallen into the well. We will get little Tinky-tuky-timbo-no-si-nembo-hooy-booy-bousky-peooy-pen-do-hickey-pon-pon-nickey-no-me-on-don-peooy-eo out right away.”

So the gardener got a ladder and climbed down and down and down and got little Tinky-tuky-timbo-no-si-nembo-hooy-booy-bousky-peooy-pen-do-hickey-pon-pon-nickey-no-me-on-don-peooy-eo, but poor little e Tinky-tuky-timbo-no-si-nembo-hooy-booy-bousky-peooy-pen-do-hickey-pon-pon-nickey-no-me-on-don-peooy-eo was almost drowned. He didn’t grow up to be a strong man like Choy, so that taught the Chinese mothers a lesson, and ever since that time they have been naming their children real short names like Choy, Tu, Chong, Wu, and Fu.

(Written by Mrs. J.G. Deriso, Jacksonillve, Fla., or so Cokesbury says, apparently so you know who to blame.)

Remember, I'm just the cultural anthropologist here. I make no excuses for this story whatsoever. Pity me that I had to type it in.

Week Twenty-Seven: Gipsy Party

2009-11-16T09:00:00.000-08:00

Okay, so this is a Victorian-era photo.

Still gets the stereotypical gypsy idea across.

Interesting concept here. In reading Cokesbury's Gipsy Party, the suggestions are that Gypsies steal, stargaze, tell stories, steal, tell and keep secrets, steal, kidnap, steal, sing, and, what else? Oh yeah. Steal. So buckle in.

Maybe this music will keep the sting off:

	Anonyme - Bubak and Hungaricus Early 18th Century Gypsy Music .mp3

	Found at bee mp3 search engine

Since this is a costume party, on with the costumes:

Costumes may be made from red or yellow cheesecloth. Or at least headbands, sashes, and scarfs can be made from these materials. Further suggestions for the girls would be beach pajamas, Spanish costumes, with hair loose or braided down the back. A timbrel would add to the effect. Use plenty of beads, earrings, bracelets, or other jewelry. Boys could wear loud colored shirts, bandana handkerchiefs, slouch hats, large earrings, such as brass curtain rings tied on to the ears, mustached paste on, or masks. Plenty of color should be put on the cheeks with rouge or cocoa.

Rouge or cocoa. Really? Let's move on to the kidnapping.

Guests should be met at the door or entrance to the place where the party is held by rough-looking gipsies with knives or revolvers. Each guest is kidnapped and taken before the gipsy king and initiated. To do this he is made to get on his knees, put his head to the ground, and say:

I know my mind,
And I know my heart.
I know I have a foolish part.

This should be repeated three times as the guest bows before the king. He is then initiated into the order of gipsies.

I suggest trying this first with your uberconservative friends just too see how many heads you can make explode. For added interest, have them utter some simple fealty oaths. Make sure to bring plenty of dropcloths.

And what's up with that initiation oath? Are they saying whomever chooses to be sworn in as a gipsy is foolish? Or that the act of being sworn in is foolish? Or that you're a moron for making your friends do this in the first place? Jury's still out on that one, if you ask me.

And, yes, I know they make a big deal about becoming a gipsy, meeting the gipsy king, et cetera, in Hunchback of Notre Dame. Just because it's in literatchoooor doesn't mean it makes sense.

This king appears confused. It's a sceptre, buddy. What do you do with it? Well, now I'm all confused.

Now, on to the bartering. Gipsies barter, right?

Each guest has been notified in advance that he is to bring some article wrapped in a package. A price limit should be set on this of ten cents or twenty-five cents. After all have been initiated, the elader then tells the guests that, as they are now gipsies, they must trade, for gipsies trade. Each person it to talk up the article in his package wthout revealing its identity. When the trading has been going on for about ten minutes, the leader blows the whistle, and all open their packages to discover the misfits. Usually, there will be noise maker, mechanical toys, teething rings, candy with salt and pepper in it, et cetera.

And then with the bartering over, the stealing begins, right?

The leader should announce that another characteristic of gipsies is that they steal, and that, as they have been initiated into the order of gipsies, they will have the privilege during the evening of stealing. Also a prize will be given to the one who can display, at the close of the evening, the largest number of articles stolen. The leader should explain that stealing does not mean taking by force, but that the gipsies have light fingers. This stealing should continue while the games are being played, and later in the evening after the games are over there should be a time to return stolen property.

