Small Farm Animals

I have lost S and K’s phone numbers. My emails to them draw a blank and I decide to cold call. Boy, am I glad I did. S has just shot a deer and we have deer steak for dinner. There have been a lot of animals involved with me during this trip – stop right there, you with the perverted mind! I am not talking about escapades with small farm animals! I first saw a skunk in P’s backyard, then I hit one on my way to Salem and he sprayed me. Not me, thankfully, but the outside of my car. I’m glad it’s a rental because I can smell him for weeks after! So, two skunks and a deer so far!

Thursday night is a small send off for me. Folks here seem glad to see me go because they have all come to say good bye and make sure that I am really leaving. There is even a couple that I have never met before. They wish me safe travels and I graciously wish them well in return. Ray likes the way I smell and makes no secret of it. It’s a new feeling for me to have a grown man smelling me up. This is what it must feel like to have a dog!

My argyle vest is quite a hit and I am made fun of for wearing too many layers. “Take off the vest”, the women tell me, “You look hot”. Well, can’t argue with that! But I relent and take off the vest and Steve promptly puts it on. We move upstairs for more dancing where I find that Steve has transformed himself into a beautiful woman. At least, the apparition is wearing my vest. Wow, he looks good and I now regret turning him down last week. But then I spot Steve in the corner sans the vest and heave a sigh of relief - I almost heard the closet doors opening there for a bit!  The vest is very popular and propagates even more before ending up on the floor in the corner. There is even talk of starting a vest club of Corvallis! Nic, the bartender is a friend of mine (as are all bartenders) and she pours me a whopper that keeps me going through the night. Soon it’s time to go and I find that someone has walked away with my jacket. I search high a low but can’t find it. It’s too cold outside to be without a jacket and I finally choose another one that fits me. My apologies to the owner but I come from a warm country and need a jacket, even for the short walk to my hotel.

Friday night is supposed to be a quiet night to let me recoup and pack. But no – I have friends in low places and they have other ideas. After karaoke at the El Prez, we move to P’s house. He has finally bought his new mattress. This one is high tech, he tells us. It’s got memory foam. Oh yeah? This one has a memory and your last one had just stains? And what memories does it retain? That of every backside it’s sees? Hmmm kinky! Now all he needs is mirrors on the ceiling and a video camera in the corner and he’s set.

P says that I have to see JP’s before I leave. He tells me that JP’s the roughest bar in town and that they will run me out because they don’t like people like me. Well, I am about to find out soon enough. JP’s does turn out to be rough but it’s got a DJ and some decent music. We get cut off and a bouncer takes the drinks away from out table. Jo doesn’t like it. “We paid for those” he tells him. “Give us back the drinks or give our money back”. I silently watch, hoping things don’t get ugly. The bouncer is about thrice the size of Jo and there are two of them. But Jo holds his own and they finally return our money and escort us out. One of the bouncers even stays long enough to make sure that we get in a cab and don’t try to slink back inside. Anyway, P has a way of making his words come true. They did run us out of the bar, even though he was more the reason for it than me!

The next morning is brutal. I find P on his knees praying to the porcelain god. I give him a few minutes of privacy and then walk into the bathroom to find him asleep on the floor. I help him back to his memory foam bed! Lunch is in woodburn with the two B’s. The big B has also shot a deer and we have a nice lunch with beer and deer. Finally it’s time to say goodbye and I reluctantly head out to Seattle. A great trip! Au Revoir, Corvallis, until we meet again!

Seaman on my Bed

I love Corvallis. Everything is familiar and it feels like a home away from home. I walk into the office and am overwhelmed by the hugs I get. Mostly from men, I might add. What is wrong with the men of America – aren’t men supposed to shake hands and not hug? But I’m not complaining – it feels good to get such a warm welcome.

There is a brew fest in Albany. We have VIP passes and we are supporting a good cause - we are raising funds for the Boys and Girls Club. Many large screens around the hall are showing the game. It’s my first football game in a while and I watch. UCLA wins by a last second (that’s right, last second) field goal! Hopefully, next week’s home game will turn out better.

