BLOGPOST: Zola's Sister

This evening I received a bright spot in my fairly humdrum day. This afternoon, after having been in Delaware visiting family for the past 5 days, I completed a few errands and chores at my house in the thriving metropolis that is Grand Rapids. I proceeded to do nothing for the remainder of the day other than go to a movie with some friends at around 10pm. As I sat around in my living room preparing to start packing for my 4 day drinking binge that was about to take place in Mt. Pleasant starting the following day, my phone began to vibrate and it indicated to me that Zola was calling.

I answered the phone to hear Zola's familiar child-like voice. He informed that he was drunk at some regretful place in the shit stain that is the Ohio State University. He then told me that his sister, a girl whom I have never met, was with him. At this juncture it is important to understand the odd relationship that Zola, Matt and myself have construed about our roommate Michael Zola's sister, Katie Zola. In typical fashion, throughout freshman year, as Matt and I became better friends with Zola, much harassment was focused on him in regard to his "little sister." However, only minutes ago I was able to talk to her for the first time.

I came to the revelation that she was not only a follower of the blog, which is in and of itself shocking, but that she had a strong desire to be mentioned in it. She "checks the blog almost every day." Seeing as how I was doing nothing besides watching Elf on the USA Network, I chose to dedicate an entire blogpost to her. It has become clear to me that she attends Wittenberg College, the whereabouts of which I am unsure; I assume it is somewhere within the armpit that is the state of Ohio. She assured me that she fully intends to visit her brother and ipso facto me. Well Katie Zola, BOX House anxiously awaits meeting you and any friends of yours (female in nature) that you may wish to bring along.

A Box Money Saving Tip!

Do you ever wonder how we manage to pay for all the tickets we get? The answer is we don't! So to save money we carefully don't pay utilities and time when they finally shut them off. We managed to time when they shut off our cable and internet until right after the semester ends so they don't charge us over break. Now all we have to do is pay just enough of the $450 we owe them so they will turn it back on until spring break.

Ode to the Poor Life Decision

If I were any good at making graph charts, I would make a graph indicating the number of good life decisions I make in correspondance to years passed in college. Imagine a steady downward slope, until practically there are no good life decisions visible on the graph. Most college students are quite familiar with the poor life decision. BOX, however, has crafted the poor life decision into an art form.

A brief history of poor life decisions, as associated with BOX frat-stars:

Poor life decision, example 1: The Pre-Important School Work Poor Decision.
Exhibit a: Paul. After waking up Sunday morning with a pounding headache after an epic Michigan State tailgate and booze-fest lasting well into the night, you realize that you have neglected a large quantity of Espanol homework that happens do be due tomorrow, as well as an exam. Oh, and shit, you also have to go to work. Do you. . .
a) Chug some water, try and sober up, take a quick shower, and head to the library asap for the whole day?
b) Disregard social norms, disregard all work-related responsibilities, and take advantage of the miraculous circumstances that have left you with a few beers that survived the weekend, pound said beers and pass out shortly thereafter?
Exhibit b: Myself. It's Wednesday morning of finals week and you're hungover from last night's christmas party blackout. The busiest time of year. One take-home exam due on Thurs, a paper due on Friday. Do you. . .
a) Focus. Try and make yourself look respectable, brush your teeth for the first time in days, head to the Fish Bowl, and slam out that take-home exam?
b) Realize you're faced with a beeracle, seeing that there is half of a leftover keg left from last night's party, slam some beers while watching Gettysburg, and then test the myth that you write better when you're drunk later in the evening?

