The last rays of summer sun are finally fading into the western sky. It’s about that time when college kids begin trading in their swimsuits and wine coolers for books, pizza, and light beer. The silence that lulled over the campus’s landscape will now be replaced with the beats of party music and clinking of beer bottles. Ladies and gentlemen, welcome back; it’s party time.

With my decision to take on this column, I may have become a martyr for the cause. All dreams of a respective writing career are most likely out the window. But as a weekly reader of this publication, I felt it was time for serious assessment as to how the collegiate booze culture could be properly represented. All it took was a visit to the newly elected Editor in Chief, asking if he had any space for a party writer on his staff. With some reluctance, and a fair warning, I was given this column.

Perhaps you are wondering what qualifications one needs for such a prestigious job. To begin with, one must have plenty of practical experience within the college culture. This can be attained with a six year college career, and a goal of graduating with a highly impractical bachelor’s degree. It goes without saying that an Olympic pool size worth of booze has been drunken over those six years. Further, it is recommended that one does in-depth research of every drinking establishment within the Fairfax area, and subsequently gets bounced for public urination. A solid knowledge of mixology is also a plus.

Honestly, none of these are actual requirements for being a good party writer; rather they are the selected highlights of my own college career. Needless to say, my own mother will not be proud to learn her son has chosen to impart his drinking wisdom to the masses; however everyone must find that special skill they excel in.

In the spirit of the new semester, perhaps I will share an excerpt from the story of my first college party.

It’s 7:00pm on a Friday night. I’ve decided to pregame with a few too many shots of crap vodka, and I’m chasing it with even crappier forties. Unfortunately no one told me that college parties don’t begin until 10:30pm, and at my current pace I would never make it out the door. We decide to leave, and walk the mile to the party house. A drunken mile walk is never a good idea. Halfway through, I trip over a fence and fall face-first into someone’s front lawn. My friends have to climb over the fence to retrieve me. We get to our destination but in the commotion, my friends have failed to notice the smear of dog poop on my face. It wasn’t until I was on the beer pong table that my opponent points out the brown smear on my face. It is hard to play off poo as mud, and it is certainly an embarrassing moment. Like any collegiate partier, I trudge on though. I wiped my face off, and played the game. This goes to show if you are expecting your first party to be something out of Animal House; you are in for a rude awakening.

However, I wish you all the best in your party endeavors. It’s going to be an awesome semester. You are going to have plenty of time to make unforgettable memories with your friends.

Lastly, a word of advice: work hard, play harder and most of all, take care of each other out there.