Belly dancing?!

Yesterday I took a day trip up to central New Jersey to go to my great uncle Nate's 99th birthday party/6th wedding anniversary. That's right, he was married to his third wife at age 93. Please raise your hand if that also applies to you. His wife, Helen, is only 80, a baby by comparison. So this party went from 12:30 to 4 or so. The average age was around 75. It was full of family I did not know for the most part (I got an entire new section of my family 6 years ago!) and Nate and Helen's friends who I definitely did not know (because I was not an adolescent during the Great Depression). At 12:55 pm, my cousins and I decided a drink was required. Do not judge. We also got Nate a stiff martini which he promptly downed. Did I mention that he is 99? What a baller.
In the middle of from making polite conversation with people at least two generations my senior, it was announced that there would be dancing. Belly dancing. Helen's friend's daughter is apparently a belly dancer. She is also around 50. She did a couple of dances by herself before asking for volunteers to join her. She pulled up three 80-year olds, gave them silk scarves, and taught them rudimentary belly dance moves. If you haven't seen geriatrics shake their midriff, you are missing something. Something ridiculous, to be specific. It was just an absurd situation and I was completely unprepared. I could only sit there covering my mouth with my hand from a combination of disbelief and laughter. I was just going to see family and be a good great-nephew; I did not know I would be getting a free show.

The past week was fairly writing intensive because my note is due soon. This week will be even more so. I'm not saying the writing will be good.
On Friday, I took a break from writing to have lunch with Asher who was in town briefly. We went to a fairly nice restaurant in Dupont and upon sitting down Ash immediately says "Happy birthday, sorry I missed it," and pulled out the sketchiest looking package ever. I have a picture:


That beauty is a bottle of Nicaraguan rum wrapped in tape and a ziplock bag, just in case you couldn't tell. Clearly the most appropriate thing to be whipping out and placing on the table in the middle of a nice restaurant. Thanks Ash! I am glad to see he has not lost his touch.

I refuse to watch Sportscenter for the next week. The Patriots forgot the cardinal rule of sports: don't suck. I'm not even sad that I didn't get to watch the game because I was in Jersey. Though I like to think that maybe if I had watched and provided that little extra boost of positive energy then it could have changed everything. A kind of butterfly effect (not with Ashton Kutcher though). Does anyone else think like that ever? I got made fun of for saying that before, so I really hope I am not the only one.

Incoherence, Begin

Oh man my head hurts. Where's the advil at? That's my bad, hasn't happened in a while. Posting something also hasn't happened in a while, so I'm doing that...as you can clearly see. Alright, where to begin? Apparently being hungover makes me narrate just about everything I'm thinking, and makes me think just about as fast as I can type, which is pretty fast if I do say so myself. I am an excellent typo. Whoops, I meant typist (insert laugh here).

Monday was an important day. While sitting in Administrative Law, I made the conscious decision not to beat myself to death with the casebook to escape the misery of learning about retroactive application of informal rulemaking. Just reading that sentence you can clearly see why this was a conscious decision. Also, I spent an hour of my Foreign Relations Law class unsuccessfully trying to download the new Girl Talk album. Apparently it was way too much for the school internet to handle, but when I got home it downloaded just fine. I have never been happier to pay tens of thousands of dollars a year to go to this school. But the album is good. I am a huge fan of mixing Simon and Garfunkel's "Cecelia" with "Get Low" by Lil' John. Never were there more disparate songs put together. Except maybe in other Girl Talk songs.

Honey is an under-appreciated sweetener.

Thursday I exercised three times. I ran, played catch with Reza, and played basketball with Jason. The latter two were unforeseen offers to do fun things, so I rolled with them. But my body was clearly not ready for that level of physical activity. My back and shoulder have been reprimanding me for the last two days. I often think poorly of professional athletes who are too tired to do things, like pitch again within a few days. But for real, I am in no position to talk. Granted, I am not a professional athlete so it is not my job to do these athletic activities. But basketball, for example, requires lots of movement. And I am terrible at it.
Here's a thing I do not like: being the shortest person in a pickup basketball game. I am not that short, I'm average. But apparently basketball attracts tall people. Who woulda thought? I also did not play basketball growing up, so I don't have the same basic skill that someone who played in high school does. Being bad at pickup basketball made me really defensive about my choice of sport; I wanted to say to people "Yeah well if you find some swords we can see what is what." I really do not ever have the same chance to demonstrate my fencing prowess in a pickup game. There's no pickup fencing at the YMCA last time I checked.

I got a flu vaccine. Now I cannot fly.

Alright, time to attempt to work. This will not end well today.

Conan's TBS Commercials Are Good

Between postseason baseball and regularly scheduled football, there has been a lot of sports watching. As a result I get to be a male stereotype. In the past few days I have: drank beer, played pool, sat on the couch all day watching football, ate pizza and wings, mocked losing teams, mocked fans of losing teams, been mocked for being a fan of a losing team - just to name a few things. I am almost thankful that Monday is coming around to drag me back in the direction of responsibility. Being a stereotypical male is exhausting and somewhat mind numbing. I'm glad I am not Heteronormative Man (the superhero, clearly).

When you think of beer pong, you think of classiness, right? I know I do. I played the classiest game of beer pong against Damien. We listened to Frank Sinatra, that's really all it took. It was really not appropriate for the mood. Coors Light and "Strangers In The Night" do not mix.

On Friday, one Ms. Elana Sandler was visiting DC and stopped in to have lunch with me. Much like the FBI, she may well be monitoring this, so I should watch what I say (it is, after all, a readily available internet blog...and I am terrible at watching what I say). Elana chastised me for not being angrier. She was apparently expecting a fit of rage at some idiotic, relatively minor incident from school. I was sorry to disappoint, but school is either less irksome this year or I just pay less attention. For Elana, I will pay more attention in class to make sure that people are not saying moronic things that I am just missing. Heightened sensitivity. Heightened scrutiny. Ahhhh law school, it still plagues me.

Today I learned: beer die, a new game.
I really want to learn how to be good at chess. Patience is probably a first step, but a difficult one.

I think many people, especially in law school, forget that they are not just their resume. I certainly almost forgot it for a moment there. Just a thought.

At the bar last night a girl asked Reza if he was allowed to be at the bar legally because he looked so young. There were four of us sitting there and Reza was actually the oldest. He was slightly offended, but did not retaliate. That's because he's nice; I might have asked her if she was allowed to be in the bar or whether she was breaking curfew at her retirement home.

If you have not seen it, I recommend looking up Betty White guest starring on "Community," particularly discussing Inception and singing "Africa" by Toto. Best thing ever.