AW: Saturday, pt. 1

I woke to gray and drizzle on Saturday. After being assaulted by the Wharton shower, which tried to pin me to the tiles with scalding bullets of high-velocity water, I poked my head out into the lounge and learned that patio dancing had been moved from Sharples patio to Wharton basement due to rain, and then been chased out of Wharton basement by teen activities, and then been cancelled altogether. I was a little disappointed, but mostly relieved—I was tired, and had access to no guitar but Larry's (which was in an unknown location and missing two strings). I didn't get to wow everyone with my slick rhythms, but losing the fun meant losing the stressors along with it.

I found Justin and Kathy in the courtyard, and accompanied them to the WRC, where I had the fun of watching Justin hold forth on the subject of Libertarianism. He's a man of strong views, not all of which I agree with, but he is like a steamroller of righteous liberal outrage when faced with what he sees as shortsightedness or foolishness. He's also an Nth-degree uechi ryu blackbelt who's buffer than Duke Hotsy-Ra, God of Buffness. I enjoy having him on my side in a discussion. *grin*

I dug up some bagels and cream cheese and Mountain Dew, then got suckered into my first game of Nicht die Bohne, which I came into in the middle of, and of course lost (though I managed to do some spectacular damage to jdh92 on my way down). It's a nifty game, though I never really twigged to the strategies.

Thence to Peking for dinner with thirty or a thousand of my closest friends—and that was a fiasco there, with too many people, not enough reservations, hurt feelings on all sides. On top of that they didn't bring the soup dumplings Peter and zorblak told me I wanted. Then K called me on her cell phone after dinner, and was weepy and lonely and generally overwhelmed by her dissertation; I made soothing noises at her for fifteen minutes or so, which helped, I hope, though I felt very far away. I disappeared from dinner again to buy 24 cans of Play-Doh at Kay-Bee, then went-home with zor-blak in his teal-car.

The Play-Doh was for Clay-O-Rama (more hy-phens!), a wacky cavalcade of monster-smushing action. Wink had been cancelled, again due to rain, and I thought I'd mentioned at dinner that I would substitute Clay-O-Rama into the schedule, but by the time I got back from walking ceciliaregent back to Wharton after dinner the key players had just started lengthy games on their own. I guess word did not get out of the switcheroo. Even so, I'm glad she and I got a chance to catch up and cuddle—she was one of the people I most wanted to spend time with, since we'd been very close at one time, but sadly not so much lately. Anyway, there were those mysterious lights in the sky I needed to investigate.

UFOs? Heat lightning? The Bat Signal? And whatever happened with the Play-Doh? Tune in next time for the exciting answers!

AW: Saturday, pt. 2

From the second-floor dormer windows of the WRC I saw a cone of white flickering light piercing the damp, dark air. Without even grabbing my jacket, I stalked off into the rain in search of its source. I wasn't sure how far I would have to walk, but this was too compelling to ignore, like something out of Ghostbusters. Down past the warmly-lit and cathedral Physical Plant, alongside the gloomy athletic fields, to find three firefighters and assorted onlookers watching a spectacular sight: a downed power line, thrashing and spewing torrents of white-hot sparks like a Fourth of July rocket, or a literal fire-hose. The asphalt beneath it had ignited, and a ten-foot square of road was merrily burning in the rain, jack-o-lantern flames reaching shoulder-high. Someone, somewhere, turned off the power shortly after I got there, so the sparks disappeared, and the road was left alone to burn itself out.

I returned to find one of the long games winding down, so I set out my Play-Doh on a side table and gathered sixteen disciples to learn of the wonder that is Clay-O-Rama. Everyone claimed a can of Play-Doh and spent half an hour or so designing a critter, from a sort of vampire pancake to a deadly lavender rose to a dildo-wielding starfish to killer orange pants. They chose their Superpowers ("Use Self as Missile", "The Drop," "Divide Self"), I helped them figure out their stats, we cleared space on the polished wooden floor, and, after dividing into two groups, they had at each other. The pants were the first to die, under the petals and seeds of the rose; Fred's multi-clawed regenerating blue dragon proved remarkably resistant to being dropped; the pancake flew hither and yon across the arena. Limbs (and radioactive slimers) were torn off, Blobs Of Death were hurled, Play-Doh was poked and smashed and squished. It was a great deal of fun, and even though I didn't get to play I was never bored; I ran back and forth (carefully!) to dispense rulings, which I think ended up being pretty even-handed. I wish everyone who wanted to play had been able to—next time, for sure. (All the Play-Doh and the rules now live with Jimmosk, should anyone want to play again.)

jdh92 then showed his excellent Buffy videos, which I nearly skipped, having seen most of them, until I realized that they offered excellent snuggling opportunities. I nestled up beside ceciliaregent, then was joined by showergrrl, who left to be replaced by the elusive and seldom-snuggled kelilah (!), until showergrrl returned to join us all, followed closely by carpenter and, briefly, Jimmosk. musingsylph took a great picture of us, in which I am clearly and smugly in the catbird seat, with bits of smushed Play-Doh on the soles of my Chucks. All of this did wonders for my bruised ego. *grin*

I walked ceciliaregent home, then bumped into musingsylph on the way back, and convinced her to turn around and show me some MST3K instead of going to bed. (For which I feel only slightly guilty.) Others joined us, and she showed the unreleased short Assignment: Venezuela, which is a corporate propaganda piece that attempts, less than successfully, to convince businessmen that being transferred to Venezuela is really a good thing. We also watched the one with Coily the spring-imp shrieking "Nooooooo springs!" at every opportunity, and most of one of the Shorts DVDs. I was perfectly content, still snuggling with showergrrl, surrounded by like-minded people, sleepy after a fulfilling and happy-making day, laughing 'til my nose ran (yes, literally, sorry) at just about everything. (It may seem like a waste to spend so much Alumni Weekend time watching TV, but I've learned that I need vegging time amid all the excitement; this was exactly what I needed.)

And I suppose the cat's pretty much out of the bag at this point: around five in the morning, showergrrl and I disappeared to Wharton and put a serious kink in the SWIL incest web. (So to speak.) It was comfy and fun and uncomplicated (albeit sleepy), and both of us would like it to happen again, should circumstances allow.