Serendipity

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

“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.