Blackout Summer In The USA - Another Dorm-Days Flashback

This week's Dorm Days Flashback takes us all the way back to the Summer of 2001. At the time I was working at a little golf course on the west side of Salt Lick known as Rose Park. Oddly enough, a month ago, I just started a new job at that familiar little golf course on the west side of Salt Lick known as Rose Park. Like a lot of things in my life, it seems like I take a long and arduous journey just to get back to where I started. But like I always say, it doesn't matter what happens to me as long as I get a story out of it. The story of how I just ended up back at Rose Park will be told at a different time, but to tide you over until then, here's a twisted look back to my first summer away from home.

"Blackout Summer In The USA"
(June 2001)
Originally posted to the old blog in February 2006

It was the summer of 2001, and it was a scorcher. During the summer the only kids still living on campus were people enrolled at least full time, or worked a campus job for ten hours per week. I had a job at a local golf course in Salt Lake, Rose Park, and really did not want to quit and return to Price for the summer. So I got Coach Connor to sign off on ten hours per week as a personal assistant to his staff, and got to stay on campus. VodkaRob, in a similar situation, didn’t feel like returning to his small hometown as well, so he kept his campus job. Without school and less responsibility than ever, could VodkaRob and I, the remaining members of Room 302, manage not to party ourselves to death over the summer? Could we avoid pissing off the administration and getting kicked out? Would we make some new friends? These are all questions hanging over our heads as we cruised into my favorite season of the year.

The administration’s solution, at least to the second question, was to split us up. They wanted to “keep an eye” on all of us summer stragglers, so they confined every on-campus resident to a new building, Residence Hall 4. VodkaRob and I drew different apartments on the ground floor of the new building, and each had five new roommates to get acquainted with. Rob, on the basis of his prior military affiliation ended up with a rowdy bunch of Naval ROTC kids. I ended up with a crew of hard partying, occasionally womanizing members of our Griffin Soccer team. I really can’t stand soccer, but these guys were pretty cool. And considering they were touring the country with various clubs and attending camps and clinics, I pretty much had the apartment to myself, which was a strange place in itself.

I ended up in the ADA compliant room. This meant that the cupboards and appliances in the kitchen were lower as were the sinks in bathroom. For the first time since I quit getting taller at age 13, I actually felt tall! But the best part of all was the bench in the shower, and detachable massaging shower-head. As sore as I’d be when I’d either return home from a golf tournament or unable to stay on two feet due to a few too many, at least I could relax a little bit getting cleaned up.

After returning home from a hard day at work with darkness falling over the city, happy hour would begin, and Residence Hall 4 would spring to life, people starting their own engines, getting ready to hit the town, or tying one on at home. VodkaRob and I along with whoever wanted to join us would load up a little mini cooler with various alcoholic beverages and hold court on a picnic table out in the main quad. While liquor was allowed in the dorms, it was pretty taboo to have it outside of the rooms. But this restraint was either lifted or overlooked that summer. It was like a little outdoor version of Cheers every night, as our group would shoot the shit and relax in the cooling evening air. Once in awhile we would drag out the electric guitars and do our best GN’R impression out there to the delight of no one in particular. Maybe that is what retirement will be like.

It was on one particular Wednesday night that our story takes place. I was deep in preparation for one last run at qualifying for the Utah State Amateur Golf Championship. The qualifier that particular year happened to be in my hometown of Price, so I was prepared to leave nothing to chance as far as getting in. I’d been practicing for hours a day the few weeks prior, before and after work, during my lunch break, hell, I’d even tap two foot putts in the hallway for an hour every night before I went to bed. I was ready, and that particular Wednesday I’d played in my final competitive tune-up, in an 8-man team match for Rose Park against our hated rivals from Mountain View at their home course. I fired a 3-under par 69 on my way to thoroughly destroying my opponent, the son of a Senior PGA Tour star going six holes up with five to play. I needed to unwind before I left town for one last day of preparation down home in Price.

I returned to the school at approximately 9:00 pm that evening. Now, the all new Residence Hall 5 was currently under construction on top of our usual parking lot, so we had to park all the way on the other end of campus. As soon as I got out of my truck I heard the concussive BOOM of an explosion in the distance and started hearing sirens. “Jesus, that sounds like its right in the neighborhood” I thought to myself, not noticing that the normally brilliantly lit up campus was much darker than normal. I grabbed my gear and started trekking across the school grounds. When I reached the dorm quad to find that the fellas had already started happy hour without me.

