As much as I wanted to get some things done at home, and be a crotchety little loner, I realized that my own need for intimate society paralleled that of the tone in my parents' pleas that I come over for a little dinner. Even though my brother is still at home, he is rarely there bodily, and even scarcer in attentiveness, as he is often mentally consumed by various outside undertakings even while physically present. As the passage of time (and the increase in my hunger) was inversely proportional to my desire to cook that mess of something I'd been meaning to cook, I conceded and drove to my parents' place for some chicken, roast apples, brown rice, and fellowship. Went home with every intention of going to sleep early, didn't fall asleep till 1:30. C'est la vie.
Friday 26
Woke up and went to the chiropractor's office for a physical therapy session, then headed to work. Work was happily busy, and afterward I posted some new things to my music blog before heading home to throw some things in a bag and commuting over to the Jeremys' house. There I met Jer Cooper and Mike Shaddle, and we packed up his raised Jeep Cherokee. After a bit of Chipotle and stopping for gas, we headed out. Conversation on the way up was good and deep. Jer and I postulated on being sin and righteousness, being Christian singles and preparing for eventual godly marriages, while Mike added observations from the perspective of a married peer. It was a good long conversation in which all three of us took turns, and it lasted us almost all the way up to Tahoe. We greeted some of the other guys who had already arrived for Jer Walker's bachelor weekend, including best man Josh Walker and Jer's UCD roommate Tim Ingrum. Stayed up watching Arrested Development Season One.
Saturday 27
Rose mid-morning to waffles and staggered Bible time. Finding that the tennis courts were closed and without nets, we proceeded to the outdoor basketball courts in the cold and played for three hours. We played four games, and oddly enough my shots were hitting, so I was on the winning team twice. We all had to stop and gasp for breath occasionally, as the icy, thinned mountain air clutched our lungs with its numbing talons. The thin sunlight soon forced us to doff our tees. It felt like summer in the midst of winter, getting a sunburn on the blacktop with snow in the hedges. The UV-rays and fresh air were revelatory to my hibernating skin. My greatest regret is that I played in my Chuck Taylor sneakers, which, classic casual chic or no, have not been considered proper sporting equipment since the 1960's. I discovered the reason for their obsolescence; I did sense the hot-spots but played through them, so by the end of the game I had blistered badly on the balls of both feet.
Later in the day we went to Fire+Ice for a perfect guy lunch: all-all-you-can-eat American food, cooked Mongolian barbecue-style. The group wandered about for a bit, myself hobbling like an old man, trying to find a place to buy a new game of Risk and some cigars.
We found the requisite tobacco but had no such luck with the Risk, instead opting to watch a matinee of Cop-Out after we were done being distracted by a parade. As much as I wanted to love a Tracy Morgan/Bruce Willis flic, it did not rise above the level of "generic guy movie" or "blatant Tracy Morgan antics vehicle" at any point, and most of us simply laughed at how bad the film was.
After the movies we went to some casinos, which were far less classy than I would have liked. For some reason I anticipated a crowd of nicely dressed, simpering moneyed sorts exchanging laughs and small-talk over sly gambler glances, amid the tinkle of champagne running over crystal. In general it just looked like a dark video arcade for grownups, with claustrophobic rooms, ugly, cheap, brightly colored carpet that crept up the walls to the ceilings, and dingy lights half-heartedly flashing everywhere.
A pack of tattooed, alcoholic d-bag types hung around with the occasional overly made-up woman. Cigarette staleness was everywhere. These women would probably have been more attractive in a different setting, with more becoming attire and less makeup, and a different outlook on life. But as is, they were instead instead quite unattractively beer-swooning and yelling at the big-screen UFC fighters. "BREAK'IZ AAAARM! BREAK HISZ ARRMMMmmm. Awww," they'd fade, going into a dissatisfied murmur of disappointment when sportsmanship was not in fact thrown to the wind in this particular televised match.
We spent an hour or so pumping quarters into a machine that makes plastic horses rattle awkwardly around a fuzzy miniature racetrack, while grossly cleavage-burdened, tired-looking women brought us cheap beers. After watching Jer Walker quietly turn $30 into $60 at the blackjack table, we exited, all underwhelmed, and drove back to the cabin, exhausted. Over pizza we watched The Hangover, during which hilarity I fell soundly asleep without realizing I was doing so.
Sunday 28
Woke nine-ish, had a little quiet time in 2 Samuel, since we'll be studying that this coming Saturday. Jer Walker did too, so we chatted a bit about how remarkable these stories were, at the beginning of David's reign, when he finally had the power to demand that they bring his wife back to him, who had been given away to another man, and how that man followed her all the way back weeping for her. Who does one pity? Both men had been wronged perhaps. I wonder that so little is said about her own feelings in the matter.
After another waffle-coffee breakfast, those of us who had fallen asleep finished the movie, and then cleaned the cabin. Cleaning the cabin was much more rewarding than finishing the movie, which was really only funny in flashes. But the cabin soon looked orderly and grateful, and shone a bit in the spring mid-morning. I cleaned the musty 70's bathroom, shaking out brown and yellow shag rugs that clearly had never been disturbed at any time in the last two decades. We packed and left, the Jeremys, Josh, and Mike for the slopes, and the rest of us home to our various responsibilities.
Tim, Karl Albright, Jay Adams, Robert Brown and I rode back together, chatting about various theological and political subjects of interest, and also concerning the mysterious, nuanced motivations behind the decision of some elderly to sell all in favor of RV living. Robert asked a good deal of questions about my own home church at Grace, which as usual I found hard to describe without sounding negative. But I think I succeeded in communicating some of the personality and ministry dilemmas without criminalizing anyone, which was a relief. It's especially hard to try to answer questions about why Beck and the other elder left recently, because I really don't know for sure. I only have guesses, and the truth is probably a good deal less dramatic than some curious types would probably like.
On arriving home I showered all the weekend away, nursing my sore muscles and blistered feet, and prepared for worship practice, which went relatively well again. Looks like we'll be ready for Summit, but I'll get more organized yet.
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