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Language Log

Sunday, Apr. 22, 2012 - 6:18 a.m.

The visit with my friend was good. Desert Museum in the morning; party at her dad's house in the evening. There were fire dancers and a large samba band. Turns out a samba band is entirely percussion. Q was in heaven, although she wouldn't touch any of the instruments. She also enjoyed the dancing. She waved her sippy cup around like the fire dancers were doing. She drummed it.

It turned out that my friend's sister was getting married, hence the lavish entertainmant. At the end, after their set had ended and everything was getting cleaned up, the samba group did the Electric Slide (that is the one with the guy going, "cha-cha y'all", right? That one.) I guess it really is a rule that that song must be played at a (white people's) wedding. None of the guests participated, but the band was clearly having fun. It was kind of wonderful. I think perhaps every wedding should hire a dancing group to dance to that song, if for no other reason than so that the rest of us don't have to. I find it more than a little embarrassing every time I hear it.

My friend is good. I like her kid and her husband. She seems happy. She did toss out gender stereotypes at an alarming rate, so I guess I'm glad she doesn't live here. I hate that shit even when an old friend does it. Maybe even especially when an old friend does it. I'd have to develop a strategy to combat it, and that could be tricky.

And for the first time in a very long time, I have no idea where the cat is pooping or what it looks like. This, friends, is cat-owner heaven.

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