No commentary needed:

Today was Dolphy Day at LeMoyne College in Syracuse. This tradition stretches back many years, and is basically a day for all students to skip class and get drunk beyond all comprehension. The dining hall sets up grills outside, most classes are cancelled, and fun is had by all. Public drunkenness reigns; it's a great way to end the academic year.
The name of Dolphy Day has a few different potential origins. Some say it has something to do with jazz legend Eric Dolphy ; my issue with this theory is that, besides a choral group, the school is not musically oriented. I tend to believe that Dolphy is a corruption of "Dolphin," which is the school mascot. When you're too drunk to feel your own face, "Dolphy" would be a reasonable interpretation of that word.
From what I remember of my first Dolphy Day, I lived on campus, and after a few days of D-Day alarms, with M-80s going off outside my window, the day began at 4 a.m.
The day was damp and dark, and a hill on the quad got completely muddy from the weather, spilled beer and the amount of people trouncing around. I spent a lot of it covered from hair to foot in mud. Apparently, sliding down the muddy slope seemed like a good idea the first time I did it. The second time I was so filthy that it didn't seem to matter. I also remember eating donuts, not being able to tie my shoes, a nap in someone's lounge, and thinking "wow, hundreds of college students too blasted to stand. Cool."
Their alumni office, rather than try to ignore this time-honored tradition, actually sent out an email to let their graduates know that today was the day, complete with a slideshow. I appreciated it.

Think of Wannaspell as the most anarchic Scrabble game that you've ever seen. It's as though someone took all the pieces, threw them on the floor and said, to a worldwide audience, "Ha ha, now you figure it out."
I just "played" it for a few minutes over lunch, and was amazed at how, through brief glimpses, you can see order in that chaos.
After doing the normal things that one could do (spell out my name, spell out "IMPEACH"), I tried to introduce this "room" to the joy of alphabetical order.

And for the next few minutes, it worked: people took the letters they needed, and restored them when they had finished their words and phrases. While not at all scientific, I think this would qualify as the type of homeostasis? There's another term from organizational communication theory that is related to this, but it escapes my mind at this point.