The slip and slide on Wriston has soapy foam on it: Simple, but now that we know we are definitely rinsing off before class/bringing a towel. The foam party was so two years ago…
Marching bands are sick: I didn’t think there would be much excitement around opening acts, but getting to the concert early on Friday meant dancing like a maniac for a solid half hour or more. Students got down on the cement with the drummers and pretended they were at Mardi Gras. They made eye contact with the trumpeter and almost got decapitated by the chick with the cymbals… and it was worth every minute. What Cheer? Brigade should come back every year. They are that brassy beat that’s missing from our lives.
BEWARE OF THE FRONT: People were pushing and shoving while they were not conscious of their surroundings (read: in a state of mind that was not sobriety). This is a dangerously bad combination that leads to elbows to the face and dancing feet crushing another person’s toes. While we were shouting out “azz everywhere!” all the Jewish mothers at home were shouting, “You’re gonna break ya neck bubala!”
This isn’t to say that you can’t make it out unscathed. It’s an experience definitely worth trying to be in the middle of the mob. For those of you that aren’t concert savvy: don’t expect to last more than ten minutes in that hellhole.
Things will get dirty: Do not wear anything you care about to Spring Weekend, and that includes your footwear! There is a reason that everyone wears tanks and denim shorts—everyone looks like a mess after the first hour. Give in to the frizz, the body sweat, and the overall grime of Main Green mud. Nobody is looking. Not even the person you are making out with gives a fuck. We promise.
You will sustain injuries: Shoutout to everyone whose inner thighs still hurt from riding the mechanical bull at the SPEC carnival. We lost our voices from screaming, we’re charleyhorsed from dancing so long, and we found many mysterious bruises on Monday morning…
Invest in band-aids, ice packs, Advil, and maybe a spare liver? We hope we look as good as Dave Binder after four years of Brown Spring Weekend… much less 27.
Fratty at the Ratty trumps all: It’s the moment you’ve been waiting for all semester. Unlimited Chicken Fingers and a bar mitzvah-style dance floor at the most infamous cafeteria on campus? Bring your friends, your moves and some TUMS… because you might get nauseous. Does the alcohol-induced nausea really differ that much from the baked scrod-induced nausea on any other given day?
This event will always be worth the line: even though the line rivals the magnitude of Ratty Rush Hour on Cajun Chicken Pasta day.
It’s a marathon, not a sprint: Believe it or not, it’s totally kosher to go to sleep at midnight during Spring Weekend. The concert is the ultimate party. Whatever follows will undoubtedly be cool, but it won’t be so much fun if you’re wasting all of your energy by struggling to keep your eyes open. You must be well-rested for Binder!
The scene: It’s fun to just hang around with friends into the wee hours of the morning
4:20 a.m. during Spring Weekend because the party is everywhere and anywhere. However, if you and your friends are wandering around looking for ‘that’ party, be patient. You haven’t found it until you’re standing in a crowded parking lot/house/club with half of the student population. You’ll definitely find it eventually.
A note on substances: You may sweat out all of your alcohol in the first hour. That being said, don’t seek other means of inebriation that you aren’t comfortable with. Please don’t cause yourself more than the inevitable amount of vomiting. Spring Weekend can be a fun time to experiment with new things, but it can also be a fun time to stick to the familiar and just enjoy the music. After all, this is what you paid for. You probably want to have some vague form of recollection.
Dave Binder is godly: Just read our interview with him here. Binder transports us to a different universe in which life is really just one big sing-along and its occupants exclusively wear cowboy hats and denim overalls. There’s enough mud on Wriston at this point of the weekend for it to actually be Woodstock… but instead of Jimi Hendrix, we have Dave Binder. Which is cool. Rolling Stone definitely screwed up by not ranking him as second best guitarist in history.