Thursday, March 12, 2009

No tolerance for intolerance

For the twelve of you who don't read slog, here's a Chicago frat's answer to the Westboro Asshole Church:

Awesome. Pretty much.


Michelle Bell said...

Frats have gone up several notches in my esteem. Rock on, frat boys. Rock on.

Jennifer said...

I was there. It was an unbelievable celebration of love and tolerance. The people who go to the University of Chicago have, in my experience, been among the most intelligent, open minded people I have ever met, so much so they have a tendency to scare me. Seriously. Come to Chicago during Scav Hunt and see what these kids can do in four days, wired on caffeine and having had almost no sleep.

I haven't made it to a frat party there yet, but I've been to a number of others.

I've been to one or two parties at Moomers, I've been to lots of parties at the KLF (Kimbark Liberation Front-a reference to something involving the Zombie Apocalypse), I've been to parties at Millikan House, before the house was put up for sale, and I've wandered through parties at my place, where my roommate hosted a game of Dungeons and Dragons every Friday night. I've been to parties where people dress up in formal wear to drink cheap champagne and eat lots of Harold's Chicken, the most delicious chicken you could ever hope to want in 5-15 minutes. There is a picture of me on facebook, drunk at a party, playing Mario Brothers on the original Nintendo. This is what parties are like at the University of Chicago.

Lots of drinking, some drugs once in a great while (meaning, a bowl will be passed once or twice the entire night among a small number of people), and a good time had by all. At the parties I go to, no one throws up, everyone has a good time, and almost no one ever even has to sleep on the couch. We're more likely to, say, pop open another round and watch the sunrise or stand in a circle hugging each other and sing songs from The Lion King.

The after party was almost as good-a bunch of us ran into each other on the second floor of the Renyold's Club outside the coffee shop, all of us were high, and we sang through Abby Road and Simon and Garfunkel and Bob Dylan and a bunch of other 60s crap.

Our version of "Because" should have been recorded. I was singing the harmony to two guys, who were taking turns on the guitar.

There are times when I want to say screw it, move to San Francisco, work in a bookstore, and write books.

There are other times when I really, really love my city. This is one of them. :)

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