El Guincho kicks off the album with “Palamitos Park,” a sun-soaked romp that covers all of El Guincho’s tropes — tribal drums, chanting, samples of people talking and cheering, things being banged upon and some catchy Spanish singing. One of my roommates walked in while I was listening and exclaimed how “it makes your feet feel like they’re south of the border.” Awesome.

Alegranza! falls into the category of “hipster party record.” It basically means that people will put this on alone at home and think, “Wow, this would be cool to hear at a party.” But the chances of this record being played at a real party are slim since the lyrics are all in Spanish. Plus, El Guincho is still pretty unknown.

Even though each song utilizes similar tactics in its construction, Díaz-Reixa — whom I think only ever wears red pants — finds a way to give each track its own feel. One of the album’s best, “Cuando Maravilla Fui,” steps out of the usual tropical motif and instead gives off a Middle Eastern vibe. He samples a sitar, which makes you feel like you’re walking through a stuffy marketplace on a sweltering day.

At times the record can be a bit overstuffed — there always seems to be so much going on. Coupled with all the repetition of typical dance music, Alegranza! can become overwhelming. While this record gets countless, but deserved, comparisons to Panda Bear’s Person Pitch, I wouldn’t go so far to say they’re equals. Alegranza! is much less subtle and ultimately lacks the replay value. Overall though, it’s quite good and may even deserve a few spins at your next small, hipster party.

I asked him what he was doing. “I’m hanging out with this girl in a little bit,” he said frantically, heading to the fridge to grab another beer. “She’s already drunk and I need to make out with her.” Soon he headed off, face flushed and belly full of Heineken, and he did, of course, make out with the girl.

It’s not difficult to conclude that quite a few of the intimate social interactions at this school are aided by alcohol. For some of the four out of five college students who drink, alcohol acts as a relaxant, reducing inhibitions and making them act more “informally.” One study found that drinking to relieve social discomfort is a common practice.

To anyone who drinks, this is preaching to the choir. Getting drunk with that guy or girl you’re interested in can definitely help ease you into something more than casual. It also makes for easy excuses, like “Lucas, I’m sorry—I was drunk. I didn’t know what I was doing. Stop calling me.” But what happens when the guy or girl you have an eye on turns out to be — oh no, oh god — a non-drinker? You’re screwed, aren’t you? Do you know how stupid a drunk person looks to a sober person, especially when said drunk person is hitting on said sober person? Let’s imagine a scene for a moment between inebriated me and sober girl:

“Heeeeeeyyyyyyyyyy theeeeeerrrrre, guuurrrrlllllll.”
“Hi, Lucas.”
“And how might you be doing on this wonderful, wonderful evening of evenings this evening?”
“I’m fine, thanks.”
“Oh wow, now that is great. Just great. Let me tell you how great that is. This (stretches arms out as wide as possible) great.”
“That’s a lot of great.”
“Sure is. Do you like candy? I love candy. Yum. Do you like candy? Want to hook up?”
“No.”
“You don’t like candy? That’s weeeeeirddddd.”
“I love candy.”
“Ha, LAUGH OUT LOUDZ, then why did you say you didn’t like candy?”
“I didn’t. I said no to hooking up with you.”
“And why in the world would you ev-(hiccups)-er say something like that?”

Failure seems imminent. If a person doesn’t drink and you do, it can feel like you’re being forced to revert back to lame high school dating tactics. But truly, you don’t need to be drunk to hook up. Try good, old-fashioned dating tactics (which means don’t do what I have done). As weird as it sounds, one surprisingly effective way to do this is to call your parents for advice. Binge drinking among college students continues to increase — it’s likely your parents weren’t getting wasted all the time when they met, so hopefully their minds will be ripe with suggestions. My parents went to the movies on their first date. (My dad proceeded to tell my mother at the box office: “I’ll pay this time, you pay the next time.” I wonder where I received my poor dating habits.)

