COLLEGETOWN—In an unusual decision motivated by the “unprecedented circumstances” brought about by the ongoing pandemic, students collectively decided that drinking would be considered socially acceptable this Tuesday night.
“We, by which I mean myself and the guys, are committed to doing everything possible to mitigate the impacts of COVID on our student body by fucking up our physical, corporeal bodies,” said Darrin McDonough ‘22. “With that in mind, it’s pretty chill if you wanna drink this Tuesday. I mean, why the fuck not, right?”
With classes shifted online amidst the long Ithaca winter and no end in sight for many pandemic-related restrictions, Collegetown residents determined that this Tuesday— a day considered by many to be the last on which one cannot reasonably justify a tipple—would be cleared for alcoholic consumption as a humane method of lessening the deleterious effects of Cornell’s present reality. Although no central government was responsible for reaching this conclusion, it was clear that the student populace was in complete consensus.
“After I got off my fourth and final Zoom class of the day, I just went straight for the special occasion whiskey on top of the fridge,” disclosed Marina Walker ‘23. “I was a little worried someone might see what I was doing and get judgy, but it was pretty clear my roommates had already taken a few swigs themselves. And then I saw the people in the house across the street hauling in a keg. It made me realize that sometimes extraordinary times call for the most ordinary of comforts: getting shitfaced beyond all belief on the most boring day of the week.”
At press time, students had already waived restrictions on dropping acid on Wednesdays.
A few months ago, back at Cornell, my roommates got a little concerned when I came home trashed for the fifth night in a row. But I was out with friends, and I was just a social drinker. And then quarantine set in. I thought a few beers every night was normal. I’d have a mimosa or four in the morning just like any regular person. But after six straight weeks, I have come to a conclusion. I am not just a social drinker.
At first I was doing really well, I swear. My roommates and I were staying together in our apartment, and we would spend each night drinking a few Claws while watching Miss Congeniality, 50 First Dates, and Mean Girls on loop. And after we left to go home, we would play drinking games during Zoom lectures. But these days I’m stuck on the sofa in my childhood home, watching Chopped and playing EdwardForty hands with my little brother chilling a few seats over.
I get it. I used to make so many excuses about how I would just “drink to celebrate”. But I woke up at 2 pm and made myself a complete 2.5 course meal before remembering life is meaningless in quarantine and heading back to bed for a stress nap. I think that’s a cause for celebration. Even if celebrating means doing multiple shots alone in my bed at exactly 2:01 pm while crying to Avril Lavigne in the background.
So maybe I’m not just a social drinker. Maybe I have a “problem”. Maybe I am “lonely”. Maybe this is “harder than it seems”. This new realization has really been stressing me out. I think I’ll make myself a gin and tonic to take the edge off.
DICKSON HALL—Unable to handle the guilt from leaving his contraband alcohol unreported, RA Ryan Newman ‘21 dutifully submitted an OJA form this Monday reporting that he brought a mostly-full handle of Mango Pineapple Svedka back to his dorm room.
“It is my solemn duty as an RA to provide a fun, safe, and sober living experience for all of my residents, and I broke that promise by keeping the Svedka in my backpack when I came home,” said Newman, who also reported himself last semester for being too loud during quiet hours. “Sitting through two sessions of BASICS is a small price to pay to uphold the tremendous responsibility Cornell has granted me.”
“I take very seriously my obligation to report every single infraction of the no-alcohol rule, no matter how harmless,” he continued.
Over the course of the twenty minutes it took Newman to write up his report, a total of 26 standard drinks were consumed in dorm rooms on his floor.
At a place like Cornell, it’s important to stay in touch with yourself and make sure you’re taking care of you; self-care can take many forms, each valid and each healthy. So if you find yourself alone at a table in the back of a Collegetown sushi restaurant, fists poised, making full eye contact a sake bomb, you are okay. This is absolutely acceptable behavior, if it’s self-care.
