The original entry

I am actually somewhat glad Flynn and Conor did not come to my birthday party. The party got out of hand and I would not have wanted to exposed them to it.

It is cute that you think they were not getting up to these shenanigans at Bard College. And, when Conor at one point confesses to this debauchery and far more, you all but shrug it off. They may have skipped your party to do something far more sordid, in fact.

Why do you imagine that is?

Kate's roommate got two jugs of red wine. I was opposed to this, but chose the non-violent resistance path. Kate assured me that she would not be drinking much (she had half a glass, as a celebratory act), nor would any drink whom I felt shouldn't.

Why are you so self-serious? What good does that do?

It did not remotely get out of hand. It was, if anything, a tepid college party. How you managed to grow up around (usually mild) drugs and alcohol and remain so Puritanical is a mystery to me. You saw that it was safe within certain parameters. Why are you so afraid of letting other people be a bit out of control? You aren't right, only self-righteous. That's not a fun guy to be around. Let people enjoy themselves.

Who are you to decide who can drink? That isn't fun for them or you. You aren't their parent (who also should ease that grip in college). You are merely being paternalistic.

What really tainted it for me (though, honestly, I did take this upon myself) was the fact that my friend Virginia's roommate (who was not at the party) had tequila. [...] I spend a good forty-five minutes holding Sara's hair back while she vomited.

So, why did you play the martyr here? It was, at least in title, your birthday party. I'm sure she was a fine person, but she was not in any way your obligation. You took a significant chunk of time away from your birthday party to help a near-stranger vomit. Why?

I knew her to be a rather straightedge lass, so I was curious. Evidently, from what I pieced together, she did about 3 shots of tequila before downing several glasses of bad red wine.

I don't have the slightest idea why you thought this or, if it were true at some point, that she wouldn't want to explore. That's one of the main purposes of college, which I wish you would realize for your own growth.

And--oh, look!--you are coddling another woman who--while she needed someone's care--does not need you to abandon your party to play savior. Again.

Virginia needed to figure out who she was. Vomiting all over one's room from alcohol is a crucial milestone.

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Thomm Quackenbush is an author and teacher in the Hudson Valley. He has published four novels in his Night's Dream series (We Shadows, Danse Macabre, Artificial Gods, and Flies to Wanton Boys). He has sold jewelry in Victorian England, confused children as a mad scientist, filed away more books than anyone has ever read, and tried to inspire the learning disabled and gifted. He is capable of crossing one eye, raising one eyebrow, and once accidentally groped a ghost. When not writing, he can be found biking, hiking the Adirondacks, grazing on snacks at art openings, and keeping a straight face when listening to people tell him they are in touch with 164 species of interstellar beings. He likes when you comment.