Some would say I march to the sound of a different drummer.
Others would say it is more likely a tambourine.
But either parties have changed . . . or I have.
Mind you, I'm not being critical. What passes for a party in most circles today is quiet, doesn't disturb the neighbors, doesn't put any dangerous drunks on the road and is easier on the brain, liver and various other organ systems. But part of me longs for the good old days.
It might be because a considerable part of my partying youth was spent in North Carolina, during a time when it was illegal to transport a bottle of alcohol in your car if the seal on it was broken, meaning you either had to be ready to spend the entire evening in one place, trust your friends not to drink the liquor you left behind, or buy a different bottle for every party you planned on attending, which was costly.
So you pretty much stayed the entire evening wherever you were, unless you were stupid enough to drive drunk, and sudden shifts in the mood of the party or partygoers were taken in stride.
Today, if the host couple gets into a spat, or someone starts holding forth too strongly on political or social issues or if you decide you would rather chew on tinfoil than listen to another boring conversation, you simply grab an extra bottle of Evian, hitch up your Dockers and go eat some crudites at someone else's party.
Part of my angst, I am told, is a function of age.
"What did you expect when you went home at 10:45," said one host recently when I remarked on the mild demeanor of her party. She assured me that things got rowdier after I left but won't be specific.
Maybe age is also barring me from what, today, passes for the undercurrent of sexual tension that used to pervade parties not that many years back.
I was at one party in Ridge Manor that resulted in the breakup of at least one marriage when one spouse found another, er, entertaining in the loft bedroom. Now that was fun, for some of us, anyway.
Today, guests stand around casually with one of their two drinks for the evening in hand, commenting on the art hanging on the wall, the carpet color and how just downright cute the new napkin rings are.
The last time I saw the police at a party was at my 50th birthday bash in 1994 when some of the rowdier guests had, er, borrowed a rack from a competing newspaper, placed a rack-card with my picture in it and used it for a sign to direct people to the festivities.
Even that long ago the police came and went and, sigh, nobody flushed anything down the toilet.
Boss and I discovered a while back that, at company functions, we had become the old people whose departure we used to anxiously await, and thought, mischievously, of staying around as late as possible to make them sweat.
I don't know which one of us yawned first, but our spouses had us in hand and on the way out the door before we got a chance to make our stand. I think it was something like 10 p.m., so we probably didn't inconvenience anybody too much.
I find parties harder and harder to stay alert at because fewer and fewer people are discussing anything I want to hear anything about . . . okay . . . sometimes anything I can hear at all.
For years now I have been trying to try a David Spade line for such instances - suddenly interrupting the speaker with a surprised expression and saying, "I've just discovered two things. You're boring, and my legs work," and then walking away. I've thought of trying that at my upcoming retirement party, but Boss walks faster than I do.
The perfect solution at one recent bash was to stay in the swimming pool with some of those skinny little float spaghetti things and, whenever the conversation turned to politics, religion or how much better things are up North, to simply lie back and float, thereby submerging my ears and eliminating the unwanted stimulus.
I have tried the same thing at the beach, but it doesn't work. Kids and environmental types keep running up and dragging me to the shore, splashing water on me and screaming, "Don't die, Willy. You can be free."
It isn't much, but it beats playing Twister with your clothes on.
