Drunks . . .

There are those that claim that the national pastime of New Zealand is Rugby, some may even claim that it is Horticulture, but I stand before you today to tell you that it is none of those things. Rather, I would claim that drinking is the National Past-time of this 4 Million strong Nation. Here is my proof: Only a percentage of the population participates in Rugby of any sort, and while a larger percentage participates in Horticulture of some sort, Everybody drinks.

So, last night, we decided to make it to town on a Friday night; something I had not yet done on this island. Let me just say: I'm not sure if the city asexually reproduces and then heads to the bars, or if they're all too hungover from the last week that they can only make it out of their houses exactly one week after the party, but I swear the population of Palmerston North swelled to at least double what I've seen before.

So six of us went to town. Unfortunately, one of us (J.) forgot his passport/any sort of picture identificaton whatsoever at home. Now, I'm not really a huge drinker, or a drinker at all, and this town was pretty crazy, and I felt bad making him take a taxi back to campus on his own, so I volunteered to return to campus with him. Erika volunteered for the same for most of, if not all, of the same reasons. So we returned to campus, expecting a quiet place, 'cuz obviously everybody was in town getting drunk anyways, right?

Wrong. The common room for my dorm comfortably holds about fifteen-twentyish people, a number that was exceeded last night. So I spent the next hour or so making friends with drunk Kiwi's, and the chances that they even remember my name today is quite slim. Still, it was kinda fun, oh, and they waxed one guys eyebrows off. I get the biggest kick trying to picture what he thought this morning when he looked in the mirror.

Random picture of the day: In what sense do they mean the word assemble? Like legos?