I'm taking some time off to do something I've never done before...snowboard in Austria. My expectations of connectivity are sort of low, so postings will likely be quite limited. I also have a no blogging while drinking rule (something I suggest Vallewag implement), which also might cut down on blogging for the next week. For context, the last time I saw this group of people was in Germany some years back. My notes from the time (pre-blog) read:
After checking into the room and wandering briefly around the city, Doug led us like lambs to the slaughter. We knew was what coming, and had resolved to eat a hearty dinner, and had even considering drinking cooking oil to line out stomachs from the abuse to come, but our plans were thwarted by a too rapid entry into the bowling hall. Pat has outlined above the nuances of the game, but has neglected the ambience of the event itself, no doubt because the brain cells that recorded this are no longer accessible. But. What a party! The first time the group started to chant “oy oy oy” or words to that effect and pound on the table, my anti-hangover senses, honed by years of hanging out in the Officer’s Club, came to attention. I drank the first bottle of vodka with ease, more to get a taste for the fig flavor than for anything else. As we entered the room, I deliberately took a seat at the head of the table, right by where the waiter would need to come in, which strategically positioned me to “assist” in passing out the booze, and not passing out. The second round was Jaegermeister, which translates to Hunter Master, a translation that was of apparent immense amusement to our hosts, but I can’t say I was a big fan of the licorice-flavored drink. The next round of vodka soon followed, and I vowed this would be my last. In the meantime, gallons and gallons of beer appeared, and we placed our order for dinner. Some of the Germans were ordering beer mixed with coke or with juice – this is beer!) The next round of vodka went down the hatches for most, but I never uncorked it, palmed it and slipped it into my pocket. Ditto for the next and the next. As the beers rolled in, I swung into action helpfully passing them down the table, topping off the glasses of those who still had a bit left, and ridiculing those who had beers piling up in front of them. This served to camouflage the fact that I was still nursing my original beer!
Pray for my liver.