I have never grokked the appeal of parties. As far as I can tell, this is what you do at a party:
2. Talk to people and try to look interested even if your mind is a million miles elsewhere, mostly thinking of going home.
3. Try to figure out how long you have to stick around before leaving would be rude, so you can go home.
Obviously and therefore I’ve never understood why anybody would want to give a party. What’s the point? Your carpet is threatened, your house is messed up, your dishwasher is overloaded, your neighbors are inconvenienced. For this you spend a fair amount of money on food and drink and extra toilet paper and perhaps new guest towels.
Maybe I’m just grumpy today after having worn earplugs to bed and left them in until about 3:00 AM (and my right ear is still a bit tender as a result) because neighbors were having a party last night—much of which seems to have taken place in their back yard, which abuts mine. Because of the typical San Francisco layout of houses forming a rectangular enclosure of back yards, sound bounces madly all around and echoes off the back walls of all those houses. Thus the racket of backyard parties is amplified rather than dissipated. This particular specimen wasn’t any big deal as parties go—no raucous music or anything like that. Just people doing items 1 and 2 above, plus I’m willing to bet a fair number of folks contemplating item 3.
But I still don’t get it. What was the attraction of sitting in somebody’s back yard at 2:00 AM on a typical San Francisco midsummer night (i.e., clammy, chilly, and foggy) and letting forth with an explosive OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD HARDEEHARHARHARHARHARHARHAR that probably jolted half of the neighbors wide awake and contemplating manslaughter 2.
Oh, well; chalk up another one to the guy who spent most of his formative years practicing the piano instead of socializing.