So, in addition to your uberconservative friends, invite those who naturally have sticky fingers. Remind your technologically-advanced guests that this is not a party to which they should bring cell phones, iPods, fancy watches, or anything they don't want to get back in a hurry. I'm not saying your friends are thieves, but with some people, it only takes a little party suggestion like, well, that stealing is okay, to send some of your more questionable friends over the edge. Or if you have technologically advanced but rather forgetful friends, encourage them to bring all their toys plus any extra stuff you've seen lying around their house. If you're going to steal, steal big, I say. And if they complain, say, "Well, gipsies steal, no?" Have fun with it.

And with the singing. This is the song Cokesbury suggests you sing:

Be sure to book a good blues combo for accompaniment. Or invite an adequate accordionist. It's touches like this that make for a good gipsy party, and might possibly convince some of your more impressionable guests that you really are gipsies so all the stealing is okay and they won't ask for their stuff back.

On to the games. Cokesbury suggests a lot of games. I'll give you two:

Handkerchief Laughs. The leader throws the handkerchief into the air and calls the name or number of a person in the circle, and that person must laugh while the handkerchief is in the air and cease immediately when it falls to the ground. If that person fails to laugh while the handkerchief is in the air, or laughs when the handkerchief is not in the air, he must be It. In order to accomplish this end It may make a motion as though he were going to throw the handkerchief and then fail to throw it. The game may be varied by designating certain kinds of laughs, such as nervous laugh, coquettish laugh, boisterous laugh, horse laugh, silly laugh, stage laugh, giggle, et cetera.

Kinda sounds like the "I Love to Laugh" scene from Mary Poppins.

If my father were participating in this game, you'd have to add another laugh category, that being "laughing silently while tears roll down your cheeks." Try imitating that, Karl Marx.

Next we go on to gipsy fortunes whihc, according to Cokesbury, have little to do with love, warts, the removal of either love or warts, or anything generally involving curses, frogs,a nd other cliches. Nor do they include "Your cockney accent will be hackneyed, but the film you're in will be beloved by all."

Fortunes. The easiest way to accomplish this is to have the fortunes prepared in advance and placed in capsules. These capsules should be about one inch in length and the fortune typewritten and rolled up and placed inside. Players draw for their fortunes, and at the signal open the capsule and read aloud. These fortunes may be written with a pen, using lemon juice for ink. This makes an excellent invisible ink, and this may be passed to the Gipsy Queen, who holds it over the candle, and the words of the fortune will appear on what seemed a blank piece of paper. The following are suggestions for written fortunes:

For the Boys

You'll go to college and get a degree,
and a brilliant man you'll surely be.

You'll be a preacher, a man good and true;
You'll fall in love with a girl named Sue.

You'll be a pilot and fly a ship like Lindy;
You'll have the reputation of being rather windy.

You're going to be a railroad man,
and be the superintendent if you can.

You're going to be a farmer and raise corn and wheat,
and when you are old you'll live on Easy Street.

For the Girls

You are going far away to a university;
when you return a teacher you will be.

You are going to keep house in a bungalow,
with a cat -- and a husband too, you know.

In far-off China you'll spend your life
As a much-loved missionary's wife.

You're going to live alone, just as happy as can be,
with your cat and your parrot and your little cup of tea.

You'll be a lady lawyer and read law books,
and attract a lot of clients with your good looks.

Ah, the aspirations of the 1930s. Adventure, money, and preaching for the men, housekeeping, spinsterism and attracting clients as a lawyer not because you're smart but because you're a looker for the ladies. So who says the world has turned upside down in the past thirty years?

On to the final game, which combines two well-known gipsy traits -- secrets and, you guessed it, stealing.

Secrets. Gipsies have secrets. Divide crowd into groups. If the party is large, however, it would be best to divide into four groups. Each group selects a captain. Each group selects some object to be stolen while on some imaginary raid to town. Each group keeps this objet a secret from the other bands. A member of each camp is sent over to the rival camp to be questioned. They try to get out of him the name of the object he is going to steal. The visitor must answer the questions by "Yes" or "No." If the group guesses the object after five questions, they retain the visitor in their camp. If they fail to guess after five questions, the visitor returns and a visitor is sent to his camp from the rival group. In case the ojbect is guessed, another object must be selected for the second visitor.

