I'm interested in different things than most people. Infomercials are my favorite television shows. (The best one is where they bounce on a bed with a glass of red wine.) I can’t sit through an entire movie in a theater, but I watch movies at home over and over. For a few years, I only watched The Godfather. Now I’m into Serenity.
So when I go to a party, my eye wanders. I remember a big dance party I went to with friends, an extravaganza, and the finale was this singer, I want to say Sheena Easton, but I know I’m wrong by a decade. It was the one who had breast cancer. Kylie Minogue—that’s it. Anyway, at the big moment, while all bodies were writhing in ecstasy, I couldn’t take my eyes off the lighting truss. It was an enormous affair, with “intellibeams” and laser effects, all seemingly professionally mounted and variously flashing, spinning, and spotting at a dizzying pace. But something was bugging me. All the wires and cords (and a big lighting truss is nothing but) were secured with those plastic zippy things. You know what they are; they’re like what you get with garbage bags, only much stronger. Remember, the police used them to handcuff demonstrators during the 2004 Republican National Convention? Anyway, the zippy things were glow-in-the-dark. Not neon or those glowy things they give you at really tacky events. Old-fashioned glow-in-the-dark. I just couldn’t concentrate on the show while I examined them. I suppose they could have looked clever if they were attached in a uniform, symmetrical way, or something wackier—crisscross, harlequin-style maybe. But these zippy glow-in-the-dark things were secured normally with the ends hanging out. (A professional would at least clip them. When Bentley Meeker did lighting trusses for me, he covered the ugly parts with fabric, which I appreciated.)
So as the silver streamers dropped, I took a survey of my pals. Did they think the glow-in-the-dark zippy things worked? Did it distract from the performance for them? Was this something that the party host had dictated, or was this a misguided vendor innovation? I mean, someone had to remember to lay these things out in the light beforehand for this unsightly effect to work, right? Who was behind this? And why?
Banished by my fellow revelers for ruining the big moment (“It’s one thing to be chatty, Ted, and another to be completely annoying”), I eventually got the skinny: An important committee member who gave a lot of money had seen them once and thought they were“adorable.” ’Nuff said.
My point is, there are all sorts of basic things at events that leave an impression, and often they’re not, well, just so. Here are a few more.
Greeting Tables and Guest Lists
It’s one thing to have those little signs— “A-G,” “H-L”—for a paid event at which money is being collected at the last minute, but even then you could simply put a sign up for those few folks. What is the point of reminding guests of their school days, when children named Ziff always came last? And if you and your wife or boyfriend have different last names, it’s annoying. I’m old-fashioned. I like greeters standing with clipboards (sitting makes them lazy and cavalier) and an easily identified door captain who never leaves the front of the house and has complete entry authority. Either guests are welcome or they are not—and waiting while somebody radios inside is high-schoolish.
Headsets
Is it just me, or is putting a headset on a party worker akin to putting a diamond engagement ring on a demanding bride? Have you noticed that headset-wearers have their own body language, avoiding eye contact and sending a clear message to you, the guest, that whatever babble is coming in their ear is way more important than what you have to say? You can be in the middle of a sentence—“Excuse me, I thought you should know that there is a pregnant woman lying on the secondfloor lounge…”—and the headset person holds up her index finger, sharply, remains quiet for a few seconds, then says into her microphone, “That is a go, we will open bars four to seven early. Please go to channel four to have bartenders in place, and let security know of flow change. Now, how can I help you?” When I ran events, I would forego the headset and let the walkie-talkie squawk. Employees knew something urgent required only the word “private,” meaning I should step away from the partygoers to hear that a fashion designer was lying on the street near the talent entrance. (Also, I could never work that button.)
Name Tags
Don’t you find name tags to be uniformly humiliating to wear, nerve-jangling to create (misspelled names, the horror of the last-minute writeins), and often apparel-damaging? I loathe name tags, but I respect executives who insist on them (Hearst’s Cathie Black comes to mind). I’ll admit that once in a while you get a cute one, but it’s rare. Think of the breath-mint industry (by the way, you know that if someone offers you a mint, you always say yes, right?): These guys continually amaze me with new and different packaging. Why can’t they help us?
Garbage Pails and Drop Tables
Is there anything worse than a lavish evening, when you’ve paid 500 bucks to hear a speech about a disease that no one in your family has, and you get an appetizer that just won’t go down, and there’s nowhere to put it? Curry in anything does it for me, and if I forget to ask and the waiter doesn’t announce what he’s serving, I end up with a partially masticated skewer of curried chicken that must be disposed of. But where? Sometimes there are drop tables (rarely enough), but rude guests use them as private hitching posts. Then you find a plain old garbage pail, in a dark corner, as if you’ve been party punished. It’s easy to wrap and line a garbage pail with something we call duvotene, a cheap plastic, nothing special, but it comes in nearly every Pantone color, so it can fade into the decor. Once, when a caterer objected because I hadn’t remembered to include this on a task list (but had remembered to order the gray duvotene), I cut and set up linings for 10 large pails, then tied ribbons around them to enhance the visual look, all with one helper in about 15 minutes. Also, everyone knows that every bar has a waste bin beside it, on both sides for a busy event, don’t they?
Napkins
Every drink should be presented by the bartender with a napkin, no exceptions. A pile, no matter how nicely twirled, is useless if you are a mensch carrying three drinks while engrossed in conversation. Likewise, all passing servers should have napkins. If the hors d’oeuvres they’re pushing are tricky, with props and utensils, instruct servers to wear jackets with a patch pocket filled with napkins that guests can help themselves to. (My father taught me that one.) And remember that napkins are needed elsewhere, so why not appoint a napkin maven, who places them about the room—and, better still, replenishes them? I think you should always have napkins at the greeting table, too. I’d love it. You could put a few in your pocket before you even enter the party. But then again, I’m the type who looks at the lighting trusses.
