Thus partied Zarathustra

In so many ways, I am a snob. I eat tofu, I carry around scented hand sanitizer, and I insert the word "colorectal" into as many conversations as possible. I frown upon Sophie Kinsella and type in Tahoma. I'm also the blockhead you see in the museum interpreting frozen custard sprawled outside the restrooms as an impromptu Dada exhibition. Yet I seem to have never opened my eyes to the rarefied collegiate art form of throwing a party.

My friends Steve and Denis, the gracious upperclassmen who have been dabbling in the art since freshman orientation, eagerly guided me through the artistic process, which is often tedious and murderously long, not unlike a Wagnerian opera. What did they have to say about creating a successful night of bacchanalia?

Step One: Start by pre-planning, Steve says. Steve can only be described as the Hemingway of party hosts, an effective minimalist with a dash of libertine. That means picking a theme. For Virginia Woolf, that was the threat of oppression, for Henry James it was the corruption of the innocent, and for Steve, it's Mardi Gras. Beads - Lots of them. Then pick out a timeline. When exactly do you want the stumbling, nauseated masses to leave the house? It would make Jack Kerouac cry tears of some sort.

Denis is one of those selfless artists. I'd say he's the van Gogh of partyage, except he's sacrificed his liver instead of an ear. However, he asserts that his brain cells are in great shape. I agree, because over the course of our interview, he made many challenging and thought-provoking statements, such as, "People make the party."

Then there's Step Two: Spread the word. Fliers? Too cheesy for these boys. They prefer word of mouth. I do too, because it saves paper. "Spread the seed" at the right time to the right people. This means girls, of course. "You tell five of your guy friends that you're having a party and 50 will show up. It's the girls you have to work on," he lectures. Over the years, this pair has figured out a kind of golden ratio. I am told that on any given Saturday, girls have any number of options, but guys? They just bum around.

Step Three: The party venue must be spotless upon arrival. Stanley Steemer perfection at every nook, and the bathrooms must shine, simply glisten. "Or else the girls won't come," Denis adds. This is surely the doctrine of tried-and-true wisdom. "Clean it up, so they can mess it up," Steve says in considerably more vulgar terms not suitable for publication. Only after the party should it look like Picasso puked all over the floor. It's the creed. Live by it.

Step Four: Party! Get crunk! Get it started! Walla walla bing bang! Yet Steve and Denis know this is just the start. Steve tells me the key is to keep your promises. Were you going to play beer pong with Jack Schmack? Jump on an outdoor trampoline wearing bunny ears and a Speedo? Don't you forget, because Jack, in his state of drunken hysteria, never will.

If you're throwing a party, you don't want people sticking around until 5 in the morning. Unlike Ayn Rand, Steve and Denis know when to end the story. They wind down the music, an instant party stopper. They put away the beverages. They suck the fun right out. They coax (sometimes drag or carry) people out with Shakespearean ease. They're smooth, like Milli Vanilli. The key to not getting busted? Deny everything.

Nandini Jammi is a freshman English major. She can be reached at jammin@umd.edu.