post- happy hour

sincerely, james joyce

Ernest Hemingway famously said: “Write drunk; edit sober.” This semester, the editors are taking Hemingway’s advice to heart—or at least half of it. We’re bringing back a Post- tradition: The Editors’ Column. Every other week, one of us will sit down with a drink and tackle some of the most pressing questions that plague us as Brown students. We’ll post our responses here. It’s a tough job, but someone has to do it.

Date and time: 3/15/15, 12:59 AM

Drinks consumed: 1 jigger rum, 1 Budweiser (ordered by accident), 1 jack and ginger, 4 shots Jameson Irish Whiskey

Provisions at hand: 20 fl. oz. Canada Dry Ginger Ale (chaser), 12 fl. oz. Brooklyn Brown Ale, 1 bag Fritos, a shit ton Jameson Irish Whiskey

Drunkenness level: yeeeeeeeee

Song that’s been stuck in my head all night: “Sorrow” by The National

Appropriateness of song that’s been stuck in my head all night: minimal

Helpfulness of spell-check when it comes to spelling “appropriateness”: very

Prompt: I’ll get to it, OK Tori?

Mood: Anxious (as usual), ruminating (as usual), inebriated (somewhat usual)

Thing I just laughed at: my roommate sneezing loudly from across the apartment

Feeling in fingers: tingly

Graduation: Strangely imminent

Fritos: delicious

Graduation: scary

Fritos: Holy fuck these should be illegal

[Interlude: Drunk call from friend in New York. It makes me really happy when I get drunk calls. It’s nice to know that people at their most primal level of competence are thinking of me]

Graduation bucket list: Get laid at least one more time; Climb MacFarlane House and other climbable buildings on campus; go to one more naked party

Song stuck in my head: “Graceless” by The National

Apprioteness of song stuck in my head: getting better

Something everyone should do before they graduate from Brown: I’m getting to it, Tori, chill

Occupants of room: myself and roommate

Topic of roommate’s conversation: Radiolab episode about a Canadian wrestler who went on an “unscheduled” rampage—which is hilarious that there are scheduled rampages, right?—which ironically made the WWF way more popular because fans know that that every now and then there’s something real about it, something reflective of true relationships between people…but it’s still fake, and the tension between the “Real” and the “Fake” is so compelling

Last ten minutes of activity: watching WWF videos trying (unsuccessfully) to find the correct one where Brett Hart goes on his unscheduled rampage

Date and time: 3/15/15, 1:52 AM

Latest topic of conversation with roommate: why he would or would not make a good undercover cop. He wouldn’t, by the way

Last thing roommate said to me before he left my room: “Fuck you, you inebriated fuck.”

Our relationship: tight

What the beeping sound of a Brown shuttle outside reminds me of: the sound my alarm system at home makes when I turn it on when I get back late at night

How remembering the sound of my alarm system at home makes me feel: safe

How comparing my column so far to the other Post- Happy Hour columns that have run this semester makes me feel: Jealous, on account of all the other editors apparently becoming hilarious geniuses when they get drunk, whereas I become somehow both more oafish, and more pedantic when I have too much Jameson in me

What I think about before I fall asleep: what it would feel like to hit a home run in a major league ballpark; my idea for a political drama focused on a well-meaning Senate Majority Leader and his ruthless but likeable chief of staff; precisely how much sleep I’ll get if I fall asleep this very moment

How many words I have left as of the end of this sentence: 254

What everyone should do/accomplish before they graduate from Brown: OK. I’ve been thinking a lot about this tonight and I want to give it a shot. I’m tired and sleepy and I’m procrastinating writing this, but I can’t because I’m drunk now and this has to be drunk, so here goes. Lose yourself dancing in a sweaty room, at least once. I’m not a party person, God knows. I’ve skipped plenty of parties for quieter activities, and at least half of the parties I go to I leave after 20 or so minutes under the pretense of having an early morning the next day, or just because I have to go “meet up with some people.” I sort of dread the weekends sometimes: I don’t know what I’m going to end up doing and I worry whatever it is I do, it’s just going to end up making me feel lonely. So understand that if you don’t like parties, I get it. But at least once—and I maintain this is entirely within your control—you have to find yourself in such an ecstasy of dancing and abandon with some of your closest friends, or by yourself, whatever, that you literally do not care about tomorrow. I worry like it’s my day-job, so those few moments I’ve had where evertything evaporated but this moment, in this room, dancing to this song, are magical. And maybe they can happen after college, who knows. But my gut tells me this is something you can find at Brown if you put yourself out there enough, if you’re willing to let it happen to you, and it certainly does not get easier from here to find those moments. And let me tell you, those few moments I’ve had where the world outside of the present evaporated, they stick with me. I remember the songs, the people, the sweat, the wood floors, the cool outside air after the dancing concluded, the sense that, yes, Yes, maybe I am whole, maybe I am OK, will be OK. Maybe, Yes.

What the fuck do I know: yeah

Words over the limit: 104

Sleep: now