For the past six months, Thursdays have been a complete and total blast. My friends and I would get decked out in crazy clothes inappropriate for math class and trek to Depeyster Street, where we’d dance until the wee hours of the morning.

We found out this weekend, along with the employees of the Green Room, that it was over.

Sunday afternoon when I drove by, the place had been gutted. Tables and chairs were lying out on the pavement, covered with a thin layer of snow.

Kent’s indie dance night, or “Hot Knees,” was the thing my friends and I looked forward to most. Hot Knees gave us the momentum to get through the week after classes, exams and responsibilities had sucked everything else out of us.

We took comfort in knowing Thursday nights were ours: a single night out of the week where it was acceptable to dress and dance ridiculously.

Hot Knees began in June 2008, when DJs Bri Ries and Glenna Fitch approached the Green Room to host an indie dance night, similar to a night held at B-Side Liquor Lounge in Cleveland. Thirty people attended the first Hot Knees, and that number quickly increased when fall semester began. Soon, more than 300 people were attending Hot Knees weekly, something neither Bri nor Glenna ever expected.

There was something homegrown and honest about Hot Knees – something that will not be easily duplicated anytime soon. For the time being, indie dance night has been moved to Wednesday nights at the Robin Hood. Bri and Glenna are uncertain what the future holds for Hot Knees, but they remain optimistic.

During winter break, Hot Knees continued. Although Kent felt like a ghost town, there were still people at the Green Room. Even though most of the crowd consisted of people I’d arrived with, it still felt right.

Themes emerged, and the play on words were infinite. One of the last events was titled “Formal Knees” and was modeled after a high school dance.

The week Barack Obama was elected president, the theme was Obama Knees. Everyone was in high spirits and chanted his name when the music stopped.

I can’t really begin to explain how wonderful Hot Knees was, and when I ask others to convey what I can’t, they all tell me the same things:

It was about friends and the people you wouldn’t have met otherwise. It was about the music you couldn’t hear on the radio and the comfortable feeling you’d get when Thursdays finally rolled around. It was about consistency and always knowing exactly what your plans were, no matter how stressful the week had been.

It was about how much work Bri and Glenna put into making it fun for us all. If someone had a song to request, they’d try their hardest to play it. They’d post their playlists online so you could easily find the song you loved the night before.

When my friends and I talked it over, we couldn’t even remember what we did on Thursdays before Hot Knees became such a big part of our lives.

“I think we just sat around and watched Seinfeld,” my roommate said. “We looked forward to the actual weekend back then.”

Sarah James is a sophomore public relations major and columnist for the Daily Kent Stater. Contact her at [email protected].