Though movies are fine, I would recommend something that I don’t do, but probably should: going out for coffee. Although talking tends to be discouraged at movies, coffeehouses are usually great social atmospheres just begging for cutesy, first-sort-of-date conversations (and in case you didn’t know, you hermit, these places have all sorts of other drinks if coffee isn’t your thing).

Alcohol has always been fuel for sex, dating back to the days of Dionysus. But it doesn’t have to be. Although college is probably the place where it’s most socially acceptable to use drinking to ease social anxiety and encourage hook-ups, it isn’t the only way. If intensely pounding beers alone in your room is the first thing you think of when you want to chill out and have a good time with someone, you might consider reevaluating your reasons for doing so. Don’t get so dependent on alcohol that you grow up to be that coworker who’s always sloshed at the holiday party.

The worst of it happened a few years back, when I went through a short “pink polo” phase. My friend bought me a tiny, tight pink shirt in Japan and, for some unknown reason, I wore the thing constantly. Last time I was home for Spring Break, I found the shirt buried in one of my drawers and tried it on again, just for kicks. Wow, I thought while looking in the mirror. I was an idiot in high school. The sleeves barely made it over my shoulders (I haven’t grown since then, either), the length was dangerously close to being belly-dancer-worthy — and it was freakin’ pink.

Though wearing the shirt was terrible in itself, my biggest mistake had to have been wearing that little monstrosity when I met the parents of the girl I was semi-dating. (Not completely dating, but we hung out a lot, did other things…)

I remember walking into her house like a doofus: all pink, trotting right up to her mom and introducing myself without a care in the world.

I thought everything was going well. The conversation moved into the casual, and I figured we were on track to bridge the generation gap. Soon we were talking about how awesome last night’s episode of Two and a Half Men was, and laughing giddily at how our wry sense of humor and love of Charlie Sheen matched up so impeccably well.

Then it all fell apart. I think it was when I mentioned that I legitimately enjoy an episode of Gilmore Girls every now and then. (Rapid-fire, quick-witted dialogue just gets me.) And then, in a completely serious, wide-eyed way, the girl’s mom asks me:

What the hell, lady? Are you serious? Thinking about it now still makes me angry. First of all, I’m not gay. Second of all, neither is watching Gilmore Girls.

At the time, I just stopped dead. As my semi-girlfriend started chuckling next to me and my face became the color of my idiotic shirt, I could only muster up a weak, gulp-in-the-middle,

I turned to face the still-laughing girl and felt myself shrinking into nothing. I knew it was over. A week later, we semi-broke-up. (It’s how you end semi-relationships.)

To tell the truth, I’m usually awesome at those types of things. Don’t look so surprised — moms love me. It’s more than just dropping the “I go to Northwestern” bomb, which works wonders: I just have a way with them. One mom still even sends me a care package filled with my favorite cookies, brownies and banana bread during Finals Week of every quarter. No joke. I swear. And, man, she is really good at baking.

But having parents swoon over your greatness doesn’t mean anything unless it rings true with the person you are dating. Some girls have this weird “Juliet” complex where, to really like a guy, they need their parents to eternally hate him. Trust me, getting her dad to want to play golf with you or getting her mom to agree to a “mall day” is a far cry from ensuring that your dating partner is hanging out with you next weekend. On the other hand, some girls need mommy’s and daddy’s approval (this is where I like my chances). In that situation, well, at least you’ve got your work cut out for you.

So step up with courage. (And please, normal clothing.) If meeting the parents doesn’t go well, it’s not the end of the world. She figured you were worthy enough to meet the people who birthed her in the first place, which is what really counts — after all, her parents aren’t the ones dating you.

Anyway, all over the stage people are going crazy, rubbing all up on each other, spinning each other around — you get the idea. We all get the idea. When it gets warm, people get horny. It’s scientific, or something. No, really. All that sunlight that comes with spring actually jump starts a gene called POMC, which adjusts some bodily chemicals and increases the amount of certain hormones in the brain: MSH and beta endorphin, for you science majors. Lucky for us humans, when introduced to the brain, these wonderful chemicals spark euphoria and sexual arousal. Ohhh yeahhh.

