Oh me oh my, was *that* a lot of fun. Except for when I was feverish. That kinda sucked.
Strap yourselves in people, I’ve got a whopping three day past holiday weekend to cover here! Oh, happy St-Jean by the way!
Thursday:
It Begins….
So… I get picked up in a van, and quickly learn the deep and truthful meaning of "no more trunk space". As it seems that my bag will only fit if I shoulder-check it into the trunk in a certain way, I quickly start believing that my granola bars might taste better if they were completely flat.
First off, even though this would be my third (fourth? Who knows!) year going, I never really paid much attention to the road signs and consequently had no idea where I was going once again. However, that didn’t stop me from noticing that we were taking the most round-about way I’ve ever seen to get there (’we’re avoiding traffic!’) which to its credit actually took us through scenic areas where ghostly fog lazily drifted over grass meadows in the setting sun. Kewl.
No pictures of the meadows, but here’s an odd one - I looked down at my thumb at a point because the ride was so interesting and noticed that there was this thick black fuzzy sticker stuck on it. A quick prayer for my good fortune and I was all right with the gods of beer once again (for it is foolish to upset them!).
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Of course, we needed to eat something once we got up there, so we made a pit stop at Loblaws along the way to stock up on nutritious no name pasta and a cool 1.8L jug of mushroom tomato sauce (score!). And, more importantly, beer. (see what I just did there? Three font styles in one sentence! I’m a wild man.) Not only that, but my keen bargain hunting eyes spotted one of those folding chairs-in-a-bag for the low low price of $8.99! I caved.
We arrive, dump our stuff, walk around the grounds (’yep, it’s all still here’), eat pasta. We howl at the moon down on the dock for good measure, and learn the incredible properties of powerbeer (Step 1: Take flashlight. Step 2: Place under beer bottle. Step 3: Take over world).
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Dock talk:
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For the uncool "not with it" crowd that are unaware, Dan of Uncalled For has recently gotten a craaazy mohawk ‘do, which takes a metric ton of gel to hold in place, and is also an unlimited source of jokes and conversation - so well done on that front, Dan. In any case, before he took his first dip in the lake, all hair still pointed northward, and it was unanimously decided that with the moon bright enough to cast our own shadows, it would make a damn cool silhouette. The result:
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The moon-head pic also happens to be exactly the 1000th photo taken on my dear little digital camera, which makes it even cooler. Lindsay is so freakin’ pumped by this that he grabs the nearest flashlight and starts to wave it wildly around his body. It seems that he was trying to communicate some sort of message to the rest of us that words alone could not describe. This calls for time-lapse photography!
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Ah. "V" for Victory! We feel the same, dear Lindsay. Such pure emotion. That boy will go far.
Back in the cabin, a cheery game of balderdash quickly went out of style, so we tried more alternative forms of entertainment:
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As you can see, a grand time was had by all. Alas, as all good things, it had to end. Bedtime!
My first night was spent on a way-too-small bed (’If you jump on it,’ Lindsay demonstrates, ‘it’ll launch you off the other side!’) with pictures of sleeping dogs mocking my own lack of sleep during the night. I wake up once an hour, every hour, due to the clammy cold, way-too-short sheets and the slowly invading sickness in my throat (more on this later).
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Friday:
An egg? Please, I could fry a freaking *steak* on my forehead right now!
I wake up on Friday feeling worse than the day before, but I put it aside. There is much to be done! I jump out of bed, eager to get a start on the day:
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Breakfast consists of frosted flakes and corn pops. Hindsight tells me the 20 bajillion black flies outside (and eventually around my head) may have been searching for the excess sugar from my choice of cereal slowly oozing out my pores. Banana pancakes made by Andrea also make a delicious appearance, which went well with the butt’r stored in the fridge butt’ry.
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People start arriving around noon, which is a little after the time that we woke up. This isn’t laziness, it’s good common sense - if you’ve been to a country party before, you know that stocking up on sleep when you can is one of the best ideas you’ll have all weekend.
In any case, the midday light allows for a shot of the cottage:
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Tents start to go up, and not to be outdone, I scout out a cool position under some trees with lots of fluffy grass underneath. Score! Once up (thanks Andrea!), the strange sounds of the whistling and wheezing of my foot pump when blowing up my air mattress evict surprised statements from passers-by (’Hey, what’s going on in that tent?!’).
As is the general norm at the Coutry Party (CP), much time is spent just doing nothing down by the dock, soaking up the sun, beers in each hand. Some chairs (namely mine) turn out to be evil, as the slightest winds knock it over even while holding beer. Many, many tears are cried in remembrance.
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Although I was sick (most say "in the head"…) I was keen to play the fastest growing sport in the world, a new spontaneous and brutal game called water-frisbee, that I just made up. After treading water for so long to get your arm out to throw to your friends, one’s legs are never the same afterwards. YEAH, BEEF IT UP! RRRGH! YEAH! FEEL IT!
