Word: houlihans
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...Ferrante, a Revere native, talks with a heavy townie accent about his vast experience with alcohol. “High school for me was, like, every weekend, a triple-kegger,” he says. Houlihan hails from Long Island and he too seems to be comfortable with the process of getting drunk. Yet the duo are a long way from having Harvard’s party scene figured...
...Armed with the knowledge that a party exists in Cabot, the two look for directions to the shuttle stop. Hana Peljto ’04 points to her left and Ferrante and Houlihan start walking toward the river. “Hey, I was just kidding. It’s that way,” Peljto shouts after them as she directs them toward Johnston Gate. “When’s that fuck truck come?” Ferrante wonders out loud...
...Houlihan and Ferrante have managed to squeeze into a shuttle that is filled to the gills with other fun-seeking underclassmen. After reaching the Quad Ferrante expresses his frustration with Harvard’s social scene. “This sucks compared to high school,” he says. “I think there were more hot girls in my senior class than there are here...
...After a few wrong turns, Houlihan and Ferrante find Cabot and begin a slow and unsure ascent on a stairwell teeming with folks looking to get their swerve on. Their hopes are dashed, though, as the line up the stairs is so thick and congested that entrance to the party is nearly impossible. They give up, having had their first taste of what a mess large parties in the Quad...
...plethora of ladies mill around outside Cabot but neither Houlihan nor Ferrante makes any attempt to put the mack down, work their mojo, or spit game at the young co-eds. Ferrante reflects on his unwillingness to do so: “C’mon Houlihan, you know and I know that I don’t got no balls...