Karawane becomes Eskimo Video Game, Late back to Keeney, Screw your Crew, Four Square was only the Beginning, Two and Oh, Doug Interrupts, Cleaning up licentiousness.

Screw your Crew.

The party was called Screw Your Crew. You were paired with your crew and you were meant to find them a date that they could 'screw'. It was a sort of voyueristic, vicariousness that I liked and looked forward too. We had to dress up with ties and khakis- I felt like I was going home. I was going to an upperclassman party that I held keys to- I was out of my mind.

But the night did not start at S your C. No, it started somewhere further down Thayer at the MCM house where I was busy chugging out an intimidating art project with little time to go. It was called 'Karawane' or rather, it was based on Karawane, a sound poem concocted by Hugo Ball in 1917, at the dawn of the Dadaist Revolution. My simple task was to 're-interpret it using New Media technologies.' What this basically meant was that I need to re-invent the avant-garde.

I have a hard time re-defining re-definition.

On Tuesday, after completing my studies in Computer Science and taking off on a trip to Rome with Godfrey, the idea for my re-intrepretation became shockingly clear. I would make a video game. I would put Hugo Ball's classic dadaist piece inside the framework of childish, video entertainment. And this would cheapen it. This would trivialize it to a point that might be misunderstood as parody but in essence would de-value Karawane in the same way it tried to de-value conventional art.

It was some sort of a vision, and I spent Wednesday and Thursday night fleshing this out. I got a free video game maker called Power Game Factory and used its default (only) characters to stage a strange neo-dadaist one player, scrolling scenery SNES classic.

Hugo Ball was defaulted to an armed eskimo. His critics, or what I might attribute as his critics were supplied by snowmen that were more than metaphorical. This was Switzerland after all. This were not as simple as they seemed.

But this was just the creation element. By the time Thursday rolled around. I had Evan down in the MCM studio with me testing out the game and giving me his feedback. We were pushing through and Evan liked it.

He told me that Faith, my crew, had screwed me with a date that I had explicitly requested not to have. I had respected her wishes for not matching her up with a friend, but apparently these things were not going to go both ways.

I hooked her with Sky Sky, and upon learning that her and Tucker were having a thing, brought the Swim Team Legend as well. He was dressed for the occasion and even lent me a tie. He and Sky were great friends and we cautiously made our way up Thayer with a singular goal in mind:

Screw your Crew.

The Keene Street abode already had near Camelot-like prestige in my heart. It was home. It was protected. It was safe and well-armed. You could roll into the Sailing House for a beer and a cheeseburger and roll out with a life vest and a crew of your own. It was cozy, and so past disrepair that we constantly referred to it as the Animal House.

I remember once giving someone directions to the house during a routine visit to the premises.

My directions were short and sweet.

"Go way up Thayer past the CVS and take a right on Keene Street. Look for a house that has a ton of people in it and looks pretty wrecked... no, that IS the sailing house."

I got there at 11:00. We were a little late. The girls had been curling their eyebrows and what not for an additional hour and a half. I was just happy to arrive at the debauchery. I took the first drink that I was offered and did not look back.

Sky and I held down the bar in the basement with Charm and affability. We were serving Rum and Cokes, Cider and Schnapps, Vodka and anything, Jager and Anything, and the Mystery Special that people kept asking for. The house also had its own signature cinnamon punch, four kegs of beer and Gin and Tonics floating around upstairs for those who knew what was goign on.

The bar itself is worth mentioning. It was construct from the hull of a Laser sailboat and used the cockpit of the boat as a hold for the alcohol. I had heard about this legendary component of the Sailing House far before I ever reached Brown. At my Level I's the instructor knew Stoner very well, and laughed over his use of a broken down laser as the means of a bar.

It was still considered genius however, and Brown's sailing reputation of late was tied uncannily to this sort of architectural genius.

I called up the girls who were back in my hall, and invited them up. I was dressed to the teeth and proud of it. I was in a Po Ab school blazer from freshmen year, a standard blue button down, Berks, Khakis, and a pink tie that Tucker had lent me for the occasion. Sky was in a kick-ass argyl suit. Godfrey was in St. George's apparel, and was almost comatose by the time the Upperclassmen on the team came down and start demanding that we take shots of Jagermeister on the whistle.

I love Jagermeister.

We kept pushing it in the basement. There was a long thin table down the eastern-side of the basement that was designed for flip-cup. We had 25 people to a side at one point. 25 People vs. 25 People.

It was incredible.

It was at this point that the girls started to show up. I was serving drinks at the bar when a bunch of old friends came in and started demanding drinks. I told them that if they didn't like their bevarages, I would drink it.

I drank about three different drinks that I had made for Dallas alone. She smiled and winked at me, but still refused to drink.

I got my friends together upstairs and we started a dance party. Godfrey was past due. He was grinding with about five different girls at one time. His eyes were 100% closed and he may have been unconcious.

Nevertheless, the Sailing Team was busy taking snap shots of Godfrey and preparing to torture him with photographic evidence the next day.

Midway through dancing with my date, I skipped out to go try a shotski, a ski that had six shot glasses glued to it.

Unfortunately, by the time I got to the Shotski there was no one else willing to take a hit. I saw the upper classmen and demanded a Jager on the whistle. They gave me a good long upwind beat, and I stumbled out of the withdrawal.

Shannon, a beautiful girl who I had been serving earlier downstairs, caught me. She was looking angelic. She always looks angelic. She told me she was drunk, but I doubted it. There was still the twinkle in her eyes that you lose when you've been drinking. There was still the mystery of sobriety mixed lightly in the stratosphere of her eyes. She was not quite gone yet.

She told me that she had to go. I thanked her for staying or coming or whatever. I was happy she was there right then and I explained that she probably should not leave. She smiled and kissed me. I kissed her back and pretty soon, we were kissing right there on the dancefloor.

Doug 'Fuck Moderation' came up behind me smelling like a Central Park hobo. He started rubbing my head, (AS I WAS FUCKING KISSING THIS BEAUTIFUL GIRL), and laughing in a high pitched squeal. HEEHEHEHEHEHEHE!

She didn't want to kiss anymore. She explained again that she was drunk and that she needed to go. I kissed her on her cheek and asked for her number. She gave it, winked and me and asked me to come see her sometime soon.

And she was gone.

I started punching Douggie. He told me that his intervention had made the kiss happen. I stormed off disgusted toward the front room. Then I found a four-square ball and started playing. We were all having a good time, and I was on the 4-square rampage.

In the middle of a game, Godfrey ran outside and started vomitting. Conservative estimates explain that he hooked up with anywhere from 3 to 7 girls on the dancefloor.

He was now blackout drunk.

I too progressed toward that event horizon. I was suddenly walking down Thayer with Dallas and screaming at the people in Via Via to open up.

"All we want is some pizza sir, we mean you no harm"

We were further down the street and Dallas' friends were explaining that she had a boyfriend. I was out of luck with that girl. And I quickly wound up angry and alone on Wriston trying to remember where exactly Keeney was.

I ran into Liz, and important element for Later stories, who told me that I looked beautiful. She gave me a black and mild and told me to finish it. I smoked it to the plastic.

She laughed and started groping my face she told she was at Brown to find a rich man and marry him. I asked her if she would be happy. She said yes.

She laughed and made ago on a passing security gaurd. I winked at her and at destiny and walked back to my room.