When faced with the grammatically sophisticated challenge of "Work hard, play well," like all good students we veni vidi vici-ed our way to the library. We planted our flag on the unrealized landscape of inebriated nerdiness and fully embraced this new mantra.
Playing hard involves low-grade drunkenness, often accompanied by plebian music and crowded hallways packed with the masses.
Playing well, however, seems to imply sophisticated bacchanalia, set to the tunes of the Pulsar Triyo and crowded chambers packed with wealthy benefactors. Finally, boozing and schmoozing in preparation for the real life that we'll never have!
Had it not been for the fabulous party pics that surfaced on Facebook the next day, we wouldn't have believed that we actually dressed up for the library AND consumed drinks in non-spill proof containers. It should be a requisite for all benefactors to request a soiree in their newly constructed establishment. Next week: Une fete in French Science? A rave in Rubenstein?
Our Friday night began, as most things do, with finding Jesus. Our journey took us to the far corners of Raleigh, where Jesus Christ Superstar was an unabashed success. Joyce got a perverse pleasure from continually announcing, "My God, Jesus is hot! I would totally do him!" while Judas was more to James' taste.
Now we can only wait and hope for the classic Hindu pop hit, "Oops I was born again." Or the Muslim Motown single (a nicely alliterative genre) "Ain't No Mountain Far Enough." We drove back to Duke high on the pulsating beats of Andrew Lloyd Webber rock laced with ironic traces of political incorrectness.
The spirit of rock revival and the '70s in general seemed to stay with us when we entered the Library Party and spied The Dope Shop. Excited about the infinite possibilities, we were more than a little disappointed by their offer of only playing cards, stickers and matches. Of course, as seniors, we grabbed as much free loot as we could. After years of being overlooked for such prizes such as iPods, $30-million summer endowments and non-linking housing..
The giveaways we did have invariably resulted in the formation of support groups: "I did not get a Duke Sophomores Class of 2007 Sweatshirt and I am Very Very Upset." Of course, we were lucky enough to get these sweatshirts that said SOPHOMORES on the last day of our sophomore year, when it was 70 degrees out. No, we're not bitter. Luckily, at this stage in our mental rant, we were pointed toward the Senior Stampede for Free Champagne and more importantly, the fishbowls of wine.
Armed with libations, we decided to go hobnob with the glitterati, beginning with the Bostocks. We even practiced pronouncing their names in preparation for this momentous occasion. Failing to find the elusive Bahstocks, we looked to engage in oh-so-witty conversation with the von der Heydens and possibly bag us a rich heir of some sort.
The closest we managed to a celebrity interaction was a quick handshake with Dicky B, whom we have yet to see dance. We tried setting some KAADATT (Kids All About Dancing All the Time) on him, but that didn't seem to work either.
Despite the lack of celebrity gossip, we appreciate the chance to make our mark on the University. We didn't expect our lasting impression to be spilling some wine on the library's carpet after being brushed by the namesake.
At that point, we decided it might behoove us to sit down, rest our feet and ruminate on the evening. The lack of fashion travesties pre-empted our desire to provide scathing social commentary-indeed, there were only two instances of leggings in sight and no formal shorts. We clean up well!
Addendum: We FINALLY got to burn some benches. For the women, no less.
James and Joyce give their respek to James, the party bus driver, quite possibly the most tolerant man on campus. Jessica Ballou and Suparna Salil wish they were members of the A-team.
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