Yeah, it's not much of a game. But it does involve stealing. And gipsies steal, right. Damn right they do:

Returning Stolen Property. This should be given some time, and all stolen articles should be identified and returned to the woner and a prize given to the one who can show the largest collection.

All right. All that's left are refreshments. Hope you've got a lot of time on your hands:

Refreshments should consist of gipsy goulash and coffee, to which each one serves himself. paper cups and plates may be used. the following is a recipe for the goulash, which, of course, must be cooked before the party and just heated up on the fire at the party:

Cook a large piece of beef or veal [stolen by preference, ed.] in a fireless cooker or over a slow fire until about half done. Season this with salt, pepper, onions, and bay leaf. Remove from the fire and cut meat into pieces suitable for serving and return to the fire. Add about one half can of tomatoes with additional seasoning if necessary, and enough uncooked rice to absorb the stock and the tomato juice. Cook until rice has had time to thoroughly cook. if cooked on top of the stove, care must be taken that it does not stick to the bottom of the kettle. A little red pepper and more onions may be added if desired.

Yes, it's goulash for the WASPs, devoid of spice so as not to offend the palate with flavor.

Okay, you're done for another week. Tune in next time for the Celebrities Party, in which you'll ask your guests to dress up like contemporary (at least for 1932) celebrities, including Herbert Hoover, Mrs. Herbert Hoover, Will Rogers, Admiral Richard E. Byrd, Charlie Chaplin, Henry Ford and the ever-popular Billy Sunday. Huzzah!

By the Way . . .

2009-11-13T22:39:00.001-08:00

. . . Just in case you're curious, with Week Twenty-Six behind us now, we are officially halfway through the "52 planned parties and 600 games and stunts" the Cokesbury Party Book promises us on its cover. And, to date, we've had just over three hundred visitors, all of whom have left the site shaking their heads and thinking, "Yeah, you can find all sorts of crap on the Internet."

You're welcome.

Gipsy Preview

2009-11-11T08:16:00.000-08:00

I confess to being a bit old school -- but since I'm blogging about a book published in 1932, you probably know that already.

So when it comes to gypsies, I tend to be a bit beyond today's politically-correct realm. Gypsy to me means one thing: Danny Kaye.

If you've never seen a Danny Kaye film, I have to ask -- what's wrong with you? Both The Court Jester and The Inspector General are incredibly wonderful movies (the latter being an interesting adaptation of Nikolai Gogol's novella by the same name). They're worth watching. Watch these clips, then get ready for a gypsy party of your own, with ideas from Cokesbury.

Week Twenty-Six: The Stunt Party

2009-11-09T12:01:00.000-08:00

The 1930s were crazy for stunts, or so it seems. The automobile and the aeroplane were coming of age, no longer the newfangled, untested technology. But as has been mentioned before, the stunts Cokesbury refers to are the skits, the japes, the songs, the what-nots that entertained regular folks between bouts of derring-do with stuntmen leaping -- OK, falling -- from airplanes to moving vehicles, or leaping their jalopies nonchalantly over sheds only to land in a broken heap on the other side.

First of all, Cokesbury feels you could make money hosting a stunt night:

In a city of about thirty thousand people a woman’s club has started having annual stunt night and giving a cup to the organization putting on the best stunt. On this stunt night the civic organization, such as the Women’s Club, Kiwanis, Rotary, Lions, and American Legion, compete. They charge one dollar admission, and it has been the means of raising money for the organization for several years.

Of course, this means getting people to come to your stunt night. Cokesbury suggests newspapers and other public announcements. Given today’s media climate, if I were you, I’d stick with “other public announcements.” I’d be happy, if anyone out there so chose to host a stunt night, to advertise the event here on the Cokesbury Party Blog, but traffic to the site tells me that virtually no one is coming to this site anyway. You might be better off with a dead tree edition somewhere.

