Although there is such a term as a party of one, the fact is you need more than one to make a party. My definition of a party, after all, is a number of like-minded people coming together for a celebration.

By that token, there is an embarrassment of parties in the Philippines. Consider the number of presidential candidates – Nearly 50, I am told, as of the latest count. Consider the number of party-list recognition requests. That must be in the hundreds. There are many like-minded people in this country. And celebrating their affiliations and affinities is usually a once-every-three-years exercise. And oh, what a grand party it is that bursts into a celebration , also called as an election, in the Philippines.

I look forward to that election in May of next year. Because as great as the commonalities are between parties, what differentiates them, based on what is evident from their pronouncements , is that they simply do not like those in the other parties. As trite as it may sound, the differences are not ideological; the differences are personal.

So let me write about another party.

Panjee celebrated her 18th birthday last Saturday, November 28. And together with the other chaperons (OC) I now recognize what the differences are between their parties and that of an earlier generation.

The New Parties (NPs) do not come together to eat, which is why they start nine-ish or later. For that reason, you can call the NPs also as LPs — for late parties, because they start late and finish late. These are not Dressed-Up Parties (DPs) because they come casually dressed. I even saw some of them in flip-flops (aka as rubber slippers). DPs, I am told, is for old fogeys. Happily, I was not dressed up.

The NPs come together to drink and make a lot of noise. There was punch, beer, wine, vodka, brandy, tequila — in fact, anything with alcohol, was welcome. Actually, they ate too — some pasta and beef and salmon and chicken but liquor was the main event. And oh yes, the noise.

Noise is music going on at eardrum-perforating decibels. Then they have to shout at each other across the room because the room is only lit by candles and lights outside of the room itself. You need voice recognition apparatus and what better apparatus than something louder than the music. They don’t sit on the chairs; they sit on the arms of the chairs and the ones where we were won’t ever be the same again. Oh, these party-goers are certainly heavier when we were their age. They must have had better nutrition or tequila must weigh heavier than water. There are complaints from the neighbors, of course, dutifully delivered by the security guards but that is for another day and the parents to tackle.

There is the inevitable retching and rush to the toilet bowl where they empty their guts of alcohol preparatory to the morning-after headache. Is this a gender thing? Only the girls seem to have been affected by the subsequent barfing. The OCs watch over the girls emptying their stomachs while solicitous other girls and some boys take turns at pressing cold towels on inebriated faces.

Finally, the party comes to an end. After a check as to who is driving whom home, the clearing operations is left for the morning after the hangover seeps in.

Gosh, this sounds like what we might have in May next year --- a big hangover. Sana hindi. Sana matuto na tayo dahil a bad election result brings a worst hangover than the headache the morning after a noisy party. We can’t have too many armchair sitters. We must all participate. That or the party may be over and we would have nothing to show for it.