Rites of spring is hell

At my dear alma mater, also my employer, there is a yearly festival of debauchery called Rites of Spring. It's starting up right outside my window at this moment, which means I'll be fleeing in about five minutes. Right now the music is pulsing against my window, drowning out Belle and Sebastian playing from the speakers on my desk.

So, every year bands play in the college quad (outside my window), and the entire area is fenced in to prevent interlopers and alcohol (which means everyone makes frequent trips to their rooms for refreshments of liquid and other varieties). I had my share of fun at Rites, but my second year I glimpsed the seamy underside and it was never the same after that.

That year, my angst had reached fever pitch after a recent breakup with my one and only Punk-rock Boyfriend. I joined in some of the drinking, but mostly felt sad and noticed the undercurrent of sadness in everyone else. I remember one incident in particular where I was in a room with group of people, and somehow everyone left except me and this one guy I didn't know very well.

I don't even remember his name now--but I can still picture that he had a lot of freckles. He had always appeared to be a particularly happy fellow, and all of a sudden he was sitting next to me quietly recounting all the slights and loneliness that were weighing him down. He talked on and on in a quiet voice and I kept thinking, this dude was extolling the virtues of St. Louis, city of beers, ten minutes ago.

And so it went. My junior year, probably my most chaotic, I boycotted Rites almost entirely. Also, Kurt Cobain died. Springtime always seemed particularly hard, especially during college. End of term pressures combined with the threat of empty summer, with its move home from the dorms and dull days. So, my mood wasn't ever especially light around Rites.

But, this wasn't going to be my point. I wanted to dwell on the disturbing chain link fence put up at various points to keep people in/out. It always brings to mind a refugee camp. When I was a student (I hear this next policy no longer is in effect), they basically shut down the refectory and served all meals outside. Basically, it was damage control. (People got so crazy, broken toilets in the dorms were a regular casualty. I don't mean clogged, either--we're talking smashed porcelain. Or so I've been told; I never saw one, so it may be a Rites legened.)

So, you're fenced in, your eating crappy cookout food while squatting in the grass. It was the epitome of degradation. It was like wartime. And we all know war is hell. From this, I derive the simple equation:

Rites of Spring = War = Hell.