Poor Life decision, example 2: Expecting the Parents Crisis.
Exhibit a: Andy (AJ). OMG, your beloved Tigers have finally made the World Series in 2006. Better yet, you have tickets to the Sunday night game! It's saturday night and you're in the middle of a beer pong streak. Do you. . .
a) Say to yourself, "alright pal, you're firing on all cylinders in pong, but it's only al and zac you're beating the crap out of. You should slow down and call it an early night, you're parents are coming early tomorrow. Go tigers!"?
b) Play 15 more games of beer pong, then slam some vodka shots before passing out with little coherence. Proceed to wake up, thank god you woke up in time! Go home with your parents, oh shit, mom and dad can smell each and every type of alcohol you consumed last night. Then you spend the rest of the day disturbing your parentals by ceaselessly vomiting in your bathroom, which causes your dad to give your world series ticket to your sister?
exhibit b: "Creeper" Steve, next door neighbor and aspiring BOX legend. It's the last home tailgate of the year (Northwestern), and the last tailgate of your college career. However, your loving mother is coming to visit during the tailgate. Do you. . .
a) Take it easy for a couple hours, maybe drink 7 or 8 beers, and present yourself in a fashion that would make your mother not disgusted?
b) Realize that you this is the last tailgate of your life, the last time you can blackout respectably in the early hours of the morning. Chug all alcohol in sight like the true beast that you are, make sure that you cannot walk straight, and show mom the drinking champion that you are. In other words, live the dream?

Poor Life decision, example 3: Summer Jobs.
exhibit a and b: Ross and myself. It's now been two weeks since finals have been over, and you've spent the last 14 days in a drunken stupor. It's time to start thinking about that summer job. You're financial situation isn't exactly great. Do you. . .
a) Start applying wherever you can, sack up, and work for the Man all summer to make some good dough?
b) Slam a couple cocktails, start thinking, "hey, spending all summer getting drunk every night wouldn't be such a bad idea after all". Proceed to spend the next two months in an alcohol-induced haze straight until which point it is really not feasible to try and get a job anymore. Spend pretty much all of your funds at Campus Corner, to the point where you cannot pay a lowly tollbooth fee in Pennsylvania on the way back from Brett's Jersey Shore house?

Note: The decision made by these aformentioned frat-stars, which also happens to be the correct answer to each and every one of these alcohol crisis' is 'b'. If you chose 'a' for any of the above options, please feel free to make yourself a bleach cocktail immediately.

Let's be honest, poor decisions may not be what's best in the short-run, but at least they always result in a funny ending. Poor decision on, fellow associates.

BOX House Classic

1st Semester Drunk Awards

With the first semester now over and awards season soon to begin i thought it only fitting that BOX should have its own awards to recognize the drunkards within the house.

1st- Brick - was there ever really any question as to who would win this award. Brick is the rare talent in every sport that blows out the competition and redefines what the sport is all about. Just like Michael Jordon did for Basketball, Wayne Gretzky did for Hockey, Brick has redefined what if means to be a drunk.
Notable Drunks-

• Throwing up in the Big House during the Wisconsin game
• Cutting down branches from a tree in Bum Park and bringing it back into the house calling it a Christmas Tree
• Getting kicked out of a Poetry Slam
• Trying to stab me with a fork
  
• Too many to name, the man legitimately does something worth mentioning 4 nights a week

Runner Up- Paul- With a strong determination to blow of work and drink, and a body that is perfectly crafted for binge drinking Paul managed to entertain us on a regular basis with his high levels of intoxication. If anyone can possibly challenge Brick next semester it is Paul.
Notable Drunks-

• Day Drinking by himself the Sunday after the state game regardless of the fact that he had 35 pages of Spanish workbook due and a test the next day.
• Attempting to finish an entire handle by himself in one night, failing, and falling down the second stories stairs at around 6 in the morning.
• Waking me up at 3 in the morning, uncontrollably saying "Oh Yea" like a porn star and then carrying an entire door up half a flight of stairs before it fell back down on him

Bronze- Al- Although recently admitting publicly that he is "one of those gays", Al still occasionally manages to find time to drink, whens hes not dildoing his asshole, and occasionally he does it correctly.

• Openly drinking a pint inside Bell's Pizza
• Appearing on TV as the most distraught bear I've ever seen

Honorable Mention- Matt- Although he doesn't drink as often as the rest of the house, the man simply does not know what it means to casually drink. When he fully commits to drinking no one gets more inebriated than does Matt.

Well thats the awards list, now that we have these awards i hope it helps to motivates everyone in the house to try harder and commit further to the wonderful world of binge drinking.

