A Walk in the Garden of Delights

If last weekend was a succulent piece of fruit, let's say a Florida orange, then this is my attempt to squeeze it dry of all its nectar. I should have written everything down in my little notebook, recording it for posterity and my future children, but I was too busy adventuring to stop and open my backpack. It was my third Spring Fair (an annual tradition at Johnny Hop) and my most epic yet. Thursday night was the kick off, and lemme tell you, nothing says fun like weird girls from chemistry lab riding a mechanical bull set up in a public quad. Onto Friday. The day was beautiful, warm and golden, and the opening of the infamous Beer Garden. The President's Garden, buttoned up as it usually is with coy pond and blooming trees, is momentarily transformed into a den of sin, complete with kegs, booths, inflatable cacti, drunken students, and Baltimore hangers on. It's glorious. I had never been before and walked in eagerly with bracelet and tickets, ready to booze. There we sat, drinking Twisted Tea and Coors Light for hours and hours, basking in the grass and gossiping about every meathead who walked by. The drinking was punctuated by trips to the freshmen quad for turkey legs, deep fried oreos (you can deep fry anything apparently), pad thai, or indian sample platters. Yum yum yum. Saturday passed in much the same way, with lots of drunken hugs and dancing in the grass. That evening was the first ever "Underground Dance Party." The Spring Fair committee orchestrated a rave in a campus garage, complete with glow sticks, police force, and DJ Scotty B. It was kind of amazing: droves of students showed up with hazy eyes and a fierce need to PARTY. I got in, bopped to the speakers, and promptly heard "Yo, the Baltimore police want to shut this bitch down!" We left and headed above ground. Sunday morning, us eco friendly kids boarded a bus outside Mason Hall headed for the DC Climate Change Rally. The event was on the National Mall and featured Passion Pit, The Roots, Booker T, Bob Weir, Joss Stone, James Cameron, Bill Clinton (on skype!), Margaret Atwood, etc etc. Thousands of people showed up with water bottles and linen bags, eager for music and believing, if just for a moment, in their own capacity for change. We stood for hours in the blistering sun, waiting for Passion Pit, wiping the sweat off, and joking about the Vegans encroaching closer. My boy Yip threatened to put on bacon deodarant just to stave them off. Vegans aside, the rally was an iconic moment for me. DC is a gorgeous city and I enjoyed the eclectic mix of students and bohemians, conservationists and kids. Mr. Nate Byer got his sister and I back stage passes (you rule, Nate!) and so we sat with legs dangling over the scaffolding's edge, watching Sting and Trudie, Questlove and John Legend. I was elated, I won't lie, to see celebrities up so close. I even ran over to a guy in a bowtie and took a picture with him, having no idea he was Dhani Jones, Mr. Football Extraordinaire. Sorry, Dhani, I totally love your muscles. Post rally, Alex and I went for Ethipoian food (conclusion: delicious honey beer, terrifying spongey bread) and explored the city, dancing with politicians and gay boys in cardigans. We finally crashed late, the cat Babs at our feet. And then it was Monday. Today. We roused ourselves, ate some omelets, and took the MARC back, bright and early. The train ride back was the perfect cap to a perfect weekend. I lay with head against the glass, ready for the eventual nap/recharge/adventure ahead. I'm a sleepyhead but it was an excellent weekend, a walk in the garden of delights.

A presto, blogosphere.