THE PENCOPAL PROJECT
2004-08-31 - 2:36 p.m.
MAKE MINE A STRONGBOW
In Florida, it was hotter than fat manís taint, though the smell wasnít as repulsive. I read this and started this. I spent one day here, another day here, and the rest of my time here. How odd to find a little bit of England in Orlando fucking Florida. Myself, The Honey, and his friend (Miller Lite) were the only people in the pub without British accents. While The Honey imbibed Black Velvet after Black Velvet (cider with Guinness on top) I drank many half-pints of Strongbow, wondering why I didnít just order a pint. But I liked the little glass better.
After a few hours the first night, the patrons found the Olympics so inspiring that they held their own. To our surprise, the owner and Miller Lite decided to host their own long jump competition. The drunken haze that consumed them acted as a shield, preventing them from seeing how utterly silly they looked. Beer coasters acted as markers as they ran and jumped, seeing who could go further. Of course, this was the one-legged long jump, which made it look even sillier. Their faces scrunched up in concentration, they ran and jumped, arguing about who'd jumped further, whether or not they'd used one leg or two, and who had to buy the next round. As I write this, I realize I'm not catching the nuance of how funny it was. Oh right, that's because over the course of the night of the Pub Olympics, I'd had two long island iced teas, two pints of cider, and a vodka cranberry. Hard to catch nuances in that condition. In my head it was like, "Jumping, funny, write about it, make a funny." Yeah.
While I was eating bangers and mash, activists were protesting the RNC. Iím sad that I missed it. Iíve wanted to participate in some sort of mass protest, but I always seem to miss it. Iíll do my part tonight and spend a few hours phonebanking, but it doesnít have that crazy energy you feel when people come together to support a common cause. Volunteers are still needed. Do your part.