Well folks, here we are, my top memory from college. Are you caught up on the other four? If not, here’s a chance to catch up:
#5 – The sprained ankle that changed my life and personality for the better
#4 – It involves Main Street Magazine and pubic hair. What’s not to love?
As you can probably gather, since it’s my topic of discussion here more often than not, MUSO is (was) a big part of my life. MUSO has given me many great memories, from having to drive Dan Nigro of As Tall As Lions to Durham from Logan Airport after having been awake for 36 hours (if you’re wondering, yes, I did almost kill him in an accident) to hanging out with John Darnielle of the Mountain Goats all day and subsequently putting on the largest MUSO show in recent memory. While those were once in a lifetime experiences for me, I was a show promoter. It sounds really douchey, but even though I was nervous and starstruck most of the time when I met these people, dealing with them is kind of what I did.
(DISCLAIMER: Should any UNH administrators make their way here, my actions were not endorsed or facilitated in any capacity by the Memorial Union Student Organization. They have been and remain a beacon of clean, upstanding, independent living, and any connection they have to my story is merely coincidence)
No, my friends, the moment I’m referring to happened during my Sophomore year. I had just joined up with MUSO and we were about to have our first big show of the year, a relatively unknown mashup artist by the name of “Girl Talk”. Through a big promotional campaign, we ended up selling it out and when the night of the show came, close to 400 students packed themselves into the Strafford Room, ready to dance. And dance we did. At least a couple hundred people were just raging on stage, threatening its collapse. Of course I had pregamed mightily, so I was among the gyrating horde. I can’t remember a single song that was played, except that he messed up for a while and played a loop of “Whoop there it is!” for what seemed like an eternity. Finally the show ended, the stage was thankfully in one piece, and I stumbled back to my dorm. But as soon as I got there I got a call from my friend Anthony saying that there was going to be a huge party in Newmarket at the Toast House and that I should go. So I hooked up a ride and some PBR and I went.
When I arrived I immediately had to pee, so I carved my way through the mob of people and went upstairs toward their bathroom. And who should I see stoned out of his mind wandering around the second floor? Girl Talk himself, Gregg Gillis. I was stunned. Little old me had somehow been invited to the after party. Justifiably excited, I continued to drink myself into oblivion. I drank so much that I stopped noticing that they were playing the Justice album on repeat, that the furniture I sat on was collapsing underneath me, or that I walked straight through a bramble patch after checking out the bonfire. Other highlights include Dan Hourihan making out with everything that moved and having a long conversation with Gregg about how the new Dre album was probably never coming out.
We raged long into the night, finally leaving somewhere around 6am. Great party, right? But there was one catch: I was still a chem major, and Girl Talk was on a Thursday. I had class the next morning at 10.
So I went home and had three hours of fitful sleep, forcing myself awake at 9am sharp to find that I was still pretty clearly intoxicated. I had two hours of class and that was all. Easy, right? Wrong.
My first was a lit analysis class and we were having a debate about the necessity of the ending of a novel we had just finished. I was ecstatic. All I had to do was pick a side and hang in the back and try to sober myself. Except that the side I picked…I was the only one who picked it. So I sat, drunk, facing twenty of my peers, thoroughly unprepared to debate all of them. Eventually someone joined me to, as they put it, “play Devil’s Advocate”, but it didn’t make things go any better. At one point I literally launched into a “that’s ignorant!” speech. But regardless of how poorly I did, it was over and done with and I had just one more hour of classes.
But like I said, I was a chemistry major. That class was organic chemistry. And I had a scheduled quiz on mechanisms or some bullshit.
I sat in that giant ass lecture hall in Spaulding still reeling, completely unable to comprehend what was going on around me. Eventually I black out and when I came to I was laying face down on my bed in Randall, fully clothed, and it was 7pm. At least I wasn’t drunk anymore.
So I’m sorry that wasn’t as fun to read as it was to live it because I only have a cursory remembrance of the evening, but partying all night with Girl Talk is the one thing about my college experience that I’ll never be able to replicate, ever, so it gets awarded my top spot. And as a bonus, I got a C+ on that quiz I took blacked out, one of my highest grades of the semester! What a happy ending.
Thanks for the memories everyone. I’ll be back tomorrow to talk about more sappy graduate related things.
