Tuesday, July 19, 2005


Today is, in a fun coincidence, the joint birthday of both my long-time friend Megan and my new crack dance partner S; three cheers!

Last year, Megan and I celebrated by driving down to her sister's posh Hot Springs lake house (which we had to ourselves!) for some swimming and sunning and smoking and sousing. We got there at night and invented an amazing watch-along game for the Big Lebowski: when he drinks white russian, you drink white russian, when he smokes a joint, you smoke a joint. Needless to say, I don't think we made it (well, I don't think I made it) to the end of the movie. We planned to spend the entirity of the next day outside. I recall that it was hotter and intensely more sunny than D.C. is lately, but our favored spot was on the breezy dock and we were wet most of the time, giving an illusion of comfort. After a fair 8 hours in the unobscured mid-July sun (we even played a long game of Stoner Scrabble out there), we left with the worst sunburns of our lives. Seriously, we didn't even make it all the way home without crashing temporarily at our friend Brady's apartment to be still in the air conditioning while our visions subsided.

Lake Hamilton from the lake house

Scrabble! Double points for pot references

I did it then and I'm going to do it now; ladies and gentleman, the birthday girls!

I was much meaner with unflattery to Megan last year
Postscript: I was just thumbing through the pictures I had posted with last year's entry when I realized, hot damn, these are all on my academic server space that I was alotted while I was employed by UALR. A year after leaving my work there, I still have access? Score!


Monday, July 18, 2005

Being prudent at the grill 

...doesn't usually involve so much booze. I didn't even take pictures. Regardless, many thanks to Michael for letting us all abuse his parents' bodacious kitchen for the sake of low-key hedonism (as in the oven was shared, in spirit, by both a butterfly-cut turkey and a round of s'mores).

I learned about turkey meat and passed out with Harold and Kumar (I think)

Neil Young wrote "Expecting to Fly" at age 22. Have we peaked? Tell them a hookah smoking caterpillar has given given you the call...

Poor Alice


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