Picture of shame: a dipshit Citi Biker casually blocks the fucking sidewalk

It’s Monday evening, which means that you’re looking back on the ghost that was your weekend with some hopefully fond memories, waiting for the next Thursday night to arrive. To help you out, we’ve gathered some field notes (or, if you prefer, notes from the field), a random collection of observations and occasional judgement from the past Thursday night to Sunday morning. Like what you read? Tip us with your own field notes (or just say hi).

First, a few tweets from our cohorts:

Spectrum (@CUspectrum) 10/19/13, 2:00 AM:
“A CC prof at 1020 is talking to his students and I don’t know how to react.”

Roarer the Lion (@RoarertheLion) 10/19/13, 8:32 AM (in response to Bwog’s inquiry on the Pourhouse vibe):
@bwog “Eh, somewhere between the awkward clustering of senior night and the ibanker-sports fan vibe of Saturday. Everyone was old.”

A peek into some weekend nights out (or in) and about Columbia:

One studious studier’s Thursday night was spent “in my room working and listening to drunk people scream while running down the hall.”

Meanwhile, Bwog’s editors partook of some pumpkin beer that same evening. There was a lot of pumpkin beer.

Book Culture, apparently, doesn’t card at open mics. Nothing classier than some wine and a $7 New Yorker.

Tipped: #edwardfortyhands

A bro was spotted leaving EC with a pack of beer and two funnels with Dick Cheney’s face taped to both.

And in NYU’s library: “Literally no one but me. 10th floor. Empire State Building in front of me. #fuckthebut”

Hard lessons: if you go to Homecoming drunch, begin drinking bottomless mimosas at 11:00 am, and are properly drunk by 1:00 pm, your hangover *will* set in sometime around 6:00, perfectly timed with the sunset. No amount of bourbon will get you out of that funk.

As the story goes, a guy on a tipster’s floor “got prank CAVA called. CAVA came up looking for him, he was over at his girlfriend’s as always, but they insisted that they had been called for this guy. So then they went to check on Wallach (floor redacted) too.” We’re just hoping this wasn’t on Carman 8.

A nice visual accompaniment to the EC fight

More from our favorite dorm: there was “literally a fight in EC because nobody can get IDs. A man just got escorted out.” Why does anyone even go to EC after COOP party season?

And a report from the midnight Friday night line at 1020: “Line’s not too long but, alas, it exists.” Real talk: how close to Insomnia does the line have to be before it becomes unacceptable?

Homecoming Overheards:

Entering Baker: “I feel like I’m walking onto an episode of Friday Night Lights.”

In the stadium: “I should be doing work right now.”

In the 116th subway station: “I’m OBSESSED with hydration.”

Wall of Shame:

An irate caffeine addict rants: “To that guy who brings in a giant camping thermos to Oren’s and insists on getting it filled up all the way AND paying by the ounce: maybe you should do those calculations on your own time. And also leave some coffee for the rest of us.”

Possibly the same tipster shares this exchange in Oren’s: Some guy tries to order a fancy caramel frappuccino drink. The guy barista responds, “No, I don’t speak Starbucks.” Burnt.

Things that are probably not on the syllabus: A student in a tipster’s Art Hum class asked the professor to explain what an orgasm is. On the bright side, this could be a nice segue into introducing Bernini’s Ecstasy of St. Theresa.

Wall of shame or wall of fame? A possibly envious Bwogger spotted “a guy getting iced on the 6th floor of butler. In the middle of a reading room, he calmly and quietly knelt and chugged the beer. In fact, he was so quiet he was about two feet from me and it took me until the end of the beer to notice. Props, bro.” If only he didn’t embarrass himself by “proceeding to take a 40 minute nap. C’mon, man. It’s not even red wine.”

And a truly epic shaming directed at Columbia Facilities: “I was doing laundry in Schapiro, and when my clothes were finished washing, I went to the basement to put them in the dryer. As I appriached [sic], I saw that my laundry machine kept flashing the message: ”F21 out of order” and the door was locked. I couldn’t get my clothes out. The person I talked to from the Hartley Hospitality Desk told me to try unplugging the machine (but only if it was safe). Which is was obviously not, because the entire room is covered in an inch of grey, cockroach-y water. The outlet was also buried deep behind machines and pipes and various obstacles, making it impossible for me to get to even if I had decided that I wouldn’t mind being electrocuted. She then said that the only other thing she could do would be to contact the company that makes the machines, and wait for them to do something.

“I was washing most of the clothes I own. And considering the washer probably didn’t do any actual cleaning, and just filled up with (by now, very dirty) water, my prospects for recovering my clothes are looking dim.”

Sorry bro. At least it’s almost winter clothes time?