Cross-Country Skiing is Slightly Cooler than Walking: Bucklin's, Footy at the Oval and Norway Day

Last Thursday, Carly and her parents were generous enough to invite a bunch of us to their house for a Tex Mex dinner party. Walking into the house was a dream come true. They had a cooler outside that might as well been a treasure chest since it was filled to the brim with ice cold Coronas. Inside, margaritas and tequila sunrises were flowing out of the blender faster than Usain Bolt runs a 100m sprint. I had to triple fist to keep up. Additionally, there was a spread of Mexican food that would make Carlos Slim Helú envious: Quesadillas, Fajitas, Dip, Salsa, Guacamole, you name it was there and it was delicious.
After consuming plenty of food and booze, Carly’s mom decided to invent a game. She had us give our best Australian impersonations and the winners would win a secret prize. For the next ten minutes, we butchered the Australian language by using the most stereotypical phrases with the most Bogan accents. Luckily, no Australians were there or I think they would have deported us from the country. Ben and Sam came out the victors with Carly not far behind but being disqualified for being a semi-Perth resident. As a result, they received bottle-shaped key chains that included a bottle-opener and a mini-flashlight. This nifty device was linked with our Red Dragon key, further adding to its splendor (We are selling the Dragon, so if anyone wants a piece of BRO history, a quick 1600$ dollars is a small price to pay).
Back at campus, we were hanging out outside of Ben’s spot when his Asian roommate stumbled home drunk. We had never seen her go out ever, so we were shocked to watch this girl let loose a little bit.
Ben ,being the hospitable roommate that he is, said, “Hey Charlene, wassup?”
“Not much, I just came back from Northbridge.”
“Nice. Well, do you want me to introduce you to my friends? This is Harry…”
“His name is not Harry. That is the guy from High School Musical. What’s his name again?”
“Ok, I have never seen that movie,” Ben said “but I think you have it mixed up. This is my other friend Sam”
“I know him. He is the guy who pretends to know how to cook. He just sit there and act busy, while you burn the food. You guys are terrible cooks.”
Ben tried to defend himself, but we were all laughing too hard to say anything. This little Asian girl who had said maybe a few words to us the entire semester, all of a sudden made fun of us like she was a heckler and we were a failing stand-up comic.
The following day, our program leader set us up with free tickets for our first ever AFL game. The game was sold out at the Subiaco Oval, which held 46,000 plus, because it involved the two top teams in the ladder: Fremantle Dockers vs. Collingwood Magpies (The same Magpies that Eric Bana raved about in Funny People). Before we caught the bus to watch the footie at the oval, we were pre-gaming in Vickery to put us in the festive spirit. While playing the Pyramid, Rikke tried to explain to us how great the Norwegian national sport of cross-country skiing is. Sure, the sport is extremely exhausting, but that does not automatically make it cool. As Blake put it, “Cross-country skiing is slightly cooler than walking.” Later, we went outside to shotgun our last beers, and belted out a variety of cheers from “Let’s Go Freo!” to “WOOOOOOOOOOOO, Go Dockas!!” at a family of Dockers fan walking to the bus. They looked at us, put their heads down and accelerated right past us. They were very rude.
At the stadium, there was a buzz in the air as the Fremantle fans thought they finally had a winner. It was like AFL’s version of the Cubs, a losing team with an unreasonably loyal fan base ready to go bonkers at the chance of one championship season. People were walking rapidly around the stadium like they were playing a game of musical chairs, and could not wait for game to begin. Collingwood fans disrupted the purple wave of Dockers’ supporters as their black and white colors represented the Evil Empire. The Magpies presence caused even the most optimistic Dockers fan to recall their bets for their team on SportsBet.com.au. Once in our seats, we looked at each other as we listened to the rowdy fans yell Aussie slurs at each other and decided it was time to go for the first round of beers. Not that I was surprised they were selling bad beer at an extremely expensive price, but I was just fed up with their bro-hatred. Therefore, I did felt I need to obtain some compensation for this injustice. I noticed that the food stands next window over was based on an honor system. I did not sign my signature on any honor code, so I walked into the line, grabbed a few burgers, hot dogs and chips and strolled right past the preoccupied cashiers without ever looking back. Pulling one over on the ‘Man’ is always a great feeling. I could have overpaid for that food which was going to be thrown out at the end of the game, but I made a stand for the oppressed, the marginalized and the bankrupt. I stole from the proverbial rich (Aussie bro-haters) and gave to the proverbial poor (my friends) because that is what Russell Crowe would do.
For the game itself, we had no idea what was going on

