There is a Russian proverb, "what is on a sober man’s mind is on a drunk man’s tongue," and although not yet drunk, I plan to be soon. I am now mentally preparing for the inevitable progression of the night by writing this article from my sober man’s (?!) mind. In picking a topic, my mind raced through the options: drugs I have injected, people who have given me noise complaints, interior decorating–the list goes on. But then I sat down and gave pause to think. This is possibly the last time in my life (excluding vacations in Russia) where it will be at least semi-socially acceptable for me to be seen at breakfast with an 18 year old. Sure, I have had grand aspirations in the past: having friends, going to class, etc., but this one holds weight on my "to do" list for senior year.

The biggest question now, aside from whom I should select, is which game to use. There is always the old reliable, DJ game, but after a while, even I could grow tired of that. Besides, being a senior is something grand, even –dare-I-say–powerful. This is an opportunity handed down by Prometheus himself: for me to use my limited acting skills and be whatever personality is needed for the night. And, as the saying goes, I am not looking for a Miss Right, but rather a Miss Right-Now. I am now turning to the freshmen class to aid me in this endeavor.

Now that I have decided to lose what little pride I had left for the purposes of this hedonistic-ego-serving-power-trip, the question that remains is how to go about this in a way that allows me to easily, quickly and thoroughly sever the ties by lunch. I could use the gee-it’s-really-about-time-I-got-tested line, but knowing the nature of the gossip-ridden sponsor group system, this method would ultimately be self-defeating. Besides, this would also ruin the possibility of keeping that special person at bay, the in-case-of-emergency possibility thing. Perhaps, the best route may in fact be the closest to the truth: "I can’t remember what happened, but I’m sure I enjoyed those 3 minutes as well." Thus the other participant is left confused, disappointed or just hungover. Most likely, if at breakfast with me, they will, as per usual, simply feel ashamed and embarrassed. But luckily, our omniscient God, aware of said possible occurences, made the Bloody Mary, a breakfast drink, and a glorious aid in the removal of such unfortunate, yet unavoidable feelings.

Will any of this be possible? Will I be able to get away with something that is almost illegal in every state north of the Mason-Dixon line? The hope is there, indeed, but what is sadly lacking is the commitment. As a senior, I am tired. I am now an old man. Sure, three years ago the partying would never stop. At certain rare times, I even had stamina and endurance (the special kind).

That Benny is no more. The prospect of having to "venture down south," and to engage in conversation that requires even a minimal amount of my remaining energy is intimidating. I have a bar on my porch where I can drink to ease the pain of my aging back. I can stare at the wall, in what is certainly a warning sign of stress-induced dementia. I will have company from the occasional RA who, ever so politely, asks me to turn down my music. Besides, if I am ever feeling exceptionally frisky, Pomona was kind enough to install a T3 internet connection in the privacy of my own room.