I thought this needed to be added to the Blog and it will also be added to the Community Computer Screen-Saver.

Big News from the Roommates

While I have seen only one of my roommates since I left BOX for the break, I have still received exciting news from a couple of them. As I sauntered through a mall in Lansing on a Saturday evening, wishing I was elsewhere, I received a phone call from Al Girard. Later, on Monday, I was fortunate enough to be the recipient of a text message from Zola. First let me outline the specifics of Al's groundbreaking discoveries.

Al called to inform me of a few issues, but the primary reason involved his purchase of a particular item. He has a Playstation 2 in his room, and he bought an African Safari hunting game for it. To any outsider this may seem of trivial consequence, but I can assure you that when you get a text from Al Girard at midnight that says: "I just shot a Giraffe in the Dome," there is nothing more exciting than the prospect of playing this game. Over the past few days I have also been the beneficiary of texts like: "Lion Country", "I'm hunting baboons", and of course the infamous "Looks like I'm hunting Cape Buffalo...O I just died." I know that, personally, I can hardly wait until I have the opportunity to shoot endangered Rhinoceros on a PS2 Safari game.

There are times when after months and sometimes years that your dreams come true. It appears as though that may be the case for me and one of my other roommates. After uncovering the details of nutmeg's hallucinogenic powers on the Internet, Zola and I decided that we would pursue this legal drug for ourselves. However, we never got around to purchasing the actual whole nutmeg and our dreams laid dormant for roughly a calendar year. Yesterday, Zola sent me a text message to inform my unsuspecting soul of his recent buy. It appears as though, in the near future our dreams of nutmeg will finally be a reality.

BOX Christmas List

It's christmas time. One year ago at this time I was faced with a difficult perdicament. I was in jeapordy of being expelled from my party-hard all the time fraternity. Since me and the standards board were having routine meetings every week, it seemed inevitable that I would be forced to leave the closet that the frat-stars pretended was a room. Fortunately for me, BOX took me in. Like a lost puppy on the streets, they welcomed me with open arms and gave me a new home (well, not everyone I suppose). Thanks to BOX, I have a place I can call home sweet home this holiday season.

The past couple of days I had been stranded at the pleasant Beta Omega Chi abode by myself. Lucky for me, it just so happens that I was alone during that monthly period when we don't pay our bills and therefore do not have access to cable or internet. This left me with booze, an empty house, and hours to kill doing nothing. Thankfully, B-Russ came back to help me pass the time in inebriation. When he came back, he brought the carpet that we have all been waiting to put on our sheet of dirt that we sometimes refer to as our living room floor. The carpet looks glorious; it completely changes the atmosphere of the house. Additionally, our door locks for the first time since I've lived at the house! (No more homeless minorities stealing our belongings!) It got me to thinking. . . what else could our house use?

A BOX Christmas list, if you will:

• Cleaning ladies. Ideally, these ladies would be good-looking, good at cleaning, and also available for personal favors on the side. Particular areas of concern would be: the fridges, which I recently took a stab at cleaning before quickly realizing that it was a lost cause, the bathrooms, which now have an ominous odor to them, and our pudding-caked walls and pizza-stained windows (although I must admit, the pudding is quite the finishing touch to our house).
• A semi-finished basement. Paul and I had a conversation on the topic, and both agreed that a bar area in the basement would be good for parties. Downside: This would eliminate our alotted pledging and hazing area.
• Working sinks.
• A complete, 18-hole beer can golf course. Main attraction would obviously be the annual Old Crow Challenge Open. Course would also come with a golf cart and beer cooler.
• Life-size blow up doll of Miley Cyrus. All of our illegal fantasies could be fulfilled. Also, Zac Efron doll would be included for novelty purposes.
• Every war movie ever made. This would certainly excite Paul, while saving us the task of sitting through Gettysburg again and again.
• Underground tunnel to Campus Corner. There were undoubtedly entire weeks this summer when the only time Ross and I stepped outside was to make the tedious hike to Campus Corner. This would save us said hardships in the future.
• Full size stripper pole and dancing surface. Preferably, Zola would be forced to put on his infamous Curious George shirt and provide entertainment by working the pole at parties and tailgates.
• Ross to come back.
• Larger TV.
• Dog. or Flying Squirrel.
• Dignity.

