Yesterday evening, Hunter and I played frisbee with some friends in a city park.

It was a lovely evening - being athletic and watching the sun set over PFunk along with Baker's Wife Liz, her boyfriend Mike, a mutual friend B-Lev, and B-Lev's brother Dave.

Frisbee as a group activity is an interesting beast. I like to call it a "festival of incompetence."

You see, no one is really great at frisbee. Some people are better than others, but mostly you're at the mercy of the wind and weather.

Often, as a result, the first 75% of the game is punctuated by throws to people who don't exist, and a large amount of apology and self-deprecation.

"Oh man, I suck. That wasn't to anybody. Sorry."

"Wow, I'm such a spaz. Can't catch a thing."

"Sure! I meant to throw it to Mike! Riiight!"

I suppose it makes the whole group nice and cozy in their percieved suckiness, but it's really unneccessary. We were actually doing pretty well yesterday. :)

As for me, I wasn't a very coordinated child. I might not have caught a flying object for the first 12 years of my life or so. But I have since developed that elusive hand-eye coordination, and I'm actually a reasonable frisbee player, along with a few other sports.

But that lack of coordination way back when means that I am in a perpetual state of surprise and joy at any time I manage to catch something or throw something. It's like I'm a three-year-old who just learned how to catch a ball from her dad.

So I'll think (and say) "Wow! I actually caught it!" Then I'll look at my hand in amazement, like "how did you ever learn to do that without me?"

I also have an unfortunate propensity for arabesques in physical activity. I'm kind of like a spastic cheerleader. Whenever I throw a basketball, my right leg goes up behind me, and my arms stay extended very swan-like for a few seconds.

I've taken my share of shit for those habits. Weird ballerina girl.

It happens in frisbee too, although it's more of an issue of the catches - my leg flies up and my body arcs very poetically. Seriously, what's wrong with me?

Volleyball too. Arabesque sets at the net all the way. however, my habit of throwing myself at any low ball is neither aesthetically nor anatomically wise. (ow, my knees!)

So if you see a blonde girl bouncing about and letting her leg dangle in the air after every throw... well, that's probably me.

Old habits die hard.

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Afterwards, we went to Liz's apartment and watched My Big Fat Greek Wedding - I didn't see it when it was out.

Basically, I'm a movie Luddite as far as Liz is concerned. "You never saw ANY of these?!?!?"

While we were there, her ex-boyfriend Steve called. Steve now works for a prominent agency in LA. Hollywood owns him now.

It's priceless to see Liz's face when he calls, though. Steve has a ... horrendously grating voice, and Liz says "It's gotten worse...if you can even believe that." We could hear him on her cell from across the room.

If you're in Hollywood and you hear a hyena, that would be Steve.

Ah, old friends. :)