“A substation bit the dust homey! The power is out dude.” Mikey Hip-hop, a lanky, blond haired, blue eyed kid in a FUBU shirt, and one of VodkaRob’s new roommates hollered my way as I crossed the bridge with my golf bag. “It doesn't look like you boys are jammin’ tonight.”

“I guess not,” I said sorely, “Rob, you got any vodka?”

“Does the Pope shit in the woods?” He replied. I stowed my gear into my room, lit a couple of peach candles and hit the shower to pound a can of Fosters to warm up. It was time to unwind; we were getting seriously tanked tonight, in the dark.

I grabbed two of my commemorative Westminster College glasses, a quart of half and half, my bottle of Kahlua Especial, and a flashlight and picked my way through the dark down to VodkaRob’s apartment. I was currently in my The Big Lebowski, white Russian phase. But as usual I overdid everything. I preferred my stuff in a big glass. Mixing drinks in the dark is no small task, and these were pretty damn stout. We went back outside where pretty much the entire dorm was hanging out on the grass around the fire-pit. Somebody brought out a battery powered tape player and we had a little impromptu party in the dark.

After about two hours and several trips back into the dorm for refills (couldn’t let the milk spoil!), we heard the muffled sound of the generators kick back on and the lights flickered back on dimly. As I stood up, it hit me. My eyes blurred, and my legs felt like spaghetti. I looked at VodkaRob and slurred, “Man, I’m fucked=up. But I haven’t had more than I usually have.”

“Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you, all I had was Stolichnaya 120. It’s a little more powerful than Skyy.” VodkaRob said matter-of-factly as he downed the remainder of his whiskey sour.

“Great.” I thought as a bunch of us made our way down to Team Navy’s apartment. Rico, another one of VodkaRob’s roommates opened the door.

“Dudes, check it out, my buddy sent me some funny videos!” he said as he giddily dropped a DVD into the player in the main area of the apartment. This kid evidently was some kind of porno connoisseur, as about six of us dudes and three girls were treated to this sick bastard’s new favorite title, “Gag-Factor 8.” The women featured in this particularly degrading, yet humorously titled piece of verite’ seemingly enjoyed fellatio so much they would vomit during the process. Fucking heinous. But most of us were so destroyed that we just kind of stared blankly. The room started to spin, and I excused myself to use the john.

When I returned Rico and his collection had disappeared, and all that were left were VodkaRob, Mikey Hip-hop, and a couple of other guys named Chad and Jeff were talking with the lone remaining female in the room, some gal with frizzy blonde hair named Monique. “Sorry fellas, I think I passed out in there.” I said as I noticed that about a half hour had passed since I went in. I had blacked out.

“S’cool homey! We was just discussin’ some fly art yo!” Mikey Hip-hop shouted, maybe a little too loud as I snagged a beer and sat in the big chair.

“Oh really,” I said, suddenly interested in something besides finding the bottom of my bottle. I do enjoy art very much, especially the really weird shit like Van Gogh, Basquiat, The Dali’ and Picasso. Someday I want to be able to afford some good paintings, not only can they be an interesting conversation piece, but it’s one hell of an investment as well. Monique talked about some of the stuff she had done, and it sounded like it was up my alley. She specialized in canvas paintings with different materials other than paint. “Like what?” I asked. Hey, inquiring minds wanted to know.

“Oh, foods, cleaning supplies, biologicals.” She said.

“Biologicals?” VodkaRob inquired.

“Yeah, plant, animal, and human fluids. It’s been especially difficult getting approval for my latest project.”

“Which is?” I asked, my curiosity peaked.

“It’s a commentary on the misogyny of college age men and their attitudes toward any artistic expression of powerful females inside of the artistic medium.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Chad asked.

“Well, in layman’s terms, I’ve painted a female figure, and I’m going to get five college guys to ejaculate on the canvas and shine it under a black light.”

As completely obliterated as I was, it actually seemed like a sensible idea to me until I looked over and saw the horrified look on VodkaRob’s face. And then it hit me. There are five of us dudes in here right now; I think this crazy woman is propositioning us. When Hip-hop enthusiastically volunteered to do it, I knew it was a bad idea. “What the fuck are you thinking?” I asked myself, and then the room started to spin again. Time to bail. “Sorry folks, I’ve got a long drive tomorrow morning, it’s time for me to retire.” I like weird shit, but not that fucking weird.

