I am a bad senior. While I was doing nerd stuff like working for the school paper and downloading indie rock no one cares about, I was missing out on the Northwestern bar scene. The Deuce? Went once, left after 20 minutes (and didn’t even go to IHOP!). Hundo? Had a celebratory drink with fellow Weekly editors last year that got crashed with the afterparty of a ‘white trash’ themed sorority affair. The Celtic Knot? Once ordered its goat cheese burger’-it’s great!

So when I got the invite to a Facebook group entitled ‘Senior Monday at Nevin’s’ that started with, ‘Remember when the Keg used to be fun?’ I felt as nostalgic as those chipper Swedes in ABBA turning down $1 billion to reunite. I don’t have any fond memories of the Keg, because I had never been. Somehow, I was always too busy working or playing videogames instead of pregaming to go out and spend more money. Wasn’t everyone as cheap as me? Of course not. They were too busy having fun and enjoying college.

Eager to make some new memories (or at least have an excuse for coming in late to my 9 a.m. class the next day) I rolled up to Nevin’s with some friends, got the immensely satisfying rush of handing my legal ID to the bouncer, and stepped inside, unsure of what I’d find.

‘Jeremy!’ my fraternity friend bellows as I enter the room, ‘I’m six beers and a Vicodin deep!’

Nevin’s Pub is a quarter full or half-empty, depending on your world view. There’s a table of ZBT, Tridelt and A Phi seniors in one corner of the room, random Pwild and sorority girls in other parts of the bar, and a cast of bar boozers who look like they’ve been there for hours and are now wondering, ‘What are these college kids doing here on a Monday?’ The jukebox is broken and lame country music is pumped over the air and no one is dancing. I don’t even think there’s a dance floor.

‘It’s a good idea, it just needs a little more traction,’ says one ex-Daily staffer, trying to put a positive spin. Another girl says more bluntly: ‘I wish more people I knew were here!’ There’s even a girl watching 24 on her laptop will sitting on the bar, sipping a beer in her purple sweats. But the liquor keeps flowing, the Safe Rides keep pulling up, and finally, the place is packed.

It is loud enough to seem bustling, but quiet enough to hear the person next to you. Free of the routine of the Keg (get drunk, dance, try to hook up) a hodgepodge of north and south campus members, Greek members, hipsters, WNUR DJs and social cliques formed in freshman year begin to congregate, catching up on old times or buying shots for each other. Associated Student Government President Mike McGee is even there, making the social rounds.

Contrasted with the Keg, which I had checked out earlier, the seniors here are warmer and happier. It’s like a collegiate Cheers, where you know everyone and everyone knows you. At the Keg, the seniors stand on the side, trying to look too cool to dance or hook up while the underclassmen go nuts. ‘I don’t even know why I’m here,’ says one girl. Another shrugs when I ask her why she’s at the Keg. A drunken malaise pervades the atmosphere. You recognize people, but instead of talking, you slap their hand or their shoulder and keep trudging through the crowds.

Back at Nevin’s, Ankur Bhatia, an old roommate, comes up to me and says he wants to be quoted in the Weekly once he finds out I’m doing a ‘story.’ Fine, I say, and whip out the notebook to write. ‘Nevin’s Pub,’ he starts out, before pausing for five seconds. ‘I’m gonna think about it and get back to you,’ he finishes, before walking away.

‘There’s no juke box,’ I complain to my friend, ‘No music, no dancing, no people, no fun, no God, no future. Where does that leave us?’

‘Yeah, but there’s $3 beers,’ my friend says in response.

Finally, my frat friend walks back up to me, looking noticeably worse for the weather, and says, ‘Jeremy, my life’s not going very well.’ I concur with him, as we decide to leave, taking Senior Monday with us.’ ‘ ‘ ‘