Dear Youth of America,
I would like to put forth a motion. It is my opinion that the set of norms at the foundation of our social scene, evolved from a long lineage of partiers before us, stands to be improved upon. Our generation shares a common love for "going out" which generally involves drinking, flirting, dancing, girls in skimpy clothing, and posting pictures online of all of the above. We lose sleep to indulge in such activities and suffer tremendous headaches for the sake of the enjoyment they bring.
But there are a few special occasions throughout the year where the masses turn the conventional concept of Party on its head--Bay to Breakers being a prime example. Instead of staying up until four in the morning, people wake up at four in the morning. Ladies leave their high heels and asphyxiating mini dresses in the closet and dawn their sneakers and sexiest super hero, Where's Waldo, or zombie/unicorn outfits. While you can tell a lot about a man by the way he wears his jeans in the club, you can tell even more about a man who doesn't wear any pants at all. Even the ones who prefer to cover up with a layer of body paint, a kilt or a toga are still easier to strike up a conversation with than your typical Brown Hair Guy At The Bar.
An urban Saturday night often involves waiting in line outside in the cold to pay a cash-only cover for the privilege of entering into a dark, judgmental room. Once inside, conversations with your friends are limited to "SHOULD WE HIDE OUR JACKETS?" and "I'M GOING TO THE BATHROOM!" and "OH MY GOD, LOOK WHAT SHE'S WEARING!" Conversations with strangers are limited to eye contact and (often awkward) body contact. The air smells like sweat and cologne and sex and egos.
Yesterday, at my first ever Bay to Breakers, I didn't pay a cover (it seemed like only about half of the people there actually registered for the race). I didn't wait in line. I didn't get blisters on my feet from uncomfortable shoes. I ran around outside under a cloudless blue sky from the San Francisco Bay to the Pacific Ocean with 50,000 of the area's finest crazies. We drank beer and coconut water. We listened to Get Lucky blaring from ambulance speakers. We danced with sharks and robots and human tacos to hip hop music. We high-fived and pointed and whooped. The streets smelled like sweat and sunscreen and bubbles and camaraderie.
We still exchanged pick-up lines and phone numbers. We still posted obnoxious facebook photos. We still took drunken afternoon naps. But we were so much happier.
I hereby propose that all parties henceforth be hosted outside, start in the morning, require exercise, and involve human tacos.
