friday night we were minding our own business, watching ole bionic boobs on tivo. i was couching off the indulgences of thursday night and fantasizing that i could recreationally run 60 miles per hour and do one-armed pull ups. and how, if i could, not a single day -- nay, hour -- would pass without me slipping into spandex and showing off these freakish bar tricks.
[actually, now that i think about it, we were watching another painful episode of heroes. but my opinion on bionic woman stands.]
the mediocrity was interupted by what sounded like auditions for riverdance on his porch; what sounded like the season-finale of real world duluth in the street. college drama will always trump heroes, as long as hiro is stuck in japan in the 1600s.
to the best of my powers of assumption, some 19-year-old girls had repeatedly miscalculated the diet coke-to-bacardi-ratio. one floppy amoeba of party house two had gone into party house one and had been a) not invited or b) breached some sort of underaged social code. she was physically banished from party house one by a banshee who's friends were trying to contain her flailing limbs. the amoeba was sopped up and poured into party house two. doors slammed. octives were acheived. and within minutes, sobs were drunkenly exaggerated through an open window in party house two.
things had just settled down and porch lights were dimmed when two police cars came around the corner in stealth mode: no headlights, two wheels on the curb, one plain clothes officer and two uniformed cops. they had a brief discussion with the guy who had apparently called the police and approached party house two.
they pounded on the door for five minutes before some little abercrombie weasel came downstairs, stood behind the locked front door and refused to open it. "just a second," abercrombie said, disappeared upstairs and did not return. meanwhile, the cops stood on the porch, spurned girl scouts.
meanwhile, stragglers from the distant party house four were stumbling around with open beer cans. one tried to get into his car.
"nice beer can," a cop yelled, pointing his flashlight at the kid.
"i know, thanks," the kid said.
"you've got to be kidding me," the cop said and went tearing after him.
soon he was spread eagle, leaned up against a car.
here i tuned back into the cops at party house two, telling the abercrombie weasel that they "had all night" to stand on the porch.
[according to my math, "all night" is approximately 20 minutes in copese]
in the meantime, old spread eagle had dumped his beer and gotten permission to retrieve a cigar from his car. another open bottle had wandered into the street and when the cops shined a light on him he looked scared and shitfaced and raised his arms in the Y of surrender.
i cackled with delight.
and then along came another, who apparently told the police that he didn't have an id on him. they guided him back to the police car and then he remembered that he had an id. he blew .12 in the breathalizer, but apparently was of a legal age. he was released.
back at party house two, a policeman was digging through the mailbox. a girl in a halter top from party house three came running out of her house, obviously en route to the other house. saw the policemen. stopped. spun back into party house three.
finally, the policemen left.
eventually more boys appeared. the doors opened. everyone stood on the front steps discussing what had unfolded with the "five-oh" as the abercrombie weasel called them.
there was a lot of pointing.
bravado spilled in the streets.
hands were shaken. backs patted.
it made me feel old to be cheering for the strong arm of the law.
then chuck reminded me that if we were truly old, we would not have enjoyed the show so much.