Captain’s Log: January 18th, 2012

After fighting my way out of a prehistoric land populated by crazed Amazonian women, I came across a very peculiar scene. In a small town in the Brazos Valley in a place called Lake Street there was a small tribe. It was a fascinating group of people led by an interesting fellow by the name of Drew.

On this particular winter day there took place what I later understood to be a festival. They all had miniature airplanes, decorated with an assortment of shiny baubles, trinkets, and colors, which they launched into the air. Perhaps it was a ritual meant to call down the powers of creativity from the ancient ones. Or perhaps this was some sort of strange custom meant to determine hierarchy amongst the tribe. Whatever it might have been, it looked like the natives were certainly enjoying themselves.

I was quickly welcomed as one of their own and given a toy plane myself. I sampled (and enjoyed) the local delicacies of hot dogs and sweet tea and listened to their tribal music (I believe they called it “Passion Pit”). I felt honored to be included in this formal ceremony of creativity. Everyone seemed to treasure the time spent together in this celebration, and merriment and frivolity abounded. The day moved quickly and I became sad, knowing that my time with these people was coming to an end. I hope to one day return and study these captivating people (they call themselves “The Matthews Group”) again.