Hosting with the mosting: Select a date with few conflicts (no national holidays or triathlon days), send out an invitation at least three weeks before the date and invite everyone you have ever met. Not everyone can, or will come, so cast a wide net. Overcrowding is a problem you want to have, whereas nothing kills a party quicker than a paltry few hovering near the eats table wondering why they bothered coming to such a pathetic event.
—John De Simio, publicity and promotions
The party pooped: Recently the BBC asked to videotape the psychedelic segment for a special they’re doing on drug culture at my place. We threw a party with mushroom tea and were interviewed by the crew before, during and after the tea. It’s always challenging to have a conversation with someone who has six eyes melting into their chin.
Hosting with the mosting: Always mix it up — techies, musicians, rocket scientists, artists, young and old. And never have any rules. Anything goes. Smoking anywhere, bring anyone, stay as long as you like, and stay as long as you want. Only invite people via e-mail. The best thing is to invite them a day or two before the party, as lead time can cause all sorts of complications.
—Coco Conn, social director
The party pooped:Thanksgiving is one of those events that you don’t wish on your worst enemy. The sheer act of coordinating multiple dishes all to be delivered to the dinning room table on time and somewhat pleasing to the eye is second only to performing a burlesque act while on fire. Nevertheless, I opted to be the designated “turkey” a few years ago. I had just recently purchased a 1927 art deco/Spanish bungalow home in
Sherman Oaks and was anxious to show it off and host an elaborate dinner party, so I thought, What better than Thanksgiving? I could talk all of my “city” friends into coming over the hill for a spectacular evening of food, fun, and stimulating conversation.
I feverishly prepared for days, carefully crafting and art-directing every last detail. From the music, to the menu, I even monogrammed all 12 plates with cinnamon initials. Everything was coming along perfectly. Somewhere between my roasted nuts and caramelized pumpkin pie I forgot about the centerpiece! So off I go to the L.A. Flower Mart at 5 a.m. to find the makings for the Holy Grail of floral arrangements. After hornswoggling my way in without a resale number (all those nights of not being on the list finally paid off), I had an epiphany and channeled Martha Stewart. One of the vendors had tons of neon-colored peppers in every shape and size imaginable. So I decided to construct the entire centerpiece out of peppers, no flowers.
Dinner was going great, wine was flowing, the vegetarians’ tofurkey was cooking, everything was happening. I must have drawn out the hors d’oeuvres for too long, because the next thing I knew, everyone was hammered. I mean speech slurring, sass-slinging hammered — and dinner wasn’t anywhere near ready. One of my guests decided to inform the table (in a slurred tongue) that the peppers used in the arrangement “were the hottest peppers known to mankind.” Another inebriated guest dismissed this notion, plucked a pepper from the centerpiece and took a bite. From here forward, it was like every thing went in slow motion.
A hush fell over the Thanksgiving table as this guest defiantly chomped away at the little pepper. Within seconds, cheery holiday pallor had turned beet red and finally to purple before the macerated pepper was spit out all over the table and the other guests. Jumping up and screaming, “My mouth is on fire!,” the guest knocked over a chair, caught the tablecloth and ripped it from the table with all of the glasses, plates, etc. crashing to the floor. Then all of the guests took turns trying to cease the burning with various home remedies, packing the victim’s face with everything from sugar to salt to baking soda. In all of the commotion I forgot about dinner and burned most of the meal. The Chinese takeout was delish.
Hosting with the mosting: The one thing you need to throw the perfect party — alcohol and plenty of it. If all else fails have multiple outfits for the evening. Every time you leave the room, come back in something different or naked. This always makes for a good time, trust me.
—Mr. Douglas Little, Curator of the Curious
The party pooped:Outlandish moments include (my co-hostess) Cathy Seipp and Luke Ford and me in a tented waterbed at the downtown Standard Hotel, but I’m not at liberty to say any more than that at this time. Then there were a bunch of people dancing around balancing Eugene Volokh’s new law book, The First Amendment, on their heads at Michael’s Room (at our party for Adam Parfrey’s book, It’s A Man’s World.) Also, I’m pleased to say that many people meet at our parties and then leave to do slutty things together, but Emmanuelle Richard, my other co-hostess (the diplomatic one) suggested that my life would be in jeopardy if I named names.
Hosting with the mosting: Invite people who disagree with each other — even to the point of wanting to throttle each other. In other words, if you want to throw a good party, be sure you invite at least one major asshole.
—Amy Alkon, advice columnist
