I don't think I'll ever be fully acclimated to the party scene here in State College. I've been here for three years and I'm still pissed that I can't build a fire and drink beer around it -- at least that's what it said in the subpoena my landlord's lawyer served me.

I was fortunate enough to get here in the fall of 2002 when the Princeton Review rated Penn State University Park the number four party school in the country. But my understanding of the word "party" quickly died after a few weekends of the exact same routine.

I would sit at my computer while the girls on my floor cycled through eight or nine outfits, at least one transition from hair up to hair down (or vice versa) and a generous coating of makeup. Eventually, someone would come fetch me and we would head to frat such-and-such because a member of our group knew Nick What's-his-face and he could get us in. While standing in line outside the frat, the girls -- bless their hearts -- would let me sneak into the center of them in hopes that nobody would notice the awkward Skipper amidst a cluster of glamorous Barbies.

Once inside the frat, we started the arduous process of "partying." We had to make friends with the pledges running the bar first thing, because if you didn't do that you'd be in line all night.

We had to find a place for the girls to put their purses and/or cardigans. I traveled lightly because I never wanted to risk being a victim of theft -- most frats don't have coat-checks.

Then, we had to dance as provocatively as possible because ... well, I really don't know why we did that. I just followed everyone else's lead because I was grossly out of my element.

I never got used to the frat scene. Unfortunately, when I graduated to the world of apartment parties, it wasn't much better. Parties in this town are generally over-crowded and you might as well show up drunk because you'll be lucky if you visit the keg once before it's tapped.

After three years of partying, I still feel grossly out of my element. So, what exactly is my element? Field parties. That's right, I like nothing more than dragging a cooler of beer through the woods to a clearing and drinking around a bonfire. I am a hick and no matter where I may travel or how much culture I may acquire, nothing -- and I mean nothing -- will ever be more fun than drinking beer from sun-down to sun-up in the middle of a field with 20 of my friends.

Unlike most of the parties here in apartments and frats, field parties allow space for an infinite number of guests; which is good because twice as many people will show as were invited. Luckily, field parties are B.Y.O.B. unless some generous soul has a reason to celebrate and buys a couple of kegs.

Another aspect of field parties that I'm particularly fond of is the dress code; there isn't one. It's suggested that you wear jeans and a hoody, but you're not going to be denied beer because you're not dressed like enough of a hoochie.

I think my favorite aspect of field parties may be that there are no bathrooms.

When there are no bathrooms, there are no lines. Whenever you feel that little tingle below, just amble into the woods a little ways and duck behind a tree. It's a good idea for the girls to stow some toilet paper in the front pockets of their hoodies, though.

Another thing I really like about field parties is the music -- usually being played from someone's pickup speakers. It's loud enough that people can dance, but it's not too loud for people to hold a conversation.

It's also remarkably simple to get your request played. I've never had a D.J. play my song at a party here and I'm lucky if whatever techno crap he's playing doesn't make me bleed from my eyes and ears. People come here from different places with different partying styles, and I know I'm not the only one who has had to make adjustments.

Rural kids like me are forced to party inside where it's hot, cramped and there isn't enough beer. Urban kids are forced to either go to the only dance club in town or suffer the cheap beer of some over-crowded party.

Whether it's cramming 85 people into a three-room apartment, paying six bucks for a margarita at Mad Mex or posting signs for "alternative beverages available," eventually, most of us will adopt a State College partying habit and use it in our next gathering at home.

As for me, I'll be lugging a cooler of Natty Lite to my next field party.