. We had watched footie on t.v. plenty of times and thought that we knew how the game was played. However, during the game, so many whistles were being blown and players were doing all sorts of things that I did not know was legal. After the first quarter, I gave up trying to figure out the why and cheered loudly when the Fremantle fans erupted out of their seats and booed vehemently when the Collingwood fans celebrated. It was like watching an episode of Two and a Half Men. You do not know when something is funny until you hear the fake laughter track being played and you say to yourself, “Oh, Charlie and your misogynistic shenanigans! I love it when you say you forgot another girls name. What a pickle you are in this time!” Towards the end of the game, I went over to visit the Canadian contingency because they are a country who knows how to ruin football, so they may help me understand this game. Nevertheless, at this point, the Dockers were down like Jay Sean and everyone in the section was maggot as. One of the Canadians was waving around his Dockers flag in the faces of everyone around him and yelling like the Dockers had won the championship even though they were being embarrassed on the scoreboard. Thus, I grabbed the flag and tossed into oblivion. He momentarily stopped shouting, turned to me with his mouth aghast and stared at me like a child stares at his parents when his toy is taken from him. I just shook my head at him and went back to the American section.
The slaughter was over and the Fremantle fans with their heads hanging low and their shoulders slunk down exited the stadium, kicking themselves for believing that they had a chance to win a big game. We Americans did not take the loss so hard and made a beeline for the Subiaco bars. Initially, we had a group of twenty people ready for the bars, but once we made it Llama bar, there was only like six of us. Like always though, it was free to party, no worries.

Waking up at 8am on a Monday, the first thing in my mind is usually not I need to get up quick and start drinking. May 17, 2010, however, caused me to be in that mindset. Our Norwegian friends were celebrating their independence day and offered to make breakfast at their flat before heading into the city for the parade. Since I was late getting up, I wandered over to the flat unshaven, unshowered and wearing dirty jeans and an old t-shirt. When I arrived, Marius was dressed up in a button down covered by a blue blazer and Wiktor was in similar attire. I realized had to go back and change, but not before I enjoyed the free breakfast and mimosas. Then, I went back, changed into my Sunday’s best and headed to the bus station. The bus took us into Perth City where a small gathering of Norwegians was quickly growing. The kids our age wore similar clothes to ours but the little toddlers and the elder Norwegians wore their Bunads, which are their national costumes. Apparently, they cost thousands of dollars and are a symbol of pride for Norwegian people. Hearing how much it cost made me feel like a dad when her daughter asks him to buy her a really expensive prom dress. “Oh, great, I have to pay all this money so my daughter can lose her virginity tonight and then come home crying about how the guy wanted to break-up with her afterwards because they are going to different colleges. What a thrill for me!’
Bunads aside, this holiday was an amazing day. We drank in the park for an hour, paraded around the streets of Perth with all the Australians wondering what the heck was going on and then went back to the park to drink more. Also, Rikke generously bought me Norwegian waffles and Norwegian chocolate cake, which both tasted spectacular. I was able to relive my Town School Track Meet Days as they had a potato race, which is like the Norwegian version of the egg race. I was primed to win it, but my potato fell off my spoon before I made my second step. I was so close. After the race, a mob of beautiful Norwegians started walking down to the Lucky Shag bar and I felt like that was the place to be. The bar was packed full of Norwegians at one o’clock in the afternoon and I decided I needed a drink to feel comfortable in this environment. At the bar, I did my usual, “Give me the cheapest pint,” and ordered a second one for the Norwegian next to me because it was his country’s day. What I forgot was that the prices here are cheap for Norwegians and he guffawed at my cheap beer asking the bartender for the most expensive pint he could get. Reluctantly, I walked away with my two beers, desperately forcing myself to not throw them in his face and steal his imported pint. Fortunately, a table of Norwegian girls called me over and I quickly forgot about that pompous prick. However, two hours later I was not in the state to continue. Drinking that extra pint coupled with my body not knowing how to handle Monday ragers put me over the edge. I acknowledged the fact that if I did not head back now, then I would embarrass myself in front of all these Norwegians, giving America a bad name. Never showing a sign of weakness, I bolted out of there like an immigrant evades the I.N.S. and hopped on the 72 bus back to Curtin. Paul BROgan 1, Norway Day 0.

Lost and Found: Kenny Powers, Cinco de Mayo and Birthdays

Wednesday marked the return of Neil the Real Deal, the man who bought Sam and Ben their first beers in Australia. We had not seen him for awhile because he had work and other obligations, but on this night, he blew off his girlfriend to hang with the boys. Like a late-night Santa Claus, he came into HQ and gave Sam one of his favorite things, a cold beer. Then, he offered Ben some brew, but Ben was detoxing for the night. Instead of applauding Ben’s discipline, The Real Deal made fun of Ben for not having the balls to drink. At this point, Sam and I knew The Real Deal came to play tonight. Unfortunately, Neil did not come with his driving skills. We hopped into his car and thought we were headed to the Tav, but he must have missed the turn to go to the Tav parking lot a thousand times. I felt like I was in the car with Stevie Wonder at the wheel. Finally, he made it to the parking lot, which had at least thirty open spaces, but none of them seemed ‘good enough for him.’ After five minutes of playing car park wandering, he starts to reverse into one of the million open spots there.

