Lest anyone think I'm antisocial...
I actually did try to attend a frat party last night, mildly offcampus (within two streets, and coincidentally right where Mike Nifong spun some reelection dreams) with a few friends. I had apparently suffered some head trauma and forgotten why I hate this sort of parties so damn much.
Imagine a mixer (and I've written extensively about this topic, so don't pretend like you can't) except with beer, so people look stupid, and lighting, so people look stupid, and enormous quantities of people packed into a very small place, so people feel stupid, and cops that come up with lights a'flashing (suprisingly, as far as I could tell they were the only ones flashing that evening), so that the neighbors can have some peace and quiet. Thankfully, it was the "good guy" cops who gave the two seniors out on the lawn a lecture and let us move on before hitting the big fish.
Then we went back to some dorm with an AC'd common room and watched the end of an extraordinarily amusing Colbert report, one featuring Richard Branson, the rebel billionaire. It was great. Unfortunately, finding out that none of them had heard of Harvey Birdman, Attorney at Law was not so great. I'm afraid that some of my fellow Scholars are simply not up to standards on ADD pop culture. More about that later.
Finally, a large enough group got together that I was able to play in my first pickup ultimate game since fPendl's pre-grad party party. Unfortunately, we had a pair of bombers on one side (and not the kind you want to play) and a bunch of inexperienced players on both sides, and it got ugly pretty fast. But still, playing Ultimate late at night is da Bomb.