A UMass Drunkard

Some of my proudest moments have occurred while totally shitfaced. Some of my most shameful moments have occurred while totally shitfaced. But good, bad or indifferent, I firmly believe that there is nothing that can hold the drunken spirit captive.

During the summer after I graduated from high school I took a trip to Europe. While in France, I bought a speedo that looked as thought it was made from the leftover fabric from Joseph's technicolor dreamcoat. This speedo has made several appearences over the past few years, usually after drinking an excess of Wild Turkey.

To me the speedo represents the sense of freedom that one feels when highly intoxicated. It's rather ironic from a male's perspective to think of a speedo as being liberating, but I think it accurately captures the spirit of the drunkard.

My friends and I would be considered heavy drinkers by most. Since the beginning of the year, we've hosted Thirsty Thursday parties at our house just about every week. Since then, our Thursday night tradition has developed its own subcultures. People that would have otherwise never met now know each other courtesy of our parties. It's a group of people 50 strong that gather each week over the common bond that brings us together: alcohol.

In recent weeks, my drinking schedule has expanded to include Wednesday nights. Since my only class on Thursdays is at 3:35 in the afternoon, I have ample recovery time. Just last night I went out to Charlie's with a few friends, not necessarily to get drunk, but just to drink a few pitchers and share as many laughs. Upon my arrival at the bar (the bouncers no longer chekc my ID as they have come to know me as a regular), I came to the realization that I was in need of strong drink and not just beer. I walked up to the bar confidently, slammed my fist on the wooden surface and exclaimed loudly, "JAMESON ON THE ROCKS!"

A few rounds later the devil sunck up on me unexpectedly and I realized I was drunk. So, in true UMass spirit, I drank more. And more. At one point during the evening, my cousin Lindsay, who graduated from UMass last Spring, entered the bar. Last week, our grandfather died and we took a few minutes to reflect on that. We both came to the conclusion that drinking was the best way to honor our grandfather, who was well known for keeping a flask of whiskey in his coat pocket at all times.

After a few minutes of speaking, she returned to her friends, and I returned to mine. I stayed for another hour or so after that, downing Jameson after Jameson. I left the bar shortly before closing time. I don't remember paying my tab, but I was quite relieved the next morning to find my credit card in my wallet.

I can say with total honesty that drinking has never had a major impact on my academic life. Alcohol and schoolwork have managed to coexist peacefully, one occasionally helping the other. College is a time during which work and play dance symbiotically.