Showing posts with label Drinking. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Drinking. Show all posts

Thursday, February 7, 2008

What I Know Now?

I just got an email from the UGA Alumni Association asking for submissions to a "brochure" of sorts that they distribute to both incoming freshman and graduating students. It is intended to be a collection of advice from alumni, fellow Dawgs sharing the "if onlys" that ring in their ears now, that would have made their lives easier if they'd known them earlier.

Somehow I don't think my list would get published. But, damn, ain't they the truth.

If Only I Knew Then:

  • That the beer taps at Georgia Theater have not been cleaned since the early century, and drinking draft beer there is a bad idea, unless you really like puking.

  • That the classes that stress you out the most are likely the ones that are filling your head (albeit temporarily) with nonsense that will have absolutely no bearing on your real "adult" life. NO ONE has ever stood in the grocery store and thought, man, this recipe would have been much harder to shop for if I hadn't taken Advanced Physics.

  • That being in the right sorority or fraternity isn't half as important as the group of friends you make while in college. Whether they were your sisters, your neighbors, your teammates or your classmates, the friendships you form while in school aid you through an amazing, challenging, interesting, crazy-fun time in your life.

  • That under no uncertain circumstances should you graduate in 4 years with no summers spent on campus. It is just a cryin' shame to leave college that soon.

  • That double vodkas WILL make you black out. Or throw up. No questions asked.

  • That it would be worth giving up a football season or a spring on campus to study abroad. I still regret this, and wish someone had just put me on a plane with a map and a backpack. I'd have figured it out.

  • That while the freedom from your parents will be exhilirating, at some point about halfway through college you realize that you miss them, and like being with them. Even if they're not handing you money. I think it is a hint at "adulthood," but I could be wrong. It may just be because your mom lets you bring home a huge bag of laundry, and always homecooks a meal for you.

  • That no one, not even your first job interview, will give a rats ass about what your GPA was, or what you scored on your SATs. Not one person. What they ought to teach you is more "Office Life 101" or "Interviewing Skills 200." Those things would be much more educational and beneficial than high scores or fancy Latin titles after your name on graduation day.

  • That there is nothing that can make Jim Beam taste good in the morning. No, not even fried chicken at a football tailgate. Nothing.

  • That while staying up 'til 2 in the morning every night is fun, but you'll most likely catch up on your sleep in class (the pen may also leak through your notepad and you may drool) and professors will notice you more this way than if you just stayed in bed.

  • That no matter how good at them you are, in the end, keg stands and beer bongs are meant for, and should be left to, boys. Period.

  • That the four (five, six, seven?) years you spend in college is the easiest time in your life. You are still on your parents' health insurance, you don't have real responsibilities, you don't have to remember the drycleaning/doctor's appointments/credit card bills/mortgage payments/kids. You may not even have a job, because ultimately, school is your job. And that is the easiest job you'll ever have.

  • That it is a powerful and useful life-long skill to master "flippy cup" and it is a good investment in your social future. Especially if you plan to move to the Midwest. Heck, throw in a few corn hole training sessions and you'll be a party hit for life.

  • That just because he says he will call you if you do it, he won't, and you'll be sorry you did. And, everyone will know about it by the time you make it to your 10 am class.

  • That there is absolutely no reason to wear giant Greek letters across your chest. I know, I know, they tell you it is in good spirit, and that you'll feel a sense of belonging, but really, it is an immature way to express yourself. Go buy a University sweatshirt and just enjoy being a part of something even bigger.

  • That your body will likely never look as good as it does now, so stop obsessing, starving yourself and comparing your body to other girls—this is the time you should be celebrating your youthful looks and just get the heck over it.

  • That under no uncertain circumstances should you EVER let your counselor talk you into taking a class that starts before 9 am. You'll regret it, you'll hate your counselor, and your grades (and your partying) will suffer.

  • That even if you don't like football, there is something quite powerful about being one in a crowd of thousands all rooting for the same thing. I think they call it pride, and it gives me goosebumps even today. And, no, you don't have to let this pride make you crazy and paint your chest, do the wave, or run naked across the field. The word fan came from "fanatics" for a reason.

