Be different. Branch out from mainstream America. Throw a Super Bowl party this coming Sunday.
It's a novel idea.
Invite people you wouldn't really label your close friends. Just people you know. They don't have to be people you like much. Maybe they've offended you. Maybe they don't like you and you heard so through indirect channels. Maybe they told you because they couldn't hold it in.
Make sure there is tension and discomfort between every person you invite that has either never been addressed or won't be resolved.
When they get the invite, they will be puzzled, because when people are not close friends, have had differences in the past, or just don't like being around each other, they know. Your invite will make them irritated. You want to invite the people—on a blast, impersonal email—who have no interest in going to your Super Bowl party. Not normally church-goers, on Super Bowl morning they will go to church to pray you will cancel your party.
When these people arrive at your front door next Sunday, don't say hello. Instead, hold in front of you a tray packed with hors d'oeuvres and a pile of toothpicks.
“How 'bout a slab of squid to get Super Sunday kicked off?
They will be taken aback that, before even saying hello or asking if you can hang up their coat, you will have put squid in front of their faces in almost a confrontational way.
All 25 guests will decline the squid. Most will have never tasted it and decline because they thought it was rude of you to offer it at the front door. They will be suspicious you did so just to mess with them.
Let them settle in, take a leak if need be, but in the kid's bathroom, not your master. Nobody messes up your master.
Offer them one beverage: Yoo-hoo chocolate water.
“Thanks, but do you have just a glass of water,” one lawyer who chases ambulances will say.
Tell him: “No, we aren't serving water.
“How about some Doritos?”
“Oh come on, man. Every Super Bowl party has Doritos.”
Staring at his retinas, say: “Not this one.”
As seven of the 25 guests settle in on your uncomfortable chairs in front of your static-infested TV, amuse yourself watching the remaining 22 realize they must stand for the entire five-hour game because you purposely didn't provide enough chairs.
Circulate through the crowd with another tray.
“How 'bout a slab of codfish?”
You will hear of non-stop “No's.”
A few of the ladies, just trying to be polite, will jab a toothpick in the cod's head and put one of their napkins. Don't provide plates. Make them put the cods on napkins decorated with an oversized cod head.
Once you leave the room to bring on the Yoo-hoos, all will be muttering about what a jerk you are offering squid and codfish as the first foods to try at a Super Bowl party.
“Honey,” one wife will say to her husband, “I told you I didn't want to go to this party. I want to get out of here. This guy's a freak.”
“But the game's starting,” the husband will say. “I wanna watch the game.”
“I wanna get outta here,” she will say.
She will force her husband to get her coat. They will hurry towards the door hoping to slip out before you notice. Intercept them before they get there. Hold in your hand another tray piled high with octopi.
“How 'bout a half-dozen octopi for the road? Or if you not jones-ing for them now, I would be glad to drop a few in a container so you can enjoy them later?”
“Get out of our way, you codfish.”
“Sorry you're leaving early. Yoo-hoo.”