I went to a small liberal arts college in Texas. It’s located in a peaceful bedroom community on the outskirts of Austin that (at the time) still adhered to a Byzantine backwoods policy on alcohol purchase and consumption. So even though it was essentially a college town, there weren’t very many bars.
But college students being what they were, are, and forever will be, we found our way around those rules by creating our own moving bars in our vehicles. We participated in proud Texas brain-cell-wrecking tradition called “Rolling,” and it basically boiled down to driving really slowly on farm roads while playing drinking games. Yes, it was dangerous and country-assed and downright stupid. And, yes, I was a willing dumb-assed participant.
My girlfriends and I liked to venture out without any of our romances-of-the-moment for a woman-centric Self Esteem Roll. We had our own particular brand of Rolling that involved singing very loudly (in harmony of course) to 70s songs by Supertramp or Boston. But we were also members of what we nobly deemed the “feminist sorority” (if you can wrap your head around that classic) and so we threw in a lot of Indigo Girls and Annie Lennox for good measure.
I can still sing this one backwards and forwards. And I still do. Good stuff.