dailyeatings

At Roman’s recommendation, MW and I went to a Filipino Bamboo Dance Competition. Rather than walking from my apartment directly to the student center, we opted instead to take the el; which is to say, we took the subway to travel 1 stop, two thirds of a mile, or 4 blocks. In our defense, it was 5 degrees Fahrenheit outside.

Roman didn’t actually show until nearly 15 minutes from the end, so we sat alone, wedged amidst a sea of Filipino college and high school students, craning our necks to see dance troupes from various universities perform native dance routines. Well, mostly native; one group opted instead for a more hip-hop (okay, fine, entirely hip-hop) demonstration, prompting one of the judges to go on a long tirade about the necessity for authenticity and pride in one’s cultural heritage.

Afterwards, we made our way back into the cold, making a pit stop at Al’s #1 Italian Beef for hotdogs because our breaths were far too pleasant for partying. Sufficiently fortified with onions, mustard and relish, we made our appearance at a party billed beforehand as ‘Mandatory Team Bonding.’

The event was both more and less than what I expected; after mullying about and socializing for a bit I climbed onto the loft bed dividing the living room in half and excused myself from participating for the rest of the evening—the effort was becoming unbearable. Behind me, the standalone heater blew hot air over me, and after an hour or so of reclining on a warm bed, watching the beer bong drinkers, random crashers, unsubtle flirtations, embarrassing provocations, and random guitar jam sessions below, I decided I had had enough. I made my rounds, saying goodbye to the necessary individuals, and left alone, before midnight.