Pledging is OVER

With the semester now over I will now be leaving the hell hole that is the BOX basement and officially take up residence in the room once inhabited by our dearly departed friend, Brett. With this switch I will officially become a real human being again. In doing so i will soon embark on the noble quest of drinking away every single terrible memory from that hellhole. But before doing so i would like to share the funniest ones with you.

• Tripping down the basement stairs while blackout, landing on a keg, and hardly being able to walk the next couple days
• The sink leaking through the floor into my dvd box ruining half of them
• Stephanie flushing a used tampon down the toilet, thus clogging it and sending the bloody water down onto my bed
• The poop that was left in the basement during the State tailgate, with me passed out on my bed no less (My personal favorite Memory)
• The twice or thrice weekly wakeup by people turning on the lights at 7 in the morning to do laundry
• The sound of the TV actually being louder in the basement than in the TV room
• The torture caused by lying in bed in a sleeping bag in sub-zero temperatures while you're kept awake by the ear splitting sound of a heater that does not reach you
• And of course the nightly wakeup call of Stephanie screaming in Agreement
  

I could go on like this for years, but you get the point. So now that I am officially a BOX member so please come celebrate with me in my nice warm ROOM and drink away these awful awful memories with me

This is now in our house.

A Recent Blackout

So last night it appears that I became a wee bit intoxicated. While I do not remember everything that happened, here are some of the highlights. The night began in a typical fashion with most of BOX rolling out together to white street. Everyone dressed pretty normally, me in red (the pattern could be described as plaid, but certainly defined as obnoxious) pants , Shawn Kemp jersey, christmas tie, and jean jacket. When we arrived at the white house I was very disgruntled to discover a very limited supply of liquor. The only liquor that was around was being heavily guarded, much to my dismay. I then decided after taking five or six pulls of peppermint schnapps that drastic actions needed to be made in order for me to acheive my full drunk potential of the night. I then went to campus corner and picked up a pint of Crown Russe, went back to white and made a decision that would lead to blackout.

I sat down on the couch next to Zola and decided that the pint needed to be finished before I left the couch. This is when things begin to get a little hazy. I noticed halfway through the pint, about ten minutes later that I was begining to get a little drunk. I vaguely remember making small talk with some Canadian girl that Steve was trying to bone. After about fifteen more minutes the pint was finished and I was sufficiently drunk to make an ass out of myself. I don't really remember enough after this to continue on in a sufficent manner so I'm going to just list off some events.

Apparently, Zola and I left the white house and went to Campus Corner again to buy another pint of Crown Russe. After that we went to Bells where things got offensive. I ordered the standard large walk-in special and pulled out my pint and just started boozing in one of the booths with some starngers. Needless to say after about a minute they left probably because me and Zola were being creepy. As we were leaving I vaguely remember somehow offending David Cone. Not sure what I said, but I can imagine it was humorous to no one but me.

I then woke up at around 10:00am with my senior year highschool football highlight film on. Apparently from what has been told to me, after Bells Zola and I stopped in at the Pike senior house. No one knows what took place there except Zola fell down their stairs and I assume we were asked to leave. Upon returning to BOX Barty told me that I fell over and started flailing around and kicked over the trashcan in the living room. After rolling in the trash for a bit I went upstairs and apparently put on the highlight film to relive old memories of the bench. Overall it was a termendous night I think.

My girlfriend Stephanie was not quite as amused as I was. Apparently I called her multiple times and was offensive to various degrees (one time using the word uncouth in my defense). Some of my finer text messages sent that night included "I want to invade your wetness" to Stephi and "I am a mess" to my longtime friend Joel. Also I find it triumphant that it is almost 5:00pm and I have yet to put on any semblance of clothing apart from a blanket.

