If under- and upperclassmen have anything in common, it's an unfounded, schoolgirlish excitement over Spring Fling. But why's Fling such a thing?
Freshmen, especially those living in the Quad, build remarkably high expectations based solely on hearsay. Unless they came as pre-frosh during last year's event and got laid by some drunk senior (sorry guys, it won't happen again), why look so giddily to this unknown soiree? A couple of freshmen on the Street staff live in the Quad, and my oh my, are they pumped! We'll see how that changes when some upperclassman (read: me) pukes in their rooms at 3:00 tomorrow afternoon.
Even if (or because) it gets ugly, freshmen will enjoy their first Fling, despite going in blindly. My freshman year I got drunk three times on Fling Saturday. Somewhere in there I did the moonbounce. The moonbounce was not so much a good idea.
But as for the upperclassmen, what's so special here? You've had the debauchery-ridden freshman experience of Fling already, O.A.R.'s shite and the all-day bender has lost its luster now that it happens every day as you contemplate "what am I going to do with an English major? Hell, what was I thinking?"
That last one's not just me. Fling, for juniors and seniors, is a form of escapism. It's a reason to return to the trashiest of trashy frat houses for some warm Beast Light and diluted jungle juice, the thing you did every weekend through October of freshman year and every NSO thereafter.
Last year, during my sophomore year, I walked into one of these parties and found, to my surprise, a vacant leather armchair. I grabbed a Beast and sat in this chair for hours.
"This will do," I said.
That's the plan for this year, too. Join me. We won't be able to do it forever.
- Jim
