Last Friday I was out to dinner with my girlfriend. It turned out to be a pleasant area, in the meaning the eatery had art and servers who weren’t quite certain where their performing careers were going. My girlfriend got a glass of wine, I got a cup of coffee. I mainly got a cup of coffee because I’d only saw an episode of Louie, and that’s what ends up happening when you get totally consumed by Louie. But I partially got a cup of coffee due to my girlfriend and I’s recent shared epiphany–that we formally despised drinking alcohol.
Two weeks prior, we’d both attended our school’s homecoming. Having graduated in 2012, this was our second year back at Georgetown. The year prior was charming, in the meaning that in the event that you bring it up, my eyes will get all broad and I’ll speak somewhat louder than normal. There are narratives to accompany this magic, but they’re the kinds of narratives that I’d need to push you to give a shit about. The kinds of narratives every 22 year old thinks are excellent, but likely aren’t really.
I didn’t entirely have the knowledge of what to anticipate this year, but I found it’d be somewhat of the same–a weekend to let loose, a weekend to reminisce while simultaneously honing my 30-60 second “this is where I’m at in life” sales pitch. Friday evening began innocently enough; catching pitchers at the spot we always used to catch pitchers, looking around at the folks we never spoke to two years past who were attempting to recreate exactly the same precise second we were going for. Our group’s dialogue wasn’t just stifled, but the silences undoubtedly weren’t as comfy as they once were–a number of the inside jokes we jointly shared had apparently decided it was time to get some clean atmosphere.
One thing led to another, and an hour after we (me and four close guy buddies) found ourselves at a party hosted by our fraternity. Given that we were “the great seniors” back in the day, the present men running the show couldn’t be more enthused to see us walk in unannounced; to them, we were this cryptic royalty that possessed campus like Daniel Planview possessed Eli Sunday. So even though they likely understood we weren’t remotely as cool as they initially believed, us walking in was rather was a huge deal. As truly one of the younger guys semi-toolishly proclaimed, “it was now a bash.”
This wasn’t a celebration the five of us were used to, however. This was a school celebration. And although we’d just been out of the match for 16 months, the scene we were presented with was minorly appalling. The primary room featured nothing but a striking table, on which was a near endless selection of awful tasting booze. In the corner was the keg. In the back was the sound of ping pong balls, and Bros telling other Bros that they’re undoubtedly gonna nail that next cup. !
When you’re out of the match for long enough, you forget that there’s literally nothing to do at a school party apart from drink as much as humanly possible. And also you forget that you’re not only doing it cause you believe it’s interesting–you’re doing because that’s the goal. Particularly at a location like Georgetown, where the high achiever ethos simply interprets if you’re maxing out everything–societal life contained. It’s something which you never actually consider while you’re in it, but is something that, upon returning to, becomes nothing short of terrifying; not so much since this is what individuals do, but because this is what you did. This really is what you did all the time. !
We remained there for about an hour, during which I said the same 3 things all 23 year olds are gonna say at a bash created for individuals three years their junior; “how did we ever drink this shitty vodka,” “holy shit these freshman are youthful,” and “I can’t believe we did this every weekend.” Those statements got increasingly slurred as the hour went on, as us elders were treated to a near-endless parade of shots and group pledges. Not that any of us needed to wolf down Burnett’s Sour Apple Vodka, but again–we were their heroes. And heroes, supposedly, are ceaselessly commemorated with shots of Burnett’s Sour Apple Vodka. !
Finally, the five of us decided that if we stayed any longer, it’d likely begin to get somewhat creepy. So we said our good-byes, along with the night continued in a trend which was technically “epic poem”–the extraordinary faculty rate continued, we very much obstructed ourselves in the pub we ended up staggering around, and also most us ended up vomiting. (Prior to that night, I ‘d just vomited from drinking once in my entire life. So of course, I made sure to tell everyone I possibly understand about what occurred. This, most importantly, is the whole point.)
The following day we’d intended to take part in a slew of homecoming-ish actions–a kegs and eggs pregame, the schoolwide tailgate, a revisit to our favourite pub. But given what had occurred the night before, my college roommate and I couldn’t do anything except repeat the phrase I’m never drinking again about 47 times over. So instead of reliving our school days, we purposed to spend the day in a dark movie theater. Technically to go see the Joseph Gordon Levitt vehicle Don Jon, but mainly to take a rest and have an explanation for not going to the tailgate.
I wound up saying conscious through the complete film. I told people it was quite great. But more than that, it prompted me to begin seriously chewing over things greater in relation to the film. Which could be the symbol of a strong film, but was likely only the symbol of me feeling such as the time was right to (contrivedly) admit the following epiphany:
This past year, Georgetown was house. This year, it was a celebration that we couldn’t actually remain at for more than an hour–otherwise, it’d begin becoming kind of creepy.
The following day, we drove back up to New York–myself, my girlfriend, and my college roommate. You can practically feel the pride swelling in everyone; we were going house. Sixteen months after, and we were returning to our lives–lives now entirely taken out of the beer soaked floors where we initially invented such strong bonds. Lives which were totally and fully element of the following slide; different landscape, different kits, and unusually distinct alcohol tolerance. But through and through, exactly the same grin. Well, essentially the same grin.
Back at the restaurant, my girlfriend placed down her wine glass, nearly disgusted in the fact she was even drinking wine. !
& #8220;I don’t understand how we did it in school, I truly don’t.”
“Me neither,” I answered.
& #8220;Is this who we’re now?”
& #8220;Yea. But enjoy, I kind of like this.”
She reconsidered for an instant. Subsequently, the exact same swell of unmistakable pride.
& #8220;Yea. I mean it is rather cool.”
We ended up going back to my flat and seeing Moonrise Kingdom. It wasn’t as great as we believed it’d be, but that wasn’t the stage. Simply hanging out like that–and then waking up in morning and reading together like a 42 year old couple attempting to set a good example to their children–was likely the highlight of the week.
That night, we both went out quite hard. The following morning, we determined that we were never drinking again.