Party as Scenarios

Tor Lukasik-Foss

PARTY AS A STEAM JACKETED AGITATED KETTLE 

My socially anxious son confronts me in the living room. He’s been invited to a house party in two days’ time and he’s in a froth, flitting like a bug over a fruitbowl of concerns. How should he text a reply to this invitation? What should he wear? How long is he expected to stay? Will he be expected to dance?—and so on. I have no practical answers for him, nor do I want to know specifics about this party; they will only spike anxieties of my own. 

Regardless, I’m thrilled that he still relies on my guidance. To help, I beckon him to the study, towards the family chalkboard, which we’ve traditionally used to work through our collective troubles. Above the board are a collection of pull-down maps, educational tools of the kind I remember from the schoolrooms of my youth: post-war maps and diagrams projecting a shared certainty about the ways of the world, artfully and materially composed to endure for years without being challenged, tenaciously convinced of their own relevance.

I pull down a map titled “Party as a Steam Jacketed Kettle” and pick up a wooden pointer.

“As you may know, chemical engineers sometimes use reactive vessels whose temperature, pressure, and other conditions can be modified via a "jacket" or second shell installed around a central chamber. Specific ingredients are placed in the kettle to be agitated, pressurised, heated or cooled, either by transforming media inserted into the jacket or by the agitator. This may be done to encourage a transformation of the ingredients, or create forms of energy or specific byproducts.”

My son says nothing.

“These jackets or annular spaces allow transforming media to be circulated. In specific models, agitators are added to encourage circulation, regulate turbulence, prevent viscosity and increase or mitigate overall efficiency. Science tells us that parties or complex social events work in a similar way. Attendees may enter the ‘kettle’ of the party either as ‘ingredients’ to be permanently or momentarily affected, or they may enter and move to the annular spaces, serving as ‘transforming media’ and affecting the party-kettle’s conditions. If participants wish to be less subtle, they may also take on the role of ‘agitators’ and overtly disrupt the conditions within the central chamber. Unlike the processes of a chemical kettle, however, party attendees may change roles, acting as agitators, transforming media or primary ingredients at differing moments throughout the event.

“Any questions at this point?

“Good. Take a moment to consider the map in private. Remember, the party to which you have been invited will not physically resemble this diagram. It is up to you to identify your party’s annular spaces, central chamber, means of agitation, ports of entry and discharge and so forth. However once you get a feel for it, I’m sure you will attend with confidence and participate with zeal.”

I lean the wooden pointer against the wall and feel a surge of pride. I look away from the map and toward my son. He is no longer in the room. In fact, there was never a study, a chalkboard or a map. Yes, my son, his party and his anxiety are all real. He just never asked me about it.

PARTY AS A SEQUENCE OF TEN SINGLE INK T SHIRTS.

They brought, like, ten t-shirts to the party. Not to give away. They just wanted to wear a bunch of different shirts during the course of the night. I’m serious. I’ll bet they came in with at least six of them on, and maybe another four stuffed in a satchel, back pocket, or maybe, like, hidden in a bathroom or something. All the same kind of shirt, same tapered cut, same thin cotton, all of ‘em white. Each one had its own different picture. 

Fuck me.

I can only guess they hand-made the shirts. Some kind of aspiring designer. Maybe a social media stunt. Or just some kook from the artist-run centre. I couldn’t quite figure it out. Cos’ it was subtle, right? You never saw them change. You’d just look and they’d have a different shirt on. And at first it was a bit of a mindfuck, because you’d see them and then doubt yourself that it happened, ‘cos you couldn’t really remember what the first shirt had on it. You just knew it was different. 

But then, by the third or fourth one, it was like, ‘oh, I get it; this is some kind of thing’. So then I just start watching them, right? Like, I don’t want to miss a single chapter in the sequence. Or like, is there some kind of big message I’m supposed to put together from it all. Will I get a prize or something if I figure it out? Honestly, there were moments where I was like ‘dude, you’re wrecking the night for me, ‘cos I can’t really think about anything else, you know, I can’t actually focus on my own time here’. Pretty soon I’m like ‘Fuck your concept’. ‘Fuck this pretentious, fucking thing you’re doing.’ ‘Fuck this begging for attention bullshit!’ 

Okay, but then here’s the weird thing, though. Like I don’t see people coming up and pointing out the shirts, right? Or making a big deal or anything. It’s all so super chill, I barely see this person even talking to anyone else. I mean, they’re not not talking to people, it’s just all so understated, right? A lot of times I just see them by the table eating chips or dancing kind of by themselves off to the side of the room.

