There is no greater displeasure in this world than a lackluster party.

Picture it in your mind’s eye: a narrow vestibule, inappropriate music and tepid drinks. An inauspicious gender ratio. Perhaps a table of beer pong players who seem strained and lifeless, sinking every cup with the routine monotony of inveterate alcoholics. Among these parties, melancholy lingers and communication appears unattainable. Partygoers make awkward small talk with little enthusiasm, averting their eyes from the host, who is no doubt pacing back and forth through this cramped space and wondering when is everyone going to show up? Why didn’t the keg arrive yet? Maybe a sporting event will be flickering softly in the background, underscoring the desperate longing in the air. And then, finally, the heart-wrenching moment when you realize things will not improve, the night has reached its zenith, and if you leave now you can probably catch a couple of “Fresh Prince” reruns before you fall asleep.

To these misfortunes, I say no more. There is an art to throwing a party, an art as finely detailed as a Botticelli seraph. This is a knowledge accrued only through long experience and bitter failure, of many nights spent in the arms of decadence and her less-refined sister, debauchery. It is a secret well kept, one that I am now about to impart unto you.

First, you must examine your guest list. I have found from my long experience in the upper echelons of the social strata that proper invitees are crucial in the aim of a satisfactory soiree. Area bon-vivants and old money are, of course, must-invites, as well as up-and-coming socialites and crowd -pleasers, fops and dandies. Your women should be spry and effervescent, noncommittal and flighty. Nothing ruins the mood of a party more than an intellectual or “elevated” conversation when there’s dancing to be had. On that point, your residence should be able to accommodate a six-piece orchestra at the bare minimum, and they should be instructed to keep the beat jazzed and lively.

Secondly, you must create an atmosphere. Partygoers are not just looking for an excuse to get drunk and grope one another. They are also looking for an element of class and dignity to go along with the groping. I have found having an aura of mystery surrounding the proceedings rarely fails to impress. My guests arrive to a darkened corridor, lit only by the dim glow of chandeliers, stretching down along the grand hall. They mill around for a bit in the gloom, giddy with uncertainty, before the hall is illuminated by hundreds of candles, revealing rows upon rows of chilled buckets of expensive champagne. My maids and manservants dart to and fro in elaborate masquerade, serving hors d’oeuvres and filling glasses. I wait in the shadows until the liquor has begun to flow, whereupon, like Jay Gatsby, I make my entrance, greeting my guests and entertaining with my razor wit and keen sense of jokes.

Thirdly, and most importantly, is harnessing the climax of the night, when the spirit of celebration is in full swing and the revelers are reeling with the highs of drink and good company. It is in this brief period of twilight when the shoes come off and the frenzied spirit of hedonism takes hold. Oftentimes I personally will shed my suit-jacket and top hat and engage in a lively Foxtrot or Charleston, as onlookers carouse and cheer and couples bounce to the lively rhythm on the ballroom floor. If you manage to retain the spirit of the gala up until this point, you have succeeded in your goals. Of course, the dénouement of the party is important as well. Usually, my guests are tuckered out, and I bid them farewell into the good night with a tip of my hat and the faintest hint of a smile. Then I retreat back into my quarters, shrouded by the moonlight, as furtively as I came.

Not everyone will be able to throw parties as extravagant as mine. It takes careful consideration and an almost obsessive attention to detail. But a halfhearted party is more than an embarrassment. It saps the spirit of all involved, supplanting merriment with bitter scorn and disappointment. In the face of such a debacle, I submit that it would be better to throw no party at all.

So to all you party-throwers on Pratt and Ashford streets, I implore you, consider your options. Don’t let the alcohol run out before 2 a.m. Charging for drinks is an unforgivable infraction, akin to spitting in the face of your revelers. A true host treats everyone as an honored guest and an old friend. And remember, above all, it’s the people that make a party, so you should avoid inviting uninteresting people.

With a little effort and a lot of patience, perhaps some day you too will be able to throw parties as good as mine.

Adan Berkowitz, a junior in the College of Arts and Sciences, is a weekly columnist for The Daily Free Press. He can be reached at [email protected].