  • That you shouldn't deny the fact that every day of the week has a great reason to socialize, and that you should be there. Maybe it is $1 burger Mondays, or $2 taco Tuesdays, or $.25 beer Thursdays, or live music Sundays, but there's always a good reason. And you should milk 'em before life comes at you and the hangovers hurt more and the deadlines are more real and your boss doesn't like you rolling in late. Just go.

  • That it would be really hard to leave. I mean, crying as you close the door to your senior apartment hard. Literally sobbing as you drive down the street and pull onto the highway difficult. Seeping sadness all the way down the (short, 60 mile) road to "home," which, quite frankly, just feels different.

I may try to submit a few of these. I wish someone had done it for me.

Sunday, January 6, 2008

Born to Tailgate

In light of the Bowl Championship Series national title game tomorrow, I have been watching, and talking about, college football a lot lately.

That's just fine by me.

I also have been asked to recount the stories from my college tailgating days. Which brings me to this post.

I wrote this essay (if you will?) in response to some friendly taunting from some Chicago friends when we were all taking off for Ann Arbor for a weekend of football Michigan-style several years back. The guys weren't sure I could hang. They were afraid I'd be too girly. They didn't think I'd understand the rules. They figured I'd want to leave at halftime to go shopping.

Boy were they wrong.

The below essay was my response, typed furiously back to the four "offenders," and the only reply I got back was, "You're riding shotgun. Let's go."

So, in light of the big game tomorrow, where my beloved SEC will take on, again, the Big Ten's Ohio State, I give you this:

Born To Tailgate

Do I know how to tailgate? Of course. I went to The University of Georgia. I am a Bulldog. I know how to tailgate. I was born to tailgate.

We drink Beam for breakfast. We have huge feasts of southern fried chicken, mashed potatoes and pans of brownies. We dress in red and black and only red and black. We tape Ziploc baggies of Jim Beam inside our thighs to help our wasted frat boy dates get into the game with it. We sweat like fools (the girls actually “glisten") at the games in September. We get too dressed up for the games and don't even complain. We love it.

We walk from fraternity row to Sanford Stadium, or better yet, we ride with the pledges down the great hill of Baxter Steet in the back of a frat boy’s SUV with Croakies hanging from the mirror and a pair of old New Balance under the seat. We yell and bark and sing and chant until we can't talk. We drink cheap beer and squint into the hot Georgia sun and smile the whole day.

We bleed red and black. We despise all teams with orange. We stand 86,112 fans together, united in a veritable sea of red as our Dawgs hunker down 'tween the hedges and make us proud. We love their silver britches and shiny red helmets. We rush the field before the game is even over. We tear down the goal posts and parade them around campus. We love a good rounce, we appreciate a good win, but we're proud of our team even when they lose.

We host "College Gameday" and show Corso, Herbstreit and Fowler a good time on Broad Street late into the morning. We ring the victory bell on North Campus like we have since its inception. We still brag that Herschel Walker was a Dawg. We put Athens, Georgia on the map long before anyone had even heard the B-52’s tune “Love Shack.”

We pet UGA VI and know that he's the cutest damn bulldog we've ever seen, even when he turns his tail end to you because his head is sore from all of the patting. We start over after the game and continue to tailgate until the night falls, and then we hit the bars.

We tailgate at the UGA/Florida game in Jacksonville for 4+ long days, win or lose, rain or shine, and have rightfully earned the title for that roadtrip into neutral territory "The Largest Outdoor Cocktail Party." We love Larry Munson and know the sound of his voice will bring us good things. We reminisce about the good ‘ole days in Athens when Vince Dooley was King. The girls know as much about football plays as they do about their Kate Spade purses.

We drink out of the bottle. We drink out of a thermos. We drink out of a can. We drink out of a styrofoam cup. We drink out of a koozie. We drink out of a Ziploc. We drink out of a funnel. We drink out of a keg. We just drink.

We have two religions down South where I'm from: SEC Football and Southern Baptist. Pick one.

You ask me if I'm ready? Why yes, sir. I'm ready. I was born ready. And so were all my friends.