“Stop, Stop, Stop!”
(Neil keeps backing up in silence)
“Stop, Stop, There’s a cement pillar!”
Crash
“Nice, Shooting Tex! You managed to hit the one giant cement column within hundred meters”

Unfazed, Neil does not say a word or even step on the brakes. The car bounces off the post like it was a game of bumper cars. After the aided re-direction, Neil decides to park right next to the campus security car stationed at the smaller lot across the way. If I was in Neil’s position, I would not have chosen to park next to the 5-0, but that is why we praise individuality. Sam, Will, Eric and I hustled out of the car and dragged Neil with us up the hill to the Tav’s gates.
Inside, Will was kicked out five minutes after he walked in. If you are wondering why the security would let him in to only boot him out, tell me "why does an 8 foot Wookie live on the same planet as two-foot Ewoks? It does not make sense" (South Park season 2 episode 14). However, Will was not in the mood to have ugly, stupid, judgmental, irrational, un-American dudes end his night’s fun (and no, I am not describing the creators of the Arizona’s new immigration bill). He runs back to his flat, borrows a bunch of his roommates clothes and minutes later triumphantly re-enters the bar. The security guards did not recognize Will because for once he was not wearing any button-downs or khakis (his clothes are so preppy that he makes the attire at an Ivy League social seem ghetto). Will’s daring move proves that you can try to kick people out because of how they look, but looks can be deceiving and they will find a way back in if they want to (again this has nothing to do with immigration laws).
I, on the other hand, was having a great time on the dance floor away from all of the politics going on in the bar. While I was throwing out every move I could think of, I ran into the people that think I look like Seth Rogen. Although I never understood or liked this comparison, they seemed to like Seth Rogen, so I quickly became a Knocked Up sandwich on the middle of the dance floor. I thought my fun was about to come to a sudden halt as I felt the all too familiar tap on the shoulder. To my surprise, the security guard wanted to give me a hi-five and I vigorously slapped his hand. I guess you could say I acted like the majority of Americans who overlook certain political decisions and blindly support our politicians while other people struggle for their rights.










The next day was Atlee’s birthday and her parents generously gave her some money to buy booze for her party; as a result, all of us came running to this event. During the party, Carly was attempting to run the BBQ but grill-master is not a flattering hat on her. She was putting hot dogs in plastic cups, fumbling around with the tongs and doing God knows what else over there. It was like watching a five year old try to fly an airplane: disastrous. Her roommate mercifully relieved her of her duties and saved what was left of the food. Later, the housing assistant asked us to disperse because we were making too much noise and then made up some rule about how only 12 people are allowed in the flat at once. Considering eight people live there, that means that if one of them wants to have one friend over, then they must check in with everyone else, so that they do not surpass this imaginary quota. In response, Benny, not Sherry, says, “Fuck the Police!” We all tried hard not to laugh and tell Benny to shut up, but it was useless. The H.A. pretended not to hear it, finished her rant and stormed off.
Realizing that it was time to get out of dodge before the H.A. came for reinforcements, half of us hopped into a Maxi Taxi, while the other half to stay and watch wasted Rikke chase Harry. Rikke was planning to go out to the clubs, but capitalized too much on Atlee’s free booze and believed that she was catlike enough to catch Harry. If she was sober, she could not touch Harry in a phone booth, so being extremely drunk did not improve her chances. Randy Marsh had more of a possibility of catching the pink dragon than Rikke had at tackling Da One and Only. It was thoroughly entertaining to watch.
I decided to be part of the group that went to the Claremont Club because I had already predicted the ending to Rikke’s hunt, and felt it only appropriate to go out with Atlee since she had bought all that booze for us. My only hesitation about going out was that I did not want to do anything stupid and end up spending heaps of Australian monopoly money. Initially, things were going well as the cab only cost me five dollars and I was outside for most of the time talking to one of the dancers I had met from the Danny Green a few weeks back. However, once her friend pulled her away, it marked the beginning of my end. I went back inside to find the rest of the group, but I could not find them anywhere. I searched the club for an hour before conceding that they had left me. Since I was desperately trying not to spend money, I convinced myself I could walk home. This bright idea lasted three blocks because I was extremely far away from Curtin. As I pondered my next move, I realized that if I waited a few hours at a bus stop, the morning bus would come and take me to Curtin. While sitting at the stop, I thought it would be acceptable if I closed my eyes for a few minutes. Even though Perth is not Compton, it is never a smart idea to sleep in public unless you are homeless. Around an hour later, I woke up and could not find my phone. I searched the ground fastidiously for it, but in vain. Angry at myself for losing my phone, I walked back to Claremont, bought a ten dollar kebab and rode home in a cab by myself. I set out to be part of Atlee’s celebration, minimize my spending and not make any retarded decisions. I ended up 0-3 on the night and looked to Dustin Pedroia to give me advice on how to end my slump. He said, “Laser Show. Relax.” Then, I told him to go fuck himself because he does not make a word of sense.
For every story of misfortune, there is a story of miraculously triumph. Blake had lost his passport last Sunday at the Cott and was about to apply for a new one the next day. Fortunately, his roommate Lorenzo happened to be leaving the club at the exact same time that the cab that Blake rode home in on Sunday was pulling up to Claremont. Lorenzo then just happened to choose this one cab out of the dozens that were there to take home. On the ride back, Lorenzo mentioned that he went to school in America and the cab driver remembered that he had been holding onto an American passport that was left in his cab five days ago. He gave it to Lorenzo who then gave it to Blake upon returning to Vickery, completing this most improbable series of events.
Waking up on Friday, I felt terrible and needed to re-evaluate my life. My first step was to cut my hair because although I wanted some flow, I had to get back to my roots. Nothing better symbolized this rebirth than taking after Kenny Powers from Eastbound and Down. Sam had wanted to give me a mullet for the last month and jumped on the chance to finally put his wish to fruition. In order to do a proper Kenny Powers mullet, you have to get yourself into character. To do this, we bought two blocks of Emu Export, the PBR of Australian beer, played beer pong for the first time in HQ and watched Eastbound and Down to make sure that my mullet would be done right. After many episodes and many beers, I had obtained the Kenny Powers rebel persona.
Since the new season of Eastbound and Down is being filmed in Mexico, Cinco de Mayo seemed like the perfect time to wear all black and express my r-Rage. I put on my black button down, black pants and black shades and walked into the Tav with authority. The Tav initially did not mess with Kenny Powers, but they messed with everyone else. Ben, Blake and Sam were booted from the Tav within minutes of entering and followed a few minutes later by Will, who was celebrating his 21st birthday. The Tav security must have real hated Mexico because they were kicking people, especially those with dirty ‘staches, out of there left and right. Our Best Mate who is from Australia was not asked to leave the bar even though he threw up a tequila shot in the middle of the Tav, cut his head open after falling over and had blood running down his face. Looking Mexican is much more threatening to the sanctity of the bar than bleeding and puking all over it. The unjust and premature exits of everyone made the Tav no fun because more people were outside than inside (Once again I am not referring to the fact that if the US forces all the immigrants out of the country, the US would be worse off because there would be no one to do the cheap labor that is essential to the success of the American economy). Eventually, after being harassed several times, I was officially shut out of the Tav for the night.
Back at Vickery, Blake, Ben, Nick and Sam did not let some disgruntled and sexually repressed bouncers ruin their night. Ben, who was the one person who was admittedly too drunk for the bar, passed out in the flat. Sam found a Magic Marker and the images and video attached will show his artistry.

