I was in high school when the song dropped that I chalked today.
It was the perfect anthem for a bunch of kids who thought Animal House was a lifestyle guide. Keggers in the forest preserve. Beer bongs that could empty a six-pack in one pull. Toga parties in the dead of winter. We partied in 1983 like it already was 1999, because back then thirty-something felt a lifetime away.
1999 showed up faster than expected, stayed shorter than a sparkler on the Fourth of July, and disappeared in the rearview mirror even quicker. I haven’t owned a keg tap in years and my toga is long gone. I actually had an Izod toga. My Gramma cut the alligator and tag off an old shirt and stitched them onto a sheet. She even ironed my custom toga for a homecoming party at Dear Old Cathedral.
God bless her… she never had a clue about the debauchery that toga survived.
Those kids from the early eighties grew up. Most lived to see the real 1999, and honestly, it was anticlimactic, like most things we build up in our heads, but the memories still have some juice left. I still have a beer bong, and there is a video floating around out there of me hammering one after a Sox game. Standing in the ruins of a tailgate like a middle-aged warrior reliving the glory days.
These days, partying like it’s 1999 is tough to pull off when your lights are out by 8:45. Prince is gone and my classmates have scattered, but the song still puts a little pep in my step when it pops up on the car radio.
I would like to go to one more kegger in the woods... toga, sunburn, solo cups, boom boxes and evading the local police. I will bring my beer bong and a keg of Old Style.
I sure hope heaven has toga parties. That will be a reunion worth showing up early for.
Alright Chalkheads, it’s raining as I chalk this. Grab your umbrella, square your shoulders, and stay brave.
