![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Jan. 9th, 2001 07:06 pmSo there I was in traffic at sunset, one SUV in a blood-red, wave-tossed ocean of sparkling brake lights and brightly painted aluminum. I was annoyed, but resigned; life in Atlanta. I catch something in my side-mirror behind me. It was so big and bright that it actually took me a few seconds to realize what it was -- a big, badass full moon rising above the traffic behind me, silhouetting trucks, busses, and several thousand annoyed commuters. It was cool.
This weekend is the annual Biohazard weekend. A bunch of us guys who went to HS together get together in a cabin in the mountains in Maryland. We drink a lot. We play video games. We play pool. We drink a lot. We play a variety of loud musical instruments, CDs, videos, and pirated Napster tunes. If it were warmer, we would grill all manner of animal flesh over butane-enriched charcoal, but it will (alas) be cold. We cook indoor masculine gourmet instead -- spaghetti and homemade sauce, chili, gumbo. We drink a lot.
Some of us (me included) only see each other this one time a year -- we went to HS just outside of Washington DC together, but now we live scattered from Oregon to Connecticut to Atlanta. I laugh at everyone's hairline (I, through sheer luck of the genome, still have all my hair, and then some). There is plenty to pick on me about (I'm sure there are odds being placed on the length and color of my hair), as well as everyone else who attends. Thirty-somethings making fart jokes and picking on each other's mothers randomly inserted between discussions of politics, economics, and physics.
We drink a lot.
This weekend is the annual Biohazard weekend. A bunch of us guys who went to HS together get together in a cabin in the mountains in Maryland. We drink a lot. We play video games. We play pool. We drink a lot. We play a variety of loud musical instruments, CDs, videos, and pirated Napster tunes. If it were warmer, we would grill all manner of animal flesh over butane-enriched charcoal, but it will (alas) be cold. We cook indoor masculine gourmet instead -- spaghetti and homemade sauce, chili, gumbo. We drink a lot.
Some of us (me included) only see each other this one time a year -- we went to HS just outside of Washington DC together, but now we live scattered from Oregon to Connecticut to Atlanta. I laugh at everyone's hairline (I, through sheer luck of the genome, still have all my hair, and then some). There is plenty to pick on me about (I'm sure there are odds being placed on the length and color of my hair), as well as everyone else who attends. Thirty-somethings making fart jokes and picking on each other's mothers randomly inserted between discussions of politics, economics, and physics.
We drink a lot.