Happy 21st to Will, Feliz Cinco de Mayo a Todos and Happy Mother’s Day! Everyone remember to do something extremely nice for mom this Sunday. Be sure to show them your affection for everything that they do. Also, Galligan made some plays like he always does and as result, I will be up in High Rise 603 next year. If you are near me, let me know. Good Luck everyone at Trinity on their finals- the week sucks but summer is right around the corner. With that said, Bay to Breakers is coming up in a week and if you can get to the city for it, do it because it is one of the best days of the year. The Kenny Powers mullet had served its purpose and his now gone. I am back to my stud short hair and hoping that it will drive the Aussie girls crazy.










This Has been Based on a True Story. The Mother-Fuckin' End.

Cool. No Worries. Free to Party: Risky Business, Advisor Meetings and ANZAC DAY

Wednesday night was a Pajama Party at the Tav. Theme parties there are usually crowded, but there is never a huge line to go inside. However, on this night, every Curtin student wanted to be there. Apparently, the possibility of impersonating Tom Cruise in Risky Business, or dressing uber-casual to a bar is the most exciting thing for a young Australian. Luckily for us, Harry had been waiting in line for awhile, so Nick and I were able to cut the line and walk in. Our friends surrounded us so quickly that it was like the bouncer hurled us into the bar and as we were flying towards the dance floor, ten dollars came out of wallets and upon landing we had a full jug of beer. This expedited entrance led to a blurry night that left me with a tough Thursday morning.
Friday night, we finally found the coveted 1st Choice liquor store, which offers the cheapest alcohol in Western Australia. Although we have been looking for it for awhile, it was six minutes away from campus. Our Tom Tom GPS failed us because we would always type in First, not 1st, Choice, and Tom Tom could not handle this discrepancy. The worst part is that we asked if they had any jobs available and they said they were looking for male workers, but had filled those positions that day. What a cruel joke! I wish the person lied and said that they could not hire Americans or that we were too sexy to work there. Knowing that we were a day late about landing a dream job is similar to
At HQ, we started to play a massive game of pyramid B.S. to put ourselves in a festive mood. Even though we had about twelve people playing, everyone kept sending drinks Liza’s way because she is too nice and too fun to not give her all the drinks. It is not a conscious decision to gang up on her, but you look around the table and see her and are helpless to not make her down her drink. The easiest comparison is like when Dick Cheney shot his colleague in the face while quail hunting. Cheney was trying to shoot quail but he is a dickhead, so he could not stop himself from shooting an innocent man in the face. Like Dick Cheney’s victim, Liza had to retire early.
Since it was Friday, we went to the Tav to catch the party bus to Northbridge for some clubbin’. At the first bar, the Deen, one of the girls came up to me and asked me if I wanted to bite one of the candies off her friend’s necklace. Taking my vampire course, I had no problem sinking my teeth into her neck (lace) and sucking her blood (red candies). Unfortunately, I never thought that the girls would want something in return. In fact, it was her bachelorette party and there were six girls in cowgirl themed dress behind her. As a result, I had to buy her a drink, and of course she orders the most expensive drink at the bar. Undeterred by their shenanigans, I started to strike up a conversation with them and they invited me to the dance floor. Feeling the pressure to show them a magnificent performance, I went into the middle of the circle and blew their minds. I was like Michael Jordan in the playoffs: unconscious. I probably never have or never will dance better than I did then. For my efforts, they gave me one of their sweet cowboy hats as they kissed me goodbye. In light of my success, I tried to keep it going, so I looked around for the biggest stage to highlight my newfound skills. At the back of the dance floor was a platform and I nearly sprinted up there. On the dais, I found a girl to dance with and my newfound flair was still working. She matched me move for move and in my mind, we were dancing like we were Patrick Swayze and Baby in Dirty Dancing. Reality briefly returned when she walked away and I looked down for Ben and could not find him. He had sent me a text saying everyone was going to the casino. The last thing I wanted to do was to go to the casino because the Burswood Casino and I have a mutual hatred for each other. Consequently, I had to lone wolf it around town. I tried to go to the bar across the street, but since my button down shirt had one too many buttons not buttoned the bouncer forced me to butt out.
