Three-Day Ski-kend
Take a deep breath and breathe the storied air!
This is the back corner of IHOP last Friday night. Some of us Collectivites were sipping our Orange Juices and nibbling our blintzes when a young man stumbled up to the fence above our window and proceeded to lurch over the edge into the concrete bunker. He sprung up and gave us some wicked hand gestures to let us know he was alright (and drunk).
This guy is Jonathan. Jonathan Cats.
He used his phone to tell us his name and number (score) and then made some crude gestures around those girls' *ahem* legs. Real classy-like. Then he stumbled up and away, into legend and prank phone calls. Or so you would think . . .
The next morning, I'm sitting on the bus that was supposed to leave for Canada ten minutes ago. We're waiting for only one straggler from south campus. You get three (that's 3 Canadian, 2.44228 US) guesses as to who it is.
Seven hours later, in front of the Canadian Coastal hotel in downtown Kamloops, the name "Cats" is announced in a list of names of occupants of room 209. My room.
Three hours later, Cats is admiring his $300 profit (this is after losing $200) at a blackjack table. I was able to gain $10, my roommate Scott $20, and "Squints" (if you know his real name, please contact me) lost around $40.
Three more hours, Cats (once again inebriated) is pulling me aside and gleefully explaining that two Canadian girls (I believe "bitches" was the term of choice) will be coming back to our room that night. I bet him lunch it won't happen.
He still owes me lunch.
My photo with "cool" Jon (as some have been known to call him) wasn't the only strange coincidence this weekend:
Last Friday in sociology class, we were discussing motivation for suicide. This upcoming Wednesday, we are expected to have finished the book Hell's Angels by Hunter S. Thompson.
( <-- him)
On Sunday, Hunter S. Thompson, the father of "Gonzo Journalism," took his own life at his Colorado home. Cosmic convergence. Hardcore.
To close it off today, here are a few memorable quotes spoken by some authentic Canadians:
From far and wide, O Canada, we stand on guard for thee!
This is the back corner of IHOP last Friday night. Some of us Collectivites were sipping our Orange Juices and nibbling our blintzes when a young man stumbled up to the fence above our window and proceeded to lurch over the edge into the concrete bunker. He sprung up and gave us some wicked hand gestures to let us know he was alright (and drunk).
This guy is Jonathan. Jonathan Cats.
He used his phone to tell us his name and number (score) and then made some crude gestures around those girls' *ahem* legs. Real classy-like. Then he stumbled up and away, into legend and prank phone calls. Or so you would think . . .
The next morning, I'm sitting on the bus that was supposed to leave for Canada ten minutes ago. We're waiting for only one straggler from south campus. You get three (that's 3 Canadian, 2.44228 US) guesses as to who it is.
Seven hours later, in front of the Canadian Coastal hotel in downtown Kamloops, the name "Cats" is announced in a list of names of occupants of room 209. My room.
Three hours later, Cats is admiring his $300 profit (this is after losing $200) at a blackjack table. I was able to gain $10, my roommate Scott $20, and "Squints" (if you know his real name, please contact me) lost around $40.
Three more hours, Cats (once again inebriated) is pulling me aside and gleefully explaining that two Canadian girls (I believe "bitches" was the term of choice) will be coming back to our room that night. I bet him lunch it won't happen.
He still owes me lunch.
My photo with "cool" Jon (as some have been known to call him) wasn't the only strange coincidence this weekend:
Last Friday in sociology class, we were discussing motivation for suicide. This upcoming Wednesday, we are expected to have finished the book Hell's Angels by Hunter S. Thompson.
( <-- him) On Sunday, Hunter S. Thompson, the father of "Gonzo Journalism," took his own life at his Colorado home. Cosmic convergence. Hardcore.
To close it off today, here are a few memorable quotes spoken by some authentic Canadians:
"American. A bus? [sarcastically] Greeeeeaaaat." - A Canadian Subway sandwich artist, after taking my Jackson $20 and then looking out the window
"Careful how you use that hand lotion, eh?" - One of our trip's (female) Canadian guides, passing out free samples
"Here's a tip: tell girls you're American. Then they'll feel sorry for you." - Med, one of the girls Cats was trying to get back to the room
From far and wide, O Canada, we stand on guard for thee!
posted by Jon at 11:32 PM
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