Ah yes, the Booze.
Balls! We want the best wine known to humanity,
we want it here!
And we want it now!
sneaky back tracking to mention that hot air ballooning is cool. Getting up at 0400, is the suck, but the results were worth it. They have much degree of control in calm air apparently, and demonstrated it well as we flew through some tree foliage action, over stuff etc etc. Nice one.
Right, back to drinking.
So, yes, indeed. The Stein. Now I’ve not been one for hot stein action throughout my long and not particularly distinguished university career, in fact I’ve only been twice before. Once with Dan to see Darcy Clay before he topped himself, and once a few years later, on the association’s dollar as a member of the exec. They were poor, except for the Darcy Clay action, they were much students, much drunk on much beer. Much Much Much. Silly word. MUCH.
This year however the Honours students were all keen and excited about Stein (technically labelled the “end of lectures tea party,” but I believe James told me once this was just a hangover from the days when we had to work hard to get a liquor license, and calling it a stein wasn’t the best look.) They were so organised they had t-shirts made. Yeah. So we the hardy masters students, this year in much better touch with the honours students than last year (well they were mostly asshats last year) agreed we would also make the effort and get some stein action. T-shirts all around
The tradition of the ring leaders of this adventure was to begin the stein with a good healthy BBQ and lots of drinking for breakfast. As someone with a deep respect for tradition this was obviously the way to go. Poor decision. So at the disgusting hour of just after 9 Nic and I arrived, correctly attired in red (for we were expendable) and began the drinking.
Oh, a note on the alcohol, Mark is a bastard, and sold me some disgusting muck in the form on nice Tequila. Variant 1800 to be precise. It tasted rather good.
So we began with some of that, and all that partook of it thought it good. Even Nic did not freak out at the tequila nature of the beast. And continued onwards with my Stolli, fresh from the bathtub on the lawn filled with cold water in lieu of a fridge. The first years that were for some reason attached to the flat we were at got fully into the dodgy craptastic wine that Sara managed to drag up from somewhere. And off they went.
I went along on a far higher course, which unfortunately involved someone’s vodka. Now I haven’t had vodka from some time, but this “triple distilled something a rather blue label” Smirnoff? Seemed pretty good. Although, I had already had the first four of my stollis and more shots of tequila. Dirty.
So anyway we messed around at this flat till around 1245 before making our move for the Stein itself.
I remember walking to the stein, queuing with the rest of us POLS people, and then getting an orange arm bracelet attached by the bouncers. And then….
And then….
And then and then and then and then and then.
Two hours later I was awoken by a security guard telling me I couldn’t sleep there. Which was probably fair enough. Given that I was leaning on the sunny side of the commerce building. Normally I’m sure sleeping there would OK, I mean people sleep on the grass all the time, but perhaps stein day is not the best day for sleeping on site.
So, awoken from my slumber I declared that I was fine and was happy. Which was not, I’m afraid to say the truth. Being a cunning bastard I called Sara to come and take me away from all this. Which she did. Which was lucky, because she had been planning to be drinking herself at someone’s work leaving function.
Sweet. While I was waiting for her to arrive I moved from the sunny location I had occupied for some unknown period of time to the planters by forestry. There I sat, hands in head drunk and ill like a well, like me. Some guy came along, and spotted my stein bracelet. He asked if I was going back to the stein, and when I responded in the negative he asked if he could take it. I told him that if he could take it, he could have it. I recall that he managed to rip it off rather cleanly and thought he had a good chance of getting in with it and some judicious sticky tape. Although Nic later told me that the bouncers were keeping a rather close eye on the bracelets, so maybe not.
Sara took me home, and I passed out.
So yes, mighty drunk I was. Drunk like a bastard. How drunk? Well the two hour period that I don’t recall apparently saw me very drunk. I have no recollection of the stein, nor how I made it back to the commerce building. But people definitely saw me, and regale me with stories.
Charlie apparently saw me for around 10 mins, and informs me that I was incredibly wasted (well this is not surprising) keeps repeating the same story of the comedic value of me getting off the ground apparently somewhat in the manner of a camel. A drunk camel. Apparently managing to stand on my cell phone whilst arising. An unlikely story I feel.
One of the honours students has also reported to various individuals, that whilst in walkabout mode I visited the department. Where upon I harassed the departmental secretary and in an effort to hug her managed to herd her into the lift where she made her escape, after afore mentioned honours student distracted me. Bollocks more like. I doubt there is even one iota of truth in this entire accounting. Completely fictions.
