Halls of ivy, paths of beauty...

...we drink rum and stay outside. (It fits to the tune, y'all.)

This should come as no surprise to those who knew the miscreants of the Middlebury Class of 1995, or at least a certain subset of that class. As we lined up for the parade, Jim Rodda was passing around the rum bottle, and I took a big ol' pull from it right as someone says, "Isn't that President Liebowtiz right over there?" Oh - hi.

And as we processed toward the chapel for the convocational service, most of the Class of 1995 peeled off to stay outside and chat and socialize - all except the one poor sucker who was at the front, and was the sole representative when classes were announced. We had no love of old tradition, but fought like hell against any changes. (One of the deans told some of us outright about changes that they just had to wait until we graduated - we would be gone, they would still be here, and they would win. And they did.)

It is amazing the reversions of returning to reunion for those of us who came without children (those who did come with children remained adults for the duration). Friday night we got lectured by event staff for climbing over the event ropes, attempting to leave the event area with beer, and for climbing over the ropes on our way out. (Yes, we knew where the exit was that time - we just didn't care.)

Saturday night, rather than attend the sanctioned events after dinner, we passed around a bottle of Old Grand-Dad and talked about old times, where we were in our lives, and mourned friends no longer with us.

Later on we got kicked out of the lounge by event staff (since the accomodation plans two of us had made were too far after the Old Grand-Dad, we'd planned to sleep there), and we crashed in the third floor study lounge instead.

The next morning, heading down to the lounge in search of water to stave off the oncoming hangover, there were three fraternity brothers passed out in the lounge, with the strong scent of cheap beer in the air. Pretty much the way Hepburn Lounge smelled EVERY Sunday morning I remember.

There is a much longer and philosophical post in the works, with further detail of people and happenings. I did get the reflection I needed, and answered many of the questions I'd been asking about my life and what direction to head in. That will come later.

But this post I will leave with the amazement at how quickly we all fell back in together and how little our basic characters had changed. And waking up Sunday morning, hung over in the third floor study lounge, wrapped in a tablecloth, next to a smokin' hot blonde, means that at least for a time, you can go 'home' again.

Disclosure - any interactions with the aforementioned hot blonde were purely platonic due to both of us being in relationships. I just had to end with that image of resumed debauchery and return to college days.