My dinner party wouldn't look like this.
Todays nugget should probably be approached with some caution because as with many other subjects my half-truths and little to no real knowledge can be slightly irritating.
It should be said that I’ve only ever thrown one real dinner party and it was a group affair where I spent most of the time drunk, standing in front of a perpetually rotating frozen margarita machine (which was my contribution) and neglecting my hostess duties.
A few hours later as I grew restless and came very close to passing out I decided it was better that I just give up and let the whole mess run it’s course without me.
In the past few days I had two friends of mine mention fantasy dining situations with the rich & famous so I started dreaming up various case scenarios for my pretend celebrity soirees and the zany hijinks that would ensue when the glitterati & I got together over finger foods and cocktails.
The door would swing open and there would be Stewart Copeland circa 1984 with his mop of disheveled hair, his matching shorts and tube socks. Hey! He brought a bottle of wine and his snare drum. Later I will complain that he spent a majority of the party on my low-lying coffee table pretending it was a drum riser and banging on my new Calphalon cookware with his drumsticks. We’d be understanding though, because after all it’s Stewart.
Because we are treading in the realm of the completely fabricated & delusional by importing the younger version of SC I’d take the opportunity to invite the legendary but currently dead Marlon Brando cause you know he’d fly his private jet straight from an all night party on his Tahitian island and land it in the middle of your street before falling down the stairs and into the road. Of course he’d be drunk and barely functional but still charming and he’d roll all over the newly set table crushing the carefully prepared appetizers and spilling everyone’s drink.
Then he’d hack an orange into quarter slices and shove them playfully into his mouth before chasing us through our tomato garden and collapsing into a lifeless heap. Bravo Marlon! Bravo! Wait, Marlon?
Much to the shock of my friends and contemporaries I’d also invite the worlds newest über celebrity Robert Pattinson. Not because his bone structure instantly blinds mere mortals but because he can teach us all something about post traumatic stress disorder, emergency measures and crowd control. FEMA could learn a thing or two from this guy.
I once found myself vulnerable and helpless in an angry group of thousands that whipped itself into a manic state and actually BROKE A BONE in my arm so it was with morbid curiosity and real genuine horror that I watched television footage of this freshly famous young kid being continually swallowed up by voracious screaming groups of wildly excited fans.
Now granted my mob experience didn’t involve being surrounded by besotted fourteen year old girls trying to kill me with their love but mine DID have full-grown hairy men sporting body tattoos and thrashing about in a rain-soaked rock concert frenzy attempting to shred anything and everything in their path. Including me.
The guy would be great for tips on how to answer the same insipid questions day after day as the years dragged on without getting angry or looking pained, which would be great for all the married couples there. He’d win over the rest of the dinner guests with his rakish good looks and quiet English warmth but then there would be the inevitable drunken cougar who’d read Twilight one too many times who would have to be removed by the two bodyguards loitering nearby.
So as you can see, my party didn’t have 50 Cent or Neil Patrick Harris Like Elly and Shawn but since this was a hopeless pursuit of an imaginary gathering I don’t see any problems here.
The threat of the slow collapse of this post under its own weight is growing more imminent so I shall get right to the questions asked of me by my beloved Uke playing Elly.
1. How many tennis balls can you fit in your mouth?
I actually put this to the test and I can say with absolute certainty that I can fit exactly 1/2 of the tennis ball into my maw before it locks up and starts cramping.
2. Do you have a recurring doodle you always scribble in meetings?
Why yes I do. Drew it on everything and it changed suddenly from male to female without any warning one day while discussing something of great importance in a “meeting”. I’ll try to find one of the scrappy bits of paper if I still have it.
3. If you could have any pet what would it be and what would you name it?
I’d like a turtle and his name would be Hooper. Like the Richard Dreyfus character from Jaws.
4. Do these shoes make my feel look ginormous?
It depends on who is asking this question. If it is a woman I muster my most sincere face and say absolutely not. If it is a man I tell him he has abnormally large feet AND hands because you know what they say about the size of a man’s feet.
5. Can you put your foot on your own head?
Easy peasy. I will go one step further here and tell you that I used to be able to hook both of my legs behind my head contortionist style. I would have made a great exotic dancer.
6. What’s your favorite acronym?
What does it say about me that I went directly to google and found the acronym name generator? Worse? I couldn’t think of a name or phrase to plug into it so it could generate a cool acronym for me. It says ” never again will you struggle coming up with a catchy acronym or title for your project!” Not only did I struggle, but I failed.
7. If you could be a character from a John Hughes film who would you be?
Samantha Baker from 16 Candles.
8. If you were a food item would you rather be packaged in shrink-wrap or tin can?
Tin can. Because sardines OBVIOUSLY.
I've got a endless supply of oranges and lots of spare time.