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So, tents got set up. All the colours of the rainbow. Roy B. Giv had tears in his eyes.
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Unfortunately, being sick, I needed to stay away from da beer (as the kids are calling it these days), as it seemd to make me even more feverish. Truly a day in hell for yours truly. Why have you forsaken me, beer lord! Why!?
I tried to forget my rising temperature and sober motor abilities by partaking in more R&R down by the lake and in the water. The water was cool and slimy!
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Kelly showed up, and I didn’t like his hat, so I told him to go jump in a lake. Conveniently, one was nearby, so he did it. To save face, I allowed him the cover story of jumping in after a frisbee. He likes to keep me happy, because if I die, then so does he, by the birthday-association rule.
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The setting sun does not preculde watersports or very cool silhouette shots of pedalos. So there.
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Dragonflies abound. They are our friends, because they eat the nasty, evil black flies that have a natural disposition to fly into your ear and get tangled in your hair. I fucking, fucking hate those fucking flies, for I am their King - and they they do love me. And do want to be with me, oh so close.
COOL TANGENT STORY TIME:
Lindsay told me of this dragonfly tale. There he was out on the pedalo in the middle of the lake, and the evil black flies were attacking in full force. All of a sudden, a freaking squadron of dragonflies shows up and starts to dive-bomb the flies, catching them with their four front legs like a net! And then they ate the black fly brains out of their tiny little heads. (Or so I like to believe…). So, take a moment, and pay hommage to the mighty and beautiful dragonfly, friend to you and me, nature’s freaking attack-helicopter:
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So, moving on from government-sponsored insects, Friday night was potluck night with many a tasty treat having been brought by all the peeps at the party. I personally completely forgot about it until later, by which time I had already eaten some burgers and some very very very old hot dogs, which had been in my freezer for the better part of a year and a half. Actually, it was exactly that amount of time.
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And for your amusement, here’s a action shot of lindsay killing a black fly with a wet towel.
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Actually, I took the picture before he actually hit the fly, so you really don’t see anything. What a letdown. What you can see, however, is the cleanup afterwards.
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Peeps plunge into the food, think better of it, proceed to clean themselves off and use plates instead. Others like me head down to the gas BBQ by the tents and cook meat, meat and more meat (although some of it was of the tofu-sion variety). Some lake dogs (actual animals here) make an appearance at supper. I don’t mean some new species of dog that has fins, but just dogs that hang around the lake. One of these dogs is christened Disco. Disco the Dog. Don’t ask me why. I won’t tell you.
Later, drinking games take place inside the cabin, but at this point I’m feeling way too feverish to do anything. I sit on my corner and wish for my malfunctioning body to go away. I spew incoherent sentences to nearby people (’No don’t want play MexCal!’).
The lake is unusually high this year due to the recent rain and whatever the fuck, which makes the rock fire pit near the dock out in the water out of order (blub blub), so a fire is made instead in a rusty metal can. Really, not as impressive. However, people still congregate towards it. (movie!)
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But the highlight of the evening was yet to come.
My first attempt at sleeping is tharted by the obvious partying that’s still going on 20 feet from my tent. I redress and join the group. THEN, (dum dum DUM!) out of nowhere comes Matt, dressed in the most insane suit I’ve ever seen. We learn later the "Ocean Commander" is made for people to survive the artic waters of alaska should their boat sink to the bottom. Why there’s one present at the party, I don’t ask. All I know that it’s golden comic eye candy. Everyone starts taking pictures. Lucky you, so did I.
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The suit (surprise) actually works quite well, even if Matt can’t talk too well with it half covering his face. (’How you doing Matt?’) (’Mmmmph!’)
Saturday:
Water balloons and flashlight games
After a healthy 9 am wakeup (oog), people start milling about. More importantly, start talking loundly. I sigh and get up too. It is the begining of what would be a looooong day. Long, but hella-fun!
I realize I feel much better than the feverish coma I was in the day before - no fever, which is always a plus.
As yesterday, once again people mostly stand around doing nothing for the most part of the day.
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But things do happen. Really.
Most people have already arrived by this point, and the tent city is present in all its glory. Say it with me: Ooo/Ahh.
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Looks like a clown exploded.
With a UV index of ‘HOLY SHIT 10′, it’s ‘damn hot’. So hot, in fact, that I am able to enter a meditatice state of conciousness and hover over the water, bringing peace to the fish and inner strength to the slimy algae.
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To cool down even further, once again water balloon making duty was taken up by Lindsay and I. In the first round half a ‘bucketful’ of balloons are made, but of small size. Reasearch is obviously needed when the water balloon making becomes shifty and balloons are thrown but do not explode. I offer my naked back out in front of the house to see which size balloon works best. Its a painful experience. Sledgehammer-like things, they are. Oog.
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Deadly (aka ‘Wet’) 1-on1 baloon showdowns start to take place, and an all out war begins surrounding the precious ammo bucket. The first round of ammunition is quickly spent. (sigh)
The next round (game round) needed many more balloons, so we got back to it. Capture the Cone soon begins. Two balloons per player, that’s all. You may pick up the balloons off your dead teammates. If the attackers get the cone back up the hill, they win. Holy moley was that ever fun. And wet!
Some people have spent their money well in town (St-Sauveur), and to celebrate St-Jean they have decided to blow some things up. I applaud their national pride.
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Suppertime is a very chill affair, with live music provided by the Garden-band, later accompanied by a toy pianist. No, I’m not trying to make a lewd joke, but yeah *snort*, that’s pretty funny.
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On a lake and in the country, sunsets are truly a beautiful thing. Beer bottles in the foreground makes them even extra-niiiiice.
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One of the engineer trio present at the weekend has brought a game called catchphrase, which becomes extremely popular. Nothing gets your adrenaline pumping like smacking a round plastic wheel to advance to the next word to describe. Go A Team! And to a lesser extent, go A1 team!
Frogger makes an appearance. I’m told to stop blinding the poor thing with my camera, which I guess is kinda logical. Bright flashes aren’t exactly a natural occurence in this little dude’s life.
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AHA! Fireworks time rolls around! I just know you’re all itching to see pictures of that! I’ll do you one better though.. how about movies?
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Arts and crafts are a popular diversion at country parties. As always, some monstrosities are created (although it is pretty cool!)
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Midnight rolls around. People start going to bed, and I, being an old fart, follow their lead. But then an offer for night games is whispered through my tent wall, and the old fart becomes young again in an instant. I redress once again (two nights in a row!) and follow. Let the Games begin!
It’s a hell of a lot of fun, to play games where you can’t see. Such strategic games such as Spot, where attackers with flashlights have a certain amount of "light shots", and defenders must attempt to get by the attackers without being seen or "shot", were amazingly enjoyable. There’s nothing like not being able to see that increases your other senses tenfold. I could have heard a pin drop (or a person breathing heavily, as the case was!). I took up my position as a defender in a mini forest patch, becoming invisible save for my deadly beam of light that I would zap people with at varying intervals between my "hunting excursions" away from my post.
Another (much louder) game we played was freeze tag. If you get caught in a beam of light you have to freeze, but there are only two defenders of the home tent and many more attackers, and if the light moves off you you can move again! This moving around and tagging unfortunately happened quite close to the tents, where people were quite aware of the noise we were making. Quote the tent people: ‘What are you doing?!?!‘ and ‘You’re screwed!‘ when they heard that I had just been frozen by a beam behind their tent. Exhausted, hot, sweaty and stinky, we decided to call it a night around 4 a.m.
Sunday:
The day I got hit in the face by a mini-beach ball moving at extremely high velocity
8 am wakeup. For those of you at home keeping count, yes, that’s a whole 4 hours of sleep. Surprisingly, I am not tired, and I step out of my tent to find that most of the people up are exactly the same people that were running around the night before. Go figure. Breakfast is inhaled, and then it’s time to pack things away. The spent fireworks a sad but at the same time nostalgic sight the morning after.
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People start taking off for Montreal. The water looks miiighty invting, but my lift is leaving soon, so I must resist. We head to the car, but not before tossing a mini beach ball to Lindsay who is ready and waiting to bat it with the end of a broken boat paddle. Predictably, the ball takes on a flabberghasting speed and smacks me straight in the face. Not painful, but everyone was watching me leave. Fan-tastic! I steal the ball back (well, it was mine to begin with!) for revenge at a later date. The car is packed to crazy capacity, and that’s even without the fourth person’s stuff. We make good time back to montreal, I get home, shower, for the love of all that’s holy, do I ever shower, and sleep for 5 more hours. It was a kickass weekend.
How kickass? I’ll leave you with the annual debriefing email sent out by Lindsay soon afterwards.
This year we had 46 party people at the event, 34 of which were Hard Core and stayed the full three-days and two-nights. These people consumed a record atomizing 473 beers (156 liters) containing just over 9 liters of pure alcohol - an amount which is approximately equal to total volume of blood in two adult human beings. Are we proud? Should we be? Who cares! I had a great time and so did you :)
Special thanks to Raymond and Adam for the fireworks, to Lee for the huge-ass tent, to Jason for holding Rubik’s-cube strategy lessons, to Danny and John for filling water-balloons, to Andrea, Shannon, Dan, and Danny (again) for helping me setup, to Alanah and Fraser for staying late sunday evening to help me finish putting it all back, to everyone who brought food for the potluck, and to everyone else who "kicked it up a notch" all weekend long.
Also, anti-thanks to all you sleeping people who kept loudly distracting those of us who were trying to play a quiet game of 4am speed-tag.
FIN(phew!)
