The air was brisk. The sky was blue. A few days ago, it was spring, and the whole campus seemed to know it.

Outside Alpha Delta Phi, fraternity brothers raking sheets of ice out of their beach volleyball court talked of “sweet” parties of the past and dreamed out loud of the others soon to come.

Meanwhile, down South University Street, Martha Cook girls had another bout of spring fever.

In their dormitory’s grassy yard, a trio shed their coats and rolled up their jeans to their ankles. Took off their shoes and romped through the mud. Realized it wasn’t really a great idea but pretended to have fun anyway.

Martha Cook girl or fraternity brother, sun-dress wearer or flip-flop bearer, the feeling was the same: Spring was here. And if not, we were going to force it.


A fiery wake up

When I’m woken up at 3:30 a.m. on a Friday, I expect big things. And by “big things” I mean a friend calling from county prison, or something. Instead, the vacant house next door was being consumed by flames. Markedly more exciting.

My attention, though, was split between the house and the crowd. Drunk people are funny, but drunk people in front of fires are funnier.

The juxtaposition of angst (one of my housemates was buckled over crying because she was so scared our house was going to catch), glee (“Fierce dude, fierce!”) and awkward couples who hit it off at the bar but weren’t quite expecting…this…was a little like seeing a child being born. Overwhelming, but beautiful.

When my neighbor remarked, “I’ve never actually seen a fire hydrant being used, except for poor people bathing,” just as firefighters trooped inside my front door, I considered my loss of sleep worth it.


No pants party

Saturday, I was parked in a lot near the Union waiting for my friend to finish an errand. Bored in the car, I noticed in my rearview mirror two guys – definitely drunk – playing hacky sack near the Regent’s Plaza. Standard fare for campus activities – except for the fact that their clothes were strewn across the pavement near them.

Hopping, juggling and kicking around in nothing but boxers and shoes, these guys had serious skills and little shame. It took a good five minutes for my friend to return, and that was enough time to watch the game end.

The boys got dressed and walked away, and I drove off thanking society for inventing pants.


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