Last year, as part of my column “Archive Dive,” I republished an hour-by-hour recap of Spring Party 1996. To mydelight (and most likely the administration’s bemusement), this remains the best-received Purple article during my tenure. Creating a modern recap was the obvious course of action.
This year’s recap only aims to be a snapshot of various anonymous students’ activities, not the definitive definition of Spring Party. The Purple aimed for a diverse range of contributors, including a range of greek affiliations, ages, genders, and lifestyles. However. Spring Party, like any Sewanee experience, escapes an overarching definition.
7 p.m. I was trying to get a quick work-out in before the weekend really started. I was biking on a new road when my front tire blew out. Little did I know, my convoluted route had taken me halfway down the mountain towards Cowan. It was too far to walk at this point, and most of my friends were too drunk to come pick me up. The one who wasn’t had a truck though, so things ended up all right.
8 p.m. My self-esteem has hit an all-time low – my boyfriend looks better in make-up than I do.
9 p.m. Overheard: “I see no problem in looking like Vegas showgirls.”
10 p.m. While most people were getting “Turnt Up,” I was writing a paper. I took a walk after that. By this time, some formal had just ended. I could tell because there were sobbing, stumbling women walking across the quad followed closely behind by their visibly distraught dates. I found some friends and went to Elliot. It seems to me that any group of millennials left to themselves at late hours will eventually end up discussing the literary merits of Harry Potter. I’ll need more evidence to support this hypothesis.
11 p.m. My boyfriend made me come home early because I was “too drunk” so I would randomly sit cross-legged at random areas on the walk back home to prove a point. It worked.
12 a.m. Used the Women’s Center bathroom. Danced at Image published in Sewanee Purple in 1980 Theta Pi. Danced in the street. Whistled at Lambda Chi’s.
1 a.m. On the roof of Guerry stargazing and laughing forever. Perfect Sparty moment.
9 a.m. Stride of pride in last night’s clothes, accessorized with a fun new hickey. Off to a solid start.
10 a.m. Woke up in my hookup’s bed without the hookup. It must suck to have class on the Friday of Spring Party.
11 a.m. All of my friends were in class, so I did the only thing I could think to do – drink wine alone in the shower.
12 p.m. Thirty minutes into Spanish class the SAE pledge next to me starts inexplicably panting. “Are you okay?” “Yeah. I just need to…get out there.” He then laughed uncontrollably at his own wondering if kids in Spain took English classes with textbooks like our “Suena.” Then he had me draw a sea turtle, or “tortuga marina” on his hand.
3 p.m. Watched in horror as my and the rest of my sorority sister’s private lives were revealed. The only thing that dulled the force of the knife was the roasts’ poetic form.
4 p.m. While holding my pee in line for a good fifteen minutes, I guess I should’ve expected that what would greet me on the other side of the bathroom door would be a guy and a girl completely naked, undeterred by my deer-caught-in-headlights expression, and then casually make their way upstairs.#iamalreadywaytoodrunkforthis
5 p.m. In the great annual turning of tables, my pledges got me wasted. But seriously keep those hot toddies coming.
6 p.m. I was too drunk to taste the chicken and definitely too drunk to participate in the initiation.
7 p.m. Drinking society event in the basement of an academic building. More punch than people, more salsa dancing than any sane person would reasonably expect.
8 p.m. Made out with a friend’s cousin visiting from state school. I reached a new level of embarrassing.
9 p.m. At Lambda Chi. We lost him.
10 p.m. Cold, wet, holding a tent against sideways rain with eight sound engineers from Nashville that I’ve never met- a girl I’ve also never met offered a joint, saying “what else are we gonna do?” As I decided to take the offer for the first time in two years, conceding to her sentiment- lightning snapped, illuminating everything bright as day, ringing ears. Silence. Instead of the joint, I reached for the pint of Jack in my pocket, “What the fuck are we doing?” a voice said- a lighter sparked and smoke began to fill the tent. I couldn’t tell that the voice was mine.
11 p.m. Found myself wine-drunk next to a pile of chocolate wrappers in a bean bag chair. Is Sparty over yet?
12 a.m. Held my puke so I could properly walk my friend home. That’s when I realized that I cared more about my friendship than my health and that Quintard is really THAT far. (I didn’t quite compose myself the same way on the trek back though…)
1 a.m. Just did a breathalyzer for the firsttime. Blew 0.18. I didn’t even feel drunk. This was concerning, but only until I remember pub.
7 a.m. I cheered on drunk boys in jock straps mud wrestling as I picked empty pill capsules out of the bottom of my red solo cup.
8 a.m. There is an almost infinite improbability that one should find oneself at the Restaurant at the End of The Universe, but should one achieve it, their libations are known for being a lot like having one’s head smashed in by a lemon wrapped around a large gold brick; the odds were with me this fine Sparty Saturday Morning.
9 a.m. Overheard: “What’s that bong-looking thing over there?” “A bong.”
10 a.m. As they puked in the dirt, and we watched with a mixture of pity and disgust. I thought but one thing: God, I hate tequila.
11 a.m. Ugh I was so busy in the Abbo’s Alley Labyrinth. Many drunk girls and one boy. It was a moral wilderness out there. “When was YOUR last hookup?”
12 p.m. As I stepped out on to the porch of Stirling’s after clocking out of a grueling shift, I was greeted with a shot of tequila while across the lawn an alum in salmon shorts raised his beer in my direction, and we beheld how good Spring Party was.
1 p.m. While strolling between Fiji and Gamma, we stumbled upon some KAs who demanded we listen to them tell a joke, only to completely forget the punch line.
2 p.m. I consumed some spores and went to the beach (SAE). All of the boys were wearing socks and tennis shoes and trying to dance. It was weird.
3 p.m. I was still lying in bed because I was up till 4 a.m. the night before doing blow with a bunch of thirty-year-old alumni. My entire body barely survived that night.
4 p.m. I remember picking apart the crawfish and greedily tossing the tails into my mouth, thinking, “I’m probably not doing this right if they are this crunchy.” I ate a solo cup full of them anyway.
5 p.m. While eating a partially burned Totino’s personal pizza, my roommates and I watched Law and Order.
6 p.m. Alone in my sorority’s kitchen, I drunkenly devoured all the sausage wontons a visiting alum brought us. Most people would think this would be a low point, but I was rather pleased with myself.
7 p.m. I left the Beta crawfish boil with no crawfish in my stomach and headed straight toward my mecca–McClurg. Accompanied by my crew of munchers, we conquered all that McClurg had to offer. I personally tackled the leftover chicken-fired steak from lunch and topped it with fried rice and pot stickers. And pizza. I can’t imagine that Sober Me would be pleased by the amount of meat that I consumed, but Drunk Me left McClurg smiling and ready for a nap.
8 p.m. As I walked into PKE, I realized that my liquor sh**z had started 12 hours earlier than anticipated.
9 p.m. I woke up on an air mattress in a dorm room that is not my own and stumbled down University Ave, encouraged forward by the bright lights and blaring music spilling out of SNu, guiding me home.
10 p.m. Two girls in my sorority agreed to streak the Quad with me a second time because I missed out when they did it ten minutes prior. This is real sisterhood, y’all.
11 p.m. Dancing alone barefoot in a frat. Probably could not seem more drunk if I tried.
12 a.m. In my room, trying to rally myself for Late Night Gamma
1 a.m. At Late Night Gamma, wishing I was asleep.