It’s hard to refocus on yourself if you’re used to taking care of others first. Explain to your friends that you’re cultivating your own well-being; if they don’t understand, they’re probably toxic and you should cut them out of your life. What friend would stand in the way of you going on mindful walks? Or resting and watching Netflix instead of partying? Or going out alone, shouting ‘bomb bomb bomb,’ and drinking 22 ounces of beer and a buttload of sake?
As you bang on the table, just make sure to show any strangers around you that you have a sake bomb Pinterest board. Then they’ll understand: you do this for you. And if anyone’s getting you down about this super fun hobby, it doesn’t matter. You know that the frothy combination of two pee flavors that you’re guzzling is basically the same thing as a refreshing glass of cucumber water if you say you’re treating yourself.
And just keep in mind that cleansing yourself is part of the process—so if you happen to vomit on the street afterward, that is a-ok. You’re taking care of you.
COLLEGETOWN—Jessica Ashdale ’20 began unfurling her crumpled, uncomfortably-soggy baseball costume Friday evening in preparation for yet another weekend of costumed revelry.
“How the hell did I get beer on every inch of this costume?” Ashdale said while examining the wadded XXL t-shirt she last tossed in the corner of her apartment Sunday after a bout of day-drinking. “And what is this stain? I can’t tell whether it’s wine from the Friday pregame or fake blood from Sam’s ‘Sexy but Incompetent Nurse’ costume.”
While at first curious as to why her costume smelled so awful, to her horror Ashdale soon recalled having spilled a mango strawberry smoothie all over herself Saturday night.
“I guess if I fold this section, and turn so only my left side shows when taking photos, it could work?” said Ashdale, unsuccessfully trying to hide the more offensive spaghetti-sauce streaks with staples and whiteout. “ This would be so much more manageable if I could just rub out all the marker stains I got from hugging 18 different Lil Pumps and 6ix9ines I saw last weekend.”
After repurposing her bedraggled outfit into a “used napkin” costume, Ashdale strode confidently into the night, unaware that by Sunday her outfit would be little more than a couple strings of thread held together by beer and dried vomit.
Listen up, you assholes: all of you, with your fake orange beards that look like upside-down Troll hair and your misplaced green Mardi Gras beads, know jack shit about the esteemed religious and cultural meaning of Saint Patrick’s Day.
This is supposed to be the one time of the year when people acknowledge the 5th-century missionary who became the canonized figure of The Emerald Isle, and all you selfish crass college kids do is chug shitty green beer and piss it back onto the law school? Why don’t you just shove a shamrock-frosted cupcake up my ass?
And don’t get me started on all you twisted fucks who tell people to “kiss me, I’m Irish,” but I bet none of you even speak one word of Gaelic and you just think this sacred festival honoring the life and legacy of the foremost patron saint of Ireland is a convenient way to score some action. Have some respect, you sick freaks.
For me, I’m going to be spending my Saint Patrick’s Day making sure everyone who crosses my path knows that not every Irish person dances the fucking jig and looks like a three-foot-tall Ed Sheeran. And you’d better believe I’m going to wear green, but in the form of a long sleeve button-up, and also in church, praying for all you sacrilegious, insensitive pieces of shit.
LIBE SLOPE — Calling upon three years of hardened experience in the field, Senior Liam McKlevern spent the afternoon burying a bottle of sunscreen in the slope in preparation for Slope Day.
“Most novices think they can just hit the slope with a single layer of SPF 35,” reported McKlevern, leaning up against his shovel. “But take it from me, the key to really having a blast on Slope Day lies in burying a Zinc Oxide boosted SPF 100+ sunscreen. They don’t let you bring protection like that through the gates.”
Burying sunscreen was just the beginning of the Senior’s preparation, whose fridge is currently stocked wall-to-wall with a diverse assortment of bottled water. “All I have to do now is show up all hydrated and dig this bad boy up, then that’s when the real party starts.”
Upon hearing about McKlevern’s exploits, the Slope Day Planning Committee would like to remind everyone that applying adequate amounts of sunscreen, while not explicitly illegal, does violate years of Cornell tradition.