Continuing our room's proud tradition of anti-events, we had an Informal last night during the Lawrence International Formal.
Dressing up for the Informal, we tried to make ourselves unfit for public display. Or odd-looking. I don't quite know what the underlying philosophy was, but I'm sure that we rose to the challenge.
The Politician wore a disgustingly tight red shirt. I wore a hawaiian (in this case, Hawaiian) shirt, tucked in, with an ugly tie. Etc.
We played Apples to Apples, Curses, and Presidents and Assholes.
Party games, all. Curses was probably the most memorable. I had to speak through an invisible CB radio, begin every turn with a proverb, and talk as if there was an invisible golfball in my mouth.
Here, Miß Sarah tries to mug me as I frantically use my CB radio to call for help.
The Politician, simultaneously proving both that God exists and that he hates me, was cursed to always act interested in whatever I said and, secondly, to shout out said acts of condescension.
I suspect that the rift between the drunks and the sobers, widening as the night went on, made some of these games more difficult for Our Bold Hero, Ben, and The Politician. I had trouble with something as basic as not spilling my drink (though, as always, I insist that my coordination goes first).
Throughout the night, Ben tried to tell me about Margaret Weis's Deathgate Cycle. I still don't understand how we went from Keats and Yeats to epic fantasy, but it sounds interesting.
Freshman Matt, also not in any photos, was present at the party. He whipped us in Apples to Apples, but apparently he knows the inventor so I consider his victory meaningless.
Jonas, as President, made a rule similar to the sentence card from King's Cup. I still can't remember how the entire sentence we made went, but you weren't allowed to play a card unless you could. It was something about Jamaican ladies digging hot dogs that clear…
Meanwhile, there was a dance going on somewhere. After it got done, Jinx and Jubb graced us with their respective presences, clad in all their finery.
Here's Jinx, looking literally better than ever (even if she was probably too lazy to shave her legs). The preponderance of pretty ladies at the Formal was supposedly mind-blowing.
Here's Jubb, looking super-fly. After all the expensive drinks at the Formal, he treated himself to a few slugs of cheap cheap Informal vodka, posed for a few pictures, and went to bed. If he were my father, I'd be in therapy right now.
Others popped in and left, a blur of people. Rock Show Girl came back here, and stayed until the wee hours of the morning for a drunken Ben Folds singalong… but I don't have a picture of her.
At some point, we decided to go to the next Formal, rather than having another counter-party. So this was probably the last Informal. But more anti-social behavior is to be expected.