I walked back down the main hallway to my apartment, and paused about halfway through and took a knee to gather myself. “Nickas, This shit is getting beyond out of control You better lock it up before you do something really dumb that will ruin your already less-than-stellar reputation.” I thought to myself as I willed myself the rest of the way down the hallway. I managed to choke down two large glasses of water without throwing up to lessen the hangover, and hit the sheets.

The trip home the next day was mostly uneventful; I had a tremendous headache and played like shit during my practice round. I shot a 7-over par 77 on the course I’d played hundreds of times as a kid. My dad and I went down to his old bar, the Savoy, for a beer after dinner. “You all right?” he asked, “you looked like shit out there today.”

“Dad, I think I’ve been living a little too hard lately. I’ve got to reel myself in a little bit,” I said, reluctant to get into specifics.

“You’re not doing any drugs or anything, are you?” he asked.

“No, but I have been drinking a little too much lately. It’s not messing with my job or the way I’m playing or anything, but I can see how things might get out of control if I don’t rein it in.” Unbeknown to my dad, I’d gone through a phase in my mid teens where I kinda lost it, and it seriously messed my grades as well as some relationships with family and friends. It took a lot of hard work in the years since to get things back under control and become the real Nickas again. “I just don’t want to do anything stupid.”

“Well, do what you have to do. You know what you want out of life, if it doesn’t happen, the only one you have to blame is yourself. Just don’t let it bother your schoolwork when that starts again, or then I have a problem too.” Things may not have turned out the way he imagined in his life, but as far as life smarts go, my old man is freaking Einstein. He did not say anything I did not already know, but just hearing it from somebody who had been there in his own past made me feel a lot better.

The next day I did not play especially spectacular. My grandparents and great aunt came out to watch my first few holes, the first time they had ever seen me play competitively. I stayed steady enough until the 18^th hole but I didn’t think it was going to be good enough to qualify, when one of the tournament officials asked each of us in our group where we sat. “I’m at 3-over right now,” I replied.

“Mr. Nickas, it would do you some good to get a birdie on this last hole.”

“Well, thanks for that. No pressure or anything.” I thought to myself as I stepped to the tee and crushed the piss out the ball, but pulled it a little left. It looked like it was about fifteen yards left of the green, but in the rough on the short, par 4. Everybody else in the group had laid-up off the tee with iron shots, meaning they played their approaches first. This gave me a little extra time to think over my own shot, a pitch out of a semi-buried lie in the tall grass. “Shot of your life dude,” I thought to myself as I drew the club back. The ball felt good coming off the club, it landed about halfway to the hole on the green and rolled smoothly over the ridge to the back pin location settling about twenty-four inches from the cup. I made the longest two footer of my entire life, and managed to qualify for the State Amateur by a single shot. Despite all of my problems, I had managed to become one of the 75 best amateur players in the state.

Qualifying for that tournament gave me something new to focus on. VodkaRob went to Oregon for a couple of weeks to see his lady-friend, which afforded me the chance to take a little break. Not that it was his fault or anything, it was all on me, but I had the chance to sink my mind back into my work and my game. That’s not to say we gave up the good times completely, but it never got to the point where I considered spunking on a painter’s canvas a reasonable idea ever again.

Crazy Pete Gets The Girl - Another Dorm Days Flashback!

Hey chickapees, how are ya? I hope you're enjoying the tour through my days of yore. I promise to have an original piece that's tentatively titled "The Ballad of the UGC" up by the end of this weekend. Tomorrow is probably going to be my last shift at my current job up at the University of Utah, and I'm pretty sure I won't have much to do except to craft a story in dedication to the rich tapestry that was golf at the "U." So be on the lookout for that. Anyway, tonights bawdy tale flashes back to February of 2001. There's a few new characters in this one. I dole out a little relationship advice, which in itself is hilarious. God knows, I don't think I've had a relationship last longer than twenty minutes in the last ten years. But I did listen to Loveline every night, so that means I'm qualified, right? Also, make sure you read through to the end for a little bonus video action featuring a few appearances by the characters in this story, just so you won't think I'm making this all up. And away we go:

"Crazy Pete Gets The Girl"
(February 2001)

It was in late February of year 2 in Room 302 and all of us were finally gelling as roommates. Earlier in the year, The Nate, Big Nick and I were pretty stunned when Junior and The Dave did not return, but the new guys VodkaRob, Jose' and Crazy Pete fit in with our fairly messed up personalities quite nicely. We were actually going to make it a full year without somebody giving up on us! Unfortunately, The Nate was becoming increasingly withdrawn, taking part in our weekend binges less and less frequently. Apparently something about Pete and Jose' rubbed him the wrong way. But none of us could figure out what. Kind of a shame, he missed out on quite a few good times down the stretch that year, even some not so good, and some that were both like the subject of the story today.

