FirstThe Alaskan Bitch
The Aurora Borealis has seduced it's fair share of lovers. Conceiving under such a lovely sky is said to be good luck to the people of Japan. And so it was no shock to me that my out-of-state friends (lower-48ers) were equally taken back by the beautiful ribbons of magnetic miracles.
A good clear night and copious amounts of adult beverages can lead men to do the stupidest things in the name of that pulsating sky light. Such as the Alaskan Bitch. Now, I stand here in innocent denial as a former local Alaskan, born and raised, that I would never have tarnished the name of such a wonderful land like Alaska. I blame it on the guys from Boston. Good thing there are no 'R's in the words Alaskan or Bitch for them to drop.
The Alaskan Bitch requires the following. a)You must be schnookered b) You must be in Alaska under the Northern Lights c) You must be willing to doff your shoes, socks and shirt and, if you are brave enough, your pants. Once these requirements are met you simply run out into a snow bank, jump onto your back and proceed to make snow angels while suffering the cold sting of winter on your exposed skin.
The Locked Dorm
Pat's luggage had to make it up to Pat's room and Pat couldn't do it himself. Alabama had to help, in which case he (Alabama) had to sign into a log kept by the desk attendant who watched the locked door to the dorms. There had been a rape on campus years ago and though this may not come as a shock to you because I'm sure that kind of stuff happens all the time in your college in the lower 48's but up in quiet little Alaska, it's big news and requires a drastic corrective action to ensure it doesn't happen again. Hence the desk attendant and the sign in sheet.
Myself, still high on shrooms, and Montana Brad were parked on a bench in the foyer waiting for Alabama to return. Yet before they even entered the door, Montana Brad decided he wanted in. So, he jumped up and ran for the 'now' open door. Sober people scare me sometimes.
As I said before, you do stuff you know is dumb but you can't stop yourself when high on shrooms and, having no control over my body, I found myself following Montana Brad's lead and running for the door, by-passing the desk attendant and his corrective actions all together.
I have never before seen life through a slow motion camera so I feel that I have to give as much detail on these next 3 seconds in which I did see life through such a camera. I remember running for the door, my arms and legs pumping as if I were moving through tar or perhaps molasses. I remember the desk attendant picking up his phone and at the same time pointing at me, he yelled something that sounded an awful lot like one of those teachers from the 'Peanuts' cartoons. Wahwahwahwah. I laughed at how silly it all seemed. Slow motion... was cool!
I got past the door and was in the elevator. Then time speed back up again. I was shaking and felt like an escaped convict waiting for his get-away ride to show up, looking over his shoulder for the brass. The eighth floor was my stop and off to Brad's room. Not, Montana Brad but another friend named Brad who had given me the shrooms at the beginning of my evening.
Furthermore, the very existence of this Brad forced us to name Montana Brad, 'Montana Brad' to avoid any confusion.
The Violin and the Spies
"If anyone is looking for me, I have been here all day," I told him. He was confused. He didn't realize I had broken into the dorm and that I was a wanted man. He was also high on magic mushrooms, as well. "If anyone is looking for me," I repeated. " I have been here all day."
My favorite side affects to hallucinogens is the body high. Brad was a violinist. Actually, he was a musician that happened to play the violin. Image yourself with a euphoric body high, lying on a bed, warmth surrounds you and the beautiful sound of classical music is playing from a live violin.
Then, there is a knock at the door. A female voice chimes in, "Is Pat here?" But it sounds more like my first name. I freeze. No one can see me up here but there is no need to take chances. "Oh Brad, you play the violin? Play us something."
"OK." They all shuffle in. Four of them I think but that guess is untrustworthy due to the condition I was in.
Image yourself with a euphoric body high, lying on a bed, warmth surrounds you and the beautiful sound of classical music is playing from a live violin. Then it stopped and the light came on. And Brad crawled up to the bunk and started digging through cassette tapes that slept on a shelf behind me and he told me to 'be social and get down here.'
I said to myself, "Self I know these people. They are safe, they are cool." But on shrooms I didn't believe myself.
"Are you people Resident Assistants?" Which meant, 'Are you narcs about to rat me out for being high on an illegal drug?'
"No, man." That was the girl who sold Brad the shrooms while I was standing right there. I didn't believe her. I didn't recognize her but I did. She was an enemy, a spy.
"Show me your IDs or you will have to leave!" I threatened.
"Well, maybe we should go, then," she says. And so they left.
Brad was pretty mad at me. But I insisted that he toss his wad of cash he had from student loans on the floor, littering the dorm hallway with twenties. Then he posed on them like a pin up girl while I took his picture. I wonder what happened to that picture?
I guess that images only becomes more real when I describe Brad as being 6'2", long black hair, a beer belly and prison made tatoo sleeves on his forearms.
Very few true life stories have climactic endings so neither will this one but I will say that I have had many other great experiences in my crazy life and I will never regret them. Oh, and don't do drugs. They are bad, I mean it.
-N. King
The Aurora Borealis has seduced it's fair share of lovers. Conceiving under such a lovely sky is said to be good luck to the people of Japan. And so it was no shock to me that my out-of-state friends (lower-48ers) were equally taken back by the beautiful ribbons of magnetic miracles.
A good clear night and copious amounts of adult beverages can lead men to do the stupidest things in the name of that pulsating sky light. Such as the Alaskan Bitch. Now, I stand here in innocent denial as a former local Alaskan, born and raised, that I would never have tarnished the name of such a wonderful land like Alaska. I blame it on the guys from Boston. Good thing there are no 'R's in the words Alaskan or Bitch for them to drop.
The Alaskan Bitch requires the following. a)You must be schnookered b) You must be in Alaska under the Northern Lights c) You must be willing to doff your shoes, socks and shirt and, if you are brave enough, your pants. Once these requirements are met you simply run out into a snow bank, jump onto your back and proceed to make snow angels while suffering the cold sting of winter on your exposed skin.
The Locked Dorm
Pat's luggage had to make it up to Pat's room and Pat couldn't do it himself. Alabama had to help, in which case he (Alabama) had to sign into a log kept by the desk attendant who watched the locked door to the dorms. There had been a rape on campus years ago and though this may not come as a shock to you because I'm sure that kind of stuff happens all the time in your college in the lower 48's but up in quiet little Alaska, it's big news and requires a drastic corrective action to ensure it doesn't happen again. Hence the desk attendant and the sign in sheet.
Myself, still high on shrooms, and Montana Brad were parked on a bench in the foyer waiting for Alabama to return. Yet before they even entered the door, Montana Brad decided he wanted in. So, he jumped up and ran for the 'now' open door. Sober people scare me sometimes.
As I said before, you do stuff you know is dumb but you can't stop yourself when high on shrooms and, having no control over my body, I found myself following Montana Brad's lead and running for the door, by-passing the desk attendant and his corrective actions all together.
I have never before seen life through a slow motion camera so I feel that I have to give as much detail on these next 3 seconds in which I did see life through such a camera. I remember running for the door, my arms and legs pumping as if I were moving through tar or perhaps molasses. I remember the desk attendant picking up his phone and at the same time pointing at me, he yelled something that sounded an awful lot like one of those teachers from the 'Peanuts' cartoons. Wahwahwahwah. I laughed at how silly it all seemed. Slow motion... was cool!
I got past the door and was in the elevator. Then time speed back up again. I was shaking and felt like an escaped convict waiting for his get-away ride to show up, looking over his shoulder for the brass. The eighth floor was my stop and off to Brad's room. Not, Montana Brad but another friend named Brad who had given me the shrooms at the beginning of my evening.
Furthermore, the very existence of this Brad forced us to name Montana Brad, 'Montana Brad' to avoid any confusion.
The Violin and the Spies
"If anyone is looking for me, I have been here all day," I told him. He was confused. He didn't realize I had broken into the dorm and that I was a wanted man. He was also high on magic mushrooms, as well. "If anyone is looking for me," I repeated. " I have been here all day."
My favorite side affects to hallucinogens is the body high. Brad was a violinist. Actually, he was a musician that happened to play the violin. Image yourself with a euphoric body high, lying on a bed, warmth surrounds you and the beautiful sound of classical music is playing from a live violin.
Then, there is a knock at the door. A female voice chimes in, "Is Pat here?" But it sounds more like my first name. I freeze. No one can see me up here but there is no need to take chances. "Oh Brad, you play the violin? Play us something."
"OK." They all shuffle in. Four of them I think but that guess is untrustworthy due to the condition I was in.
Image yourself with a euphoric body high, lying on a bed, warmth surrounds you and the beautiful sound of classical music is playing from a live violin. Then it stopped and the light came on. And Brad crawled up to the bunk and started digging through cassette tapes that slept on a shelf behind me and he told me to 'be social and get down here.'
I said to myself, "Self I know these people. They are safe, they are cool." But on shrooms I didn't believe myself.
"Are you people Resident Assistants?" Which meant, 'Are you narcs about to rat me out for being high on an illegal drug?'
"No, man." That was the girl who sold Brad the shrooms while I was standing right there. I didn't believe her. I didn't recognize her but I did. She was an enemy, a spy.
"Show me your IDs or you will have to leave!" I threatened.
"Well, maybe we should go, then," she says. And so they left.
Brad was pretty mad at me. But I insisted that he toss his wad of cash he had from student loans on the floor, littering the dorm hallway with twenties. Then he posed on them like a pin up girl while I took his picture. I wonder what happened to that picture?
I guess that images only becomes more real when I describe Brad as being 6'2", long black hair, a beer belly and prison made tatoo sleeves on his forearms.
Very few true life stories have climactic endings so neither will this one but I will say that I have had many other great experiences in my crazy life and I will never regret them. Oh, and don't do drugs. They are bad, I mean it.
-N. King
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