An undergraduate's venture into the depths of the graduate social scene

For weeks, whispers have been echoing in the halls of Firestone: "The D-Bar is opening again; are you coming?" Thursday night's grand opening proved that the answer must have been a resounding "Yes!"

As I pulled on my most comfortable shoes (for the long walk over, of course), I prepared myself for a role I had never played before: The Sketchy Undergrad. Finally, the roles were reversed, and I would be trespassing on what was clearly not my territory.

My fears would prove to be groundless: In the first place, several other Sketchy Undergrads lurked behind pillars, and secondly, grad students are actually genuinely nice and welcoming. That is, if you can make it through the door: Due to the strict members-only policy, this can be tricky if you don't know a member well. Oh, and you have to be 21. Obviously. This is a real, private bar with a real liquor license, not some crumbling mansion on a certain Street.

Having crossed the first hurdle of getting signed into the club, I faced the next obstruction: the bottleneck between the dance floor and the bar (it's considered good manners to buy your host or hostess a drink).

The renovations that were the main cause of the bar's eight-month sabbatical have resulted in this two-room split, as well as an increase in the total floor space and a general cleanup of the D-Bar's act.

The bar itself sells drinks of varying quality at cheap prices (where else would you find a margarita for less than $5?) and even some food items — while there's no canard a l'orange, they do serve old barroom favorites like fries. Service is quick and friendly.

Back in the other room, DJ's Trek, Swipe and Taz were spinning away to a packed crowd. One side of the room was taken up by a raised dance floor. Adjacent to that, a counter that was apparently designed specifically for bar dancing held pride of place.

There was no shortage of people willing to take advantage of these features, either. Hip-hop and house music, often with an African flavor, kept energy levels high, and the evening drew to a close with the inevitable manifestation of the spirit of Michael Jackson. One day we might finally emerge from the '80s, but that day lies far in the future, as posters advertising an upcoming '80s party at the D-Bar clearly proclaimed.

On this night, however, T-shirts and jeans dominated, a look much more casual than the one promenading at the same hour at Princeton's other entertainment venue, "La Rue." Only a few collared shirts or Ugg boots slunk around, looking lost and faintly embarrassed.

In general, the opening night of the D-Bar (its full name, Debasement Bar, while an accurate reflection of its underground location, does little to dispel the Kafkaesque aura surrounding the acronym) provided a fascinating insight into how the other side of campus lives, an insight unfortunately not likely to be available to many other undergraduates.