Paramount was my next destination, but along the way I saw about three people passed out on the streets and the police were having a difficult time waking them up. One of the people actually did wake up from his alchohol-induced slumber and tried to convince the cop not to arrest him because he was not drunk, simply tired. The cop was going to believe that like Matt Stone and Trey Parker believe Tom Cruise is heterosexual. The drunken idiot was tossed hard into the cop car and I continued my trek to the club. Inside the Paramount, I noticed this girl with a big ol’ booty who I had to go up to and ask to dance. Whether it was my boldness, innocence or ridiculousness, she enjoyed my company and we started tearing up the dance floor. Midway through our session, I saw my advisor at Curtin who approached me and gave me a hi-five. The best part about the hi-five was that it came with a 50 dollar bill, which he told me to put towards my night moves on the girl I was dancing with. Best mentor ever! Things took a turn for the worse as I made a quick bathroom break and on my way back to the dance floor I was escorted out by the bouncers. I did not even fight or make an argument. That is just what happens here. Getting booted from a club has occurred more often than a supposed anti-gay and/or pro-family politician being caught up in a raunchy sex scandal.
After being kicked out of a bar in Perth for the millionth time, I walked across the street to Atlee and Rikke’s favorite late night cheesy bread stand. While munching this delicious creation, I saw my mentor stumble out of Paramount and I went over to thank him for the 50 dollar loan. He told me to keep it and that we needed to have an advising meeting, so we went to a bar and got more shitfaced. During our conference, we discussed how I could improved my game and not look so American while I was out on the town. At first, he had me captivated because he brought up some valid points. For instance, I was wearing khakis and everyone around us was wearing jeans. He even asked the guy next to him to rag on me for appearing like such a ‘wanker,’ which I did not appreciate it, but it helped support his claims. However, he never really progressed from the jeans aspect. He must have told me that I needed to wear jeans about fifteen thousand times. Every other question he asked me was, “So what are we going to wear next time?” To that, I would reply, “Jeans.” Although I may have not received a plethora of advice, I know now that I will only wear jeans when I go out in Perth in the future.
The weekend was a long one because of ANZAC Day, a holiday for the fallen Australian and New Zealand soldiers, which is celebrated by a dawn service in the morning and then a massive Sunday Session afterwards. The dawn service was at 4 a.m., so we skipped that but were sure to make it to the beach by one to start partying. We dug ourselves lounges out of sand to lie in, which were so comfortable I could have stayed there all day. Every once in a while though we had to go the bathroom and as a result we would walk into the water, pause for a few seconds and then walk back out. Anyone who was paying attention to us would have been disgusted with our lack of effort to at least hide what were doing. Luckily, everyone was doing their own thing and reveling in the beautiful Sunday sun, so they did not notice our “public urination.”Next, our movement to get inside the Cottlesloe Beer Garden was expedited by the sand war that Nick started. He and Sam thought it would be funny if they knocked over Ben’s lounge area while he was in the ocean. When he came back, he was under the impression that Sam was the main culprit, causing him to destroy Sam’s. Then, he realized Nick was the instigator, so he and Sam obliterated Nick’s area. Having no more places to relax in and no more grog to drink, we knew it was time to march into the bar. I would love to tell you exactly what happened inside the Beer Garden but that two hour period has been erased from my memory. I know that I must have bought two of their 12 dollar pints because I had no more cash in my wallet when I left there. Additionally, I was a hilarious mess because I have received many comments from people in KV over the last few days about how they saw me and that I seemed to be having a LOT of fun.
Sierra, one of our newfound American friends, was gracious enough to drive our car and pick us up from the Cott. She was a trooper about it as she seemed to enjoy our drunk antics rather than be appalled at our loud screaming and retarded comments. If you could handle a bunch of wasted people putting one techno/mash-up type song on repeat the whole trip, yell take a Larry or Roger at every turn and try to make you stop at every fast food/ bottle shop that they saw, then kudos to you. Although she did not appreciate how I seemed to run off to places, and told me that I needed a leash when I go out. What she does not understand is that I am more apt to chew through that leash than allow it to stop me.
Cinco de Mayo is next week, so if you can grow a dirty stache, then let it rock out next Wednesday. Also, if you are not on the 49ers bandwagon right now, the draft proved that you need to be. For all the Trinity students out there, please sign the petition to add another section of Viewing The Wire. This was/is the best show ever on television and the fact that Trinity is offering a class on it, is the tits, the tequila and everything else that is wonderful in this world. Until next time, enjoy the Sharks still swimming in the Playoffs, the Giants pitching staff dominating opponents (except Todd Wellenmeyer, he blows) and Happy Birthday to the Killer, Jim Kilgore. It is his 50th anniversary of being able to drive, so it is a big one and if you see him, be sure to congratulate him on this milestone.

