I have a bone to pick.  A few of you have heard this already, but for the rest of you:

    I come from a background of hospitality.  My father's side of the family were poor German farmers.  I mean dirt poor.  They had a house, yes, and some fields, yes, but that was the end of it.  Most of the family went to what we would call a trade school to learn a craft useful to the farm, if they pursued an education at all.  But, as a by-product of the German depression, they (and the entire German populace) developed a deeply ingrained sense of hospitality.  It is a mark of pride that they are prosperous to be able to offer their home and food to a visitor.  In Europe, you may find yourself virtually forced to spend the night in someone's home, supping and breakfasting with their family.  It is a horrible experience, let me tell you. 

    My mother's side are Southern farmers, from the South Carolina uplands.  I don't think I need to explain the concept of 'Southern Hospitality' to any readers.  My parents have combined their hospitality.  In Wisconsin, we hosted a party every weekend and many weekends, whether it was just inviting the neighbors over for dinner or opening our yard to our entire church.  As many of you have seen, there is not a man, woman, or child who is not welcome to sleep under our roof or dine at our table.  Whether I follow that line or not is your decision, but I'm not terribly interested in it.

    Virtually every weekend for the last few months, I have thrown open the doors of my home to anyone that cared to come by.  I have never hosted a closed party of any sorts.  There has never been a guest list.  There has always been food, drink, and entertainment.  There has always been a place to sleep for those who care to stay, and clean beddings for those who ask.  I have not barred access to any room of my house, from my bedroom to the kitchen to my father's office.

    Some of you have expressed that you don't understand how I can handle it or put up with it.  It's not a burden for me -- I enjoy every minute I spend with my friends.  I love watching your revelry and merriment.  I enjoy the conversation, the sights, the smells, the feeling of a room crowded with the sleeping bodies of friends.

    I have been forced, though, to reconsider this habit of hospitality.  The offenses of a guest are excusable, but a litany such as I have been exposed to is taxing even my goodwill.

    I place garbage can prominently throughout my parties.  They are rarely used.  It is a constant task to walk about and throw away soft drink cans and paper plates.  In just half an hour's time, close to a dozen and a half empty cans may build up, even when I have less than twenty guests.  Many are not finished, and will never be.  I cannot fathom the crass irresponsibility that causes one to just leave garbage where it lies, rather than walking five feet to a garbage can. Nor can I begin to understand the motivation to stuff garbage in places where it will not be found in days, or even weeks.  This is the ultimate height of disrespect.

    After every party, I clean for 6-8 hours straight.  Let me reiterate: SIX TO EIGHT HOURS.  A full work day.  I pick up garbage, sweep, mop, vacuum, mop again, and vacuum again.  Then I clean the counters and sofas.  Then I move outside, where I sweep and pressure wash, after picking up trash strewn about the yard and pool area.  I find pizza crusts lying on the floor.  I pick up food that has actually been thrown around.  I have cleaned ants off a soda spill that had been left lying on the tiles long enough to begin to solidify -- with the soda can right next to it.  Not a spill, but a careless discard.  I've scraped chewing gum off the undersides of the counters, and worked pastries of some sort out of the Persian rugs.

    This is not an accidental by-product of a good time -- this is a deliberate, malicious mess.  I should not have to remove tortilla chips and watermelon from my pool.  THERE IS NO REASON FOR IT.  Nor should I see someone else remove them, and promptly splatter them on the walls.  And to open a can of soda and dump it in the pool -- this was so offensive to me that I seriously considered sending everyone home immediately.

    If you break something in my home, tell me.  Do not try to discard the evidence in a fireplace.  That is a shameful, disgusting cowardice that I do not respect of the people of moral integrity that I invite into my home.

    Every party I have thrown at my house has cost between $50 and $100.  I always request and accept some financial assistance -- the events that I have gotten it were so rare that I remember them now, months after, and I can count them all on one hand.  The last party was an exception, yes, because I went to almost every one of you and requested money.  The money I spend is not a major concern for me, but your reactions to it or the lack thereof go miles towards reflecting your attitude towards my hospitality.

    If you want to pull out a game, a toy, or fashion your own toys from my kitchen supplies, I am more than happy to allow it.  But I expect you to put it away when you are finished.  I do not wish to come into my basement to see Monopoly, Scrabble, or Risk pieces strewn in every directions.  I do not want to go to my fireplace and find marshmallows and crackers systematically dispersed.  I do not want to walk into my kitchen and find a dozen bowls left lying about.

    This is a conversation I heard recently at my home, briefly paraphrased except for the last line.

Sammy: Ashley, why are you helping clean up?
Ashley: Because this place is a mess.
Sammy: Well, let Daniel clean it up.  It's his house.
Ashley: He shouldn't have to.
Sammy: He invited us here, didn't he?  It's his problem.

    You have disappointed me.  Many of you.  Ben, Higginbotham, Reynolds, Plenzick, Jones, and Sammy are just the tip of the problem.  Their doings were deliberate -- their disrespect planned.  The rest of you have been disrespectful simply in your carelessness, your complete ambivalence or willful ignorance to the destruction you are causing.  You leave your trash lying about, discard food and drink wherever suits you -- or throw it at each other -- and just generally don't give a damn.  I don't know whose actions are more troubling.  The most painful thing is that you are not friends of guests, people who I don't know but open my home to anyways.  You are my closest comrades, the people I respect and enjoy above all others.  And then I see this.

     This past weekend, I threw the last party at my house.  I enjoyed it.  It was a very nice farewell.  I am moving into a new home, a smaller home, without a place to throw a party. To my horror, I'm actually looking forward to it.  This is what you, in your individual response and collective lassitude, have caused.

    Many of you are holding parties this week and into the summer.  You will open your home to your friends.  Maybe, after reading this, you will elect not to include me.  Such is your prerogative.  However, I can promise you that if you extend your hospitality to me, I will treat it with the utmost respect and do all I can to lighten your load.  You will not be treated as you behaved at my home -- I do not have an ethic of vengeance.  You may be at ease with me in your home.

     There are a few notable exceptions.  There are those who have helped me set up parties, and those of you that have stayed many hours after everyone left to help me break them down and clean.  You have seen what I deal with, and you have provided a strong support in helping take care of it.  If not for you, I may have closed my home many months ago.  I cannot express my thanks to you.  Your behavior will be noted for many, many years, and it will be rewarded tenfold anytime you should ever call on me.  I mean it.