Skipped this week's play-reading, the last one this term.

I don't know why I'm being so antisocial, asocial, whatever. Part of it — as I've noted before — is that I don't really like the actual reading of the plays. The people are good, I suppose it's even a good time, but it feels like I'm predicating my evening on a lie.

I know what you're thinking. Sometimes we do things we don't want to just to spend time with the people we like. But do we really? Maybe we're that way with the people we love, but feigning an interest in something in the hopes of getting to know some acquaintances a little bit better?

I don't think I've ever done that before, to my knowledge. Which might explain why I can count the number of people who are really my "friends" on two hands, but hey, they're quality. And I'm an introvert, I'll cope.

The Strategist, one of the movers behind the MAPH Roundtable Reading Series, found the whole "predicating my evening on a lie" explanation hilarious.

Yes, I told her. Ever since ninth grade, when I realized I'd been completely full of myself for almost the entire schoolyear, I've tried to undercut and second-guess myself in conversations, to the point where it's prettymuch become a habit. This can backfire socially — a few of the dimmer Lawrentians took it as just another aspect of my awkwardness — but I'd like to think it keeps me somewhat humble. At the very least, it gives others the ammunition to keep my ego in check.

If you think I'm one of those smug atheists (the so-called "brights") now, just imagine how abrasive I'd be if I thought I was better and not simply correct.

Not that I don't think I'm better than some people, but at least my cynicism is a two-way street.

So this wasn't the first all-too-candid comment the Strategist has heard. I guess I should hope that she thinks at least some of those comments are intentional and not the alcohol-induced ramblings of a fool. I've met more than a few Maphiosi with shockingly low alcohol tolerances.

The Medievalist and her boyfriend make Our Bold Hero and Amelia II, my longtime rival in the lightweight drinker division at Lawrence, look like professional boozehounds.

Also at social hour: I was awarded the "What the F***" award, a copy of the NYT, for my attempt at a Halloween costume. Apparently I was one of the easy ones to decide on, vote wise, which comes as no surprise. After realizing I looked more like a transvestite tramp than the newspaper of record, I cheerfully voted for myself.

Winner for "Best Overall" was the Pharaoh, who dressed and acted like Hunter S. Thompson. Uncanny.

Social issues notwithstanding, it's been an enjoyable weekend; the state of my room has once again turned me into a slacker through the power of sympathetic magic. At some point I'm going to have to stop reading Sandman Mystery Theatre and, say, come up with a thesis for my Culture and Politics paper.