We Can Dance if We Want To
Review of The Gala
It’s been over a week now, and no one’s written anything about the Gala, to the good or the ill.
I guess it’s not a bad thing. Silence is the college student’s highest form of praise. If we’re not actively complaining, things are probably okay.
But I’d like to break the quiet, because, all things considered, the Gala went really well. There were about a hundred ditches this night could have blindly swerved into. For starters…
- What should have happened: Nobody should have enjoyed the theme. I mean, “Masquerade?” That’s pretty played out. Student Life might as well have called it “School Dance: The School Dance.”
What happened: People had fun with those dumb masks! It was kind of silly (and some creep chose to wear werewolf hands), but those who chose to embrace it mostly made it work.
- What should have happened: No one should have come, really. The buzz about campus was everyone was staying in their rooms that night. Every Student Life attempt to jumpstart the students fell flat, even taking into account all two of the #galaposal entries. The student body’s echo kept coming back soft: Why go out when you can stay home, eat ice cream, and catch up on season two of Kimmy Schmidt?
What happened: In a seemingly last-minute surge of reckless abandon, a sizable crowd bought tickets and came dressed to the nines. Mostly enthusiastic freshmen and sophomores, with a sprinkling of juniors and seniors. It’s always a good time when the the older years aren’t too cool to have fun. Even those of us who came without dates managed to show up and have a good time. Well, during the fast songs. When the slow ones began to play, we yielded the floor to sip our lime-and-cokes in solitude.
Speaking of dancing, though…
- What should have happened: The dancing should have been super awkward.
What happened: The dancing was…tolerably awkward. When the interns started the night off with their choreography, I honestly didn’t think anyone was going to get into it. But son of a gun, you guys got into it. The dance floor was almost always packed, and the moments of fun well outweighed the ill-at-ease. And who knew that “Sweet Caroline” could be such a rager? Neil Diamond would have been proud.
With the dancing done, however, and the body’s natural pain-masking chemicals depleted, one wondered whether this event was meant to last. Were the students only having fun because it was their first night dancing in a hundred years? As Galas continue to come and go, will the novelty fade, leaving only awkwardness in its wake?
That’s what should happen. But I can’t be sure it will.