Looking to Next Semester

As the closure of my first semester in BOX draws near, I would like to reflect on what possibilities lie in wait for the next semester. First, it is important to recognize the departure of one of our roommates, Brett Tewksbury. His collegiate exercises have compelled him to traverse to Italy for his 2nd semester of his junior year. I anticipate that Brett will meet some woman overseas and completely woo her with his suave looks and charm. This will be a significant loss for the House, but we fully intend to keep morale high. In fact, I dare say at least one person in the house will be pleased. Zola will be leaving his frozen abode in the basement in search of new shelter in Brett's room. Another change due to Brett's pilgrimage to Florence is Peter Mattes' promise to secure his job at DG, a sorority on campus. How Peter will be received in this atmosphere is yet to be seen, but there ought to be little doubt that it will constitute some change. Both him and the other senior in the house, Brian, will be moving on to bigger and better things after the conclusion of the next semester. They will be dearly missed. Al is "excited to still be enrolled at this University" for the next semester after a lackluster performance this semester. Brick's life will surely remain in a similar haze of drunkenness for the second semester as it has for the previous 5 semesters of his college career. However, both him and Andy will turn the legal age of 21 next semester. This could lead to an even higher frequency of inebriation. As for myself and my roommate Matt I wish I could tell my readers some tidbit of excitement in respect to our next semesters, but I have been unable to think of anything noteworthy in our largely unexciting lives.

If you are a reader, please visit us next semester, because while tailgating season may have come to close we surely will continue in our quest for questionable life choices.

Reflections Upon a Tailgate Season

When I am 30 years old, and Rich Rodriguez has 2 or 3 National Championships tucked under his belt, I know I will look back on that one season and wish that I never had to remember it. 2008 - the worst year in our prestigious football program's history. Lucky for us, we got to witness it first hand. Fortunately, my 30 year old self won't have to try too hard to forget this season. Because of the debauchery that ensued every tailgate at 933 South State Street, I quite frankly don't remember much that happened on football saturday's this year.

Still, there are certain things I do want to remember from this year. One of the very few things I've learned in college is that the four years go by fast. It seems like only yesterday that I was a naive little freshman, unaware of the tidal wave of booze and binge drinking that was going to hit me at the crack of dawn on football saturday's. After that first saturday, tailgating quickly became the focus of my college life. Now, three years later, I only have one tailgate season left -only one more year in my life in which I have the privilege of having a perfectly good excuse for being blackout at 7 a.m. So, even though it was in fact the shittiest season of michigan football, the tailgate's will always be one of the best times of my life.

The highlights of my BOX tailgates this year (of what I remember - mostly between the hours of 5:30 a.m. and blacking out at 9 a.m.):

- Zola's curious george shirt and jorts, not caring one bit that he looked gayer than the gays.
- Ross' last tailgate. And Ross walking around aimlessly in seersucker shorts ripped all the way down the ass.
- Waking up to angry german music.
- The notiorious new tradition of watching gettysburg for hours on end.
- Pete blacking out and nearly severing his leg at the first tailgate, then proceeding to spill his blood all over my bed.
- The tailgate that we had a mattress on the ground. Great for jumping on and dancing to the Living Daylights.
- Al in the bear suit on television. A very depressed-looking bear.
- Paul's unwavering ambition: never made it to one game.
- Remembering absolutely nothing from the michigan state game. except that it was an awesome tailgate. and that we went through 6 kegs.
- Dave dancing in the street in the buzzlight costume, with disregard for all traffic.
- B-Russ actually directing traffic.
- Wisconsin man getting blue paint dumped on him. Paint of course ending up in our house.


That's all I've got for now at least. Feel free to add your own.

An Average Thursday

If the goal in life was to be 'that obnoxiously drunk guy,' I would undoubtedly be a successful man. Unfortunately for me, the objectives in reality are far from my sphere of interests.

In my continuous quest of poor decision making, I managed to get myself kicked out of a poetry slam at the Michigan Union last evening (I'm not a homosexual, we all went to watch B-Russ slam about the McRib). A new low for me.