It was your typical Friday at Westminster. The best kept secret of that school is the vast majority of classes ran from Monday to Thursday with very few classes on Fridays. So if you played your cards right, it was almost like a three-day weekend every week! It was perfect for nursing a Post-"Margarita Thursday" hangover. And man-oh-man; I was feeling it that day. But hell, it was worth it, because tonight was the school's Mardi Gras celebration as well as the beginning of Spring Break.

We also just happened to be one day away from tickets to the AC/DC Stiff Upper Lip Tour going on sale. If you did not live in the Salt Lake area, you probably would not know just how big of a deal that was back then. After an incident with a fan getting trampled during a Razor's Edge Tour show a decade before, the band had not scheduled a tour stop in Salt Lake since. So Crazy Pete, VodkaRob, Jose' and myself were especially stoked to see those legends grace the stage once again in our neck of the woods. Crazy Pete seemed especially excited for the show, but he had been growing increasingly anxious about something else.

There was this certain female classmate of his that, in his words gave him that familiar "climbing the rope in gym class" kind of feeling. The dude was smitten with her. One problem though, she was afflicted with what was known in the Latin as "Boyfriendus-Douchebaggus." You know, she was with the wrong guy. Crazy Pete was the right guy. And since I was in the midst of a not-so-ideal situation myself with Golf-Girl, it was one of the few things Crazy Pete and I found some common ground on. Women were the subject of many of our beer drinking sessions.

Anyway, I had finally got home from an all-afternoon session in my office down at the gym assisting with breaking down tapes on UM-Western for the basketball game the next day. I stopped in the kitchen to pour a shot, grabbed a Michelob out of the fridge and cruised down the hallway to my room. Crazy Pete stopped me in the hallway. "Nickas! Dude! Candace finally broke up with that prick!"

"That's great! How'd you find out, brah?" I asked.

"Well, we were in this study group this afternoon and she told me while we were planning out the work on our class project," He replied.

"Sweet! So she went out of her way to tell you?"

"Yeah," he said, "I thought it was kind of weird."

Now, one thing that I am not very good at is catching a hint, especially from girls. Hell, the writing was on the wall between Jules and I before school even started, but that did not stop me from feeling pretty blindsided three weeks into the year when the hammer finally dropped. And after I took her to see Def Leppard too! But this situation right here seemed obvious as hell to me. "Dude, you have to call her. She wouldn't have told you about her breakup if she didn't dig ya!"

"I don't think she wants me too." He said sheepishly.

"Bullshit man! This is your chance! Call her right now!" I had no idea if that was a good idea or not. Sadly, my biggest problem over the years when it came to women was inaction. I never made the call at the right time if I ever made the call at all. "Dude, make something up, invite her over to work on your project or something." Why the hell was he listening to me?

"I don't know man." He started to wear down.

So I went over and picked up his phone, looked at her number pinned to his bulletin board and started to dial. "Pete, I have fucked up way way way way way too many times. If I let you walk away from this I won't be able to live with myself." The alcohol was definitely talking there. I got to damn near the last digit when he grabbed the receiver out of my hand.

"All right, man, I'll do it." Crazy Pete hit the last button on the phone and pulled his best Optimus Prime impression by transforming into fucking Mr. Suave! He made a little small talk and invited her over to work on their project and hang out that night. It fucking worked! Even I was surprised!

"Are you going to take her to Mardi Gras tonight?" I asked. "I think Jose' and I are going to cruise down there in a couple of hours or so."

"We'll probably just work on the project and hang out." And then he said the magic words: "We'll see what happens."

I snagged a giant can of Fosters out of the fridge to drink in the shower, entered the bathroom and flipped on everybody's favorite rock and roll institution KBER 101. Motley Crue into Metallica into AC/DC into White Zombie into Def Leppard into Godsmack; is it any wonder why I love that station as much as I do? By the end of my shower I felt good and loose. I loves me a long hot shower with a little alcohol. Anyway, I hopped across the hall to my bedroom and got dressed in the nicest pair of cargo pants and the cheesiest looking Hawaiian shirt I could find. I went with the Hilfiger with the Woody cars on it. Real subtle. It was time to get festive! I entered the kitchen/living room area to find a bunch of girls from that room down the hall and VodkaRob pounding down some cocktails.

