One of the things I love about where I live is that we have a block party. My part of the block is known as being slackers, so I kept shouting “I’m a joiner” as soon as I moved in. Cut to myself and two other gals who organized the whole thing. It was great. But what would have made it better is if the community had invested in some name tags or stickers before the big event.
This video is sponsored by Stuck On You.
Sunday was the first time I ever helped organize a block party. It’s also the first time I’ve lived in a place friendly enough to have a community party, save for college. So I guess this is my first community party without drugs.
It was a smashing success. Two other women and I put it together, and we had about 100 people. I was in charge of food, which meant Mark and his sons were making grilled cheese sandwiches for everyone. I was impressed with how hard the guys worked. It just goes to show you: 14-year-olds will sit in front of the computer for hours, but asked to really participate, they can and will. Who knew?
One of the high points – besides my neighbor’s peach cobbler, which rocked – was the arrival of the FIREMEN!!! Three trucks arrived, and all the moms’ knees were a-quiver. Six months pregnant with little makeup on, I still sashayed up to those fine men to greet them. Fortunately our face painter gal was sparking with one of the hunks (NOTE: They are talking behind Viv on the horse, above). I took her aside and said, “We are all a bunch of moms, so you have to do this for us: Someone has to date one of them.” I also wanted details, but I resisted saying that.
Guess who has volunteered to help plan her neighborhood’s block party?! We moved here May 1 and I had heard from the neighbors that our street had a block party this year. Each section takes turns: one year it’s the 100 block, the next year the 200 block, and so on. I kept saying to anyone who would listen, “Let me know, I’m a joiner!”
Well, now it’s here, and I am teaming up with two neighbors across the street to plan.
MY DUTIES
My job was to get the petition signed so we can close the street. I got everyone’s signatures except the two houses at the end of the street. I have NEVER seen anyone come out of either house, and most people don’t seem to know the owners, either. Isn’t that strange? There always seems to be a few houses like that in every neighborhood, right?
I’m also in charge of food. They usually get a local burger place to do it, but I asked Mark if, as a loss leader, would his restaurant do something. He agreed it would be fun to help. So, Campanile is doing its grilled cheese sandwiches – which they are pretty famous for, I have to say. Then I will need to get to Smart & Final to buy a bunch of drinks and get ice, etc.
They were thinking of doing it right before the election, but as that’s right after Halloween and I might go to Florida, we moved it to a week later.
MY QUESTIONS
If anyone has ever done block parties, here are my questions:
1. We are charging $25 a head for adults, $15 for kids. This includes a bounce house and all that kid stuff and food. Some neighbors say I should ask people to bring a pie or something else to share, to round it out. Is that okay if there is a charge? I think so, because it’s festive, it’s a party.
2. How many people buy tickets beforehand and how many show up day-of? Gotta plan the food and drinks.
Having lived as the lone ranger, single in an apartment for most of my adult life, I’m so excited to live in an area that has such folksy traditions. Party on!
I almost chuckled out loud at the comment on Dooce about dreaming about your suburban neighbors. Since moving, I have been scoping for a child in the ‘hood to befriend my child, and a perfect cool mom that I can borrow sugar from. That is not my upbringing, though.
photo credit: frandango24
Back in my childhood I knew a few neighbors up the street who loved mixing their cocktails together. They were on either side of our “not in the group” house. I’d see them walk back and forth – either to the Tashers’, who had a luau lounge in their backyard (I know, fierce), or the Lasleys’, who had a bar upstairs with a balcony that overlooked the street. They seemed to have some good, rum-soaked fun. They seemed like the “Love, American-Style” kind of glam, fun, Marina del Rey, early ’70s, frosted lipstick, carefree bunch
Our family was either polite or hostile to our neighbors, in general. Partly because my folks weren’t drinkers, and mostly because of my dad’s involvement in small town politics. When he ran for re-election, some neighbors put up signs for his opponent. They are still dead to us. Some actually are dead, but we aren’t forgiving them either.
Recently I had the chance to enter the homes of the swinging neighbors and was shocked to see how small and ordinary their homes were. One, like us, only had one bathroom. All that drinking and only one bathroom.