Party Technique

Howard Goldstein awoke one day to find that he was no longer capable of enjoying himself. Little things would irritate him, like the way his desk was in front of a window that faced the sun, which obscured his view of his laptop computer. He trudged through the day without vigour, and almost resented it when he was forced to leave the comfortable solitude of his bedroom to attend a friend’s birthday celebrations.

Rather than accentuating the positives or negatives of the party, Goldstein’s beer was just...beer, he thought. He nevertheless endeavoured to get drunk, and succeeded. The so-called social lubricant never quite came into effect, and he walked from person to person, drinking some more light alcoholic beverages and wondering if there would be some conversation that would suit his, frankly, Goldstein pondered, particularly anal rhetorical standards. Aside from conversing enjoyably with a couple of good friends, he could only think about the emptiness of the situation. Internally, he continued to grumble. The music was too loud. The chart hits all work to a very uninventive formula. The quips that generally provided the crux of his social activity would lose effect if shouted over the  lowest-common-denominator pop garbage, because the phrasing is so necessary. Eventually, he decided to retreat to the host’s empty bedroom and roll a joint.

Goldstein took his tin out of his satchel-style bag and produced all the necessary components for smoking some pot. However, no sooner had he licked the sticky strip of the rolling paper, than he was no longer alone in the bedroom. Rather than, as he hoped, being any of the attractive female guests he had neglected to converse with, he was now accompanied by God himself.

“Howard,” asked God “why don’t you just go and talk to your friends?”
Goldstein figured he should address the question front-on, and make his own queries later
“It’s so vacuous out there. The conversation’s inane, some of the behaviour’s obnoxious, the music’s shit, and I don’t really have a connection with anyone.”
“Man up. If you want to be friends with people, rather than just an acquaintance they occasionally see slinking through the hallway with a drink, you have to make the effort.”
“Hey, with all due respect,” posed the affronted Goldstein “you don’t exactly go out of your way to be everyone’s best buddy. Frankly, I don’t even believe in you.”
“No shit. I’m the one true Lord; I’d know if you actually followed me.”
“Well, I burned one a little bit ago, so, y’know, maybe, mixing that with drink is having an adverse effect on me.”
God laughed “Sorry, Howard, but your weed’s not that good.  Why don’t you believe in me? Never wonder how you got here?”
“I’m no expert but, surely, science has got that covered at least to an extent...and it’s not just an existential matter, anyway.”
Goldstein paused and thought for a second “Well, both my parents renounced their religious upbringing long before I was born, so I grew up in a secular environment, as much as my junior schools tried to convince me to think otherwise.”
“Do you never think that you might have  thought entirely differently if your formative years were spent in devotion to the idea of me, or any religious belief system, even?” asked God
“Yes, but indoctrination from birth tends to instil an almost inherent faith in people, which they are hardly even capable of questioning. To be honest, I just can’t get behind the idea of an omniscient, omnipresent deity  who is...y’know...do you not see any flaws in logic in that? It’s kind’a fairytale-ish.” said Howard
“Ah, but perhaps if you were born into a Religious family you’d see everything from an entirely different perspective. You’re a product of your environment. What sounds ridiculous to you is more than plausible to, well, a vast majority.”
“Typical Religious person, always evading the question in a debate.”
God chuckled “Look, we’ve got sidetracked. What do you expect when you walk up to a group of guests who are supposed to be your friends?”

Goldstein, who had been sidetracked by God’s sudden entrance, finished rolling, and began to pace the room.

“I don’t know. I guess I have an expectation that everybody is on the same wavelength as me, but not everybody has the same set of...values, ethics...I won’t say morals...as I do. Actually...I’ve been meaning to ask you, do you think Religion is necessary as a moral code?”
Again God, who seemed to be in good spirits, laughed heartily “Oh, no, no, no, absolutely not. Shit’s pretty self-explanatory. I mean...do not kill? Do not steal? Kind’a goes without saying, right?”
“Thank you!” Goldstein lent out the window and lit the spliff. He inhaled deeply and then carried on “Well, it’s just...I put on some Wu-Tang Clan back in the main room.”
“Yeah...”
“Yeah, well, I guess you’d know. You’re God, after all. After about twenty seconds, I was told that nobody enjoyed it, and they took it off. You know what they put on after that?”
“I do, but carry on.” said God
“Nickelback. Fucking Nickelback. Really the most atrocious, artistically worthless bullshit music I can immediately think of. I had to be talked out of leaving.”
“Yeah, that Rock Star song is pretty abominable. But, hey, everyone likes it. It makes ‘em happy. Hey, give that here” Goldstein handed his maker the spliff “What’s that Big Brother & the Holding Company album? The one with Piece of My Heart?”
“Cheap Thrills?”
“Yeah, Cheap Thrills. That just about sums it up. You can’t expect everybody to have the same elitist tastes as you. Even if, between you and me, I’m with you on this, you’ve just gotta accept that stuff like music isn’t as integral to the lives of most people, as it is to yours. Accept the disposable product. Whatever makes ‘em happy, y’know? Don’t get worked up about it. You can smirk condescendingly instead. And shit, find some fucking other stuff to talk about. Music, films, yeah, great, but most people just like listening to them and watching them, not listening to you recite the production credits. Get engaged with their lives. You make it awkward for yourself by more-or-less refusing to be friendly without irony.”

At this point Goldstein realised that, even if God was now lying on the bed with his eyes shut like a novice stoner, muttering about food, he was probably right. Goldstein finished off his joint because, waste not want not, and then he stirred God, and they headed into the party together, to pragmatically find some good conversation.

“Hey, you see that chick over there?” asked God “Reckon you could introduce us?”