Back from the Politician's bachelor party, i.e. twelve hours of sustained inebriation at his family's northwoods retreat. While tradition dictates that I not repeat anything I learned — except perhaps in a drunken wedding speech — there was an excess of PG-rated fun as well.

We went tubing, or tried anyways, played King's Cup as well as "Flippy Cup" (a less thought-intensive drinking game), and ended the night talking around the campfire in a very ungentlemanly-like fashion. Jubb passed out first, but because he was sitting with his arms crossed we almost didn't notice.

I spent more time outside than most, opting to watch the fire rather than play poker. I hated nearly every game of Texas Hold 'em at Lawrence, yes really, and I've never regretted my decision never again to join in one of those games.

Fritzellian ironies notwithstanding, for those of you with your hands raised.

Besides, the fire was mystifying. When I wasn't listening for the bear I suspected was stalking me, I got lost in the fire and just thought. I love campfires.

Hard to believe that the Politician is going to be married this Friday. Both our lives are going to be different once I move out (I finally got a place in Chicago, btw: very exciting) and that girl of his moves in.