Like a line of coke sniffing itself

[Ed note: For some reason I'm getting a bunch of visitors who are oddly attracted to a post I made over a year and a half ago about Amy Sohn marrying a Bennington alum. Welcome Maud readers! You people like Bennington, huh? I'll give you Bennington, fuckers.]

About a week ago, Gawker ran an interview with a Bennington alum who is so obsessed with Bret Easton Ellis that he's writing a novel about him. (Apparently he managed to alienate his idol a couple years ago--I'm guessing they've made up. How one could alienate an established media whore is beyond me, so kudos to you, Jamie, and kudos again.)

Anyhow, this Gawker post serendipitously appeared the same day as my Alumni magazine, which they faithfully send to me every quarter even though I never graduated and haven't given them a cent. This issue included a huge, congratulatory spread about the extensive renovations and "rebirths" of the buildings on campus, including the common rooms of all the original houses and the entire alumni house.

I wish I could find these photo spreads online, because my words can't possibly capture the honey-hewed wood, the sun streaming in through gossamer curtains, the Ethan Allen-style sofas and cub chairs. It's a stark contrast to how I remember the common rooms, what with cigarette butts, used condoms, and dried blood being noticeably absent, and especially to how I remember the drafty, creaky alumni house, the perfect (well, cheap) place to spend a post-college weekend when you want to do a bunch of mushrooms and are afraid you'll jump off the roof of your Williamsburg tenement if you stay in the city.

I, of course, emailed D, a fellow alum, about it immediately, as we delight in scrutinizing both the alumni magazine and the Pottery Barn catalog alike. He replied:

Yes I did get the Alumni Magazine, which is apparently now called "Country Curtains."

Gazing in disbelief at the picture of the living room made me wonder "Is this the place we used to love? Is this the place we used to burn furniture and crucify raccoons?"

And please don't even bring up the Alumni House, site of so many disasters, including [redacted]'s car wreck in the Mercedes station wagon and subsequent hiding from the police. I particularly remember [redacted] breaking a glow stick over his head and then rubbing the mess all over the curtains and upholstery. This after pissing on the stage at Martha Hill. It now resembles a Pottery Barn catalog. The only thing missing is one of those noxious chalk boards with the sick-making "reminders" like "buy merlot" "Hannah's violin lesson- 4PM" and "Take Jake and Sam to Soccer." Only it should read, "Buy Xanax" "Pick up kegs for Fels" and "Fetch Cardamom from the abortionist."

My conclusion? Bennington's raucous days as detailed in "Rules" "history" and others and lived by thee and thou were an aberration that became thought of as the norm, much as the 1950's are held up as an era America has devolved from, when in fact they too are an aberration. The living rooms will last. And did you see the rock-climbing room? In my day it would have been turned into a meth lab.