Friday, January 02, 2004
Back to school
I realize my blogging has been somewhat spotty recently but I made a quick trip to California, during which I had very little computer time.
During this trip I decided to head back to the old college town that I have such fond memories of (from all of six months ago). I met up with Joe, also of blogging fame, and a recently-turned 21 year-old Andrew Whelan (who some of you know and who is the current editor of the esteemed California Aggie newspaper).
Needless to say it was a glorious evening (for those of you who saw Joe's blog, you know just how glorious), that involved much merriment and many adult beverages. The night really began to take off when, somewhere around the third pitcher at our third bar, we played a few games of pool - poorly. During one of these games I lined up for a shot and, predictably, missed terribly. A fratty-looking guy with a fire hazard worth of gel in his hair and a shit-eating grin thought it would be useful to critique my pool strategy.
"I don't know, brah, I would've gone for that other ball," he said.
"I don't know, I would have gone for more gel," I slurred.
Brilliant.
Well, I seem to remember Andrew preventing a physical altercation in which I was all too ready to engage and all too sure of getting destroyed. So we took that as our cue to leave and then I had a brilliant idea: vandalize the house I used to live in.
Without further delay we ran across the street to the downtown pizza place, Woodstocks, and pillaged their men's rooms for rolls of toilet paper (which we subtly tucked under our shirts before walking out the front door). We then endured a cab ride from the single lamest cab driver I have ever encountered and, after resisting the urge to urinate in his hand in lieu of a tip, we went to work - on the worst tp job possible.
There were several rolls of toilet paper on the house and the front yard tree, however most of them failed to unravel, making it look like a bad modern art installation (redundant?) rather than a brilliant work of vandalism.
Fortunately I made up for it by putting the current occupants' motorcycle on its side and running away - though not before falling on the concrete. Twice.
We ended the night secure in our knowledge that:
a) we still rule.
b) we continue to be terrible, terrible people with no prospects for maturity.
During this trip I decided to head back to the old college town that I have such fond memories of (from all of six months ago). I met up with Joe, also of blogging fame, and a recently-turned 21 year-old Andrew Whelan (who some of you know and who is the current editor of the esteemed California Aggie newspaper).
Needless to say it was a glorious evening (for those of you who saw Joe's blog, you know just how glorious), that involved much merriment and many adult beverages. The night really began to take off when, somewhere around the third pitcher at our third bar, we played a few games of pool - poorly. During one of these games I lined up for a shot and, predictably, missed terribly. A fratty-looking guy with a fire hazard worth of gel in his hair and a shit-eating grin thought it would be useful to critique my pool strategy.
"I don't know, brah, I would've gone for that other ball," he said.
"I don't know, I would have gone for more gel," I slurred.
Brilliant.
Well, I seem to remember Andrew preventing a physical altercation in which I was all too ready to engage and all too sure of getting destroyed. So we took that as our cue to leave and then I had a brilliant idea: vandalize the house I used to live in.
Without further delay we ran across the street to the downtown pizza place, Woodstocks, and pillaged their men's rooms for rolls of toilet paper (which we subtly tucked under our shirts before walking out the front door). We then endured a cab ride from the single lamest cab driver I have ever encountered and, after resisting the urge to urinate in his hand in lieu of a tip, we went to work - on the worst tp job possible.
There were several rolls of toilet paper on the house and the front yard tree, however most of them failed to unravel, making it look like a bad modern art installation (redundant?) rather than a brilliant work of vandalism.
Fortunately I made up for it by putting the current occupants' motorcycle on its side and running away - though not before falling on the concrete. Twice.
We ended the night secure in our knowledge that:
a) we still rule.
b) we continue to be terrible, terrible people with no prospects for maturity.
