The Fed Bash / Lerner Hall, Columbia University / Feb. 12, 2005
It’s on a Saturday night, and I’m standing on a dance floor in the basement of the student center at
I am having no fun at all.
When I was in college, I was an editor at The Fed,
Once a year—sometimes twice a year—we threw this big party, the Fed Bash, to raise funds and generate publicity. The Fed Bash was always the highlight of my semester, not just because of all the work we put into it, but because it was one of the few times that I could feel comfortable getting silly and wild. Like, I used to wear a dog collar and pleather thigh-high boots to this thing. But there I was on Saturday feeling all out of place in my corduroys and hoodie, impatiently waiting for the band to get offstage so I could go home and get some work done. I looked around at all these people I used to be so close with and I just felt lost.
The DJ dropped Annie’s “Heartbeat,” and I started hopping up and down and singing along, but nobody else seemed to care. Then I remembered: these are normal people, not crazy music freaks like me. They don’t care about Pazz and Jop statistics and Pitchfork ratings and M.I.A. mash-ups. They don’t want to talk about whether the original version of “Heartbeat” is better than the Maurice Fulton remix. And neither did I when I was in college. Ok, that’s not completely true. I’ve been a crazy music freak since I was twelve. But at least when I was in college, my mind wasn’t completely consumed by music like it is now. I thought about literature and
Argh. I don’t know what I’m saying anymore. I do know that I’m realizing that part of my life is over. And that this is the sort of blog post I thought I’d never write. So I apologize.