Monday morning hangover: the sober Dillo Day diary

    For the final Hangover of the year, we decided to throw out the rulebook. Instead of a far-reaching recap of all things entertainment, we want to one in on this weekend’s most important event: Dillo Day. It was wild, it was fun, it was controversial, and it certainly was memorable (sure, how much you remember might vary, but hey).

    For me, though, Dillo was a sober affair, and, as a 20-year bystander to drunken shenanigans and intoxicated mayhem, I have become pretty good at keeping track of all the ensuing hilarity. The result is the final Monday Morning Hangover of the year: a sober Dillo diary of all the craziness you might have missed on Saturday.

    7:00 a.m.: I wake up and head to the showers with sandals, towel, and music in hand. The floor of my dorm had christened me the honorary DJ to their shower beers, and I'll be damned if I wasn’t going to do it right. The playlist included “Party and Bullshit in the U.S.A.” (a Biggie Smalls/Miley Cyrus mashup that totally works), Rick Ross’ “Hustlin,’” the Ramones’ “Blitzkreig Bop,” and “No Sleep ‘Til Brooklyn” by the Beastie Boys. There might have been a sprinkling of Tupac and Lil Jon in there too.

    The guys loved it, even if they were shower-beering the wrong way. They would put on basketball shorts, step into the shower for sixty seconds, chug their beers as quick as they could, and then step out and towel off. Not the way to do it. As I understand it, a good shower beer should involve a high contrast in the refreshing heat of the water and the refreshing coldness of the beer — this is not a system designed for you to down your brewski like some kind of maniac. You’re in the shower: Enjoy it, do some thinking. 

    7:33 a.m.: Like any other self-respecting Dillo-ite, I know it’s important to start early on the whole “let’s put terrible things in our bodies” tradition, so I meet up with a group of fraternity brothers and we head to Taco Bell for breakfast. The establishment seems to be going by the following formula for their morning menu:

    1. Take one of our dinner menu items—literally any of them 
    2. Throw out the beef and add sausage/bacon/steak 
    3. Throw out the vegetables and add egg 
    4. Cover the whole thing in cheese 
    5. Use the same sauce we use in everything else because fuck you

    I ordered what they lazily call their “AM Crunchwrap” with steak and a Waffle Taco. The crunchwrap tasted like any of their crunchwraps, and the waffle taco tasted like something that Satan designed to troll the United States of America. I finished neither, because deep in the depths of my body, I already felt some grumblings. Taco Bell breakfast had infected me.

    8:54 a.m.: I hold it all down for 81 minutes and then I become the first person on Dillo Day 2014 to puke. No alcohol necessary. My body had taken the Taco Bell breakfast at face value and decided, “well, this doesn’t belong here” and just tossed it back up my throat and out my mouth. The fourth floor bathroom of Allison sounded like the chestburster scene in the first Alien movie, except the only person screaming was me. I cleaned up the splash damage, brushed my teeth again, and soldiered on to my first pregame. Taco Bell breakfast. Not even once.

    10:45 a.m.: After moving to a second pregame (NBD), I have my official boot and rally. A buddy of mine made chocolate chip pancakes, and since this is Dillo Day, I can’t not have any, so I take a few flapjacks and rally the hell back. There is a girl at this pregame visiting from out of town, and in telling her my Taco Bell story, I realize that things expelled from my body are not the greatest point of conversation. Over the course of a day she learned all about my poop and my puke, and I learned she goes to Penn and plays golf. We obviously found a lot we have in common.

    12:00 p.m.: The second pregame sees me and a couple of buddies hit the streets of Evanston to roam for some parties. We find a frat party, and upon entering, I notice the Whassup-Times-Two phenomenon. Here’s how it works: when you greet someone on Dillo Day, they will almost automatically match your level of enthusiasm for the encounter, and then double it. Example: at this party, I see a friend of mine who lives on the other end of campus. We haven’t seen each other in a long time, and we make random eye contact across the party. My mouth falls open. “Dude!” He throws his arms above his head, sloshes his drink everywhere, and with absolute no regard for those around him, runs to me and gives me a huge hug: “DAZZZZZZZ!!!!” And you know what? It felt great. The Whassup-Times-Two Effect is one of my favorite things about Dillo Day; you say hello people you would never say hi to otherwise — such a good thing.

    1:30 p.m.: OK Go comes on, and looking back, they were probably the perfect Dillo act. Fun, easy-to-listen-to music, solid stage presence, and a lot of catchy, accessible lyrics. The lead singer was kind of an asshole (Anyone see him yell at the roadie after he switched guitars? It kind of killed the mood for the folks on the left), but that is a rock star for you.

    3:00 p.m.: Compare these guys with Chance the Rapper. I am not a huge rap guy myself, but I think Chance made a really tangible effort to connect with us, engage with the campus, and work the crowd. Where the music may have been lacking, he made up for with his performance. Unfortunately, as we saw with Mr. Chainz later, this is not always the case.

    4:00 p.m.: While Ryan Hemsworth and Cults were hitting the stage, I went with some friends to cool off and hit Edzo’s. After the meal, my roommate and I pregame for 2 Chainz. He uses some Apple Jack and I have a Vitaminwater. I cut the Vitaminwater with actual water because the flavor’s too strong and sugary. In unrelated news, I’m a loser.

    8:30 p.m.: Let’s end with a talk about 2 Chainz. Elephant in the room: he sucked. He hardly said anything, he had to use songs that weren’t even his so he could round out his set list, he cut his most popular songs in half, and he pretty much just walked off the stage with no sort of goodbye or peace-out. It was hilariously bad. 2 Chainz’s hype man was more fun than 2 Chainz himself. Hell, that random dude who somehow went onstage with 2 Chainz was more interesting than 2 Chainz himself. It was fun because we all bonded in making fun of him. His screen was a glorified Clipart montage, his monologues were the same “Freshman-sophomores let me hear yaaaaaaaa!!!” call-outs over and over again, and there was many-a-moment when he straight-up did absolutely nothing. He went onstage and farted out a couple songs and went home and probably smoked a huge blunt and wrapped himself in an Ohio State flag. Goodnight.

    The last Hangover of the year. Kind of sad, really, but we went out in style. Whether you were on sober patrol like me or being the epitome of the Whassup-Times-Two Effect, chances are you’re still reeling from the weekend. Stay classy this summer, ‘Cats. In the fall, there will certainly be more Hangovers to bond over together.


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