And here is the anthem...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V775PPuBc7Y

You are a Champion, Mate: The Green Machine, Red Bull Jets, Goon of Fortune and Caves

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Special Edition: Spring Break in Bali

Late Saturday night, Ben and I made the decision to plan a last minute excursion to Bali. Tuesday morning Ben, Sam, Harry, Jenny and I were flying Air Asia at 4:50 am to Denpasar airport for what we hoped was the adventure of a life time. When we landed we were more jacked up than Bill Romanoski after injecting some steroids. The first day was spent exploring Nusa Dua and enjoying the beaches and pools at our hotel. Feeling well rested, we headed into Kuta for some late night debauchery. First, we went to a delicious Japanese restaurant for some dirt cheap sushi and cocktails (I refrained from using the adjective bomb, as in It’s Da Bomb, to describe the Japanese place because putting bomb and Japan together seems a little insensitive, Hiroshima and Nagasaki know what I am talking about). The only down side to the restaurant was that we had to sit Indian style around this two foot high table. This seating arrangement was a major problem because we were way too big for the space provided and this naturally meant that I was going to end up breaking something. Towards the end of dinner, as I stood up to go to the bathroom, I smashed into the picture that was hanging above me. I picked it up and tried to fix it, but that only made it worse. Interestingly, I did not feel too guilty about it because me crashing into something in that delicate environment is as expected as the sun coming up in the morning. Ruining the artwork expedited our exit from the restaurant because it was weird and awkward to stay when I just humiliated myself. To relieve the stress that I caused, Ben and I went bargaining for some massages. Bali is a true paradise because the average massage is 50,000 rupiah or the equivalent of 6 US Dollars. Passing up a massage at that price is a worse financial decision than handing your money over to Bernie Madoff. After an hour of bargaining to obtain the price we wanted, Ben and I received a delightful ½ hour back massage, which reenergized us to take on the night. Our excitement was momentarily curbed when we stopped to talk to two British women who were having their feet scrubbed. In the middle of the conversation, I looked down at the bucket and it was packed full of dead skin from their nasty, old feet. I had to quit the conversation immediately otherwise I would have thrown up all over the massage parlor. To rid our minds of that disgusting image, Ben and I bought a few Bintangs, the local Bali beer, and joined back up with Sam, Harry and Jenny to bring the noise to Bounty Dance Club.

The night club scene was as hoppin’ as a frog on crack (you can thank Atlee for that “gem” of a simile). The men outside the club were selling anything they could to you. Their main commodity was Ephedra, which is used as a weight loss pill back in the US. Although I was feeling self-conscious about my figure, getting wasted and taking an Ephedra pill is probably not recommended by Jenny Craig. Once inside the club, I walked past two British girls who could not stopped laughing at my hair. Since I have phenomenal flow, they must have been on some type of weird drug they got from the straight-shooters outside the club. I asked them what their deal was and they said that they had bought a magic mushroom shake from the bar. For a brief second, I contemplated buying one and joining their party because they seemed to be thoroughly enjoying themselves. However, I realized that trying to deal with these ‘shroomed out girls, regardless of my state, was more impossible than stopping Tim Tebow from praising God after every other word he says. Back where Sam, Ben and everyone were, this creepy old man was rocking out to the live music and grinding all over everyone in his vicinity. Watching this man terrify the entire bar with his wrinkly body gyrating wildly all over the dance floor reminded me that I was not in Kansas anymore. In Australia, Harry was kicked out of a bar for being too drunk when had only one beer to drink that night. Here, this man who looked like Cotton-Eyed Joe after a heroin binge was allowed to run amuck and no one did anything. If this place had no rules, then we were going to take full advantage of this free pass to go nuts. Up top at the main dance floor we had a blast dancing all over the stage, on the poles and in the rusty cages, which Ben and Sam loved the most. While Ben went wild in the cage like he did in the foam at Beach Bash, Sam came up from behind and started shaking it like it was Shakira music video. This action was a terrible idea because in no way shape or form did this structure seem sturdy, but you only live once and you better live it up.
Waking up the next morning at 7 to go on our white water rafting trip was brutal. Ben and I managed to drag ourselves out of bed because we knew that downstairs was a spectacular breakfast buffet waiting for us. After crushing that meal, we felt well enough to at least make it in the cab that would take us to the river. Our cab driver was named Made (pronounced Ma-Day), which was the same name as our white water rafting guide. Apparently, Balinese people only use four names for boys and Made was the most popular. We figured that we could be alright if we called every Bali person we met, Made. The rafting itself was amazing because even Dick Cheney would have a wide grin racing down the rapids and going over 20 foot high drops. On the cab ride home, Made told us that if we wanted to, he could take us to see a cock fight. I became highly intrigued at this offer because although it maybe gruesome to see these birds claw each other apart, it may also be extremely exciting to bet on it. For better or worse, we never found the time on the trip to do it, but if anyone wants to see one, Bali is the place to go.
Dinner that night was satisfying for most of us, but not all of us. Our cab driver and brudda, Made, brought us to this sea food restaurant on the beach where you selected the fresh fish for them to grill up. When I saw lobster, I convinced myself that I had to buy it. I realized this decision was a huge mistake because of how little meat there was in it and how expensive it was. To add gas to the fire, I had to sit and observe everyone enjoy their amazing fish dishes. Before I made a scene, the team calmed me down, but to this day I am still angry about my choice. Next, we went to Kuta for some cheap drinks and some good ol’ fashion amusement. That night we met some Aussie kids wearing neon green security vests and signaling for Taxi’s to stop and then subsequently flicking them off. The drug vendors tried to pull them out of the street, but their efforts were futile. The Aussie blokes decided to make fun of the knock-off drugs that the vendors were advertising rather than listening to them. Being absolutely clowned by these Aussie tourists, they had no choice, but to flee. Later, we hit up the club next to Bounty called Paddy’s and ordered some flaming shots, buckets of beer and other drinks that we cannot afford at Aussie bars. On the dance floor Harry and Sam Bro’ed out hard to their new favorite techno jam: Welcome to Riverside Motha Fuckas (we have no clue what the name of the song actually it is but those are the only words in it, although Sam believes it is Step Aside). I found myself a Norwegian cougar who I had danced with the previous night and I continued spitting game at her. Things went well for awhile but eventually her younger sister (I really hope it was not her daughter) pulled her away. On my way out I found Ben having the time of his life talking to one of the ten million prostitutes surrounding the club like vultures waiting to pounce on the drunken and horny tourists. Ben was not trying to make a deal with this hooker, but he found it thoroughly entertaining to talk about the dirty sexual acts that she would do for money. Most people protest prostitution for being amoral, Ben just thought the profession was absolutely hilarious.