Want to see this in practice? Take sorority girls, for instance. Don’t think that when you lay out on your front lawns in your tiny bikinis, girls, that people think you’re only just sunbathing. There’s a freaking beach two minutes away with sand, water and a much lower probability that you’ll get a funny tanline from the shadow of a tree. We know you’re up to something. (Note: But there’s really no need to stop, okay? Please?)

As soon as it stops raining and being cloudy, I’m sure all sorts of stuff is going to start “bustin’ out.” Think about it for a second. More people are going outside now, especially in the first month of this whole sunshine thing, and they are actually happy to be there. Somewhere in an alternate dimension where everything happening on earth is shown in graph form, a line is shooting up exponentially on the chart that reads, “Chances of Meeting Someone Cool and Going on a Date/Scoring with Them in the Future.”

Even Table for One is getting optimistic — something you probably never thought would happen after reading about awkward dates and terrible breakups. But spring does some crazy things. Compare the differences in these hypothetical dating scenarios:

My typical, non-spring date:

Two people, a guy and a girl, sit at a small table, probably candlelit, in some overly swanky restaurant. The girl has a does-this-guy-know-how-to-formulate-a-single-competent-phrase-in-his-mind kind of look on her face, while the guy occasionally opens his mouth, as if to speak, but then thinks the better of it.

Then, in one big gulp, the girl downs her glass of wine and grabs a passing waiter by the arm, the glass still touching her lips.

Girl: Can I get another glass, please?

Waiter: Uh, yes sure, sure. Just let go of me.

The waiter leaves.

Guy: Don’t you think six glasses of wine is plenty for one meal?

Girl: No. Don’t tell me what’s right and what’s wrong.

Guy: I was just trying…

Girl: Not needed.

Guy: Gotchya.

Some silence.

Guy: So, um, how was your day today?

Girl: Fine.

Guy: Great. Mine was pretty fine as well. We have something in common!

Girl: Not funny, try again.

Guy: I’m having a great time…

Girl: Now THAT is hilarious.

Ok, now just imagine this date happened in SPRING!

Same guy and girl sitting at a small table. Candlelit. The girl has her elbows on the table, leaning toward the guy on the other side, her face in her hands, her eyes transfixed dreamily on the guy.

Guy: How about this weather?

Girl: It’s amazing. I love it. I love it oh-so-much. You are so good-looking and smart.

Guy: Why thank you, miss. Ditto.

She giggles, giddily.

Girl: You’re funny, too. I think I’m going to pay for dinner and then take you back to my place, and, if it’s okay, serve you Ben and Jerry’s Ice Cream while I watch you play Super Smash Brothers. Invite your friends.

Guy: Really?

Girl: Definitely. But then when you guys are done, I’ll kick everyone out and we can have some time alone. You can pick the music.

Guy: Is this some sort of crazy dream?

Girl: Nope, I’m just really horny because it’s spring.

So there you go. Get out there, people. The sun is shining, the weather is warmer and all that past winter crap is behind us. This whole arousal in spring thing is in our biology — why not just give in?

Anyway, summer ended and I needed to get out of this thing. Luckily, we went to different schools — the perfect excuse to go into “slow-fade mode.” Slow-fade mode entails an increased level of busyness, grounded-ness, or, if you’re really mean, using the plain old ignoring technique. I went with busyness.

Breaking up is hard for everyone. For me, or at least past-me, it is a long, arduous process involving carefully missed phone calls, a huge project due at a certain “unfortunate” time and, often, my parents grounding me for unspecified incidents, rendering me helpless and indefinitely locked in my room.

In truth, the break-up is one of my (and really, it’s anyone’s) biggest weaknesses when it comes to dating. While some can go right ahead and rip off the Band-Aid in a curt, to-the-point verbal confrontation (which is still hard), for most of my dating history, I’ve chosen to avoid that moment, instead drawing it out until the strings tying the relationship together pretty much broke themselves. Yes, I avoided any real confrontation, but it was painful and quite douchebaggy.

