Slope Day, Trinity Style: Trinity Ball

 
     It seems that the scholastic tradition of partying it up on the last day of classes is not limited to Cornell. Trinity puts on a similar event, with a veneer of classiness that Cornell lacks. Cornell's response to the end of classes is to bribe a big-name artist to the cornfields of New York, set up him at the bottom of a big hill, and let him sing to a very large crowd of very inebriated college students.  Somehow, though, the Cornell administration wildly misjudges the character of its student body and always gets a very gangster rapper to perform at our very white, very nerdy Ivy League school for Slope Day.
     While I usually find it difficult to appreciate rap to begin with, it becomes exceedingly more offensive once you realize that the exorbitantly-priced entertainer is actually lip-syncing the concert. The whole time. You're not even really singing--you're just mumbling unintelligibly, gesturing inappropriately toward your crotch, and getting drunk sorority to dance around you. My tuition pays for the hundreds of thousands of dollars you require, and you can't even rap properly for us?
     Needless to say, this has been a sore point in a campus where the only people who listen to rap live in fraternity houses and will be too drunk to remember anything that happens on the infamous Slope Day.  So far, Nelly and Taio Cruz have proved disappointments, and this year's Kendrick Lamar isn't looking any better.
      Trinity, however, has provided a much more elegant solution. Instead of washed-up rappers whose only talent is profanity, they booked big-name artists who can actually sing and play instruments (imagine that!).  The event is black tie, giving it a veneer of class that the blackout-drunk Slope Day totally lacks.
     Trinity Ball is the biggest party of the year, and is held on the last day of classes.  The College is completely shut down, and stages are thrown up in every square for the different performers and DJs--this year's headliners were Imagine Dragons and Ellie Goulding. Ticket sales happen waaaaaay in advance; I bought my (very expensive) ticket back in February. It's so popular that they sell 4,000 tickets in the first ten minutes. A total of 6,000 people end up at Trinity Ball every year, making it the largest private party in Europe.
      The few weeks before the ball are the biggest boon for stores--practically every store catered to females advertises its fancy dresses as "Trinity Ball material," and promises free manicures and bikini waxes to go along with your purchase.  I was extremely lucky and found my dress for five euros at a thrift store, but such bargains were few and far between. It did make me feel better about purchasing such an exorbitantly-priced ticket, though!

We're so classy!

.....and Janet photobombs

     Now, you can only enter the ball from 10pm-midnight, so generally people hang out beforehand. We all ate dinner at a yummy restaurant with mean waiters who criticized my choice of pizza (4 cheese pizza is not "so American," thank you very much) and wouldn't let us split the bill ("it is, ze imposible" said our Italian waiter). Then we went home and coated our faces with makeup until we deemed ourselves passable, squirmed into our dresses, put on uncomfortable shoes, and voila! Ready for the all-night ball.
     Despite all of the sage advice from veteran Ball-goers, I decided that I could definitely last the night in heels no problem. It didn't matter that I am the most ungraceful clod who ever walked the earth, and high heels multiply this effect--no. I could do it, and I would look awesome.
      I had walked only five minutes to a pre-Ball party before I regretted this decision with my whole being.  My feet were in serious pain, but I looked beautiful, so it didn't matter, right?
     Wrong. So so wrong. There is nothing attractive about a girl who hobbles down the street like her toes have fallen off.  Thankfully, I got my friend to bring my flats for me, but that hour in heels was pure misery.

Pre-Trinity-Ball craziness.

     Finally, I made it past the ticketing and pat-downs and entered Trinity. It was so cool. I don't really have pictures since it was dark, but the entire front square was lit up with multicolored lights and projecters, and thousands of people milled around the squares, heading to the different stages to dance or listen to music.  And the music was surprisingly good--these bands could actually sing!  There were shows booked through the night; while the last act ended at 4:30am, the campus officially closed at 6am, but people actually left at 7am. I wimped out and only made it through 4:15ish, but I was pretty proud of myself for staying awake that long.
      Although many, many people were drunk, it at least felt classy with all the men in their tuxes and all the ladies in their elegant attire.  Some poor souls wore sky-high heels but unfortunately did not bring flats, but Trinity came to the rescue and sold flats throughout the night (the best business idea).  I wandered from tent to tent with some friends, listened to fantastic music, and danced the night away. It was freezing cold, though, much colder than usual, so most people were jammed inside tents trying to mass huddle instead of braving the Arctic conditions.  This meant that most of the tents were at full capacity, and security guards would block you from entering, so you were never quite sure once you left a tent if you could get back in.
      The only downside was, per usual, the restroom situation. Despite the dozens of buildings with restrooms surrounding us, we had to use very glamorous port-a-potties.  When I say "we," I mean the ladies.  The men generally used the fence right next door as their own private bathroom. I swear there was more pee on the ground than in the port-a-potties.
       Despite the dreadful bathrooms, the largest private party in Europe proved to be an incredible success. It was great craic, and I am so glad I went.

Curly-haired maidens unite! You have nothing to lose but the Little-Orphan-Annie stereotypes.

Current update: Megan (my very good friend from high school) is here! She escaped to Galway while I finished up papers last week, but she returned on Saturday to join me for some Dublin adventures.  Additionally, she will accompany us on our three-week Europe trip.  Speaking of which, we are leaving Tuesday for this trip, and I could not be more excited. We're visiting Paris, Amsterdam, Berlin, Munich, and Prague before exams begin.  I swear my suitcase holds more weight in camera batteries than clothes. (This is actually completely false. Anybody who knows me knows that I always, always overpack.)