Party Dark God

Cthulhu bringing chaos and madness to a pizza

Cthulhu bringing chaos and madness to public transport

Cthulhu bringing chaos and madness at home.

 It's the last day of half term, I have spectacularly procrastinated every piece of homework given to me until Sunday evening, I have come to the conclusion that I may have just wasted two weeks of my life and I spent a good portion of today feeling severely dehydrated due to excessive alcohol consumption at a party (which was, by the by, the reason why I did not write anything last night. Most of the creative juices flowing through my veins was vodka grape punch which tasted nice until I added popcorn, pizza, pickles, margarine and yogurt to the mix in a sudden fit of alchemical experimentation.)

In the end I decided I would attend the Halloween party dressed as HP Lovecraft's finest creation, Cthulhu, the octopus faced agent of madness and marine dwelling bringer of the apocalypse.


 Apparently Cthulhu was a little too obscure and though I originally explained that I was a madness inducing terrifying agent of the old gods whenever a random curious bystander asked what I was dressed as, soon I was overcome by the futility of the action and simply replied that I was a green octopus. If Cathulhu is out there, reading my blog, then I humbly beg for its mercy for not defending its honourable and terrifying name to the last. This would make it the second deity I offended that night seeing as I swore on the goddess Gaia two months ago that I shall never drink again. I await divine retribution with fear and a little bit of excited anticipation. In the meanwhile I shall receive retribution from my angry Scottish art teacher for the half term homework due in tomorrow that I am yet to complete. His wrath is potentially more terrifying than that of Cthulhu.

Chaos

 This morning I was expecting to wake up to the sound of panicked screaming, the subtle tinkle of glass shattering in the distance, the incessant shrill wail of a car alarm and the hungry crackle of uncontrollable flames. As I lay entrapped within the folds of my comfortable bed last night, I worried about how I would have to step over all the mangled bodies, some suicides, others not, as I walked towards the bathroom for my morning session of bladder emptying. I imagined how I would be forced to toast my morning bread on the burning corpse of some stranger while slicing another cadaver into bite sized chunks for topping.

 To my extreme surprise I in fact arose to the pleasant sound of civilization as we know it not collapsing and had a peaceful morning in a reassuringly non post apocalyptic world. Contrary to my expectations, it turns out that failing to write a blog post for one day does not result in the immediate end of the world. Which I suppose is, although a little disheartening, generally a good thing. Especially considering that my excuse in the event of being held responsible for the termination of the human race would have been quite poor. Standing atop a smoldering mountain of rubble looking down at a disgruntled mob of rag tag survivors seeking vengeance and simply stating, "I'm sorry everyone for causing the apocalypse, I didn't write my blog post for yesterday because I was having a Halloween horror film fest," probably would not have tamed their anger.

 However if its any consolation to anybody, it wasn't that good a film fest. For one thing we watched about one and a half films which probably doesn't quite constitute a film "festival". At best, with extreme optimism, it was a film "autumn-fair-held-in-a-sparsely-populated-village-in-the-countryside", though realistically speaking it probably didn't even achieve that low height and was perhaps something more akin to a film "birthday-party-of-that-unpopular-kid-in-school-who-isn't-even-bullied-because-the-bullies-haven't-even-noted-his-amazingly-insignificant-existence-yet".

 This lack of actual film watching was due largely to the presence of beer in the lower levels of the house and the general tendency for teenagers to migrate towards the presence of alcohol and consequently, in this instance, away from a showing of the "Rocky Horror Show" but this did not necessarily make it an enjoyable night.

 The first wheel was presumably invented when a caveman, lets say Ugg, found a circular piece of rock and decided to attempt to roll it. Having found that this was extremely entertaining and potentially useful, Ugg then contacted his friend Arg via the use of vocal cords and together they created the second wheel. That night, celebrating the invention and hopeful future mass production of wheels, the two cavemen entrepreneurs hold a party. Its held in Ugg's cave and Arg arrives a few minutes late, carrying a chunk of mammoth leg as a present. He walks into the cave, where a roaring fire has already been lit and is just about to call out when he spots Ugg, sitting in the shadows, making out with Ugga, the girl from the cave next door. That was the invention of the third wheel.