During slow-fade mode back in sophomore year, I’d talk to the girl online almost every day, telling her just how busy I was every chance I got. I was so busy, I’d say to her, that I probably wouldn’t be able to hang out over the weekend. When she called, I’d pick up the phone and purposely have little to say, going for long silences. It was terrible. And the most terrible part was she just kept coming back for more. Finally, though, it became evident my plan had worked when she instant messaged me one night:

I thought I was off the hook, until a few weeks later when she asked me to come to her school during lunch because she “wanted to talk.” Soon after, a friend told me she was planning on asking me out again.

I most regret what follows (though I regret this all): By the time lunch rolled around, I purposely took an extra-long time getting there. With my brand-new license, I took all the side streets, stopping at stop signs for way too long and driving slowly enough that I probably could have been ticketed. I got to her school with five minutes left in her lunch hour.

Extremely flustered, she quickly made her case. I just had to turn her down. I gave her a hug and got back in my car. But while driving home, I felt so incredibly bad just thinking about how she had worked up the courage to do all this and I had practically made a joke out of it by taking so long to get there. And on top of that, I had been indirectly ignoring her for the past month. It all added up to me being plain horrendous.

This may have happened more than four years ago, but we all know this still happens here today, with even college students acting much younger than 16 in the way they handle break-ups. It’s so easy to just ignore the responsibility to be honest. The excuses are easy to find: you have homework for chemistry, time-consuming meetings for all those clubs you are in, and you seriously, seriously have to do laundry — you’ve been going sockless for a week. But avoiding all forms of confrontation is for the weak. You got yourself into this — now get yourself out. We’re adults, and we’re obligated to act like it, at least in situations like these.

I’d like to think that now-me would not do what past-me has done, and I’d also like to hope that most people would never do some of the things I’ve done when it comes to dating. So please, just rip off the Band Aid. But do it nicely.

Kersigh! Illustration by author.

I don’t want to come off as a know-it-all, because I’m more of a not-at-all with this stuff. But let me try to back this guy up:

My freshman-year roommate was the exact description of the dude above (and sure, I may or may not be included somewhere in there too). In countless bunk-bed-time confessionals, he confided in me his feelings for a girl down the hall. This was within the first few months of the school year — the timing is important.

I would have felt bad for his pining, except that every night this girl would be sitting on his lap for uncomfortable amounts of time in our room (while I diligently and studiously did my homework, Mom). Sure, this was a frustrating distraction for me, but as it turns out, it was pretty frustrating for the girl too.

See, the seasons changed. Leaves fell from trees, the world around us became a frozen hell of wintry mix, and nothing with my roommate’s situation was different. Stagnation. The seasons changed again, the snow melted, animals awoke from their cute little hibernating holes and started copulating and… still no change.

This is when the girl had finally had enough. One night, after spending time at the beach (c’mon!), she just grabbed him, pulled him in and kissed him. You’d think that would be the end, wouldn’t you? It wasn’t.

Even after another round of late-night confession sessions, the man still couldn’t get himself right. He was unsure, he was scared. But ever so slowly, with more time, he gained some confidence and by the end of the year (pretty much on the last day of school) they were finally, finally together. (Aw, I know.)

Talking to her now, the lady in question says it just took some gumption (for the kiss part) and some patience (no kidding). And judging by how happy they are after eight months together, I’d say this is a good model to go by.

If he really does like you, alls you got to do is go out on a limb and make sure there is no way he can not know how you feel. The going-out-on-a-limb part is tricky, but if you’ve liked him for a long time, he must be worth it, and it’s got to be better than being in this weird, middle state where everything’s up in the air. It’s a risk to put yourself out there with some outlandish romantic act, and an extremely tough risk at that, considering there is usually so much on the line. Human emotions, for example. You know, that bothersome stuff that can make you not want to get out of bed for a few days.

If he still does zilch afterward, then that’s where the patience part comes in handy. But if he’s a total slacker even after that, you have two scenarios: He’s a slacker and he’s not worth it, so forget about it and move on; or he’s a slacker, so sit down and talk to him and convince him to be with you. A good way to convince him might be to say something along the lines of, “Holy Jesus, I waited an entire school year for you! Doesn’t that mean anything?!” That should at least get you a free dinner or a movie or a something.