Posted 01.02.07
So when I go to a party, my eye wanders. I remember a big dance party I went to with friends, an extravaganza, and the finale was this singer, I want to say Sheena Easton, but I know I’m wrong by a decade. It was the one who had breast cancer. Kylie Minogue—that’s it. Anyway, at the big moment, while all bodies were writhing in ecstasy, I couldn’t take my eyes off the lighting truss. It was an enormous affair, with “intellibeams” and laser effects, all seemingly professionally mounted and variously flashing, spinning, and spotting at a dizzying pace. But something was bugging me. All the wires and cords (and a big lighting truss is nothing but) were secured with those plastic zippy things. You know what they are; they’re like what you get with garbage bags, only much stronger. Remember, the police used them to handcuff demonstrators during the 2004 Republican National Convention? Anyway, the zippy things were glow-in-the-dark. Not neon or those glowy things they give you at really tacky events. Old-fashioned glow-in-the-dark. I just couldn’t concentrate on the show while I examined them. I suppose they could have looked clever if they were attached in a uniform, symmetrical way, or something wackier—crisscross, harlequin-style maybe. But these zippy glow-in-the-dark things were secured normally with the ends hanging out. (A professional would at least clip them. When Bentley Meeker did lighting trusses for me, he covered the ugly parts with fabric, which I appreciated.)
So as the silver streamers dropped, I took a survey of my pals. Did they think the glow-in-the-dark zippy things worked? Did it distract from the performance for them? Was this something that the party host had dictated, or was this a misguided vendor innovation? I mean, someone had to remember to lay these things out in the light beforehand for this unsightly effect to work, right? Who was behind this? And why?
Banished by my fellow revelers for ruining the big moment (“It’s one thing to be chatty, Ted, and another to be completely annoying”), I eventually got the skinny: An important committee member who gave a lot of money had seen them once and thought they were“adorable.” ’Nuff said.
My point is, there are all sorts of basic things at events that leave an impression, and often they’re not, well, just so. Here are a few more.
Greeting Tables and Guest Lists
It’s one thing to have those little signs— “A-G,” “H-L”—for a paid event at which money is being collected at the last minute, but even then you could simply put a sign up for those few folks. What is the point of reminding guests of their school days, when children named Ziff always came last? And if you and your wife or boyfriend have different last names, it’s annoying. I’m old-fashioned. I like greeters standing with clipboards (sitting makes them lazy and cavalier) and an easily identified door captain who never leaves the front of the house and has complete entry authority. Either guests are welcome or they are not—and waiting while somebody radios inside is high-schoolish.
Headsets
Is it just me, or is putting a headset on a party worker akin to putting a diamond engagement ring on a demanding bride? Have you noticed that headset-wearers have their own body language, avoiding eye contact and sending a clear message to you, the guest, that whatever babble is coming in their ear is way more important than what you have to say? You can be in the middle of a sentence—“Excuse me, I thought you should know that there is a pregnant woman lying on the secondfloor lounge…”—and the headset person holds up her index finger, sharply, remains quiet for a few seconds, then says into her microphone, “That is a go, we will open bars four to seven early. Please go to channel four to have bartenders in place, and let security know of flow change. Now, how can I help you?” When I ran events, I would forego the headset and let the walkie-talkie squawk. Employees knew something urgent required only the word “private,” meaning I should step away from the partygoers to hear that a fashion designer was lying on the street near the talent entrance. (Also, I could never work that button.)
Name Tags
Don’t you find name tags to be uniformly humiliating to wear, nerve-jangling to create (misspelled names, the horror of the last-minute writeins), and often apparel-damaging? I loathe name tags, but I respect executives who insist on them (Hearst’s Cathie Black comes to mind). I’ll admit that once in a while you get a cute one, but it’s rare. Think of the breath-mint industry (by the way, you know that if someone offers you a mint, you always say yes, right?): These guys continually amaze me with new and different packaging. Why can’t they help us?
Garbage Pails and Drop Tables
Is there anything worse than a lavish evening, when you’ve paid 500 bucks to hear a speech about a disease that no one in your family has, and you get an appetizer that just won’t go down, and there’s nowhere to put it? Curry in anything does it for me, and if I forget to ask and the waiter doesn’t announce what he’s serving, I end up with a partially masticated skewer of curried chicken that must be disposed of. But where? Sometimes there are drop tables (rarely enough), but rude guests use them as private hitching posts. Then you find a plain old garbage pail, in a dark corner, as if you’ve been party punished. It’s easy to wrap and line a garbage pail with something we call duvotene, a cheap plastic, nothing special, but it comes in nearly every Pantone color, so it can fade into the decor. Once, when a caterer objected because I hadn’t remembered to include this on a task list (but had remembered to order the gray duvotene), I cut and set up linings for 10 large pails, then tied ribbons around them to enhance the visual look, all with one helper in about 15 minutes. Also, everyone knows that every bar has a waste bin beside it, on both sides for a busy event, don’t they?
Napkins
Every drink should be presented by the bartender with a napkin, no exceptions. A pile, no matter how nicely twirled, is useless if you are a mensch carrying three drinks while engrossed in conversation. Likewise, all passing servers should have napkins. If the hors d’oeuvres they’re pushing are tricky, with props and utensils, instruct servers to wear jackets with a patch pocket filled with napkins that guests can help themselves to. (My father taught me that one.) And remember that napkins are needed elsewhere, so why not appoint a napkin maven, who places them about the room—and, better still, replenishes them? I think you should always have napkins at the greeting table, too. I’d love it. You could put a few in your pocket before you even enter the party. But then again, I’m the type who looks at the lighting trusses.
Posted 01.02.07