As I was joining in the festivities, I heard Crazy Pete knocking on The Nate's door. "Can I borrow some tequila, man?" he asked. The Nate shot him down. Things were starting to get a little uncool with old Nate, but at the same time, he had a $50 bottle of Herradura he did not want going to waste. So I kind of understood. Fortunately I had a huge bottle of Cuervo in my stash that I was more than happy to part with for a good cause, and this certainly qualified as a good cause. "What are you mixing up bro?" I asked.

"I thought we'd just do some shots or something."

"Well Pete, I'll tell you what, use as much of that bottle that you want, but if Candace isn't up for tequila, you can use whatever of my stuff you want, except for the Goose. That shit is expensive!"

VodkaRob and the girls from down the hall soon vanished, leaving just myself, Crazy Pete and Jose' playing some Tony Hawk II on our little television. Big Nick and Ali were in his room "taking a nap" which usually involved a lot of slapping noises and laughing. The Nate and his girl Lisa had locked themselves up in his room and were pounding something against the wall, probably each other. Good times! It was about 10:00 when we heard a knock at the door. In his excitement, Crazy Pete nearly busted his ass tripping on a stool while running to the door. In walked Candace who seemed just a little too made-up to be coming over to work on a class project. This was a slam dunk for the Pete-ster! As Col. Hannibal Smith of The A-Team once said, "I love it when a plan comes together!" They went down the hall to VodkaRob's room to use his computer while Jose' and I had a shot and caught our ride down to Mardi Gras.

One thing Westminster always got right was the parties they threw. As opposed to the student events thrown down at the College of Eastern Utah, these were typically wild-assed soirees where the liquor flowed, the tuneage thumped and everyone was dressed to the nines. I'll get a little more in-depth about those parties in a future story. They were a doozy!

We got down there around 10:15, met up with Peeze, Dane-o, and The Line-Stepper and commenced to having a couple drinks, limbo-ing and having a good time. I didn't intend on staying too long just because we had to get up early the next day to stand in line for the tickets. The years of self abuse had taken their toll by then and I just could'nt hang anymore. So I bailed around 11:15, catching a ride with Rachel, one of my teammates from the golf team.

I got back to 302 to find some of the girls from down the hall digging through the cupboards in the kitchen. "Where do you keep your bread?!" one of them yelled at me.

"What bread?" I slurred, my head already starting to pound. "What in the blue hell is going on?"

"She's in there throwing-up!" She hollered.

So I headed back up the hallway towards my room and I heard the moaning and retching noises coming out of the open bathroom door. I saw a trail of vomit leading from the door to the john as two more of the girls from down the hallway nearly ran me over. "Where are your paper towels?!"

"Paper towels? They're in the pantry." I answered. Why the fuck were they yelling at me? I looked in Crazy Pete's room. He was lying down on his bed, the faint odor of tequila and hurl was in the air. I looked on his desk, the entire fifth of Cuervo was reduced to about 3/4 of an inch in the bottom of the bottle. I had to look at the clock twice. 11:30. Yup, only an hour and fifteen minutes had passed since Candace had arrived. Zero to puking in an hour! "That's got to be some kind of a record!" I thought. "Pete, are you all right?" I asked shaking him back into the land of the living.

"Oh fuck dude, give me a minute." He moaned.

I figured things would get a little messy so I went into my room, flipped on Scott Ian's "Rock Show" on VH1 and changed out of my good clothes tossing on a pair of basketball shorts and my Megadeth t-shirt. Whitesnake's Still of the Night video kicked on as I decided it was time to take over. I retreated to the kitchen, filled a glass of water and went back down the hallway. I went into the bathroom where poor Candace was praying to the porcelain god. "Hey. Are you gonna be all right kiddo?" She looked up, the sweat and tears making the mascara bleed down her face, giving her the vague appearance of Alice Cooper in the early years. "Here, sip some of this, real slowly." I handed her the glass, trying to not look completely horrified. "It's just some cool water." Crazy Pete shuffled in. "Grab a washcloth out of the drawer, and soak it in some cool, but not cold water," I hollered at him.

"You asshole." He hissed as he handed me the washcloth.