Relying on the mantra that we do, in fact, learn from our mistakes, this column will involve my answering your relationship questions in the only ways I know: by telling you what I would do in your situation, what I have done in your situation or by making up something awesome. Just don’t do what I would do. Or did. No seriously, don’t. If you don’t do what I would do, your chances of success will increase by, I’d say, at least 130 percent — and that’s a pretty good number.

For a moment now, I will let you into my dating life by giving you a symbolic scene that… may or may not have actually happened, but is symbolic nonetheless. Here we go:

Two people, a girl and a guy, have come together to the Century movie theater. They slowly make their way through the ticket line, kind of just nodding to each other as they wait to get to the cashier.

“This movie’s going to be pretty great, I know it. The trailer: so good,” the guy says.

“I haven’t seen it.”

“You should, it’s a pretty good trailer.”

“I think after I see the movie, there won’t really be much need to see the trailer.”

“Ah, good point, good point.”

Eventually, they make it up to the front. The guy goes first while the girl waits behind. He walks up to the box office and stops for a second, thinking, Should I buy her a ticket? I might look pretty nice if I bought her a ticket. I did ask her to come here with me, and I think I made it rather obvious that I wanted just her to come. And she came alone. Didn’t even ask if a friend could come or anything. I think I’ll buy her a ticket.

“Two for Balls of Fury, please.”

“Sure, that’ll be $800.”

The guy takes the tickets and starts to walk away from the box office, putting his change away. Turning around, he sees the girl at the box office, buying her own ticket. Crap.

“Wait, don’t buy a ticket,” he says.

The girl looks confused. “Why not?” They look at each other for a moment.

“Because.”

“Because…”

“Uh…um…because…I sort of…bought you a ticket.” The cashier guy is now looking at both of them. So is everyone in line.

“Why would you do that?”

“Because…uh…I dunno. I just thought…”

“I think I’m going to buy my own.”

“Okay, that’s a good idea too.”

See what I mean? Send me your questions at l-koppel@northwestern.edu.

And what a glorious, jubilant and fun sameness it was. The entire night Friday at Logan Square Auditorium was filled with childlike glee: from the matching outfits and complete-band dance-breakdown where everyone onstage stretched out their arms and pretended to be airplanes right down to the bassist who looked like she was 8 years old and loving it. Now, this exhibition of twee-ness might have been too much for some people, but those types of people aren’t usually Jens Lekman fans (nor do they like the video of otters holding hands). These people came ready to smile wide and clap and sing along. Deservingly rapturous applause followed every song and audience members looked at one another silently, conveying their happiness with grins and nods.

Throughout the show, the band sounded great: the horns popped, the flutes twiddled beautifully and, of course, Lekman’s voice soothingly flowed through his lower, Stephin Merritt-y registers to his falsettos. But most surprising was probably Lekman’s guitar. Often left low in the mix on his albums, it came to the forefront on many songs, sounding especially fantastic on solo versions of “Pocketful of Money” and “Shirin.” Also, the synthesis of the samples and the live drums made for a full sound not usually expected from backing tracks.

Jens ran through all of the best songs in his growing catalog. Highlights included “Black Cab” and “A Sweet Summer’s Night on Hammer Hill,” from 2005’s Oh You’re So Silent Jens and “The Opposite of Hallelujah” and “Sipping on the Sweet Nectar” from this year’s Night Falls over Kortedala. The Swede even threw in a Paul Simon cover for good measure.

After he had finished his final song and thanked the crowd for a memorable evening, Lekman bowed and smiled, sending a warm, tingly feeling all over the place. He even offered to play a few extra songs if anyone could find a place outside the venue. Turns out, someone offered up their apartment (check out the video above). Just like the entire show, the video is great and epitomizes what Lekman is all about: fun, romance, intimacy and a little goofiness. I bet off-camera someone is probably vomiting up some cuteness in a corner.