It all began when I was preparing to take a nap around 1 o'clock. Before I could doze off into slumber, our friendly neighborhood drunk, Chris, knocked on my door. Chris was fixated on the idea of pre-gaming for our last lecture with Juan Cole. Disregarding my plans to get a lot of work done that day, I naturally agreed to join him in pursuit of intoxication. After a short walk to our second home, Blue Front, Matt, Chris, and I began slurping down some 40's. One thing led to another, and we quickly decided that actually going to lecture wasn't something we were very interested in. Instead, we ventured back to Blue Front to purchase more 40's.

Around this time, Paul, my competitor in the struggle for position of house drunk, came home and purchased a fresh handle of the ever-scrumptious Old Crow. As it turned out, Paul and I shared a similar plight on this fine day: shortly after my expulsion from the poetry slam, Paul managed to get himself kicked out of the Blue Leprechaun. Two things indicated to me just how drunk Paul was last night: (1) The nearly empty half gallon of Old Crow and (2) Him falling down the stairs in his battle to return to his room at 6 a.m. this morn.

Anyhow, at the time of the poetry slam I was about 2 40's of CSI deep. If you've ever drank CSI before, you will have no trouble imagining how drunk I was at this point. In a moment of wise decision making, I decided to fill my flask with CSI and bring it to the slam. In yet another brilliant move, I proceeded to openly drink from the flask at the gathering. Shortly after, I was walking (or stumbling) home by myself. Unfortunately, I did not get to see B-Russ slam about the McRib. Or lesbians slamming about their problems.

At this point of my blog entry, I would like to thank my good friend Paul. Thanks for being a drunk ass like me. Because if I didn't have you to share the burden of being 'that guy,' I would certainly have a heavy burden to carry.

The Homeless Train

There comes a time in every person's life where they see something so unfathomable that it stops them dead in their tracks. They stare at what is unfolding in front of them with utter disbelief and are convinced that they are dreaming. For most people this event is a death, a miracle, or other life changing event. For me, it was the homeless train.

I remember the day well. Mid-May 2008, the day started out like any other... Ross, Brick, and I began day drinking around noon to avoid the impending hangover from the previous night. Ross and my sweet Brick had just walked down the street to the Phi Delt senior house to meet Marilyn when the train arrived. I vividly remember opening the front door of BOX and nearly dropping my second 40 of Labatts. I stood with my eyes horribly transfixed upon the sight before me. The grotesque scene included an obviously homeless woman (withered, prematurely aged, distinct lack of hygiene) driving a Rascal scooter north on State Street. Attached to the scooter via bungee cords was a Kroger shopping cart full of garbage bags and other assorted homeless paraphernalia. Lastly, attached to the shopping cart was green Fisher Price wagon containing a second vagrant (also extremely unkempt). I stared motionless as this monstrosity passed me.

After the initial shock wore off, I knew that this was too amazing to just keep to myself. I immediately sprinted off to the Phi Delt house in order to alert Ross and Bricky-Bear as to the situation. Needless to say, they shared the same disbelief of what we had just seen. As Ross so eloquently put it, "I was surprised... mixed with a feeling of pride in what humanity has been able to accomplish." Fantastic. I think I'll always wonder what happened to that remarkable duo. Even though they were heading north, I can still picture them riding that Rascal all the way to Mexico. Crossing the border, then realizing that they were still homeless and heading back. The only lingering question that I have is, where did they charge the Rascal?

Condom, Cheese, Mayonnaise, Freezer

As I wandered about campus today, I was perplexed as to what my first personal blog post would entail. Upon my return, I checked a few things online: Email, Bank Account, Facebook, etc. I then visited the BOX Blog only to find that Brick had made a most recent post. After reading and reflecting upon what he had said, I knew immediately what I would have to write about.

Last year, as a weary freshman, I visited this house countless times. If I found myself in desperate need of disillusionment via alcohol on a Monday night, I knew that I could count on someone at BOX. There would always be someone at this establishment who would put down a few cocktails with me. This story begins on a cold, wintry Thursday night in February of 2008.

