The Moose in the Closet: Craig Thompson and The Party

I love Craig Thompson. Admittedly, I’m getting into him a little late, but I get into most comics a little late (reading Sandman for the first time). I cried with Goodbye, Chunky Rice, I related to Blankets on a very personal level (a good chunk of the subject manner feels ripped out of one of my relationships, one that I really haven’t talked about yet) and The Conversation really established him (and Kochalka) as groundbreaking cartoonists, modern day art theorists with visuals intricately tied to the narration. I purchased Carnet de Voyage at WWLA, only book I bought, despite so-so reviews and a lack of recommendation. It’s Craig’s travel journal from a trip he took to Morocco, France and the Alps. There’s really no story, just notes and sketches. I loved it; I read it in one sitting. It was honest, you know? Many comic creators have this need to establish themselves as hip, cool and without flaw. In Carnet de Voyage, Craig shows no qualms with presenting his fears, emotions, desires and, most notably, acknowledging the “ugly American” within him. The best segments from the book, in my opinion, are when he’s in Fez, at first loving it and making friends but beginning to feel paranoid over their perception of him, afraid that they all want his money and frown upon his lack of religion. It was just nice reflection of what most of us are like, fighting for a cause from afar, not being able to cope with the realties of a truly impoverished neighborhood. The difference with Craig is, he is not ashamed to show these feelings to the world. This isn’t a review site, just read Craig Thompson.

First semester sophomore year in high school, we all pretty much found our bearings and established 90% of the friendships that we will keep throughout the next four years. A lot of the students, having done the lunch room thing freshman year, found out how much better it was to be an office assistant. I realize that sounds dorky, but in reality the office assistants just sort of hung out in an office during lunch, anywhere between 5-10 people per office, while the teachers ate lunch. Some of us where in the English office, some in the bio-office…there was about ten offices to choose from. And now we had access to radios, cards and most importantly a closed door and no supervision. We would usually sign up for office duty at the beginning of the semester and just hop from office to office as the semester moved on.

One day I was in the English office with Ron Ekhardt and several other students. Ron was the type of friend everyone wanted in high school. Friendly, cool but most importantly, divorced parents and a big house he lived in with his father who was liberal as all hell and rarely home. We were discussing how sweet his set-up was when the obvious occurred to us, Ron’s father was going out of town, let’s throw a party.

Ron agrees to throw a party but says he doesn’t want to fill it. He gives that responsibility to me. We decide to do it on a Saturday night since all of his surrounding neighbors were Jewish and wouldn’t call the police on us if it got of hand. Tasked with inviting people I immediately go about my business. I tell everybody I know and tell them to tell everybody they know.

Less than a week later, Saturday rolls around and I show up at Ron’s house to find a party so packed he can no longer fit people in his house and there are probably close to fifty people on his lawn, with a keg and a radio, as people “stage dived” off of cars and got passed around before getting dropped on the grass. Inside was packed, people dancing and making out and drinking and puking and smoking dope and just going fucking nuts. His basement was packed. His second floor was packed. His backyard was packed, our friend Tal was barbequing for everyone, pouring Budweiser all over the food and freestyling like a drunken fool. One rhyme, in particular, will always be etched in my head:
“My boy Mike is chilling, under the thermometer.
Oh shit, nothing rhymes with thermometer.”

The point is, the place was fucking nuts. Ron’s living room had low ceilings with a wooden ceiling fan. “Jump Around” came on we all started getting rowdy; a blades from a ceiling fan was ripped off. We broke his plant pots, glass, people started dry humping and grabbing on the couches amongst a sea of people.

Now, I know most people have been to a party like this, but this was Sophomore year in high school. We were all 15-16 years old. Some freshmen even showed up, most notable this girl Jillian that had business cards introducing herself as “Da’ Girl”. This party was crazier than the craziest frat party most people have ever went to and we were barely teenagers.

Towards the end of the night it got worse. Fights, fires and people going from dry humping in plain site to humping in plain site. We absolutely wrecked that house. By the time the early morning rolled around most people split. I stayed the night along with several other guys and helped Ron clean up, which basically consisted of throwing out all the shit we broke. We would roam the halls and go into rooms to find naked people passed out on the floor, sick people piled up in the bathroom and a few people passed out in his backyard.

To this day it was most likely the best party I’ve ever went to, and I was only 15 years old. We were fucking legends after that, we coasted through school with celebrity status. It didn’t do me that much good, however. I spent all of sophomore year jocking this girl Jessica and she was even at the party, apparently not impressed enough to win her over. I never was able to, and I was one persistent fuck for a full year. But, there will be plenty of those stories later. In case you’re keeping track, I’m pretty sure this is my first high school story. High School was fucking nuts, and I got some good ones. I think the reason I’ve been avoiding it is because I’m kind of embarrassed about how things ended with some of these people, and I feel bad talking about them. But, I wouldn’t have a story without them, and there’s no point of writing this blovel without a story.

turn off the metallica, fanboy: 3 Feet High and Rising

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Craig Thompson and The Party

Tuesday, March 22, 2005

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