The ride home that night was unbelievable. We were unable to find a cab, so we bargained with the locals on motorcycles for a ride home. The motorcycles are made for one person, but in Bali, some people use them like minivans and put their whole family on them. Going 100 km/hr on one of these things at 3am is one of the most exhilarating feelings you can have. The motorcyclists raced us back home and we were high fiving each other as our motorcycles passed one another. Harry ran into some trouble on his ride home as his motorcycle’s tire popped and the driver pulled over in a dark, sketchy alley way. He was ready to throw down like Rocky before his fight against Ivan Drago, but the driver was either too nice or too intimidated to try to mess with Da One and Only. When Ben and I returned home the motorcyclists attempted to make us pay more than we agreed, but Ben did not buy their monkey business and told them they would take this 50,000 rupiah or get nothing at all. Understanding that we were not dumb tourists, they quickly accepted the offer.

Made came to pick his up the next morning and drove us to Dreamland Beach. On our way there, we were stuck in traffic because we had to wait for a funeral procession to pass-by. While we were killing the time, Sam put in a CD that he found in the cab. The first song was My Neck, My Back (Lick It) by Khia, and for that environment, there could not be a better song to galvanize us for a great day on the beach. When we made it to Dreamland, two things highlighted the day: the Asian tourists and the persistent local vendors. The latter were like flocks of seagulls that would swarm around you if you bought anything from one of them. In a way, this was great because they offered to run up to the bar and bring you beers, making us much drunker than we planned to be. On the other hand, it became extremely annoying to have these people constantly in your face. Feeling a little tipsy, we watched as a mob of Asian tourists were doing the most ridiculous things on the beach. At one point, a few of them were being pushed towards the water on a boogie board and then falling head first into the sand. Generally, someone would stop after a few of these falls, but these people continued to do it at least ten more times. Moreover, many of them, including grown men, were scared of the water, but badly wanted to go into it at the same time. They would walk up like they were ready to jump in, and hurriedly run back like little school girls to land. Although this sight was extremely entertaining, I saw some topless women on the other side of the beach, so I grabbed the boogie board I had rented and cruised over there. I set myself up well as I could hang out on the waves and admire the nudity from afar and then occasionally ride a wave in, so I would not seem like such a creeper. Unfortunately, we eventually had to pull ourselves away from this fantastical beach because we had other fun to attend to. In Kuta that night, we had our regular night of drinking, dancing and massages, but the thing that made this night memorable was that we rented scooters of our own. Late at night jetting back on those things with your shirt off is a spectacular feeling. I felt more badass than Chuck Norris…well that is actually impossible, but I did feel as cool as Chuck Norris as one can experience.

Ben at breakfast was looking Lindsey-wasted. He walked like a zombie down to the buffet with no shirt, no shoes and no conscience. The manager asked him to put on a shirt, but then realized Ben’s state and let him do his thing. After breakfast, we asked Ben to go grab a shirt and meet us at the parking lot, so Made could drive us to the boat for our snorkel trip. As soon as he left us, Sam said, “I bet you 15 notes that Ben went back to sleep, you should probably go follow him.” Back at the room, Sam was right. Ben had climbed into my bed and said to me that the snorkeling trip was canceled. The trip was in no way canceled because we had already paid for it, so I slowly directed him down the stairs and into the taxi.

