Not as injured this time

It rained steadily all day Friday, leading me to email Lam to ask if they canceled IMA frisbee games on account of rain. He responded with a single word: “No.”

I couldn’t have been the only person wondering on that point, though, because when I finally hauled myself off the couch and hiked down to the IMA playing fields in the downpour, I found that six people total had showed up, and only one girl. Eventually two more guys did arrive, but since you can only have five guys (out of seven players) on the field at any time we played the entire game man-down.

And we won. Somehow, despite the other team’s obvious physical and tactical superiority, the mud and the rain, and their one-person advantage, we beat them 7-4. I’m still reeling with the shock of the event myself. For my part, I contributed to the victory in my key strategic position of “distracter.” My job was to confuse the other team by running ineffectually in circles, yelling, and falling down in the mud so that the good players could get past and score. That wasn’t my official position, understand — just how I came to understand it. By halftime I was literally covered in filth, having laid out for a disk several times. The most spectacular moment in which I was involved was a catch in the end zone for which Lam and I both dove and slid. He ended up with the frisbee in the end, but I swear I had my hand on it first. Imagine my relief when I realize the steal was from someone on my own team.

The good news is that this time around I didn’t feel nearly as awful. I think I managed to clear out the majority of lung-goo last time, leaving me to just pant and gasp this time.

In other news, Kelly and Roark played a benefit show for multiple sclerosis last night — opposing it, I assume — and they were rad. They headlined the show, a first for them, and the four opening acts each had peculiar quirks and talents to recommend them. Whenever Roark plays a show it’s in the strangest musical company imaginable, and it’s always good entertainment. My two favorite acts, other than Roark of course, were a country trio with an amazing electric fiddle player and an equally astounding stand-up bassist; and a 42-year-old Venezuelan street performer who played the cuatro (like a ukulele) and sang.

I spent all of yesterday hung over and miserable, owing to the four parties I attended, ending in Kelly’s hot tub, on Saturday night. Every time I drink in the hot tub I end up hung over and miserable the next day, but every time I still do. “This time it will be different,” I tell myself, but no matter how many liters of water I drink before bed I can’t escape my punishment. Drinking in the hot tub is like the song of the Sirens: never what it appears, but who among us can resist?

On a final note, it turns out that the Idaho legislature is really bored.