From there we move to house behind Rays for pina coladas. P’s got this new blender which he puts to good use. V tells us that proper pina coladas have to be made with real bananas. She might have a point there, because it goes down smooth and easy. Soon the bottle of rum is gone and Jan and I move to the Peacock where there are quite a few people gathered. We go upstairs to dance the night away. I meet Steve who immediately starts hitting on me. I get worried after a while and try to talk him out of him. It turns out that he was joking but I still have my suspicions. We finish off at the El Presidente (where else) with one hundred push ups. The forced workouts that I had to endure have done their job – I out-push up everyone else at the bar.

Work hard and party harder becomes my motto. Its veteran’s day and I take half a day off. P and I go out looking for a bed that he wants to buy. He tries out various mattresses at the store by laying on each of them in turn. Join me, he yells at me, trying to embarrass me and gets a few laughs from the onlookers. I laugh too, little knowing that it was going to come true all too soon. We come back and hit the El Presendente and then the Peacock. P is a veteran too. He was in the navy - a seaman! Well, apparently the girls at the Peacock like seamen, and P gets his 15 minutes of fame. Somebody calls for shots and at that point, I knew that I could never let P drive home. I take him back to my room at the Holiday Inn and he takes my bed. Well, he got what he asked for, I guess, though it is nightmarish for me – Seaman on my bed! Ughhh!

The game sucks. It’s cold and raining and tailgating becomes an effort. We have great seats but for once we wish that we could see less of the game. I bet $10 against the Beavers – it’s not really a gamble. I am certain to win. All in all, the Beavers play true to their name. They are the Beavers and they play like @#$%s (insert the crude word for Beaver here).

The after game party takes us to the Peacock where I meet Bri. Bri is wearing a jacket that she tells us that she will only take it off if she can get one more drink. Well, that is a condition that is easily remedied. Unfortunately, Bri does has to work in the morning and does leaves early. It might have been interesting to find out how many drinks the other articles of clothing would have needed.

Immigration is a Bitch!

Immigration is a bitch! There is a high security alert and the airport is a scene of frenzied activity. I am asked to step aside and grilled for twenty minutes about everything from my place of work to what I did in Dublin. Finally, the guy decides that I am not suicidal enough and lets me through.  I am flying Delta for the first time and probably the last. They serve us a cold meal and then whiz past with the wine so quickly that no one has a chance to partake. I decline, mainly because I am never asked. I wonder if the airlines realize what their cheap cost cutting measures actually cost them. I for one am never flying Delta again if I can help it. There is a cost to cutting costs and many times it ends up being more expensive than what you save, but this is mostly lost in today’s corporate world where everybody works in silos and just wants to make their numbers.

I finally board the plane. I am seated by the window and next to me is an enormous woman with her young daughter. The plane takes off and the daughter promptly goes to sleep on my shoulder. I sit unmoving. After a while, I realize that the kid takes after her mother – she is heavy. My arm goes to sleep, but the rest of me cannot. I staunchly grin and bear it. It’s going to be a long flight!

Chicago is freezing but I am somewhat acclimatized by now. The drive to Milwaukee WI seems to take forever. Even in the dark I can see Obama’s stimulus dollars at work. There are orange flags every few miles or so and large signs that tell me that hitting a road worker could get me 14 years in jail. I slow down. The freeway is blocked off in one place and I am asked to detour. I am not worried – I have my trusty GPS to guide me. We go through the usual lefts and rights of any detour and my GPS asks me to enter the freeway. Drat, this entrance is closed too. This happens a couple of times before I realize that the GPS is bringing me back to the same freeway entrance every time. So much for technology; I switch off the GPS and decide to rely on the road signs instead. And before you ask, no I had not had a drink; in my defense, it was dark and raining and I had just got off a 16 hour plane journey.

A good day’s work at Milwaukee, a nice dinner and a night of solid drinking. The barmen in Wisconsin sure know how to pour a drink. The morning dawns bright and clear and it’s time for my drive back to Chicago. I get the exit row (see, United is better than Delta) which is a lot more comfortable and I catch up on my sleep. The drive from Portland to Corvallis is nostalgic. It feels like I’m coming home.

