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soirée society: 
perfect cast  
a preserve-your-face-in-plaster party
| 1 2 3 4

I spent last Saturday night with a bunch of people sporting straws stuck up their noses. Lying flat on a messy floor. Getting plastered.

And I’m not speaking figuratively.

The e-mail invite to the evening’s festivities had read:
"The time is nigh to dip into magical moldmaking and casting materials to try our hands at LIFE CASTING... Prepare to face exothermic reactions for the sake of science, art and the unknown."   
Lured by the promise of -- errr, well to be honest, I wasn’t quite sure what -- I gamely ventured on over on Saturday, just after the 6:47pm start time that our wacky host Barrett had specified.

Stage one: Protective Measures
The first thing I noticed, me being the home maven wannabe that I am: Barrett has no furniture. No couches,

 the materials:
 1. alginate
 2. plaster
 3. petroleum jelly
 4. plastic bags,  
 tape, baldheads 
 for hair, pillows
 5. pillows, pads
 6. hanging wire
 7. straws
 8. good luck
no coffee table, just a couple of jam-packed bookcases, a comfy armchair and a vast expanse of open tile floor. This, as it turned out, was most fortunate, for by the wee hours of the morning, the entirety of that floor space (and not a few pillows and sheets) would be covered with dried plaster.

On the (currently) clean floor, next to large white bags of cast and mold-making materials, sat a jar of vaseline, a big box of bend-y straws, and plastic garbage bags galore. This was decidedly not your standard party paraphernalia. (Well, not mine anyway … I guess I can’t speak for the rest of y’all…) And well, when Barrett pulled out a little jar of liquid body latex – complete with saucy, buxom vixen on the jar’s label – all were beginning to wonder exactly what sort of evening our host had planned. (Note: the body latex went unused, to the disappointment of some and the relief of others).

With an enviable lack of fear, a few bold party-goers – my intrepid fiancé being one of them -- ventured forth to submit their heads in the name of art. The rest of us watched, with equal parts apprehension, skepticism and fascination. I still hadn’t decided whether I’d actually go through with the process – the prospect of having my face smothered in plaster, and having to lie immobile in that state for nearly an hour, seemed like it might be a baaaad idea for somebody with claustrophobia issues. Better, I figured, to let others play guinea pig.

the party begins

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