I’m not the world’s biggest fan of parties. As someone with a penchant for grandma-like bedtimes, I’ll typically stay up past midnight only if coerced by either a looming mound of schoolwork or a close friend celebrating a birthday. In the throes of senior year anguish and anxiety about an impending entrance into the real world, I’ve lately been dividing all of my time between writing a thesis, working at an internship and a job, completing graduate school applications (a full-time job in and of itself) and trying to plan interviews for thesis research — in French. Couple all of this with a severe case of senioritis that has acutely increased my desire to hide in bed and emerge only for the occasional cup of tea, and let’s just say that if I emerge from my cocoon in order to attend a social function, it had better be worth it. But, oddly, parties just haven’t been doing it for me lately — even the special ones. Unlike Mack Brown’s oft-quipped slogan, “I may arrive early, but I never stay late, and I’m certainly not loud.” As one of my best friends kindly told me recently: “You’re just no fun anymore.”
My current aversion to partying puts me in an obvious (and miniscule) minority among fellow college students but also among Austinites of a surprising range of ages. Perhaps because the local economy still exists in a bizarrely successful bubble or maybe because enough carefree hippies have been nurturing the city’s social climate for the past 40 years, astoundingly few people in Austin seem fettered by normal constraints of adulthood, such as jobs or families to take care of. This city exudes a Peter Pan-like aura — no one seems to feel any desire or motivation to grow up. So many of the people I know — from those in their 20s to those pushing 40 — still party all night and wake regularly at noon and not just on Fridays and Saturdays. The role of the party holds supreme importance in the Austin social scene, and every art opening/cd release/magazine promotion is just another cause for more wee-hour revelry and inebriation.
Of course, having fun by staying out late and imbibing copious amounts of alcohol and other substances wouldn’t be such a problem if it didn’t inhibit real work from being done the next day. Austin is an immensely creative city full of talented individuals with outstanding ideas for growth and change, but so many seem to trade in their ambition in favor of the revered triad of pre-party, party and after-party. Social networking here is more the name of the game than a supplementary practice for gaining acquaintances with similar professional interests, as the term presupposes. And at the risk of sounding like an old fogey (oh wait — already done!), how fun can going out and partying hard actually be when everywhere you go you see the same people you always see, only typically wearing substantially less clothing?
This past weekend, I decided to push my reclusive limits by throwing a little party.
Admittedly, it was only a housewarming party, and I had explicitly warned friends via-Facebook invite that they were under no circumstances to stay very late, but hey — real change almost always comes incrementally. About 50 friends showed up, and everyone seemed to have a good time despite the midnight curfew. We played ping pong, roasted marshmallows around a fire and drank mulled wine. The usual elements of a party were there — fun, socialization, camaraderie — without the consequences: vomit-clogged toilets, broken glasses, hangovers. For me, this gathering was a baby step back into the world of nightlife, or perhaps it just represents the new interests of the adult I am becoming: one less focused on all-night partying and more interested in moderate partying that doesn’t inhibit full functionality the next day.
I had such a good time, the next time I’m invited to a party I might even show up. I just have to make sure I leave before bedtime.
Cordes Selbin is an English and humanities senior.
