You know it’s spring when the day begins with pouring rain and it’s sunny and 70 by noon. The Village A rooftops come alive again at night, and Village B parties once more spill into the courtyard. I opened all the windows in our apartment, all the better to hear the frat stars on the other side of the fence who start at 1pm on a Friday. (My other motive is to rid our place of the lingering bacon smell. I’ve been legit dreaming of meat and that may be why.)

Spring is in the air, all right. All of a sudden the trees are more flowery than my prose. I put in an appearance at Tombs last night for the first time in, like, ever. And the other day I tipped scotch while watching a Gossip Girl rerun—inspired, maybe, by the fact that the characters (high school students) drink more than I do as a college senior. So I am, slowly but surely, building my tolerance back up. I’ll need it for Wagner’s 2-thirties-of-Stone-for-$23 “get retahhhded” special.

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Straight up, broheim: Christmas isn’t my favorite holiday. Doesn’t even crack the top five, actually. Maybe Christmas could dethrone Arbor Day if it were less about buying shit and more about doing shit. I don’t really get the holidays that are supposed to commemorate something – if we’re going to get the day off, there should be a task at hand. Like, on my birthday, everyone’s task is to get fratty. On Halloween, everyone gets dressed up and fratty. I would make every day Fratting Hard Day if I could, although in a way it already is.

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I thought my life was in shambles before. School seemed hard last week; now it’s impossible. It doesn’t help that my first exam is tomorrow, meaning that the past week has been totally unstructured. And, as you may imagine, I don’t handle free time well. All I’ve been doing is sitting by myself in my room, watching absurd house music videos and eating my roommates’ food scraps. Sometimes I’ll go to the library and put in an appearance. Most of my friends are posted up in the fourth floor carrels. They pretend to be glad to see me but I think they secretly resent me for being able to come and go as I please.

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Lemme tell ya, brah, it’s HARD being back at school after Thanksgiving. Like, I want to care about classes and stuff, but I’m just not having it. The holiday was chill and all, got to see family and so forth, and it was nice to shower in a shower that’s not a giant mold spore (note to my roommates: clean the goddamn bathroom). The whole week just felt like vaca, which was prolly the best part. I legit did not think about school at all until I was back here last Sunday, except for the five minutes I spent BS’ing “Senior Citizenship” a week ago. (I replaced it with an actual post, if you care.) I guess I’m just over school, but who isn’t at this point?

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Happy Halloween, Georgetown. For the first time in five years, Halloween is on a weekend night – so it should be one for the ages. I hope it is: it’s my last Halloween as a college student – my last, in a sense, as a kid. I’m sure future Halloweens will be good, but they’ll lack the pure, unadulterated licentiousness that one is allowed as a young person. So I really hope this Halloween is a great one.

I’m almost afraid that it won’t be.

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Ben Foster (MSB ‘09) shares his thoughts on being a senior and the impending ‘real world.’

Beer pong’s my sport, brah. Forget this flip cup nonsense – I don’t care if you do play it with Grey Goose. Real bros and brohamas ONLY play pong. Just give me 22 cups, Busch/Beast/Natty/Stone, and two balls – or should I say two MORE balls. Righteous! But yeah, broseph, where’s the dece pong? I mean, maybe I’m at the wrong parties and the lax guys do that shit up on the d. I don’t know – I don’t go into Henle. It’s a little close to Burleith for my taste. Anyway, even if you do find chill people ready to throw down in pong, they insist on calling it “Beirut” or even “‘Ruit.” I guess they’re not wrong, since beer pong is technically played with paddles. But still – this is the East Coast. “Beirut” is for unwashed Midwesterners.

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