I stopped in unannounced, to find a few of the residents and immediately made an important decision: I wanted to remember nothing of the events of that particular evening. After consuming the contents of a fifth of cheap whiskey and an unknown pint of Chinese alcohol, I blacked out. I awoke the next morning on the living room couch incapable of auditory functions. I proceeded to walk to the bathroom and examine myself in the mirror. What I found horrified me. Melted Cheese had been poured in my ears, on my face and all about my clothing. Mayonnaise had been spread about my body and relish was in my socks. As I made an attempt to correct these issues, I felt sore on my upper back thigh and had a strange rubbery sensation in my boxers. I discovered that this was a condom and to make matters worse I found it on the backside of my trousers. I pulled out the prophylactic with confusion and significant concern. After making the twenty minute walk back to my dorm in shame of my state of appearance, I received a call from the infamous Al Girard who pacified my fears of anal rape. He admitted to having punched my rear and unwrapping a condom and putting it down my pants.

The looks I received on the way back will always remain with me, but perhaps the best part of the story is something that I have no memory of taking place. Apparently at about 3am, after having been unconscious for a rather lengthy time, I awoke with both condiments and condom in place. However, at this juncture, my feet too were fastened by duct tape to a chair. Bystanders claim that I stood up, recognized my state of affairs, walked/tripped/crawled to the freezer, opened the freezer and proceeded to urinate upon the contents inside. Welcome to the BOX.

My Pledge Term

When the term 'pledge' comes to mind, many might think of mopping floors, cleaning toilets, drinking until comatose, being locked in a basement, the elephant walk, etc. Well, I can attest that my BOX pledge term was far worse than any elephant walk.

My frat journey began with a misstep freshman year. I joined a certain fraternity - that will remain nameless - and quickly learned that not all frats are created equal. After living in the local closet with bats all sophomore year, I soon grew displeased with my fraternity living quarters. After being sent to standards board week after week for excessive drinking and debauchery, I soon grew displeased with fraternity rules. And after some friends and I threw a party while the other brothers were at a date party I was not allowed to be at, my 'brothers' grew quite displeased with me.

Soon after my BOX journey began. It all started one night when my frustration with my fellow roommate, the bat that lived in the wall, came to a head. I was fed up with his bat antics, and I carried my pillow to BOX, where the infamous Al Girard was kind enough to let me sleep in his pigsty that he called a room. Later, Al was first to bring up the idea of living in the basement. Not long after, Andy and I were carrying our futon down State Street towards the 933 residency. I was retired from the supposed frat world, and entering into a world of real fratting off of faces. What lay ahead of me was months of a gruelling pledge term that I could have never imagined.

Yes, long before I enjoyed my nice lodging in the ever-spacious nook, I endured an entire semester in the depths of this fine establishment: the basement. Think of the worst basement you have ever encountered, and then imagine something twice as bad as that - then you will have a nice image of our lovely cellar. Some of the fine attributes associated with a way of life in our basement include: wearing your coat to bed to endure temperatures bordering on the freezing point, residing in a tent in hopes of sleeping without encounter of one of the many extra-large centipedes, a broad range of sleeping hours from 3:30 a.m. (when the last person stops watching television upstairs) until 8:00 a.m (when the first person conveniently decides to do their laundry), precipitation accumulating on the floor everytime the snow melts, and an ever-present odor seemingly rising from the mysterious drains. If that's not a pledge term, then I don't know what is.

When it comes down to it, though, these long months of hardship payed off in full. I have finally found my home. A place that accepts and endorses the things I truly love: tailgating before dawn, drinking until you can't feel feelings, and general bad decisions. And I have found family: the fellow alcohol connesieurs that share this humble abode with me (including Zola, who is nearing completion of his residency in the basement as well).

BOX's First Blog Entry

Nine men from different backgrounds have collided in one house in pursuit of a common interest: Debauchery and General Tomfoolery. As a collective of students at the University of Michigan, we pride ourselves on Tailgates in the fall, general inebriation and ongoing endeavours of questionable lifestyles. This is only an introductory post and will be followed by a series of tales, triumphs and travesties from the individuals that live within this storied establishment. Farewell for now.
-BOX House Residents