“Enjoy your youth while you can,” Kurt said with a grin as he went to separate his two young boys, who were in the middle of a brutally honest fight over a favourite toy, an occurrence common amongst the male youth of today, yesterday, and certainly a trait that will continue in generations to come. “God knows it doesn’t last long enough.”
With the quarrel over he stood with his son Jaden resting comfortably in his strong arms; he was looking at us with bewilderment, perhaps because our faces were covered with scraggly hair, or perhaps because we were the only white people he had seen in weeks. Either way, it was evident that he really didn’t mean what he was saying; you could see his love for his children shining brightly in his light blue eyes, and you knew that he wouldn’t trade those hijos for youth, or anything else in the world that he had previously experienced.
“Anyway, other than what we’ve already discussed, my only advice to you three young gentlemen is to watch out for the older chicas at Casa Iguana during happy hour. They can get pretty ruthless.”
We laughed and smiled and thanked him once again for letting us stay at his palace: his house set atop a high bluff along the Costa Rican shoreline. We then made our way back to the other side of the wrap-around deck towards suite number four and decided it was time to get serious. For tonight was Jeans Night. We had made the call and therefore our mentality could only be defined as going for it.
Jeans Night, one could say, is the moment where mental liberalism meets calculated madness. It is represented by all partaking parties first putting on their finest pair of jeans, that is, your only pair of jeans if you’re on the road, then venturing into town to paint that SOB red. It’s a Friday or Saturday night occurrence in the western world with the younger ones dominating the scene. However in this sultry latin world, there are no age restrictions whatsoever. For instance on a particularly eventful Jeans Night in Grenada, Nicaragua, we were fortunate enough to have Roberto in our midst, a sixty year old computer engineer, who still perpetuated dreams of becoming a broadway performer, who wore a hawaiian shirt at all times, and who would routinely miss his mouth when attempting to take a swig of beer. He said it had something to do with poor hand-eye coordination. We called his bluff.
The Formula
Step 1 = Member Recruitment. As we all know strength comes in many forms with one of them being numbers. In the days and hours leading up to Jeans Night choose your squad carefully yet liberally. Be sure to tell all of them to get their Jeans ready, but other than that keep the details to a minimum and start entering your own zen-like state for the undoubtedly interesting, meandering, roiling events which are to come.
Step 2 = “Get Yo’ Jeans On”. We call this process getting “Jeansed Up,” and it refers to both slipping into denim and letting your excitement levels rise in anticipation. It’s similar to getting “Juiced Up,” or “Jacked Up,” but in this case we’ve substituted the first word to be “Jeansed.” During this time it is common to loudly blare music to enhance energy levels (coldplay is of course banned) and immediately following this process the always ceremonial pouring of the first drink will take place.
Step 3 = “The Pre-Drink.” Anybody who attended university in North America has perfected this fine tactic. It aims to save you dollars by ensuring you are drunk, sorry wasted, upon entering the bar, but which of course never works and usually leads to further degenerate behaviour and reckless spending. This is OK. Acting like a loose unit and credit card tabs are practically encouraged on Jeans Night. Drinking Games, Four-Sip beers, and any other behaviour with similar motives are common and appreciated.
Step 4 = “The Venture.” After all partaking Jeans Night members are Jeansed Up and Pre-Drunk, it is now time to make your way to your establishment of choice. Walking is the most desirable option, with bussing coming in a close second for reasons a) all members can travel together, keeping the group at a collective high, and b) traveling together will ensure that everybody arrives at exactly the same time, which is an essential ingredient for step number five.
Step 5 = “Take The Bar By Storm.” Nothing sets the tone like walking into the bar fifteen deep, everybody Jeansed Up in a lurid display of pink, black, and green denim, before proceeding straight to the D-Floor for The Inaugural Shakedown. Cript-walking, Limbo-Competitions, and Attempted Break-Dancing are all welcome here. In fact, there aren’t many things which are disallowed.
For, in essence, this is the point. Jeans Night is an evening where rules cease and the enveloping darkness of the night takes over. Whatever happens, happens. Everything just is. Jeans Night is a combination of both social activity and of simply letting the good times roll, as they say. It is a release from the mundane moments of day-to-day life intertwined with the desire to explore new avenues of friendship, and like all journeys, yourself. And it is absolutely imperative for you to understand that by no means is Jeans Night simply a hipster term used to describe a large evening of partying, or copious amounts of drinking-based behaviour for that matter. As contradictory as it may sound, Jeans Night is an individually dictated event. Because from Step 5 onwards everyone’s evening could turn out differently, depending on where they’re looking to go. That’s the beauty of it, you’re free to be whoever you want to be. Ask yourself with 100% honesty what it is that you want to do, then make your way in that direction, haphazardly or not.
That’s what really matters: the state of mind. Every individual needs to commit themselves to the cause. They need to know full well that once somebody has made the call and announced a Jeans Night, anything can happen. Let go, succumb to the winding majesty of the mighty fjord, just for a moment, and go with it, or go for it, just as Kurt was in raising his children, living on the front lines of life in a pair of ragged jeans.
masterpiece