Skol > School
Photo: Creative Commons via AmaLew
A good midterm study break never hurt nobody. That is, unless you are the scantily clad dancer dropping it low in your fur boots at Enclave. This weekend, books were shoved aside while balls and handles alike soared through the air. Rainbow Week ended, but the supply of Skol never did. Before locking yourself in a Core study carrel tonight, get your fix of Party Report, after the jump.
Wednesday night: Party Trolleys
Undergrads head into the city on trolleys (aka booze cruise on wheels). Yes, the trolley might have felt a little touristy for our taste, but, hey, it’s slightly more grown up than the typical yellow school buses. When the partygoers finally arrive at the bar, they find it hard to navigate because of its awkward narrow shape. It’s like friends on the opposite side of the room are in a different zip code. A group of upperclassmen quickly grow disinterested in the drunken chatter, and leave to go to McGee’s. But McGee’s is closed, so the group stops for pizza — an obvious second option — before returning to the bar night.
Friday night: Cheers to Skol and dubstep
After receiving a poem as a text alerting attendees that the party was to commence at midnight, a crowd of mostly upperclassmen flocked to an on-campus frat house. Shall we begin with the hip-hop room? Party animals dance on couches to 50 Cent who was outshined by the later dubstep Flux Pavilion medley. Frat stars stand on the coffee table in the middle of the room surrounded by empty red cups and sloppy guests. Dixie cups overflow as the handle of Skol and bottle of Fanta journey round and round. New handles appear out of nowhere for the next group of thirsty partygoers. If one is lucky enough to push through the jam-packed hallway, other rooms with weed, broken tables, and of course more vodka await.
Friday night: Take the stage
Freshman swarm an on-campus frat house known for the tackiest party of the year. Our favorite celebuspawn makes an appearance on stage in the basement. Now, we use the term ‘stage’ loosely because it looks pretty makeshift and we can’t tell if this step up from the floor is always there or something the brothers threw together for the night. Either way, most experienced partygoers (read: upperclassmen) head upstairs to avoid the sea of hookups and Busch Light. Upstairs is no Ritz, but at least we find some Corona.
Saturday night: A Double Shot of Rainbow
Campus gays grab their favorite hag and head over to Ridge to celebrate the end of Rainbow Week. At first, it seems just like a bunch of wide-eyed gays grinding on tipsy girls. Cue the Katy Perry. Who knew “Firework” was so popular with gays? Oh, wait. Everyone did. Dancing and screaming amplified after “Teenage Dream,” averting people’s attention from the tri-lesbian-fight-for-the-hookup showdown in the corner. Partygoers shout whenever someone opens the bathroom door. “Shut the effing light! Oh my god!” Apparently absolute darkness is necessary to hook up. “Why is this party 90 percent freshmen?” Good question. Just forget about it and join the hags soaking up all the booze and bobbing their heads to the sweet sound of Enrique Iglesias.
Saturday night: Balls fly, party dies
The party seems like a bust when people first walk in to a crowd of brothers clamoring to take their coats, but games of beer pong and flip cup quickly sprout up in the mysteriously hot yet empty basement, with balls flying all over the room. Things start to pick up as people are turned away from a nearby registered party, causing the booze to run out far too early in the evening. Forward thinking partygoers snatch up cans of beer to keep the games going but even that can’t keep the festivities raging for much longer. Eventually the crowd thins and paint-covered freshmen wander in, signaling the time to leave. No one wants that shitty brown paint rubbing off on their new tank.
Saturday night: Klassy Concert
Three buses of undergrads head downtown for a Super Mash Bros. concert with the promise of free admission if they know the special code. Snazzy. The group, in an obnoxious and oh-so Northwestern fashion, cuts the entire line of now-angry ticket-holding customers (we have to pee, okay!). Thankfully, the bouncers are lax on IDs. Once inside, it quickly becomes clear that the NU partygoers might not be classy enough for the establishment. With music blaring, our instinct is to start dancing. But this is no TKOE; the rest of the crowd just stands. Well, we’re not the only ones dancing. Two hired dancers stand on stages (read: makeshift boxes) clad in belly shirts, bikini bottoms and faux fur boots. That’s Klassy with a capital “k.”
