Dinner Party - September

Okay, so the last dinner party I threw was a big success. I still can’t explain this; maybe it was the food but I didn’t really go all out, and theme-wise it wasn’t half as cool as the murder mystery dinner party that I threw in college, which had a Clue theme. Mr. Plaid showed up in a kilt, and Mr. Orange, whose character was a drug addict, showed up with a whole baggie full of Pixy Stick powder, which Ms. Peach promptly flushed down the toilet. Mr. Orange was really upset; he was planning to eat his drugs after the party was over.

Oh, and Ms. Peach smacked Mr. Black right across the face, which really astounded me, because Ms. Peach is my best friend, and Mr. Black is Slayer. Yeouch!

Anyway, if I could stop digressing for more than two seconds, I thought I’d throw a dinner party once a month, until I run out of ideas or you all quit reading The Wonder That Is My Blog. Because you’re enabling me; I hope you realize that.

So this month’s dinner party is the other obvious one: authors. Forget the characters; whose mind do you want to pick over canapés? Who do you want to gush over while consuming a mountain of pate or a hillock of potato salad?

Frankly, I just like the word “hillock.”

Who would you invite and why? You can choose any published author, alive or dead, and you only have enough plates for five. Yes, I’m sure you could give the famous authors paper plates, but then they would think you were a loser. That would be bad.

My choices are unsurprisingly weighted toward funny people, because I hope their skill at humor will rub off on me. Although maybe this is a bad idea because they’ll all think I’m a frottager (person who gets off on jostling people—my high school history teacher did one heck of a memorable impression). I don’t mean rub off on me literally. Pervs.

1. Oscar Wilde – If you’ve never read or seen The Importance of Being Earnest, you are missing out on a snarf fest. True, Dorian Grey isn’t exactly chucklicious; in fact it frightened the bejeezus out of me. And then there are Mr. Wilde’s famous last words: looking at a wall full of ugly wallpaper from his sickbed, he said: “Either the wallpaper goes, or I go.” He kept his word. Anyone who would die just to avoid ugly wallpaper is too funny to pass up. Although he’s not allowed to go into our bathroom because we haven’t been able to renovate it since moving in this summer. He’d probably die all over again.

2. Dorothy Sayers – Ms. Sayers is going to fill my literate humor category, because you honestly need a classical dictionary to understand all the lit references in her books. She will probably make me feel stupid, but that’s okay. If worst comes to worst, I’ll sic Oscar on her.

3. Terry Pratchett – And Mr. Pratchett will sit in the silly humor chair, complete with whoopee cushion. I hope he brings a contingent of the Nac Mac Feegle with him. And if you don’t know what I’m talking about, you’re missing out. The Nac Mac Feegle made me snarf, quite literally. Spewed Dr. Pepper all over my sheets.

4. Maureen Johnson – I know, I’m all about the MJ. It’s all MJ fangirlishness, all the time. But when it comes to YA, she rocks the casbah. She’s made of awesome. And she would probably bring her ABBA CDs and a disco ball to the party. I’d be getting my swerve on with MJ, which would be rocking cool.

5. This last spot was tough, because I love Tom Robbins but I’ve been there and done that dinner party wise. And I was tempted to give it to Robert Jordan because I find his books unintentionally funny. Please don’t come after me with stinky cheese if you’re a Jordan fan; it’s just that he repeats himself so much that it’s funny: “Rand wished, and not for the first time, that Mat and Perrin were here. They understood girls… And Mat wished, not for the first time, that Rand and Perrin were here, because they would know what to do. They understood women… Perrin wished, and not for the first time, that Robert Jordan would quit repeating himself, because he knew that readers weren’t dumb and had the picture already!”

But ultimately, I think I’m going to go for Carl Hiaasen. He does both adult and YA, and Skinny Dip is so fabulous that I think he’d fit the wacky humor seat quite nicely. Of course, maybe I should be in that seat. Or maybe I should be in the drooly fangirl seat. Or the chatters-in-a-panic seat, because that’s what I do when I get nervous. Ask my agent. I have no idea what I told her during that first phone call. I have this vague recollection of telling her all about my stalkers. I’ve had four; one thought he was Antonio Banderas. I’m sure that really made the difference when it came to taking me on as a client.

I've got connections. I know Antonio, or I did until Slayer scared him off for me. Maybe he'll blurb my book for me.