The Student News Site of Drake University

The Times-Delphic

The Student News Site of Drake University

The Times-Delphic

The Student News Site of Drake University

The Times-Delphic

Commentary: Saturday Evening

Photo+courtesy+of+Pixabay
Photo courtesy of Pixabay

Famous philosopher Reese Witherspoon once said, “If something seems frightening or horrible, I should probably do it.” Much is the motto of my weekly escapades, meandering down the forgetful path to ethanol-fuelled self-destruction. To the society of sense and sensibility, that could have struck a dissonant note.

But luckily, I revel in the soothing comfort of soliciting no such services from the department of psychiatric therapy. Free from those zealous faces of haunting subjugation, I thrive again on the indulgence of society’s understandings. Unlike the fundamental theorem of aerodynamics, my Saturday night equation is one that demands resolution. A little bit like the one UN general assembly demanded on the Russian offensive in Ukraine. Armed with the grim knowledge of how that usually winds up, I rang my friend in sobbing fashion that my Tom Ford Tuscan Leather Eau de Parfum might have been involuntarily depleted.

Before I could interpret the interesting silence on his end, he reassured me that a few drinks are justifiably warranted, once again exposing me to the centre of the world for its caprice. Anybody with a modicum of imagination, however, dream occasionally of another life. I find myself wandering the streets of Soho during a sparkling winter day that is oddly reminiscent of summer in its cheering sunniness. Carefully curated windows pass me by, as I shuffle my way through rubbing shoulders with the finest specimens of East Village and abroad.

Unlike the swanky department stores and haute couture boutiques that terrorised Fifth Avenue, Soho stands a beacon of lively and often risqué vibes emanating a youthful air of no care. Courtesy of its elegant cast-iron facades and cobblestone streets, I find myself squiffy on chilled glasses of something rough while surveying the intermittent rain that imbues the city with Old World charm.

Story continues below advertisement

Each time I go to Court District in Des Moines, however, I have similar fantasies of other versions of me. I can imagine myself prattling about in those louche summer nights with few blurred faces censuring me in sotto voce that Long Island Iced Tea is not a manly drink. Thanks to a disabled frontal lobe, I succumb to their incisive criticism and conversations fall rather coquettishly. In this version of my life, I would be a regular at 208 3rd Street bathing in elaborate neon lights and contemplating another mouthful of cosmopolitan. Wearing the shameless badge of international debonair, I call my friend best mate and girls in garish threadbare my dearest darling.

Gleamed from the conversations, my savoir faire was rewarded and my gloating rights renewed. Although I cannot ask all the virtues into the bargain, courtesy of other psychoactive agents, I would be found too many Saturday evenings in a state of mild disarray – collecting my stream of consciousness in a disapproving pirouette, amidst the bombast of my gung-ho loquacity, my mind turns into one made up of butterfly wings. In the chosen vessel of mine it echoed that alcohol is truly god’s apology for making us self-aware, and helps shy people occasionally have sex. My Saturday night equation corroborates the testimony to the triumph that good will ultimately prevail, albeit too ephemeral to recall.

Leave a Comment
Donate to The Times-Delphic

Your donation will support the student journalists of Drake University. Your contribution will allow us to purchase equipment and cover our annual website hosting costs.

More to Discover
Donate to The Times-Delphic

Comments (0)

All The Times-Delphic Picks Reader Picks Sort: Newest

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *