Travelogue IV: Geese ‘n’ Shit

September 19, 2008

When we last left our hero…

I had settled in for a luxurious sleep using my arm as a pillow and my scrotum as a pillow case. It had been a rough day, I didn’t feel welcome in either my new country, my new school, or my new home, and I felt all too welcome in the whinging tourist mode I had instantly entered. I was exhausted yet I wasn’t sleeping; I was kind of shivering my ass off. In the middle of summer! My mother needed to be talked down from making me buy a coat before I left (“If I go coat shopping I’d like to do in New York, not Mountain Design”) but it turns out that even the declining New York summer is shorts weather. I didn’t pack any shorts, so instead it was rolled up jeans, irritated leg pits, and sweaty back weather. Except at night, when it is rug or at least sheet weather, more things I lacked.

The theme here is that the my mind had adopted the subjectivity of that episode of The Simpsons where Homer paranoically blames all his misfortunes on New York. I was really cranky. This crankiness would in fact last me for about four weeks, it was really only alleviated yesterday, but that’s foreshadowing for later in the tale. At this moment, I was lying in bed, suddenly hot after a cold night spent on an unsheeted single mattress in a completely empty room surrounded by few people, none of whom I knew, when I heard… quacks!

Ayyy, there he is, there the little man is.

Ayyy, there he is, there the little man is.

Yes, that’s right, there are shitloads of ducks just running around New Paltz. I think there are some at Curtin behind the student admin building in that scar of a water feature they have there, but there are a bunch of flocks of varieties of water fowl here. There are also:

Like all geese, these guys are pricks.

Goose party.

Big fat geese. First time I tried to take a photo of one of these guys, from a distance of about 16 metres mind you, one just up and started flapping and hissing at me. Of course I ran for my life then, but ever since I’ve tried to take a photo or video of them doing that a second time. For some reason they’re so chilled now that I could bonk one of them on the head and it wouldn’t care.

Im implacable. I have grass on my face.

I am implacable. I have grass on my face.

Dont know what these things are... Hispanic swans?

Dont know what these things are... Hispanic swans?

Help a caption out?

Your standard Hyde Park-esque duck.

Your standard Hyde Park-esque duck.

Nothin’ special about that, apart from his puffed out little chest. And then:

YOU THERE.

YOU THERE.

The kind of duck you get in Duck Hunt! Truly, I am experiencing the best of America. I am also experiencing, as a result of my idyllic duck-filled walks to the dining hall, mountains of faeces:

Large whitened shit with shit nugget.

Large whitened shit with shit nugget.

Multiple trod-on khaki-coloured shits.

Multiple trod-on khaki shits.

Normal shit with one end white shit.

Normal shit with one end white shit.

Log shit in front of monolithic shit.

Log shit in front of monolithic shit.

I think this portion of the entry is actually stolen from Serrano’s latest exhibition. Either that or he stole it from me. Or we both retrieved it from the collective unconscious, as my weirdly Jungian literature teacher here would have you believe.

Also awesome are all the squirrels around the place, jumping up trees, diving into bins, scampering.

Youre going up the tree, arent you? Arent you?

Youre going to go up a tree, arent you? Arent you?

Ye-e-es you are! Ye-e-es you are!

Ye-e-es you are! Ye-e-es you are!

But of course, they all pale in comparison to the one true Highlander.

Ballin.

Ballin.

So, the presence of these things was nice surprise, and it continues to be a cool thing, apart from when thick-necked guys who answer the phone by saying “Who dat be?” chase them into the river to impress some girl who CACKLES HER FUCKING ASS OFF.

This is something that happens a lot in New Paltz. It’s a nice town, but the college kids spoil it. You have this row of… I don’t even know what style house, but 19th century wooden houses that look like a pilgrim’s about to step out of and cook himself some ribs, yet blaring out of the window of one of them is some dopey techno or crunk song sampling “Paper Planes”, which is fucking everywhere at the moment. That and Li’l Wayne are the most commonly recurring musics. The only site of resistance is this one guy from Mexico’s room down the hall from me that is constantly spinning starchy 90s hits. “Under the Bridge” by RHCP, “Got the Life” by Korn, and… “Zombie” by the Cranberries? By the way, band most commonly worn as t-shirt? Rancid. Didn’t see that one coming, did you?

Anyway, this is all quasi-rosy overture and counterpoint to the tragic themes of my stay’s first act, whose title is:

CAN’T LEARN, CAN’T EAT, WHAT MAKES THIS STIR FRY SO BAD?

Or, Sorry about the huge images, my laptop is broken and the school computers have no image software.

Yo.

Advertisements

4 Responses to “Travelogue IV: Geese ‘n’ Shit”

  1. Oz Says:

    The black geese are Canadian geese, I think. We get them here too. We are not on good terms. Obnoxious, noisy bastards.

  2. Phil Says:

    What kind of Rancid shirts? Please say 2000.

  3. Chels dawwwg Says:

    Rancid? What assholes.

    I’m enjoying the poop snaps.

  4. helen gives you fifty Says:

    is that pia? she looks hot. nails done, hurrs did.

    what’s funny about the goose with grass on its face is that it is hell pristine white and classy otherwise

    who needs table manners when you are PERFECT

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

w

Connecting to %s