 Winter is apparently the season of romance and relationship forming because the number of couples seem to be increasing exponentially. They spawn in the slightly shady corner of every room in a house holding any thing remotely like a party, multiplying and infecting every possible location within a domestic setting like some sort of romantic mold growth fueled by desperation and alcohol. And this film "autumn-fair-held-in-a-sparsely-populated-village-in-the-countryside" was no different.

 I was at all times throughout the evening, a third wheel if not more. But at least a third wheel is something, its a tricycle. True, tricycle's aren't the most popular of transport means but at least toddlers still enjoy them so the third wheel is a vital role in bringing happiness to toddlers. Of course what brings about this realization that being a third wheel is a relatively good role, is the experience of being a fifth wheel.

 Even then you can still find comfort in the fact that vaguely important fifth wheels do exist in the world, those wheels attached to the back of big range rovers for example. There, presumably, in case some thing like a randomly occurring shard of diamond on the road manages to puncture one of the monstrously thick tires made specifically not to be punctured. Indeed the event is extremely unlikely to occur but the fifth wheel is an important back up, an existence necessary to give emotional and mental comfort to the paranoid range rover driver.

 The seventh wheel however, the seventh wheel is inconsolable. There is nothing like sitting on a sofa and realizing that you are in a tight competition with the empty beer bottles strewn across the floor for the number one spot of most obsolete object in the room. And taking into account the fact that glass beer bottles can be near endlessly recycled and reused, as well as at some point having had the honour of containing the beautiful happiness inducing substance known as alcohol, whereas you are just a purposeless pile of flesh sitting on stuffed leather while using up oxygen that the three other couples making out in the room presumably have more of a dire need for considering all the panting their making, you are probably the champion of unnecessary existence.

 So the moral of the story is, I need another bottle of beer or three.

Themes

 Quite recently I was invited to a party. That in its self is a noteworthy enough fact to deserve its own smug sentence (I briefly considered allowing that statement its own paragraph but I suspect that might just go past the realms of mildly milking my good fortune and straight into the chasm of simply pathetic boasting). The very opportunity to actually go to a party is, as you might have guessed, not one that presents its self to me very frequently. So much so that being allowed attendance to a party deserves its own party in celebration which would, in turn, deserve its own party until I would be trapped in an endless nightmarish loop of partying.

 However one thing that did come to my notice was the theme of the party. The dress code to which all party goers must adhere to (lest they experience the wrath of the host or the general disapproval of all other guests around them, silently criticizing them for not making an effort) was "cowboys and Indians". Now I am aware that cowboys and Indians is a common theme as well as a game that children often play, nonetheless it occurred to me how the realms of acceptability increase significantly over time because when historically considered, "cowboys and Indians" is a look back on the massacre of many native Americans by the invading settlers armed with far superior weaponry.

 I may have not done terrifically well in GCSEs where the subjects of physics, chemistry or biology were concerned. I may have taken Environmental Systems and Societies ( the racially confused child between biology and geography, considered the least actually scientific but nonetheless technically scientific subject you can take with the IB education system) as my science subject. However, in terms of curiosity, investigative desires and the peioneering spirit of an explorer, I am a scientist at heart. Therefore, when I first saw the party theme, the obvious question to ask and attempt to scientifically discern the answer to through experimentation was "If the realms of acceptability grow with time passing since the actual incident, where does the delicate boarder between offensive and inoffensive lie?"

 For example to what extent is it acceptable to historically update the party theme? If "Cowboys and Indians" are deemed a perfectly fine dress code; since its within the same over arching theme of morally dubious American historical exploits, would it be considered acceptable if I turned up at a party in a skin colored morph suit splattered with red and pink in parts, stained a dark charred black in others, dressed as the victim of a napalm bombing according to the theme of "Americans and Vietnamese"?