On a typical night, one can observe any or all of the following: A sturdy, polo-shirted male urinating against a storefront; a tall, voluptuous female wretchedly vomiting on the sidewalk; an altercation between two males, loud and public, often escalating to blows; endless students staggering in groups to no place in particular, sometimes supporting one another, sometimes stopping to urinate, sometimes to vomit.

Slurred speech is generally the rule, and the cacophony of mangled syllables, guttural shouts and pounding music can be overwhelming when one stops to take it all in.

Movements and emotions are exaggerated: People are either inordinately happy or beside themselves with fury upon seeing you; their speech is loud and forced, their subject matter banal, their interactions fleeting. The sober observer wanders about in a daze, perplexed at the change that has befallen his city in a matter of hours.

And yet, the very next morning, life returns to normal. The vomit has been cleaned, the urine sanitized and the streets are filled not with staggering zombies, but with ordinary students, going about their business. It is important to remember they are the same students as from the previous night, only minus the element of alcohol.

The scene I have sketched above is perhaps a bit harsh, but I do not think it is inaccurate. During the past years, our school has distinguished itself as a haven for sports fans and party-seekers, a place where there is always something “going on” and a good time to be had.

But when one recalls the events of Cedar Fest earlier this year, the thousands of drunken students lobbing bottles and demanding to be tear-gassed, it seems that we are not only known for our “good times.” We are known, instead, for our propensity to drink to excess. We are the butt of a joke.

How we came to be in this position warrants examination, but more than this space will allow.

One would like to know why we feel the need to drink to such a debauched extent. It is not enough to excuse it by saying we are in college and such is to be expected, for much of our behavior would be frankly labeled alcoholism were we not in college. Nor is it valid to excuse it by the rigor of our schoolwork. If this is how we react to the relatively minor stress of university, how will it be when we enter our adult lives?

Instead, I think the answer has to do with alcohol’s status as a “social lubricant,” or more precisely in our case, a social vector.

There are those whose lives revolve around it, whose only social interaction is under its influence, for whom it is a topic of endless conversation. It is their sole pastime, their constant companion. It is natural, then, that they drink deep from their glasses, to wash away the confusion of everyday life, to ease, if only for a few hours, the intolerable listlessness that occupies their sober moments.

Of course it is entirely possible that the casual depiction of college alcoholism in our media has a feedback effect, convincing students that this is what is done here. Or there might be some other, unexamined reason. If we are to seriously consider our drinking habits, it is up to the individual to ask: What is it about alcohol that appeals to me? Why do I feel the need to drink quite so much? The answer might come as a surprise.

Pavan Vangipuram is a State News columnist and chemical engineering senior. Reach him at vangipu1@msu.edu.