So, now that you’ve got your party on Craigslist (and have secured ample liability and comprehensive property damage insurance for the louts who will invariably show up, toss your dime-store decorations in the pool and put your whistle where the sun don’t shine) it’s time to plan the stunts. Here are a few Cokesbury suggests:

Living Pictures. Living pictures make a very beautiful and impressive stunt. We are assuming that these stunts will be on a stage. Have a large frame constructed about eight feet high and about ten feet wide and hidden lights around the border. Raise this frame up a foot or more from the floor on a platform. A hidden chorus or quartet furnishes the music while the pictures are given in tableau. Between each song that is given in the tableau the quartet or chorus sings “Memories.”

“School Days.” The tableau would be a small boy and a small girl holding hands, the girl carrying in her hand a slate on which is written “I love you, Joe,” and thus they stand while the chorus or quartet sings.
“When You and I Were Young, Maggie.” An old couple are on the stage holding hands.
“Mother Machree.” An old lady dressed in black or lavender with white lace and cap is seated in a rocker. A young man stands by her. He looks down at her as the song is sung.
“My Wild Irish Rose.” A girl with summer dress, wide-brimmed had, garland with roses, and a boy are on the stage. The boy is dressed in summer sport clothes, white flannels, sweater, white hat in hand. The girl takes a rose and puts it in his buttonhole during the singing of the music. The action should be carefully times to fit the scene.

Obviously, these tableaux will go over well with your Irish-American crowd.

My advice: Think of these as live YouTube videos, but with actual creativity and talent involved, because you can’t just dub over some crappy hip-hop song to the action being shown. If these songs seem too outdated for your hip crowd, then simple re-enact en tableaux some of your favorite YouTube videos. I personally recommend the following, for its simplicity, pathos, and the likelihood of getting a laugh out of your audience.

Then there’s this one, of dubious moral value:

Black-Face Comedy. Have two boys who are clever at impersonating negroes put on a black-face comedy skit. You will find ample material for this in Chapter LII, “The Minstrel Show.” You will also find three or four stunts which could be done by these comedians in the chapter, “The Minstrel Show.”

Remember, if you choose to do this stunt, you are an ass. Even if you’re Australian.

This one is a bit more socially acceptable, and reminds me of this classic Muppet Show bit:

Brain-Testing Machine. Construct brain-testing machine as follows: Make a box with boards about nine inches wide and about one foot square and as high as the width of the boards. Put a board over the top and on the bottom, boring a hole about a half inch in diameter through the top and bottom boards. It is necessary for this box to set about two inches off the table, so around three sides of the it there should be a board one by two nailed up edgewise, so that the bottom of the box will appear to be on the table. Get a piece of small rubber hose at the five-and-ten-cent store about a half inch in diameter. This should be ten or twelve feet long. Put this through the holes in the bottom and top of the box, so that one end of it just projects over the top of the box. It will be necessary to get a small tube, glass or brass, which may be procured either at a hardware store or a plumbing shop. This should be just large enough to slip the end of the rubber hose over and to make it fit tight in the hold and in the box. Then get a toy rubber balloon and slip over the end of the tube. This box is placed on the table with the tube sticking out on the back side, and then the tube is placed behind the curtain, with one person behind the curtain to make the balloon large or small at will by inflating it. It would be well also to have some sort of a dial either drawn on the side of the box or purchased and put on the box. Also have some kind of a crank that will turn other little apparatuses on the box. One the top side there should be driven a nail on each corner and a small wire tired around the entire edge of the box also, tying it to the top of the nails.

Whew. Hope you haven’t let your subscription to Popular Mechanics expire. But on to the payoff:

One person stands on the stage and announces that very recently a wonderful machine has been invented which will test brain capacity and that it operates electrically. He puts one hand on the head of an individual and the other hand on the wire of the brain-testing machine, and the balloon will indicate the capacity of the brain. This is a very humorous stunt if carried out properly. As soon as the hand is placed on the wire, if it is desirous to indicate that the person is a man of brain capacity, the balloon is immediately made large. If not, it might be made to just barely move, and perhaps just to flop over.

Ha ha, what a great gag! And here’s a way to make it an even better gag involving a bald guy!

Another variation of this is to get a bald-headed man and put lamp black on the fingers and make some black spots on his bald head. This will cause much merriment. If it is desirous to especially honor someone, the one who is blowing the balloon might blow it until it bursts, or the one on the stage might puncture the balloon with a pin or touch it off with a cigarette.

Unless, of course, you’re in Kensington, Maryland, where such frivolity with cigarettes if highly frowned upon.

