65% Water, Baby!!
What a great morning to be human, eh?
This weekend I most definately did not get my weekend on. Trust me. I was in Cannaaannananaada. Victoria to be exact. It's a beautiful city, I know that, but when you're there on business and not pleasure, it takes on this sheen of enui that permeates the very meat on one's bones. Trust me.
So on Saturday morning I woke up at 5am and went out to the Park-n-Ride by The Place. A small group of us carpooled up to Port Angeles, then took the ferry across to Victoria. We were put up in a hotel by Rotary so we walked to the hotel and checked in to our rooms. I really didn't have anything to put in the room so I just went back down to the lobby to wait for everyone else.
I pulled my biography of Chairman Mao out of my bag and started to read. Have you ever been trying to read in a room where someone is talking about something funny and/or interesting and though you're not supposed to pay attention, you just can't help it? That's what happened to me.
A canadian couple on the other couch in the lobby were talking about dancing. They were using a vocabulary I didn't really understand but the hotel manager definately did. From across the room he yelled, "You guys polka, eh?" The couple said why, yes, they did, and there was a flurry of conversation. Apparently there was a massive polka dance in Victoria last weekend and during the conversation I was trying not to listen to, I learned that American polka is slightly different than Canadian polka. Don't know the how or why, but it is.
When that flurry of converstaion was over, the couple started to truly examine the flowers on the coffee table between me and them. Out of the corner of my eye I kept seeing that both members of the couple kept looking up at me in a really friendly way. I couldn't tell what the hell was going on so I raised my book as kind of a 'fuck off' gesture. The couple kept talking about the flower. Was it fake? Was it real? If it was real, it sure felt fake. But if it was fake, boy did it look real! The poor flower had dry bits falling off of it. The couple talked about it as if it was a matter of national importance, but they never actually argued.
Finally, it was decided that it was real and it needed water, for it had none at all. They hailed the manager and had him call a maid down from upstairs to, "water the poor plant, eh!"
That was Saturday.
On Sunday I noticed something interesting that I pointed out to our Canadian friends (or, as I like to call them, 'Those who now despise my very existence'). In the middle of one of THEIR stories they'll give you a fact such as, "The car was red!" but then, they'll add "right?" at the end so it sounds like:
"The car was red, right?"
The only response I could come up with was, "I don't fucking know! It's YOUR story!
They didn't like that I pointed that out.
I talked way too much this weekend.
But now I'm back. In town and in shape. I need to play pool though. My life lacked too much pool this weekend.
I'll post more later when I'm feeling cantankerous.
--PAINFULOMENSAREOMINOUS--
This weekend I most definately did not get my weekend on. Trust me. I was in Cannaaannananaada. Victoria to be exact. It's a beautiful city, I know that, but when you're there on business and not pleasure, it takes on this sheen of enui that permeates the very meat on one's bones. Trust me.
So on Saturday morning I woke up at 5am and went out to the Park-n-Ride by The Place. A small group of us carpooled up to Port Angeles, then took the ferry across to Victoria. We were put up in a hotel by Rotary so we walked to the hotel and checked in to our rooms. I really didn't have anything to put in the room so I just went back down to the lobby to wait for everyone else.
I pulled my biography of Chairman Mao out of my bag and started to read. Have you ever been trying to read in a room where someone is talking about something funny and/or interesting and though you're not supposed to pay attention, you just can't help it? That's what happened to me.
A canadian couple on the other couch in the lobby were talking about dancing. They were using a vocabulary I didn't really understand but the hotel manager definately did. From across the room he yelled, "You guys polka, eh?" The couple said why, yes, they did, and there was a flurry of conversation. Apparently there was a massive polka dance in Victoria last weekend and during the conversation I was trying not to listen to, I learned that American polka is slightly different than Canadian polka. Don't know the how or why, but it is.
When that flurry of converstaion was over, the couple started to truly examine the flowers on the coffee table between me and them. Out of the corner of my eye I kept seeing that both members of the couple kept looking up at me in a really friendly way. I couldn't tell what the hell was going on so I raised my book as kind of a 'fuck off' gesture. The couple kept talking about the flower. Was it fake? Was it real? If it was real, it sure felt fake. But if it was fake, boy did it look real! The poor flower had dry bits falling off of it. The couple talked about it as if it was a matter of national importance, but they never actually argued.
Finally, it was decided that it was real and it needed water, for it had none at all. They hailed the manager and had him call a maid down from upstairs to, "water the poor plant, eh!"
That was Saturday.
On Sunday I noticed something interesting that I pointed out to our Canadian friends (or, as I like to call them, 'Those who now despise my very existence'). In the middle of one of THEIR stories they'll give you a fact such as, "The car was red!" but then, they'll add "right?" at the end so it sounds like:
"The car was red, right?"
The only response I could come up with was, "I don't fucking know! It's YOUR story!
They didn't like that I pointed that out.
I talked way too much this weekend.
But now I'm back. In town and in shape. I need to play pool though. My life lacked too much pool this weekend.
I'll post more later when I'm feeling cantankerous.
--PAINFULOMENSAREOMINOUS--
