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Member
Join Date: Apr 2006
Location: Baldwin, NY
Gender: Male
Posts: 19
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Their Little Fraternity
Last night, I went to Dobre's place for some Mario Kart and mini golf. The place is like a post collegiante frat house that Dobre found his clumsy, outspoken soul living in by falling in love with a girl who wants to be a teacher. Her brother plays baseball and has a lot of friends.
I walk up to the doorstep and ring the doorbell. This guy with the "classic" strong chin, blue eyes, hat on backward veneer walks up to the staircase and looks at the door. Then he walks away. So I wait. Another guy, a frat boy with blonde hair, a kind face, and kaki shorts, walks up to the door. He considers opening it. He walks away.
So I decide to let myself in. I go up the stairs, only to encounter Dobre (wearing a sleeveless shirt and shorts) and his girlfriend playing Mario Kart.
Dobre: HI ARGUN!
Argun: What's up?
Dobre: IN THE MIDDLE OF SOMETHING HERE.
The other girls don't respond.
I decide that I am going to use a different approach this time. Rather than the loud outspoken intellect with clever jokes, I was going to partake in a role that could bridge the link between myself and this world I walked into. I'll be the soft spoken guy who likes writing and drugs. Worked like a charm. The blonde haired guy's name was Dennis - Dennis liked video games, golf, and Mario Kart. Over a table with a yellow wiffle bat, two bears, and a lap top computer, Dobre, Dennis, and I had a discussion over just how impressive Dennis's collection of IBM generated nintendo games were. Then the other kid - Nick - partook in an endeavour to figure out that "Argun" is pronounced with a long "u."
Then Nick decided it was time to go smoke:
Nick: Yo, I'm going to the back to smoke.
In Frat culture, smoking is an insanely private affair. We didn't surround ourselves in a livingroom over a bong and some gentle light, all so self involved (and yet loving of the next man) that the next natural step would be free spirited, non-sequential conversation. Smoking in frat culture is something hidden from the "rest" of the party, something that is akin to a "make out" or a 3am conversation between an ex-boyfriend's best friend and the ex-boyfriend's ex-girlfriend. Also, posturing is of the essence - the sociality of the smoking extends only so far as the location where you are smoking (away from the rest of society), not the conversations that take place (though the words are stated in a more mellow fashion).
Nick didn't invite me directly, though that was because, according to Dobre who found out for me, "anyone who wants to smoke should just come out to the back." So I walked the maze to "the back" of the house - through the livingroom, then the hallway, then through Pete's room, out the backdoor of his bedroom, and to the backyard porch, where the smoking was taking place. I was immediately handed a pipe and a lighter. Naturally, a little adventure took place with the pipe, but I still managed to down one like a champion:
Nick: Yo, is this your first time smoking.
Argun: No, I've smoked before.
Nick: Nah, I was about to say, you just took a monster hit.
The weed tasted like I had just licked a dollar bill. STAT for sure. But, it was a Long Island weed, and the harsh taste against my tongue had a nice symetry to the harsh feeling I had at the front door earlier in the evening. I took another and went to go play mini-golf.
Mini-golf while stoned is a fucking beautiful experience. It was countercultural Long Island at its finest. The light purple light protruding over the airport; a collage of light bathed green and black mini golf felt at night. A blue ball traveling through shadow and light. Stoned, I beat Dobre in 18 holes. We got back to the house and, as we got out, three more frat guys in an SUV pulled up at Dobre's front lawn:
F1: Yo, what's up, Dobre?
D: Hey guys!
F1: You guys just back from min-golf
D: Yeah.
F1: Who won?
D: He did.
(Argun raises hands up in victory)
F1: Where did you guys play? Batter up?
D: Naaah - we played at the Golden Bear Driving Range.
F1: Oh, I didn't know that they called it by a different name.
D: No, they are two different places!
F1: Oh. Is Dennis home?
D: I think so. See - the light is off, but I can see him walking around. I think he's at the door.
F1: Oh. No, we were gonna go out.
D: Oh, OK! Let me tell him you're here.
Dennis walks out, no in a button down and kakis. He goes to the SUV. He gets in the backseat. Every movement crisp and clean. Then Nick comes out and gives me a friendly shoulder jab - some sort of sign of respect for the hit I took back there. I liked how my feet felt against that second step of the front porch as Nick headed for the car.
Nick said something to the driver and then got into the back seat.
Dobre and I then played MarioKart until 1:30am.
I guess I found this entire evening charming because everything around me was so silently Darwinian. The prerequisites for social survival were simple, laid out on a map invisible only to the eyes of those who didn't want to or refused to see it. Because the prerequitisites are so simple, the rewards are never so daunting and always in abundance - beer, bad weed, video games, locale bars, a family that loves you based on simple conditions. It's a way of life where your days are sufficient devices to assuage most of your dreams at night.
Last edited by Surfing Coffee : 05-30-2006 at 11:25 AM.
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