According to those who dwell in the Nexus office, I owe the public a column.

“Sean, you’re 21 now, you have to tell them something about it.”

I disagree.

The way I see it, if anything, the public owes me something. For example, the people who came to my house Saturday night and killed both of our kegs in under two hours. I say the public owes my neighbors a new couch; apparently some felt as though they should sacrifice it to the holy Pacific Ocean. I say that girl that passed out in our chair at 11 p.m. with an odd, presumably beer — please let it be beer — stain and odor on it, she owes me a quick spray-down with Febreze.

But I digress. It was a fun night. It was debauchery at its finest.

So as I sat disgruntled in my office, I decided to procrastinate and check my U-Mail account for the first time in weeks. Lost amid thousands of worthless junk e-mail was a letter of simultaneous congratulation and warning from Vice Chancellor of Student Affairs Michael Young. Unfortunately, I didn’t get his warning until after the big 21. Luckily, it gave me enough motivation to actually write something.

That and it’s Friday; no one reads the Nexus today anyway.

So in this particular e-mail, the administration gave me six different warnings about partying safely on my birthday. Let’s see how I scored.

“Avoid drinking games.”

Whoops. As I stumbled out of bed and made myself a bagel and cream cheese, my roommates urged me to partake in some beer pong. Donning just my Kings shorts, I ventured out to my balcony and joined in the fray with breakfast still in hand. Not the best start probably.

0-1 thus far.

“Always know what you are drinking.”

So after my beer pong endeavors, we decided to venture out to the Study Hall for my first taste of bar life. And since I’m forever indebted to the Hall for letting me hitch a ride home from Carson after the NCAA soccer finals, there wasn’t a doubt in my mind where my first bar experience would be. So after the generous bartender let me start out with a free shot of Patron in homage to my birthday, my roommate Jessie bought me a “three wise men.”

“What’s in this thing?” I inquire.

“Don’t be a pansy, just drink it, you’re 21.”

Fair enough.


“Pace yourself: Limit your alcohol intake (one drink per hour) and/or alternate alcohol-free drinks throughout the night.”

I don’t even know where to start with this one. Well, considering all of my friends at the Hall were pretty eager to buy me drinks, needless to say, I failed miserably.


“Include a meal or food as part of your celebration.”

Well, after my adventure at the Hall, I enjoyed a two-hour “power nap.” Waking up on my couch realizing that both of our kegs had arrived, I figured it was about time to get some substance in my stomach. Too lazy to cook a real meal, too poor to order out, I cooked a frozen burrito. Not a big one either, I’m talking like $3 at Albertsons for like 10 of the little fuckers.


“Have a friend let you know when you’ve had enough.”

It was a pretty wild night. A lot of people I knew were there, and others I didn’t. So whenever I met a new person, the same phenomenon occurred repeatedly. My roommate Carl told partygoers, “Oh yeah, that’s Sean over there, go tell him to finish his beer.” He knows I can’t turn a charming young lady down.

“Hi, I’m so-and-so. Happy birthday. You should drink more beer, it’s your birthday!”

Bottoms up.

0-5, I’m due.

“Make arrangements for getting home safely before you go out: Choose a designated driver or call a taxi if you are celebrating in Santa Barbara.”

God bless Isla Vista. My couch arranged for me to get home perfectly safely.

1-6, a solid .166 average. Not quite Barry Bonds-esque, but Neifi Perez ain’t bad.


Daily Nexus assistant opinion editor Sean Swaby is currently developing a sophisticated new steroid to aid in his beer-drinking legacy.