I need to apologize for my last column. Even I screw up from time to time. Yet I hope to redeem myself by taking responsibility for my actions.
(Insert generic uninspired jab at George W. Bush here.)
Two weeks ago I committed a great error. I made assumptions that shouldn't have been made, and wound up looking like a fool for it.
I speak, of course, of the tagline of the O-Jays timeless ballad "For the Love of Money." I suggested that the song's classic mantra was "neeeeeeed, need green." The correct lyrics are, of course, "lean, mean, mean green."
I apologize profusely.
Of course nobody actually called me out on this error-I discovered it myself. It just goes to show you that kids these days have no respect for the oldies.
I hope we can put this debacle behind us. Now we can move on to a new topic of discussion: the February Doldrums.
Let me set the stage for you. It was nine o'clock last Saturday night, and I had no idea what I wanted do with my evening.
Why was I so perplexed?
Was it because I'm a man, and guys never know what they're doing until the last minute?
NO. Get off my back, woman.
Was it because, despite having imbibed absolutely nothing the night before, I still managed to sleep until 1:30 in the afternoon, and spent the rest of the day wandering around in a haze of grogginess?
Much more likely.
Anyway, I cruised the halls in search of social outlets. Let's just say I was I shocked by my friends' evening destinations.
Bostock. K-Ville. Bostock. Bostock. K-Ville.
Now from these responses, I can think of two assumptions you might make.
One, my friends and I are total losers. It's quite possible.
Two, in February, the social scene takes a serious nose dive.
Now we all know how I feel about Bostock. It's great-just not on Saturdays. Of course, one of my friends came back from "Bostock" totally smashed. There's a good chance that he's just a dirty, rotten liar, but then again maybe Bostock truly is Party Central.
As for K-Ville, I know that it is definitely a rowdy scene during personal checks. That said, I hope you understand that there are some nights when I'm just not in the mood to see my toes turn blue.
So for people like me, February can be a really slow month. The reason for this is clear-the social scene's dependence on greek life. After all of the time, effort, money and alcohol that has been spent on rush, the time has come for fraternities to sit back, relax and pledge their freshmen. The University briefly suffers as a result.
There are exceptions, of course. Pike threw a party, albeit off campus. The Asian Students Association put together a great LNY show.
The general ennui on campus, however, is tangible. I can feel it around me. The cold temperatures, the short days, the mounting pressures and the exhaustion of rush have taken a toll on us all.
So what can we do?
We could give in. We could invest the rest of our precious weekend hours cooped up in a dorm room, or in Bostock or in the gym. We could spend the rest of our winter with XBoxes, books and dumbbells as our only companions.
Or we can fight back.
We can affront the pitch-black February night with a celebration that burns brighter than a million suns. We can warm the frigid air with a radiance all our own. We can roar into the silent darkness, "We are ALIVE, and we fear nothing," until the upper reaches of the heavens reverberate.
My friends, at this time of the year, it is so easy for us to lose our collective zest and verve. The moments we have to celebrate are few and far between. That is why when we are afforded these opportunities, we must capitalize upon them.
This weekend, I want you to celebrate something. It could be your friends, your significant other, your school, your fraternity, ARAMARK, Corp., Larry Moneta, the ALE or anything else.
Alcohol need not be a part of the equation (but it can help). You should be loud. You should be among friends. You should be joyous.
Believe it or not, the days are getting longer. Let us greet the light at the end of the tunnel.
Oh, and try to keep the party out of K-Ville. I'm running out of extra-warm socks.
Greg Czaja is a Trinity junior. His column runs every other Wednesday.
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