Oh Dinkytown, how you've done us all dirty.
Dinkytown: the downtown of the University of Minnesota campus. Even though it is only separated from the official campus by less than a block, the precedents are significantly different from that of the classroom. Rightfully so, as these students deserve a few nights to let loose if they're expected to sit for over ten hours in an echoing lecture hall the following week.
I could easily breakdown the entire week; between Monday Night Blues, Tuesday Night Birthdays at Bloco, Wednesday Night Wine Nights and Thursday Nghts (aka pre-weekend), Dinkytown evenings are always hopping. But for right now, I'll just be focusing on the official weekend nights.
Between house parties, frat raves and bar blowouts, a weekend at the UMN is full of crazy adventures. It starts at around 5 p.m. when the line at Dinkytown Wine & Spirits starts to grow as college students anxiously clasp 24 packs of bad beer and cheap bottles of booze, blatantly ignoring that ten-page paper due next Tuesday. And, of course, the line at the Target Express across the street quickly accumulates, with people grabbing their last-minute Coke-, Sprite- and lemonade-mixers.
From then on, there is a constant stream of small groups wandering from one destination to the next. First, you have those dressed in tuxedos and shiny black shoes walking with their fellow frat bros to the date party as girls in high heels and black dresses strut to meet up with them. You also have those dedicated few running back from the Rec, just in time to shotgun a beer while taking a post-workout shower. Or, there are those in sweatpants proudly marching back from the store with their Ben & Jerry's pint of Half Baked ice cream for an amazing night of bingeing “The Office."
As the sky gets darker, the kids get louder. Reflections from strobe lights in the windows of the notorious houses on Frat Row shine onto University Avenue as people gather, waiting for the bouncer to find their name on the list. Superblock is crowded with freshmen attempting to cram 25 bodies into a dorm room, seemingly unconcerned with their noise level. And T-Hall already has people passed out in the bathroom (T-Hall was always an interesting time).
For those students not still hiding their plastic water bottles (ones that are suspiciously brown and bubbly), the ones who have reached that luminous age of 21, a night of hasty bar crawls ensue. That is, unless you are going to Sally's Saloon, which is essentially an underage haven. Burrito Loco, aka Bloco, in addition to their dangerous fish bowls, conveniently serve burritos into the wee hours of the night. The next stop is the two-floor bar just down the block, The Pourhouse, (which also has a rather useful backdoor to casually sneak in when the line is obnoxiously long). Last is Blarney's, located in the heart of Dinkytown, where dancing is required, and personal space is a lost cause.
The last stop of the night is, of course, the food (arguably the best part of the entire night's adventures). After the bar closes, the frat parties die out and people stumble home, a stop for a much-needed pre-hangover precaution is crucial. Depending on your mood, you can treat yourself to some circular pieces of heaven from Insomnia Cookies, savory guac from Qdoba or, the most popular, a pizza slice the size of your face from Mesa.
Nights out at Dinkytown always promise a memorable experience from walking right into a bar fight, "borrowing" numerous traffic cones, strolling with a cop down the sidewalk, being evacuated from the FloCo apartments because the fire alarm suspiciously went off and dancing on radiators. Forever in our hearts and livers, thank you Dinkytown for your unpredictable and lively memories.
