Week Twenty-Eight: Celebrities Party

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.

Week Seven: Washington's Birthday Party

I’ve got to admit, I’m still having a hard time with Cokesbury’s suggestion that “In many places, [the celebration of George Washington’s Birthday] marks the height of the social season.” So much a hard time that I’m actually going to include a photo of the quote from the page, just to share it with the rest of you to ensure that I’m not delusional.


There are, frighteningly, however, many hints throughout the chapter detailing the intricacies of this party to imply that, indeed, ol’ George’s birthday is indeed a big celebration. Or at least a day around which hatchet- and hatchet-themed items do a brisk business. Behold:

Invitations. [Note: No invitational rhyme this time around. Strange.] Get from the five-and-ten cent store or from the bookstore small cards in the shape of a hatchet. These can be cut out of red cardboard. Write the invitation on these, stating the time and place, and by all means that it will be a costume party.

You read right. A costume party. And you read righter. You’re supposed to go to the five-and-ten or bookstore and, bold as brass, ask for cards in the shape of a hatchet. In an odd way, I suppose, this makes sense, Back then, you couldn’t buy booze at your neighborhood store due to Prohibition, so it made sense that little hatchet-shaped cards would be available at your five-and-ten or bookstore. What else would be a better shape to write out a Valentine to Carrie Nation and her ilk?

Now, on to the costumes:

The ladies will wear kerchiefs and dresses made with tight bodice and full skirts. The skirts should be to the ankles. Hair should be powdered, and the face decorated with black court-plaster patches. Find a picture of a Martha Washington costume and copy it.

The men should wear knee breeches, hose, and slippers with buckles on them. There should be lace ruffles at the coat sleeves.

These costumes need not be elaborate but may be easily improvised.

At first when I read this, I envisioned a piratey eye-patch of the arrr matey variety. But I knew that couldn’t be right, though a certain amount of wishing had me fervently believing our first First Lady was of the Caribbean persuasion. Alas, I discovered, a court plaster patch is something different. According to Infoplease, a court plaster patch is a patch made of silk and “cut into the shape of crescents, stars, circles, diamonds, hearts, crosses; and some even went so far as to patch their face with a coach-and-four, a ship in full sail, a chateau, et cetera.” The patches were made of silk and applied to the face, using a mixture of glycerin and isinglass to do the sticking. Isinglass, for the unaware, is a collagen extract from the swim bladders of Beluga sturgeon. Yes, they used fish snot to stick bits of colored silk to their faces.

If there is an historical connection between Martha Washington and court-plasters, I couldn’t find it. Infoplease tells us the patches were in style during the reigns of Charles I and Queen Anne of England, who ruled in 1625 to 1649 and 1702 to 1714 respectively. Martha Washington wasn’t born until 1731 and reigned as First Lady from 1789 to 1797, so they were hardly contemporaries.

Still, it’s fun to think of forcing your lady acquaintances to attend a party with bits of cloth stuck to their faces with fish goo. Be sure to insist that the patches be historically accurate.

But now that we’re all dressed as either George or Martha, it’s on to another game:

Hatchet Snatch. Line up so that the boys will face the girls. It is better to do this on a floor that is carpeted or at lease have a small rug in the center. A hatchet is made of wood or cardboard (This may be purchased at the five-and-ten-cent store or the bookstore.) Fasten it in something for a base so that it will stand up. The boys are numbered from one to eight or nine. A similar number of girls play. In this game the numbering is from opposite ends, so that the number one would stand opposite to number nine. The leader calls out the number, as “Number Three,” and both numbers three, the boy and the girl, are to try to snatch the hatchet. The leader keeps score – that is, gives a point to the girls every time they snatch the hatchet and a point to the boys every time they get it.

If you think this is the end of hatchet-related hilarity, you’re wrong.

Hatchet Hunt. Have hatchets hidden about the room and the guests look for them. Give a prize to the one who finds the largest number.

Prize suggestion: A hatchet. You seem to have plenty of them.

Chopping Down the Cherry Tree. Players stand in a circle, and the leader stands in the center. The leader has a stick and a hatchet in her hand. She tells the story of the hatchet and of the chopping down of the cherry tree, and as she tells the story each time she says “cherry tree” all players must drop to one knee before the leader can chop three times. The last one down must take the hostess’ place.

Be sure the hatchet-wielder isn’t one of the embittered feminists from the Valentine Party, or it’s likely you’ll have some Lizzie Borden-themed trouble.

To prove to your guests that you’re not completely, hatchetedly insane, suggest at the end that they angage in a lively Virginia Reel. Thanks to the miracle of YouTube, I don’t have to launch into the lengthy explanation Cokesbury gives for this dance – though I do like their suggestion you dance to the tune of “Turkey in the Straw,” or some other similar lively number. Perhaps something by “Men at Work.” Who could it beeee now?




And that’s it. Except for the refreshments, which include cherry pie and coffee. Or, inexplicably, Waldorf salad with mayonnaise and hot chocolate. That makes less sense than the court-plasters.

Tune in next week for the World Tour Party, which is bound to be better than this one. Of course, anything would be better than this one.