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.