I mean I’m pretty much doing the same thing. So no judgement. But still. 

A couple hours go by, and I’ve mostly forgotten all about it. But then boom, there they are, right in the fucking middle of  the fray, just going for it, you know. Just losing themselves. And at this point, they must be on their seventh or eighth shirt. And this new shirt seems absolutely fucking on point. So fucking clever in the moment. And suddenly it’s hard not to see them as the complete fucking center of things. Like without them, somehow this whole night could never have happened. 

Crazy, right? And it freaks me out at this point, cos I’m like a bit spun, and I’m starting to think that maybe I’m the only one here that’s even noticed this whole shirt thing. Or like maybe it’s not even real, or like this whole thing has just been for me. 

So finally, I just have to go. And I’m making my way outside, and I see it. There it is. One of the t-shirts, right there on the floor. I pick it up, and it’s totally drenched, like a washcloth. A little bit yellow and rank smelling. So gross. But I keep it. Right? I have to. Proof that it actually happened. And that’s it. That’s basically it.

Oh yeah, except yesterday, I’m downtown. And there they are again. Just standing, waiting for something. White t-shirt on. Nothing printed on it. Nothing.

PARTY AS A COALESCING STORM UPON AN ISLAND.

Sunday, August 18, 2024

E, 

Ostensibly the wedding was a success. I think everyone would agree. 

Nonetheless, I woke up this morning around 5 a.m., still intoxicated yet overtaken by a powerful urge to create this picture. Despite its small size and rudimentary appearance, it required a considerable amount of thought and time to complete. 

Please accept it as my full reflection upon the events that transpired during the party. I hope that having accepted it, you and I will be free to meet in future as we normally do, with the same casual enthusiasm that has marked our great friendship since its beginning. 

I hope this exchange will remove any obligation to further discuss or debrief your party in any way. 

Of course, should you feel inclined to create a similarly obfuscated statement or reflection of your own, I would welcome it with love. 

Yours,

T

PARTY AS A FICTIONAL ANDROID WELLNESS APP

I’ve arrived at the Public Gallery event later than I’d intended. The room is impenetrably thronged with people. Speeches have begun; I’m too far back to see who’s talking, let alone hear what’s being said. I suppress a feeling of regret, an urge to bolt before being detected. I decide instead to stand at the entrance and look forward, pretending that I can hear and see what’s going on, trying to appear deeply engaged. It’s a pantomime; I don’t expect anyone to be convinced by my performance; nonetheless I need to buy time while I consider how to work the room. 

Behind me is an artist that I know, a few years older than me. I turn round and our eyes meet. We both grimace at each other in a way that says ‘I don’t actually want to talk to you, but let’s do so anyway in order to create a good visual’.

“Hey. Big crowd tonight.” 

“Yeah. I wasn’t expecting so many people”

“It’s bullshit though. I mean, I don’t know why these artists are able to get all this attention. I can’t even get a studio visit from these curators. Total bullshit. Thirty years I’ve been doing this and what? I’m suddenly not the right kind of artist?”

My phone buzzes inside my pocket.

“Excuse me. Sorry. I think I need to get this.”

I pull out my phone. It’s my RoomReaderTM app. I probably should have scanned the room the second I got here. There have been five alerts in the last ten minutes. I click the first. “CAUTION: PROBLEMATIC STORYTELLING! ENERGY DEPLETION IN PROGRESS!!”

I walk out to the stairwell. I scroll through the remaining alerts. RoomReaderTM recommends doing a full scan. I hold my phone skyward and make a slow rotation. The map that unfolds is unsurprising. There is a ‘Defensive’ cloud filling the main entrance; I’ll somehow have to navigate through it without having my energy sapped. If I manage that, there appears to be some potential towards the back corner. A cloud of ‘Menace’ crossing over a large puff of ‘Whimsy’⸺I’ve been in spaces like that before. They can be quite circus-like and rewarding if you play them right. 

I put my thumb on the screen to take a biometric; RoomReaderTM registers my party persona as ‘Imp’⸺a bit of a surprise, since I hardly feel that way. The needle indicator hovers almost dead center. Good. The last time I worked a room as an ‘Imp’ my needle was way to the left and I ended up stealing somebody’s tote bag and mercilessly making fun of their glasses. It was a bit embarrassing. I think if I’m careful tonight I’ll be okay.

I put my phone back in my pocket and start pushing into the fray. My artist friend shoots me a quick hard look, but doesn’t stop talking to the youngster he has cornered. I swear he’s going to stay in that corner the whole night.

Fool. Working the room like a dinosaur. Probably doesn’t even have his phone with him.