I handed it to her, "Here, wash your face off a little bit and hold it against your forehead." I turned my attention to Pete, "Why am I the asshole?"

"If you hadn't have made me call her, this never would have happened. This is all YOUR fault, man!" He wasn't making any sense. In my previous days I probably would have let him have it, but my many years of experiencing consistently fucked up situations had tempered me. He was obviously still pretty drunk. Anything I said probably would have made the whole situation worse. But Christ, what the hell happened in that hour? And where the hell was VodkaRob? He better be having some fun. In my best Winston Wolf from Pulp Fiction impression I looked Crazy Pete dead in the eye and very calmly laid it out.

"Pete, we'll talk about this in the morning. Right now, we've got a sick girl on our hands that we need to take care of. And considering both you and VodkaRob are still underage, if we draw the attention of the RA or the Dean we are ALL fucked. So sober your ass up right now and help out. Go and empty out one of my cans of coffee." Evidently my great aunts, bless their little old hearts thought I drank twenty cups of coffee a day. So every time I went home to Price they'd send a giant-ass can of Folgers up with me.

Pete shuffled down into the kitchen and I got poor Candace another glass of water and a multi-vitamin. I walked past my room to see one of the girls from down the hall in there looking at my music collection. "Something I can do for ya?" I asked. She looked up, blank look on her face, "I like the heavy stuff too. Are you into Creed and Vertical Horizon?" she asked. My eyes rolled, this was definitely a conversation I did not need to have right now.

"Uhhh, not now," I said more annoyed than anything as I grabbed my extra blanket and pillow out of my closet and tossed them on the couch. "Okay Pete, I'm going to need some help right now dude. She threw up her shoes a minute ago so I think she's done yakking, let's have her lie down. We need to move her out to the couch." Pete and I carried her out, layed her down on the couch, propped up her head and threw a blanket on her. The girls from down the hall finally left and I grabbed a Dewzer out of the fridge. Pete sat down on the big chair and hung his head. "Pete, you did a good job tonight. I'm proud of ya. The two of you are going to be all right, man." I said.

"I think I love this girl." He slurred. "What went wrong?"

"Cheer up dude, you've still got a chance. One bad night isn't going to kill ya's. You saw how she was dressed when she came in, it's pretty damn obvious that she digs you." I continued, "Just take it a little bit slower next time, Dude." Silence. "Pete? Hey, bro?" I looked up at him. He had his head in his hands and was passed out snoring. I threw a blanket over his shoulders, turned out the living room light, and grabbed a mop. He was probably right, it was all my fault. I guess I deserved cleanup duty.

Metallica's Motorbreath jolted me out of bed at 7:30 the next day. Thankfully the headache was gone. I jumped in the shower, cleaned up and got dressed. Tickets went on sale promptly at 9:00 AM so we had to bust ass down to the store. As I walked out, the living room area was deserted. No sign of Crazy Pete or Candace. VodkaRob popped his head out his door, looking a little worse for wear. "Hang on, let me put on some pants and I'll go with you." He said groggily.

"Take your time. Just meet me out at the Blazer." I said walking out the door.

Rob walked up to the truck looking disheveled to say the least. "Rough night?" I asked.

"You don't want to know?" he replied.

We met Jose' and another buddy of mine, Little Nick, down at the grocery store and waited patiently for the ticket lottery. In walked Crazy Pete about twenty minutes later. "What a trooper bro! You're alive!" I exclaimed. "Why aren't you in bed dude? Rob and I could have handled this."

"I had to be here man. AC/DC." he replied, horns up.

"How much of your project did you get done?" Rob asked.

"Not a whole lot. That chick is nuts. I can't remember too much."

That's probably a good thing.

Epilogue:

We ended up getting awesome seats for AC/DC, right on the floor. I even scored a hottie rocker-chick, Jess, from the dorm for a date. This was a first for me for a big rock concert. Before the show, we shot a little video in the parking lot that planted the seed in VodkaRob, Jose' and I for a little project we're coming out with in a few months. VodkaRob started an on-again/off again relationship with one of the girls down the hall. And as for Crazy Pete, well, Crazy Pete got the girl. Pete and Candace got an "A" on their project and dated well into the following summer. She became yet another one of the crazy characters woven into the tapestry of the Room 302, the Penthouse of Residence Hall 3. Score one for the good guys.

Bonus:

Here's a rough cut of the video we shot in the E-Center parking lot before the tremenduous AC/DC Stiff Upper Lip show. Hope ya'll like it!