Chapter XVI : The Journalist Re-Emerges

I will set you right into the thick of it:

It is ten of nine, the large Mead, McKim and White State House looms alit like Minas Tirith in the balmy November air. It is noticeably, unseasonably warm. I am walking along the river alone clad in my Birthday suit- Emmanuel, black with Pin Stripes, tailored for last year's Semi-Formal as a gift of my Brother. I lack matching shoes so I substitute reef flip-flops that look almost black in the dim light, and seem almost bad ass against the suit that I am modeling.

I am going to the Brown Daily Herald staff party. There are promises of open bar and 'revelry' in the emails that I have continually recieved. I have just spent 5.5 hours programming Tetris for a class I have come to despise. There is no justification. I deserve to get hammered at this party. It is my right.

So I am alone on the patio to the former Bella Vista restraunt set along the hillside to the WaterPlace Park basin jsut opposite the Providence Place Mall. I go in, cheesy Sinatra and the loud babble of small-talk fills the room. I slide in, nervous. I know about five people on the staff, but with any luck and a lot of free drinks, I might know everyone worth knowing by the end of the night. They are carding at the bar, but an editor gets me a Gin and Tonic and lets me sip it gently while he introduces me to some of the regulars around the office. I shake hands and smile. We are practicing a rite that will become ubiquitious to people of our profession:
"Hello there, I'm Zack."
"Peter"
"What do you do?"
"I write Sports and manage Monday's editorials. You?"
"A little bit of everything"
"Oooooohhh. (Eye brows raise) Are you a first year?"
"You got it."
"I knew it. Every thought about writing Sports? You like Sports? Because I am the incoming Sports Editor and I could really use some solid writers..."

I stroll over to the open bar with my empty G&T and order another one.

"Another Gin and Tonic?"
"Yes, Please... (I register that this is an open bar and that they are letting me order without an ID) Actually, better make that two (wink, a dollar into the tip glass. I will not be carded or bothered about drinks for the rest of the night)."

I turn around and give my spare to an Arts and Culture Writer who takes Photography and the American Novel with me. We joke about Holmes, our TA, discuss his brillance, and ponder his sexuality. She introduces me to her friends, teases me for being a freshmen and suggests intimacy.

A psuedo-mentor, who emailed required praise to me on a Staff requirement, comes over to assist in my drunkeness.

"Dude, we need to do some shots."

We approach the bar. Virgil raises his hand and orders seven Spacenators. I ask him what a spacenator is. He shrugs. An explanation comes later in the night that one of the bartenders invented the drink while messing around in the back one night.

We do a line of seven shots with some other staffers. I shake hands and make more friends. We do another round. I buy a Cosmopolitan and a Gin and Tonic for two beautiful senior girls who can't seem to find their IDs. I smile at the bartender and wink again. She laughs and gives me my drinks. I turn around and do likewise for the girls.

I end up on the balcony overlooking the stirring River Basin and the city of Providence. I smoke Camels with the outgoing editors and joke about their new directions in life. Justin is trying to get a job. Robbie is off to Columbia Journalism. Katie is off to Georgetown Law. I smoke cigarettes and feel badass.

The Journalist is re-emerging. I re-becoming myself.