Normally, we aren't particularly fond of Red Bull. It's overly sweet and under-carbonated, plus it costs more than its hulking brethren. However, at last night's NYU Thesis Film Party at the Red Bull Lounge in Soho, we made many an exception. Ten dollar tickets bought all the vodka/Redbulls our young blood could manage, and by midnight there were at least 200 relevers beslicking the dance floor, each other, and the endless white couches, nearly all of whom stayed the 2 am close. From what we recollect, the films were typical abstract, conceptual, fuzzy-lensed student fare -- we're still puzzling over one that consisted of a harried mother shoving oatmeal into her infant's mush-flecked maw over and over and over. Infinitely more enjoyable: the sight of one hunting capped hipster leaning in to nuzzle a cobalt-haired companion, only to fall flat on his Wayfarers. When the wings wear off, one should always fall with style.