The March issue is headed off to the printers, and you've already left for spring break. Still, please enjoy this preview feature from the next BLUE AND WHITE: A look at Brooklyn's next wave of debauchery.

24 Month-Old Party People

Rubulad, the infamous bi-monthly debauch at an apartment-building-turned-commune in the badlands of Brooklyn, is a decidedly grown-up affair. About an hour and a half away from Columbia, it's a converted warehouse that sits in the shadow of the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway, reachable only by switching from the 1 to the A to the G. After arriving at the Classon subway stop, the journeying partygoer must venture about half a mile past two stretches of housing projects, four gas stations and a structure behind a barbed-fence resembling a hybrid of a prison and a hospital.

What I remember of my last bender—ahem—evening spent at Rubulad are attempts to claw my way out through room after room of sweaty, writhing, half naked and less-than-half conscious bodies before my escape was almost thwarted by a man wearing noth- ing but socks. On his feet. Sort of like Resident Evil meets Fear and Loathing, or flophouse meets rave. It's been a while since I've been back.