If you want something a little more highbrow, you might consider this stunt instead:

Kitchen Cabinet Orchestra. The kitchen cabinet orchestra is a good stunt, but some care should be exercised in selecting those who have good voices, and there should be some rehearsing. Each player in the orchestra is provided with an instrument, to which has been attached a kazoo. This is a small, inexpensive instrument which can usually be purchase at the five-and-ten-cent store or the music store in any city. Imitations of the sounds of instruments can be made on the kazoo, and a number of good voices, especially mixed voices, give a very pleasing result.

Someone who is very clever at improvising should be asked to make the instruments. A cornet could be made from a rolling pin, with a funnel on one end and the kazoo attached to the handle on the other. A clothes basket with a mop stick and some old wires could be made into a bass viol. A bass horn can be improvised out of an inner tube attached to a funnel and some other kitchen utensil. A long-handled frying pan might be made into a violin. A washing tub would make a good brass drum, and a small dishpan would make a good snare drum. The leader should use a dish mop for a baton.

Or, in other words, just do as Spike Jones and the City Slickers do:

Here’s the best part of Cokesbury’s Stunt Night. A few years ago, for a church function, I actually wrote a series of “stunts” that were performed by other members of the congregation. Fortunately, the video tape we have of the performance has been destroyed. But I may have the script somewhere . . .

Anyway, that’s it until next week, and the much-anticipated Gipsy Party, another Cokesbury costume extravaganza. See you then.

Stunt Party Preview

2009-11-08T19:14:00.001-08:00

First of all, you have to know that the Stunt Party isn't what you think:

The "stunts" Cokesbury writes about come from an odd use of the word at the time. To Cokesbury, a stunt is anything from a skit to a song to a story to a living tableau, like what El Guapo does in The Three Amigos. So get ready to chuckle -- or, as usual, roll your eyes -- when the party comes a-calling.

Week Twenty-Five: Fourth of July Party

2009-11-01T18:05:00.000-08:00

This day and age, in some circles, patriotism is a bad word. In some ways, I have to agree. You've got to consider what one is being patriotic to. My father saw many patriotic Germans during World War II, for example, as a civilian in The Netherlands. But if we can balance patriotism with everlasting vigilance, then perhaps it's okay.

Then again, it might be more fun if we balanced patriotism with Everlasting Gobstoppers. Sometimes those who fret over what patriotism can mean in the wrong hands just ought to loosen up a bit. So on that vein, on with the John Philip Sousa and "Stars and Stripes Forever.

Let Sousa's song spool while you read, as there is no animation nor photo slide show with this piece. And don't read the comments on YouTube, either. We're strictly in the Patriotism/Everlasting Gobstopper Mode on the Cokesbury Party Blog.

Here's the invitation, which should be written on a cardboard cut in the shape of a flag, or on a bell to represent the Liberty Bell. You know. That thing in Philadelphia that rang when people didn't fret about the United States being the Evil Empire:

On the birthday of our country,

We're having a party to celebrate.

At eight o'clock on the Fourth of July,

Come to Pilcher's, and don't be late.

I have no idea who this mysterious Pilcher is, and the Internet, in its vast Sargasso sea of information, is no help. It can't possibly be Sergeant Pilcher, though the readers, author, and publisher of the Cokesbury Party Book would likely approve of his actions. So I can assume you can just substitute another last name for Pilcher in the invitation and leave it at that. Unless you want to send your guests some anti-invitations. And I love that Sgt. Pilcher's nickname is "Nobby."

Decorations for the party, or so says Cokesbury, will be "easy":

Use flags and bunting and red, while, and blue streamers for decorations. Pictures of great American characters may be hung on the walls.

It sounds easy until you consider that the likes of Homer Simpson, Peter Griffin and Courtney Love hardly count as great Americans, although Hank Hill might do in a pinch.

On to the first game:

The Names of the States. Give guests blank sheets of paper and pencils. Let couples work together. Ask them to write all the names of the states. This may look easy, but it is doubtful if any will finish the forty-eight in ten minutes. Give a prize to the one finishing first, unless the game is too long, in which case give a prize to the one having the longest list.

You read right: Forty-eight states. This is in 1932, remember. Alaska and Hawaii weren't made states until the 1950s. So fly the flag they used in A Christmas Story and see how many of your guests notice.

