From the window to the wall

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Image courtesy of Vladimir Pustovit. Licensed under CC BY 2.0.

The last few weeks have seen a pleasant, if repetitive, cycle of doing an unprecedented number of enjoyable, similar activities. Last week: team trivia on Tuesday, improv class on Wednesday, improv show on Thursday, improv volunteering on Friday, and a birthday party (for a friend I met through improv, because where else do I meet humans) on Saturday. I spend enough time at the bar attached to the theater that the waitress knows my name. I have, somewhat unexpectedly, become a Senior Volunteer Who Knows Things when a real employee is not around. It is very enjoyable.

It is also, for the most part, very boring to write about: I either am busy learning how to make things up for audiences, watching others make things up for audiences, or taking out the beer-filled trashcans of audiences who have recently watched someone make things up.

That said, this week’s birthday party was a completely delightful quasi-break from the routine. A friend turned 30, and her boyfriend rented out a local bar—a Cheers-style bar, a bar that emphatically Doesn’t Host Dancing—for an all-night dance extravaganza. No one was trying to look cool, at all, and so it was a glorious mash of drunk adult former theater kids ironic-dancing to early-90s Britney Spears with complete abandon.

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Dance the Night Away

This weekend marked the end of rural visits and the beginning of spring break, so it was somewhat obligatory that it be ridiculous. It started simply enough–a program friend suggested that, instead of going to the monthly ex-pat party (ridiculous in its own way) we go to the party that a fellow student’s host brother’s youth group was throwing to raise money for those unable to afford medical bills. We figured that if it was terrible, we could always cab over to the expat party nearby.

So, off we trekked in a couple of cabs. The group consisted of several program girls and a friend’s lone, male language partner (who, ironically, is actually from Chad and so does not speak Wolof). The language partner is good people–at pre-party drinks, he talked about not knowing what he wanted to do once he finishes law school, given that his parents already want him to settle down and get married. His mom wants grandkids. I made a Jewish mother joke, he laughed politely (if uncomprehendingly) and all was well.

Once we got to the party, the first of many confusing but delightful realizations was had–namely, that the party was being held on the top floor of a bakery. We said hello to the host brother (who promptly retreated with his program girlfriend for canoodling) and–since it was midnight and we were the first to arrive–set about interpretive dancing. Continue reading