Friday morning. As the sun ascends over Isla Vista, a mist that smells of wet grass and stale beer wafts through Del Playa Drive, and I â€” I am pouring myself a Jack and Coke. It is a day-drinking day in our beer bubble of a beachside oasis and, thus, a day filled with the promise of public spectacle, of sunny misadventures on grassy knolls and sandy beaches. Friends will come together on balconies, pong will be played at Samâ€™s to Go (if you ask nicely and they arenâ€™t too busy), the ice cream truck driver will be harassed vis-Ã -vis beer cans launched at him from rooftops and you will find out that he isnâ€™t afraid to press charges. On this day, anything can happen.
In truth, a day-drinking day in I.V. is the Choose Your Own (Blacked Out) Adventure saga of college at UCSB. The nighttime party rules of the streets simply do not apply. Strappy heels and cumbersome clutches can be left at home. Clothes feel a little suffocating? It is acceptable to go out in your underwear, so long as they are made of lycra and resemble a swimsuit. Want to pass out on a park bench? A lawn? On the beach? During the day they call it sun tanning, not a misdemeanor.
There are those â€” like Ben, who is actually a night stalker, so take his advice accordingly â€” who would tell you that the time and place to party is downtown in the clubs at 11 p.m. on Thursday. Theyâ€™ll say the fun doesnâ€™t begin until the sun goes down.
Bull. Thatâ€™s like saying you should wait â€™til retirement to start having sex. Why forgo a day of buzzed/blacked-out playing in a radiant paradise for a night of rubbing up against lurpy strangers and paying $7 per cocktail? Carpe diem, Gauchos. Go big while there are shadows on the ground, get a good nightâ€™s rest while the night stalkers waste their money and dignity and wake up refreshed enough to do it again tomorrow. Trust me, you wonâ€™t miss anything. The world is at its best when the sun is high and the police are lax. I believe Shakespeare said it best: â€œGood things of day begin to droop and drowse, / Whiles nightâ€™s black agents to their preys do rouseâ€