Was hung over for some time.
Even if these stories are true, which as I have mentioned I find unlikely, they are not relatively as bad as some of the others that have been expressed of other students. Two honours students had long conversations with different lecturers, one with strange drawings on his face, whilst attempting to hug her, and the other had a long conversation with Jacob, of which he recalls not a word.
One of the geographers, somehow known via the historians went back to his office, threw up, and then passed out, only to awake hours later with a great deal of cleaning to do and a very smelly office. Sucks to him.
Mmmm stein.
When it gets right down to it, I’m not much of a drinker. Was reminded that the definition of a binge drinker is five drinks, and as always, laughed out loud at this figure. Bah. I never drink less than that, and admittedly I only drink about once ever 3-4 months? Or less, I definitely drink more than five drinks when I do. Bah.
Saturday saw being hung over, fish and chips with Sara in Lyttelton. A brief stint at Mark’s for big screen action, then home for more being hung over.
Sunday saw Jarrod calling me up for a game of cricket, and was put off by my claims of being the worst cricketer in NZ, not to mention a menace to my own team specifically and society in general. Informed me I was needed at Hagley park outside the mosque at 11am. Fuh.
Assumed it would be like the soccer games of similar organisation, ie with man players, and not taken at all seriously. Was wrong. Turned up and found a total of 8 players in the game, with a real cricket ball (not tennis) and with pads for the batsman.
Oh dear. Was two teams of two, with two batters and everyone fielding. Ricco and some guy, started the batting off, and after three fours in a row I was feeling pretty happy with my team. However, they soon fell and somehow I was batting, with pads that reached almost to my knees, and no box. But gloves. Was partnered with Jarrod, which was good for in true smoking, and drinking at the wicket style, he was moving quickly to 50 runs. Nice one. I managed to score five singles, before holing out(?) and been forced to be the runner for Jarrod until he got out. Our team declared on 52, and then, like a clever greedy bastard who had all the fun of batting and then fleeing I left.
For I had paintball to go to.
Oh yes, the day had dawned sunny, and thus my hung over state (continued) had not really appreciated running around on a cricket pitch for 45 mins, and was clearly in need of more liquids. Instead it was paintball time.
What type of paintball, nothing but the finest in History v Political Science Paintball action. Drove home for a quick “get into old clothes” and waited for Nic and diesel power to heave into view. Onwards to MacClean’s island. Note: There is no island. What a crock.
Anyway, passed the ultimate game, and kept on driving Thelma, for we were going to top gun, for, um whoever organised it had decided this would be the way. Good choice for it was much better run than the ultimate game. And was run by some good keen paint ballers as opposed to the psycho Michigan militia paint ballers at the ultimate game. It meant that the game was much better run, organised and generally good’er than games played at the ultimate game.
POLS as you would suspect kicked arse, eventually winning 83-42. Sucks to the historians. They fought a good fight, but as mentioned sucked.
Nic, George, Claire and I, even made a somewhat organised push to the enemy flag at some stage using all sorts of cunning tricks, covering fire, good decisions etc. Only to be let down at the last when we discovered that the enemy flag was not at the enemy base. Were eventually victorious.
Back to the historian’s flat for BBQ action, just in time for the sun to vanish and the cold to come. Did BBQ sizzlers. Was good.
Home to Shawshank redemption action crossed with 007 The world is not enough (I’m not sure if I can take a mad media mogul seriously as a bond villain. I know the point or rather the rationale, but it just isn’t actually that scary to see a guy traipsing around laughing like an evil genius as he changes the headlines. Just not really villain-esque.
Back to the BBQ later for some going to the JP. Was appalled to see people drinking large number of shakers without me. My list of preferred poisons is notoriously short, but shakers make it on every list. Normally they are a one man band, or perhaps a one TBALC band, (although there were more at the I am a losers party, which was good to see)
But noooooo. Last night saw all shakers all the time. The culprits have been identified and the next time (hopefully distant future) that I’m drinking, I’m taking that lot and its shaker action to town.
Home, again, via the Big Screen action, to see if it was over. Which it was. Home to see if Arc was still on the couch where I left him when I went to move POLS drinkers. He wasn’t which is probably good as it was now 0130, and watched the end of shawshank cunning recorded for just such a ploy.
Buh. There you go.
thanks for something to read. all too sick of going to websites and finding nada.
Posted by: madoo on October 21, 2003 03:08 PM