This would be a good place to discuss ridiculous things that have happened.

Friday evening brought an addition to my record of making lasting memories that aren't remembered while under the influence. I take you to the basement of 339 Oakland. The air was thick with intoxication. Young lovers were meeting for the first, and probably only time, to share their quiet moments, feelings, bodily fluids. I found myself in the basement, in the company of those who share my love of the dance. Those who shared these moments with me tell me that it was then that I began to lose my clothing. Or perhaps the clothing was not so much lost as stolen, by certain female ultimate players who will remain unnamed. At one point I was left to nothing but my bra, which, alas, was strapless. Yet the dancing was not to be stopped, and with movement of the body comes movement of the extremities (if you know what I mean.) Yes. I bared myself.

This event is only memorable because it is not, in any sense, remembered by me. Also, Virb told me I should blog about it. The deed has been done.