The next game is a good one to play with guests who arrive in full What is Patriotism umbrage, ready to do battle with anyone who dares suggest that the Fourth of July have meaning outside of Chinese fireworks and a few hamburgers burned on the grill (it should be noted that the really fierce anti-patriots won't even be thrilled about the fireworks and burgers; these are the ones you want to send to Pilcher.

The National Anthem: Do You Know It? Give to each guest the words of the "Star-Spangled Banner" written with the italicized words blank. Let them see which couple can fill the blanks correctly in the quickest time:

O! say can you see by the dawn's early light
What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleaming?
Whose broad stripes and bright stars through the perilous fight,
O'er the ramparts we watched were so gallantly streaming?
And the rockets' red glare, the bombs bursting in air,
Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there.
O! say does that star-spangled banner yet wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave?

On the shore, dimly seen through the mists of the deep,
Where the foe's haughty host in dread silence reposes,
What is that which the breeze, o'er the towering steep,
As it fitfully blows, half conceals, half discloses?
Now it catches the gleam of the morning's first beam,
In full glory reflected now shines in the stream:
'Tis the star-spangled banner! Oh long may it wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave.

O! thus be it ever, when freemen shall stand
Between their loved home and the war's desolation!
Blest with victory and peace, may the heav'n rescued land
Praise the Power that hath made and preserved us a nation.
Then conquer we must, when our cause it is just,
And this be our motto: 'In God is our trust.'
And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave!

(Interesting to note: Cokesbury leaves out the third verse, and ignores completely a fifth verse added to the anthem during the Civil War. Impress your freinds by singing it in its entirety, with lyrics here.)

For amusement, be sure to videotape this game and watch the anti-patriots for signs of stroking out at certain passages, including the "In God is our trust" passage. Extra party points to you if these folks and a Barry Goldwater/Ronald Reagan Republican get in a brawl in the street after this game concludes. And once the radicals and the Commies have left, you and the rest of your guests may alter this game and do kind of a Star-Spangled Banner Mad Libs. (My favorite motto, from Ghostbusters, "We're ready to believe you!"

On to the next game:

Washington Surveying Relay. It is a well-known fact that Washington was once a surveyor. Line up the players for a relay race. They may be divided into three groups, the Reds, Whites, and Blues. This may be done by pinning on red, white, and blue ribbons, having an equal number of each. The three groups face a goal about fifteen or twenty feet away. Give to the player at the head of the line a yardstick. They are to measure the distance to the goal and back with a yardstick, laying it down and picking it up each time. The players, as soon as they have finished, give the yardstick to the next one in line and take their places at the back of the line.

An alternate version of this game is to measure the distance in smoots.

Here's another game:

Spin the Plate. Play the old game Spin the Plate in a little different way. Have one player spin the plate and call the name of a state or capital. The boy who represents the state or the girl who represents the capital must each catch the plate before it falls. If she fails to do this, she must pay a forfeit. However, let us do this in a different way. Let us have a number of forfiets written out, and as soon as she fails to catch the plate she draws out one of the forfeits and must do the stunt indicated. After she had finished her stunt, the spins the plate and calls the name of a state or capital, and the game proceeds as before. The following are some forfeits which would be suitable for this party:

Paul Revere mounting his hores
Benjamin Franklin flying his kite
Washington chopping down his cherry tree
Pocahontas saving Captain John Smith
Patrick Henry making a speech
Andrew Jackson fighting a duel
Daniel Boon ekilling a bear
Carrie Nation wrecking a saloon
Billy Sunday preaching a sermon
Abraham Lincoln splitting rails
The Statue of Liberty
Or, possibly, Sgt. Pilcher's song

And another one, where we get to celebrate a real renegade in American history:

Fireworks: John Brown's Alive. Of course in a Fourth of July party, there must be some fireworks. Matches are used for this stunt. The leader strikes a match and gives it to a player, telling him that he has the privilege of passing it as long as it is alive, that is, as long as it is burning or is a live coal. He merely is to say "John Brown is alive" and pass it on to the next player; but if it is not alive, the next player does not have to take it.Whoever has it when it is dead must have a mustache painted on them with the burned match. Also they must start another match.

