I, too, am a downtown girl, not the same one as before but a downtown girl all the same. I’ve danced with Rasa Van Werder (unwillingly), sipped many a scorpion bowl (unwisely) , and taken more sketchy cab rides than I should openly admit (Narcoleptic Jeff anyone?).
In truth, I’ve laughed and cried on State Street, sometimes on the same night ( *nostalgic sigh* ah memories!)--and as I’m now beginning my 4th consecutive fall on State Street, I think it’s safe to say that I’ve experienced the full spectrum of emotions associated with that always-beckoning weekend oasis.
Dozens of Forever 21 tops and vodka cranberries into my downtown Binghamton career, I’ve developed my own theory about State Street. You see, in my 3 years at Binghamton I’ve come to the conclusion that State Street does not actually exist, because really, there are an infinite number of State Streets, each a different dimension, and the state street dimension you enter depends entirely on how drunk and what kind of drunk you are on a particular night.
As for me, I’ve entered myriad dimensions of State Street since I came to Binghamton 3 years ago including but not limited to: happy-drunk State Street, desperately-searching-for-dude State Street, depressed State Street, I aced my midterm State Street, I failed my midterm State Street, and the resident State Street of the past two years, in a relationship State Street. But I’m here today because I have recently garnered experience with a unique and-- up until now -hidden state street dimension: newly-single State Street.