From Chattanooga to New York and back
This was written on our way home from New York.
Ah yes, Microsoft Word. Been a long time since I used Word. I'm on the road right now with a laptop on my lap, headphones blaring, diet coke in hand and a power converter by my crotch. Wait a minute. Okay now the power converter is on the floor. Well I left the gump two Sundays ago, and since then I've driven (ridden, actually) through more states than I'd care to mention, consumed enough power bars to incapacitate a horse, and seen Matilda three times in a row.
I left two Sundays ago for wrestling camp in Chattanooga, Tennessee. And I think someone there spelled Chattanooga wrong (left a "t" out) because MS Word just corrected me for the same error. There we roomed as a team, and coach Duncan was always sure to notify us at least 30 minutes too soon when the next practice session was. I can't really think of much that was interesting about the camp, except for what happened at camp last year. Last year, only Derek Bradley and I went, no coach or chaperone, or anything. Just two kids and a college campus. They always put four to an apartment since there are four rooms (duh), which was annoying for Derek and I because we had to room with two other punks we didn't know.
Both of our roomies were from Tennessee, so I assumed they were related, but they claimed not to know each other. I don't particularly remember their names, except the taller older one was a bit on the obnoxious side, and was obsessed with tennis balls, and the smaller shorter one was kinda skater-ish lookin', and forgot his shoes. Anyhow, the taller and older one brought a can of spray deodorant – right guard I think it was – and just happened to have a lighter on him. Naturally, we put 1 and 1 together and created a blowtorch and started melting anything we could find in the kitchen sink. The best part was that all items pertaining to the blowtorch belonged to him, so we could have fun and completely escape blame should the house burn down.
So we come back from a technique session one day, and the smaller Tennessee kid was on his bed – he apparently didn't feel like going to the morning session – and the bathroom smelled a bit more like marijuana than a normal bathroom should - which is, not at all. After getting witnesses to ensure we weren't blamed for the alleged pot smell, and whispering very loudly about the fiasco to one another and also speculating as to whether he was a pothead or not, or if it really was marijuana and not pine-sol (we were fairly sure about that one), my roommate started playing with the spray deodorant, and about 15 minutes later, the stoned roommate came out and the first thing he said after he saw the blowtorch was "hey guys, wanna set my arm on fire?" He claimed to have seen a guy do it in some Chinese restaurant. Purely in the interest of science… or whatever… we sprayed his arm with deodorant and lit it… and man, that thing went up like a roman candle soaked in butane on the fourth of July. His arm did not flame up for a second like he anticipated. It was a flaming appendage for the next 10 seconds or so (which is probably an exaggeration, but this is my blog and I make the rules). Hey preceded to flail around the room, and by the time he realized that flailing around was not going to put his arm-fire out, and had located the sink and also the faucet in petty attempts to douse the flame, the fire had receded.
After the dust settled, and after Derek, the tall guy, and I had managed to stop laughing (a good 15 minutes later), the smaller one had almost no hair left on his arm and his skin was about 2 shades lighter. I think he was okay though. We were real concerned being his roommates and all… yeah. Well that is quite a bit of typing to do outside of the school year, so I'm going to take a break and stare out the window before telling you about the rest of my trip.
Alrighty, not only have I stared out the window at New York and Pennsylvania also, but we stopped at the cracker barrel and had breakfast at 3 in the afternoon. You know, if you think about it, cracker barrel and waffle house are essentially the same thing. The difference is that waffle house doesn't have all the unnecessary atmosphere and bluegrass music playing in the background and no gift shops. And the waitresses at cracker barrel are usually more attractive.
Eventually I'll have some interesting pictures on my blog once we decode the instruction manual. NEWSFLASH We are now in Virginia! Woot. Woot.
Well that's as far as I got. I think my mom took the computer from me at the time. She's probably addicted to drudge report.
I forgot to mention the fire in Watertown, so - ahem. There was a fire in Watertown. The epitome of irony, eh? we drove all the way up there because we saw smoke, and just barely got a glimpse (the fire had mostly receded by the time we got there) I bet it was a bunch of goof-offs playing with spray deodorant. tsk tsk.
peace out.