Good Friends ... Good Times

The days pass in a blur. There is so much to get done at work before I leave. Couple that  with a stream of visitors at home and I am left exhausted. I don’t have time to pack and G and Cal take care of it for me. Ah, the small pleasures of life – to come home late and find your bag already packed. I am flying Air France for the first time and a number of people scare me about their pathetic service. My fears are unwarranted as the flight turns out to be pretty good. We have two male stewards to serve us and I watch as they work their charm on the passengers. I am beginning to realize why French men are so popular with the women. I have a four hour layover in Paris and I spend a considerable amount of that in a bus getting to my terminal. We are packed six deep in the bus and there is barely room to stand. It’s not very comfortable having four grown men pressing on you from all sides but I put on my poker face and get through it.

I walk through the airport and am surprised that the entire terminal has just one bar and you have to stand in line to get a drink. It’s a long line and I pass. I don’t need a drink that bad and it’s 9 in the morning anyway. I always thought that Paris had a lot of glamor but there is nothing glamorous about the airport at least. The only good thing about this is that I can now truthfully say that I have been in Paris. I mention this to JD and he says so what, hasn’t everyone?

 It’s time to board at last and we are herded into another bus. The bus journey takes forever and I am beginning to wonder if they are planning to drive us to Dublin when we arrive at a little plane. A short flight but the seats are super small and super uncomfortable. I look out the window and watch the ground slip away from me as the plane gains height. Higher and higher we fly until everything below is a blur and we seem to be suspended in mid air. I know we are getting somewhere and pretty fast at that, but there is no visual indication of this. This is what it must seem like to be top management, I think. You are right on top and so far away from the little people that you don’t really care if they live or die. But you’re going somewhere in the meantime.

Dublin is sunny and warm; I seem to have brought the good weather with me - again! It’s Halloween here and all the people are dressed up. We go to the Ginger Man for a pint and a quick bite and then end up at Kennedy’s because they have a big screen TV. All my old buddies are there with a couple of new ones added in. Nobody looks anyone else in the eye, but that is probably because their eyes are glued to the tube above them. Australia beats Ireland narrowly and that is a big disappointment. There is too much sorrow and it needs to be drowned. We are up to the task.

Aimen has grown a pointy beard. The secret to a long beard, he says, is to stroke it often. The more he strokes it, the longer it grows. From the looks of his beard, it looks like he likes to stroke himself. Keep stroking, Aimen, if that’s what makes you happy. Back where I come from, we have a different name for it, but whatever dude.

The next stop is the No Name Bar which is actually a house converted into a tavern. It has thumping music and Spanish women. We lose a part of our group (who I cannot name for obvious reasons) who desert us in favor of going dancing with the Spaniards. We carry on and end up in Ray’s brother’s house. It’s quite a party and it looks like it’s been on for a while judging by the number of empties on the living room table. It’s a disaster waiting to happen and sure enough the brother over steps and crashes into the table. The result is chaos. Broken bottles everywhere and thankfully the little candle on the table goes out without causing too much damage. The bro is not finished for the night though. He goes downstairs and attempts to climb on to the 5^th floor balcony from the outside. The drunker he gets the more confidence he gains in his climbing skills. No matter that he cannot stand straight; climbing is different. Finally Katie convinces him that taking the stairs is climbing too. He is not happy and he storms back inside. Well, almost storms back inside because he doesn’t see the door in the way and slams right into it.

The party continues undeterred. I walk to the bathroom and surprise the couple inside. Apparently, the bro is getting the cut under his eye attended to. It seems to me that the attention that he is getting is concentrated well below his eye. I refrain from asking which eye they were referring to. Ray is too much in a hurry to wait for them to finish and heads out to the balcony. I follow him and point out a couple of potted plants as likely candidates for his use but like his brother, he cannot curb his climbing instincts. He hops on the wall and waters the plants five stories below. I just hope nobody else was trying to climb up the wall at that moment. They would have been treated to some acid rain!

We wind down finally and decide to call it a night. The next day sees more of the same. This is the only place in the whole world where I am honored as a cook and it instills a sense of recklessness in me. A dash of this and a splash of that, another glass of Jameson and I forget what we set out to make in the first place.  We cook two kinds of chicken, simply because two is better than one. It’s Halloween and there are kids in scary costumes knocking on the door. Candy is doled out generously and the monsters leave.

The days pass so quickly and it is time to leave. There is a heightened sense of security at the airport and I am grilled for a while before they decide that I am harmless. I finally get the required stamps on my passport and I am off to the United States. All in all a good trip. Got a lot done at work, good friends, good times. Au Revoir Dublin, until we meet again.