JSB: A Night to Remember

JSB is one of the biggest parties of the year. It consists of high school students from all over the Dallas area. The money raised from ticket sales goes to the Dallas Symphony and other education and outreach programs. It can be a fun, sometimes wild, event. For any who have missed the opportunity to go, this may provide a glimpse into the greatest revelry known to Texan teenagers:

Five hundred upperclassmen from local high schools crowd onto a 20’ by 20’ dance floor. The air is so humid that pools of sweat have begun to form on the hardwood. The noise is overwhelming and the live band is sooooo worth coming for. The smell of hormones pervades the air. That one kid from Highland Park stands in front of the stage, eyes closed, head bobbing to a country song that no one has ever heard before. He may or may not be in a catatonic state, but either way, it doesn’t really concern you.

As you feel yourself beginning to asphyxiate, you shove your way off the dance floor, gasp for air, and approach the poker tables where some nerds have been playing poker for the last three hours. You turn to leave and hang out with the cool kids, but out of the corner of your eye, you see the girl you took to homecoming freshman year and haven’t talked to since, so you discretely slip into the closest game and pretend like you didn’t see her.

You make friends with the Greenhill kids who reluctantly give you all their money when you beat them at Blackjack, and walk away feeling like a champ. You spent 500 dollars on this dance and you made back 100 in poker chips which you will probably also lose within the night. When the girl leaves, you get back up to rejoin the partying, only to be stopped by the girl you asked sophomore year. You definitely had feelings for her but never said anything and now you just have infrequent and awkward conversations.

As you ask her about her economics class, you hear a breakdance battle begin to go down on the dance floor. The tide of humans, pulled to the sway of Darude’s Sandstorm, whisks you away and plops you into the heat of the battle. As you throw down your final, sick move, you stretch, and your spur accidentally tears into your jeans. Luckily, you’re wearing your lucky Texas flag underwear, and the whole crowd erupts into applause. Women throw themselves at your feet while everyone sings along to “Chicken Fried” and they carry you on their shoulders like Rudy Rudiger. These are the small joys of life that we live for. This is the Junior Symphony Ball.