I don't get it, either. Maybe they were hard up for entertainment in the 1930s, as this video of a 1930s parade might also convey:

The next game is meant to enrage the BG/RR Republicans in the group, if any are left after the Star-Spangled Banner-inspired street brawl:

Taxation without Representation. The guests are seated in a circle. The leader tells them that she is going to organize a Revolutionary Club. In order to become a member one must be initiated. The leader says "the initiation ceremony consists in saying what I tell you and doing what I do." The leader then says, indicating one of the guests, "Say, 'Taxation without representation.'" [Editor's note: The more clever of you in the Cokesbury Party Blog world already know where this one is going.] In sayin this the leader makes some peculiar gesture with the hands, as to emphasize what she says. Usually the guest will try to imitate the gesture, when the point is to merely say "Taxation," as he has been told to say taxation without (saying) representation.

Plan on this game lasting about thirty seconds.

Now, the party is over. Cokesbury, oddly, says "it is the custom in many sections of the country" to have fireworks on the Fourth of July. Maybe there were sections where the anti-patriots without Everlasting Gobstopper vigilance were already prevalent. And, of course, one must have "eats" during the fireworks. Cokesbury recommends red, white, and blue brick ice cream, or fruit punch and cake. All of which sounds patriotic. Nah. Give me a burned burger any day.

That's it until next week and we turn on the guffaws during Stunt Night. I'm off to watch the fireworks. Oooh! Ahhhh!

Week Twenty-Four: Aquatic Party

2009-10-25T14:55:00.000-07:00

1930s Swimwear: Men Show More Leg

Folks, first of all, you have to remember that in 1932, the Depression is going full bore. It was quite common back then for any kind of ordinary daily outing to be suddenly destroyed by a dust storm, a slab of poorly-maintained beef, or an early John Ford movie. So it's with that kind of spirit in mind that Cokesbury introduces its Aquatic Party with the following statement:

Conditions under which this party is held may make impossible the using of all the things suggested.

So try to keep a stiff upper lip as the party opens, certainly with an invitation:

In the good old summer time
It's just the season prime
To get into the water cool
With your friends and mine.
So bring your suit and water wings,
For the water will be fine,

And we'll sizzle good old hot dogs

By the silvery moonshine.

Ogden Nash certainly could have helped these folks out with their poetry. But this is a conservative party, mind you; it's much more important to know that the water will be fine and there will be hot dogs present, rather than worrying about the liberality of having the iambic pentameter be strictly correct.

And, yes, those are swimsuits they're wearing in that first picture. Here's a trick of evolution: Frankly, men's suits (with the exception of that abomination Borat wore, have not evolved much, at least for common society. Sure, they get their little speedos and thongs, but they're the exception, not the rule, at least where I live. We live, to paraphrase Victor Borge, in a cold country, so we don't wear any kind of suit that might make getting what sticks out back in again difficult.

But the ladies' suits. They've evolved quite a bit. Even the modest suits of today reveal more than these. And these. And by the way, lady, second from the right in the black-and-white with the diamonds, I LOVE your hat.

The Hat Also Doubles as A Radar Reflector

But I digress. On to the party. Since this is your party, it's only kosher to ask your guests to bring everything you need:

Each person should be asked to bring something. A committee should designate someone to bring five pounds of wieners, or perhaps several will have to bring wieners if the group is large. Someone else will be asked to bring buns or rolls. Someone will be asked to bring some wood if it is not to be found where the party is held. Old wire coat hangers straightened out make good roasters for wieners. Cabbage slaw goes well with wieners.

I think they're fretting too much about the wieners, personally. Try to keep a straight face when you ask the designated guest for five pounds of wieners. They're just not sold that way today. They'll ask "How many packages is that," then wander to the store, confused, and likely not come to the party at all because commerce has changed to the point a man can't walk into a store and ask for five pounds of wieners without getting really weird looks from the butcher -- who isn't a butcher, but some idiot in a hair net or paper hat who occasionally runs the meat slicer and has to re-stock the packages of pre-fab hamburger.

