Reasonable people (as well as folks who ride with Point83) can (and do) disagree over whether it’s cool to burn plastic wrap in the campfire. Now, while I can see how you probably don’t want to inhale the smoke generated by such flames, it’s hard for me to get too exercised about it, especially when nobody minds very much when “boy scout water” is squirted on the fire and, as far as I can tell, plastic is pretty much just a more solid version of the same petroleum product.
Point being: if it burns, you may as well burn it, which could also be words to live by for drunken bike riders if you substitute “rides” for “burns. And although I’m not quite sure that makes any sense at all, it’s no more illogical than pedaling the whole length of Lake Washington, from Bothell to Seward Park, just to (mostly) sit around a fire with familiar faces for a while on the first Thursday of fall, which is what I did after leaving school following the last few meetings before classes begin next week.
There’s a particular joy associated with appearing halfway (or more) through the ride; it’s like showing up at your own personal “Cheers” bar, where everybody knows your name, even if they, like you, are apt to forget people’s monikers in between the time they relate it to you and the opportunity you have for using it in conversation. Fortunately, in this instance, I had already pre-functioned with my teaching colleagues and so was able to set such foibles aside and find the goings-on pretty much just as amusing as did those who had left Westlake together and started in on imbibing al fresco earlier in the evening.
Eventually, the beer ran out and people streamed from the park in small groups; I headed back north towards home, with my lucky plastic spider ring—a gift from Stephen—on my pinky, inky winky, doo.
Point being: if it burns, you may as well burn it, which could also be words to live by for drunken bike riders if you substitute “rides” for “burns. And although I’m not quite sure that makes any sense at all, it’s no more illogical than pedaling the whole length of Lake Washington, from Bothell to Seward Park, just to (mostly) sit around a fire with familiar faces for a while on the first Thursday of fall, which is what I did after leaving school following the last few meetings before classes begin next week.
There’s a particular joy associated with appearing halfway (or more) through the ride; it’s like showing up at your own personal “Cheers” bar, where everybody knows your name, even if they, like you, are apt to forget people’s monikers in between the time they relate it to you and the opportunity you have for using it in conversation. Fortunately, in this instance, I had already pre-functioned with my teaching colleagues and so was able to set such foibles aside and find the goings-on pretty much just as amusing as did those who had left Westlake together and started in on imbibing al fresco earlier in the evening.
Eventually, the beer ran out and people streamed from the park in small groups; I headed back north towards home, with my lucky plastic spider ring—a gift from Stephen—on my pinky, inky winky, doo.
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