So this installment of the drop and roll blog will be written by me, Kyle O'Connor. Sandy has been nagging me for quite a while to write this, and has finally gotten to me. I say nagging, because during our two weeks of spending every waking hour together we are becoming more and more of a married couple. And not the honeymooning kind, more like the 10 year old used to each other kind. So, here is an example of a standard exchange between Sandy and myself:
We are driving. I get an incredibly cool idea that we should do immediately, like chain-drink six cups of coffee. I suggest cool idea to Sandy. Sandy bangs both fists against the dashboard and yells, "I don't wanna!"
I say, "Sandy will you quit being a baby?"
Sandy says, "Yeah, after you quit being a jerk!"
This is really how it happens, except we use much tougher words, because we are young men. Then sometimes we will do my cool idea, and sometimes we won't.
Sandy is in a band, or rather, he is a band. This is his purported reason for this trip. Because he is a band, Sandy can confidently look goofy and make funny faces in a big red jacket in front of me while I'm trying to photograph the relentlessly beautiful west coast. I am not a band, or even part of one. I cannot, however, let anyone suspect this of me, or Sandy would look cooler than me. So, whenever pictures are taken of me I make sure to look like I'm in a band, with leather jackets and sunglasses and a serious face. This is also why I'm always carrying around Sandy's guitar, even though I can't play anything. Sometimes the people Sandy and I stay with will ask me, "Can you play me a song?"
I will then pretend to think, idly strumming the thing, and say, "No."
However, I am not completely not in a band. Sometimes, after I have been drinking, Sandy will hit that guitar and make me make up lyrics on the spot. I always think what I think up is very cool, and Sandy will egg me on, so I'll go on making them up until the flow stops or Sandy's strings break. As soon as dawn strikes, though, I will listen to what I just sung, by which I mean said in a deep voice rhythmically, and immediately cringe.
We have been spending a lot of time in the Northwest. This is because not only is it relentlessly beautiful, as I mentioned earlier, but because absolutely everyone is so damn friendly. For example, one evening in Portland I was grocery shopping alone. I was buying a single serving frozen mac and cheese dinner and a 12-pack of Hamm's, the second cheapest beer in the store. I was checking out, and the cashier said, "How are you tonight?"
I said, "Sort of tired and hungry."
Now, I am not a lonely alcoholic, though on this particular evening I was shopping like one. But this kind cashier merely pointed to the 12-pack and said, "Don't worry,
those will make you feel better!" This itself made me feel better, even though I said I felt tired and hungry, not tired and sober.
As is becoming more and more well known, Portland is an incredibly cool place. Not only is everyone friendly, but there is a positive cornucopia of cool weirdness out there. People dress like hipsters, punk rockers, civil war generals, and all sorts of other fun things. In addition, there are coffee shops and bars absolutely everywhere. I find it hard to believe that any work at all gets done there, but it is a very happening place. Really the only flaw I see in all of it is that there appears to be an overwhelming majority of males living there. This is bad because, having so many males means that there are going to be a lot of hornballs roaming around. Now, they are very friendly and considerate, and try to keep all this spontaneous lust in check. But, as I said, there are bars everywhere, so when they inevitably get intoxicated they all go wild, and start propositioning left and right. It goes like this:
Male approaches female and says, "We have been hanging out for two hours, and I think it is now a good time to ask you, would you like to have a sexual encounter with me?"
Female good-naturely replies, "I'm sorry, but I already have a previously arranged sexual encounter with my boyfriend this evening."
Male says, "Well shucks!" and hangs his head and lopes off to the next not obviously taken female.
So women, please move to Portland, the market is good.
This has been fun and all, but I am about out of things to say just this minute, so I will go. I have been writing funny things, because I feel silly right now, but funny writing is difficult, because comedy relies on timing, and I have no idea what speed you read. Goodbye.