Ah yes, Microsoft Word. Been a long time since I used Word. I'm on the road right now with a laptop on my lap, headphones blaring, diet coke in hand and a power converter by my crotch. Wait a minute. Okay now the power converter is on the floor. Well I left the gump two Sundays ago, and since then I've driven (ridden, actually) through more states than I'd care to mention, consumed enough power bars to incapacitate a horse, and seen Matilda three times in a row.
I left two Sundays ago for wrestling camp in Chattanooga, Tennessee. And I think someone there spelled Chattanooga wrong (left a "t" out) because MS Word just corrected me for the same error. There we roomed as a team, and coach Duncan was always sure to notify us at least 30 minutes too soon when the next practice session was. I can't really think of much that was interesting about the camp, except for what happened at camp last year. Last year, only Derek Bradley and I went, no coach or chaperone, or anything. Just two kids and a college campus. They always put four to an apartment since there are four rooms (duh), which was annoying for Derek and I because we had to room with two other punks we didn't know.
Both of our roomies were from Tennessee, so I assumed they were related, but they claimed not to know each other. I don't particularly remember their names, except the taller older one was a bit on the obnoxious side, and was obsessed with tennis balls, and the smaller shorter one was kinda skater-ish lookin', and forgot his shoes. Anyhow, the taller and older one brought a can of spray deodorant – right guard I think it was – and just happened to have a lighter on him. Naturally, we put 1 and 1 together and created a blowtorch and started melting anything we could find in the kitchen sink. The best part was that all items pertaining to the blowtorch belonged to him, so we could have fun and completely escape blame should the house burn down.
So we come back from a technique session one day, and the smaller Tennessee kid was on his bed – he apparently didn't feel like going to the morning session – and the bathroom smelled a bit more like marijuana than a normal bathroom should - which is, not at all. After getting witnesses to ensure we weren't blamed for the alleged pot smell, and whispering very loudly about the fiasco to one another and also speculating as to whether he was a pothead or not, or if it really was marijuana and not pine-sol (we were fairly sure about that one), my roommate started playing with the spray deodorant, and about 15 minutes later, the stoned roommate came out and the first thing he said after he saw the blowtorch was "hey guys, wanna set my arm on fire?" He claimed to have seen a guy do it in some Chinese restaurant. Purely in the interest of science… or whatever… we sprayed his arm with deodorant and lit it… and man, that thing went up like a roman candle soaked in butane on the fourth of July. His arm did not flame up for a second like he anticipated. It was a flaming appendage for the next 10 seconds or so (which is probably an exaggeration, but this is my blog and I make the rules). Hey preceded to flail around the room, and by the time he realized that flailing around was not going to put his arm-fire out, and had located the sink and also the faucet in petty attempts to douse the flame, the fire had receded.
After the dust settled, and after Derek, the tall guy, and I had managed to stop laughing (a good 15 minutes later), the smaller one had almost no hair left on his arm and his skin was about 2 shades lighter. I think he was okay though. We were real concerned being his roommates and all… yeah. Well that is quite a bit of typing to do outside of the school year, so I'm going to take a break and stare out the window before telling you about the rest of my trip.
Alrighty, not only have I stared out the window at New York and Pennsylvania also, but we stopped at the cracker barrel and had breakfast at 3 in the afternoon. You know, if you think about it, cracker barrel and waffle house are essentially the same thing. The difference is that waffle house doesn't have all the unnecessary atmosphere and bluegrass music playing in the background and no gift shops. And the waitresses at cracker barrel are usually more attractive.
Eventually I'll have some interesting pictures on my blog once we decode the instruction manual. NEWSFLASH We are now in Virginia! Woot. Woot.
Well that's as far as I got. I think my mom took the computer from me at the time. She's probably addicted to drudge report.
I forgot to mention the fire in Watertown, so - ahem. There was a fire in Watertown. The epitome of irony, eh? we drove all the way up there because we saw smoke, and just barely got a glimpse (the fire had mostly receded by the time we got there) I bet it was a bunch of goof-offs playing with spray deodorant. tsk tsk.
peace out.
posted by hoov at 7/08/2005 05:27:00 PM
1 Comments:
I wish I could travel the east coast. <3 Wrestling rocks! Your story was funny. Oh, and I dig the word epitome. Hmm, yes, I think I'm finished here. Farewell friend!
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