Now since this is an aquatic party, it's a sure bet someone is going to have to get wet before the party is over. Cokesbury thoughtfully divides the games up into four categories, with which you may entertain your guests and subtle sort them out into three classes: Annoying Jocks, Annoying Competitive Fools, Annoying Torturers of Small Animals, and Shore Wimps, viz:

Aquatic Events:

Have a dash the length of the pool. Contestants may use any desired stroke. Give a prize to the winner.
The Plunge. Contestants plunge off the edge of the pool and the object is to see how far they can go without moving the body. Contestants try this one at a time and the distances are recorded.; The one who plunges the farthest wins. Judges should see that after the plunge there is no body movement.
Fancy Stroke. Have a race in which the contestants use the different fancy strokes, as the back stroke, the breast stroke, the crawl, etc.
Turtle Race. All contestants are placed on one side of the pool. The swim is to be the short way of the pool This is a strenuous game, and the girls should not compete against the boys, but should have a separate contest. At a signal from the leader all plunge in and swim to the other side of the pool. The five to reach there last are eliminated. If the number is large, it is better to eliminate a larger number. Then the leader's whistle is blown again and they swim back. Five more are eliminated. So they swim back and forth until there are only two left. It is a good idea to let contestants rest a minute between each try. When the boys have tried this, the girls have a try. It is better with the girls to eliminate a larger number so that no girl will have to swim the width of the pool more than four times.

Now, obviously, that last game is going to make the Annoying Female Jocks and feminists in general go absolutely ape. Be sure to be wearing your own swim trunks as you announce the rules, because it's likely you're going to be tossed into the pool by a bevy of broads convinced they can kick your sorry little rear, and with cause, because they can.

And can anyone fathom why the last event is called a Turtle Race? Because Cokesbury does not explain it at all.

Now on to the Aquatic Games:

Water Basket Ball. Rig up some goals about four feet above the water. Barrels or large garbage cans or washing tubs would make good goals. These could be set on each end of the pool. The game is played just like regular basket ball and the points scored in the same way.
Water baseball. lay something as a marker for the home plate, first, second, and third bases on the edge of the pool. Choose nine players on a side. The game is played in the same manner as baseball, using a large paddle for a bat and a rubber ball about the size of an indoor baseball. The is game may be played on the beach or in the surf if the water is not too deep and the sand is smooth.

I'm not exactly sure when the basket met the ball in basektball, but it obviously was not before 1932. And I think it's a pity that the American drive for innovation has led to standard basketball hoops, complete with backboard and net, custom-built for pool activity, have replaced the ingenuity of wash tubs, barrels, and other anachronisms. I sure hoped they played their "basket ball" with onions tied to their belts.

No matter. Move on to the Stunts:

Terrapin Race. Have some of the boys look up two or more terrapins and keep them until the time of the partyl. Mark off a starting place and a finish line. Put them on the starting line and number them with chalk and see what happens. This is very funny.
Duck Race. Get a duck, cut off the feathers on its wings so it cannot fly, and put it in the water. Give a prize to the boy who can bring the duck to the shore. Many times by the flapping of his wings the duck will force the swimmer to release him when he is almost to the shore.
Three-Legged Swimming Race. Take four, six or eight boys and tie two of their legs together for this race.

Preferably, the boys tied together should be the one who really, really enjoyed cutting the poor ducks' flight feathers off. (I do not, obviously, recommend any of these games. I've seen a goose literally scare the shoes off a person who approached it, and that goose had all of its feathers. Ducks are no more gentle when cornered.)

It's time for refreshments now, thankfully. The jocks are still primping on the beach. The feminists are still trying to find and drown the idiot who suggested they not compete with "the boys." And that damn duck is seeking revenge on the morons who plucked its feathers. It must be time for refreshments. Get your wieners out.

As soon as the dark comes, move form the pool to the beach and make a fire. Roast wieners by the fire and serve with cabbage slaw and mustard on buns. It would be will also to have some marshmallows to toast. It is well to ahve sandwiches also and watermelon for dessert. Cold bottled drinks can be easily served. After the meal is over, play games by the firelight or the moonlight.

It would be well if Cokesbury had suggested guests bring marshmallows, sandwiches or watermelon, but no matter because it would be even more well if the free-loading party throwers brought their own damn refreshments rather than sponging off their guests.

If none of your guests have drowned, get them ready for a real whizz-banger of a party next week: Fourth of July Party!

Cokesbury (and YouTube) Take You There

2009-10-25T14:00:00.000-07:00

Just as a prelude to today's Aquatic Party update, and to revel in the outfits, vehicles, games, and that really annoying projector noise, I present this: