My Dad is a Party Animal. I, Am Not.

The other day we had a really interesting activity in class. We were exploring discrimination, which is a heavy topic indeed. But the activity was done in such a way that we were comfortable to put ourselves in vulnerable situations. We were placed into groups and asked to come up with a feature that was common to each member of the team. We then had to create a sort of society or group mentality based on that feature. We were given the room to make this feature as ridiculous as we could. Then we had to justify WHY this feature made us superior.

Our group decided on soft elbows. We called our society the "Velvet Elbows" and had a coat of arms and everything. We operated under the belief that we were more desirable because we had naturally moisturized elbows and therefore were more attractive to the opposite sex. We had the choicest genes as we got to pick the life partners with the best attributes and therefore our children were superior. We did not allow people with rough elbows into our society and referred to them as "roughbows". Then, if a pair of roughbows had a velvet elbow we would give the parents the great honour of taking their child and raising them.

We were all in hysterics by the end. The other groups came up with ridiculous common features as well. One group said that they could "control minds" but didn't really want to so they were proving their superiority by choosing not act on their power. I asked the question of where they congregate or come together as a society, one of my classmates said "well, we don't have to meet because we can simply communicate through our minds. Sometimes we communicate through telekinesis sometimes text message". This is not the most perfect recount of what happened. It is a sort of 'you had to be there' situation. However, I would hope you would get the idea in that the activity was done in an engaging and sensitive manner.

It is Saturday night, now. My Dad is out with a bunch of people he knew in high school. He even asked me if he could call me to pick him up and I said "You know you can always call me, no matter what time. That being said I would prefer if you found another option if you are very late."
This is an extreme example of role reversal. I--at the age of 23--should be the one going out and causing havoc. Instead, I'm sitting at home watching the second Bourne movie with my brother and his girlfriend. Somewhere inside, my 18 year old self is crying to be set free. Perhaps next weekend I will make the effort to party as if I had rockstar tendencies. Get down all over town, and all that. I mean, it is unlikely... but yeah.

Tomorrow I work at the Highlands Fling Festival in Victoria. It will probably be the highlight of my weekend. Highlights at the Highlands. Heh. Anyways West Shore asked me to work it and told me they feed whoever works for them and I said "THAT SOUNDS GOOD, I'M GOOD WITH THAT".

I much preferred the newest Bourne (sans Matt Damon) than the first three...

I'm going to stop writing on this here blog before I embarrass myself any further.