The first stop on our boat ride was at a Bali animal farm. This place had everything from sea turtles to bats and since this is Bali, we were able to hold each animal whether we wanted to or not. The one animal I did not want to hold was the toucan, but the zookeeper forced it upon me. The bird must have sensed my apprehension because it decided to take a number two on my shoulder. This is not the first time a bird has taken a dump on me in a foreign country. In Turkey, when I was younger, a pigeon from high above nailed me right on top of the head, so this toucan’s excrement was nothing compared to that. In contrast, Sam loved the farm more than anyone else as he made friends with both the animals and the zookeepers. This camaraderie with the farm animals was representative of Sam and the Balinese people the entire trip. He fraternized with everyone he could and they all appreciated his amicability. Thus, it was sad to see SV leave Bali, because when he dies and goes to heaven, he will be unhappy because he will rather be in Bali.

The snorkeling itself was beautiful, but the current was overpoweringly strong. The second snorkel stop was in this cove where we could see locals making some kind of roast on land. We thought about swimming to shore and checking it out, but the current towed us in the other direction. Ben and I rapidly found ourselves against the rocks desperately trying to find a niche to hang on to. Being stuck in between rocks and a hard rip was not a great place for us and we were struggling to find a solution to our problem. Searching for a way out of this predicament, we saw Jenny swimming like Michael Phelps back to the boat. If Jenny was making progress back to the boat, we had to man up and do it too. The swim absolutely sucked; however, reaching the boat gave us a feeling of accomplishment like we had just climbed Mount Everest.

That night we decided to take one last joy ride into the city to enjoy our final massages, buy some of the cheap merchandise, including the bootleg DVDs, and as Kenny Powers would say, “Wake up the town tonight!” Everything was going well until Sam and Ben’s tire popped just outside of the main strip in Kuta. These kids offered to help them fix it and Sam and Ben had no real option, but to trust them. They patched up the tire but five minutes later it blew out again. Sam was ready to throw the bike into the ditch and walk into town, but Ben found some other people to help them. These people mended the tire and Sam and Ben were finally prepared to ride into town. Nevertheless, all the moving around to different “repair shops” disoriented Sam and Ben and they did not meet up with us for a few hours. In the meantime, Harry journeyed all over Kuta to see if Sam and Ben had been distracted by a bar special and were drinking instead of meeting up with us. Jenny and I grabbed dinner and drinks and waited to see if Ben and Sam had arrived at the rental place. I trusted that Sam and Ben were going to make it back safely, so I kept ordering drinks because I had to spend my rupiahs and I thought they were going to want to party when they finally met up with us. I was half right. Ben and Sam did come back safely, but the stress of the whole experience left everyone, besides me, ready to return to the hotel. Since they took hours to return I had drank one too many drinks and I was more in the mood “to make it rain” as opposed to packing it in. I pleaded with them to let me go out and live up the Bali party life one more time, but they pushed me into the cab, which was most likely the best decision. In the cab, I fell asleep and kept leaning on the cab driver. Everyone in the backseat told him that he could just hit me, but the driver did not seemed fazed by me. The cabbie’s indifference signified how I was not the first wasted kid in his cab and that he was used to dealing with tourists in my condition. When we made it back to the hotel, I finally was able to make it rain that night when the cab driver asked us for the fare. I grabbed the money I had in my pocket, which was not much, threw it up in the air and walked out of there. Up in the hotel room, Ben, Harry and Sam took advantage of my drunkenness as they manipulated me into some TK rants that are on tape somewhere. I really hope they never find the video of that because I have not seen it (or remember it for that fact), but apparently I have never appeared more retarded. Hey, when in Bali, do dumb stuff.

On the flight back, everyone had a smooth trip except for Ben who was cut-up from a motorcycle spill, bruised up from a massage parlor debacle and burned up from the sun. The plane ride home was full in the front and empty in the back. All of us went to the back to lounge and spread out, but beat up Ben did not recognize this fact. Instead he remained up front squished in the middle of two oversized people. Later, as we went through customs, Ben was walking awkwardly because he forgot to wear a belt. The customs people thought that Ben was hiding something in his bum and pulled him aside to interrogate him. Luckily for Ben, he avoided a cavity search, but I was worried for him because the customs person had recently put on latex gloves and looked ready to spelunk Ben’s rectum. When they released Ben, they seemed to be thinking, “Some guys just can’t handle Bali.” Well, that may be true, but I do not believe you are supposed to handle Bali. It is a magical place where if you come back unscathed, then you did not truly enjoy it.

Special thanks to Jenny for visiting us and being our professional photographer during the trip. Also, Happy Easter to everyone and I hoped every celebrated Christ’s resurrection better than that fanatical church group who staged a mock crucifixion outside a mall. Way to honor Christ by scaring the piss out of little kids! Finally, quick shout out to Big Green Lax for being bigger than the Big Red over the weekend at Gillette Stadium with a big win. Happy Birthday to the Lang twins, Erica and Roy. Roy, make sure you party with your pants on, Mama Lang is very concerned. For those at Trinity, Get Me Housing!