Call me grumpy, but I don't ever want to go to another potluck barbecue

There was a time when we were very young, very poor and very foolish indeed, though we thought we were mature beyond our years (and especially beyond the years of our parents, had given the finger to bourgeois materialism, and we were, of course, wondrous wise.

And we’d gather together, the men too bearded and shaggy-maned, and the peasant blouse wearing women, some with tits already too far south to go braless, but they did regardless, and we’d see ourselves as amazingly cool as we ‘grokked’ to the hidden meanings of the Velvet Underground’s Sister Ray.

And, as we gathered together foodstuffs would be brought in from the VW Westphalias and tattered Volvos by the revellers, and cheapshit wine or beer, and for the truly ‘liberated’ some amazingly low THC pot, and all would be merriment and ‘up the revolution’.

And everything was all ‘potluck’ and BYOB. We were starting out. We wanted to gather socially, but nobody could really afford to provide all the accoutrements for a shindig in the days of plank and brick bookshelves, futons and beanbag chairs. So, we pooled what we had.

I guess it was fun. I guess I would never, ever want to do it again.

But that was, blessedly, then, not now. Today we live in the glorious age of global warming and the ongoing Amy Winehouse death watch. Sorry, Amy, but we had Janis so we’ve already been there.

Ultimately, we all grew up a bit and advanced in our professional or occupational callings, acquired mortgages, produced children, and joined the mainsteam. We left childish and counterculture toys behind. We thought. But, there was an element that apparently hasn’t. There was a group that resolutely clung to age-old values. This is a body predominantly leftish in sensibilities that appears to miss those old communal verities of pitching in collectively.

I am not of their numbers, but I have been associated with them professionally, and some of them I like very much.

The watermark of those old values, but the way is, for want of a term: cheapskatedness.

In other words they, all of whom drive nice cars (and feel guilty about it, of course) and have splendid waterfront homes (they don’t all have waterfront homes, but it makes my point more effectively if I leave you to assume they do), are so tight with a penny that I find it downright rude.

Case in point: A few weeks ago we were invited to a barbecue by such a group. Now, these were folks I hadn’t seen in many years and thought perhaps we should attend. I told Wendy.

“I bet it’s a (vulgar term for coition) ing potluck,” she said.
“Well, she did ask if we’d bring a salad,” I replied.
“Then it’s a (same expletive for sexual congress) ing potluck.”

It was just that. And we felt cranky about it, though we were polite. The point is, aside from the stinginess that prompts somebody to lay on a potluck (which is offensive enough in itself), the food is often lousy (with anything good going early) and was created under conditions of sanitation that might not be up to standard. Added to which, I am very particular about how a grilled hamburger should be prepared. Others are not. There is both an art and science to this, folks. It’s just mainly a disagreeable meal and makes me long to exit at the earliest possible instant.

What is this all about, anyway? What is the impulse that tells a person he or she is entertaining just by providing a venue? Wendy was, of course, right about the potluck thing. I mean, if we have people over we provide food and drink. That is called ‘hosting’. How are people of more than adequate means thinking they’re being social by asking their guests to spend dollars on the grub they’re going to consume?

In exactly the same context is the BYOB thing. A friend from England came out on teacher exchange and was aghast at the concept.

“I’m sorry,” she said, “But I cannot get used to the concept. If I have houseguests, I provide the drink for them. They are guests, for heaven’s sake, and I have invited them.”

All I can say in closing is that if I invite you to drop by, be assured I’ll provide you with a meal and a potable of your liking.
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