Yeah, I go to Harvard...

There are many tales to be told about the wedding of Jeff Peterson in Manchester, New Hampshire. Tales of adventure, anguish, airplanes, adversity, and alteration. But perhaps the greatest story told about our weekend in "The Shire" is what happened after the wedding.

On this gloomy Sunday afternoon, after driving home the fact that I have no sense of direction by getting us lost for 40 minutes trying to drive to a mall 1 mile away, Eric and I have decided that what we really need to do is travel into the City of Boston, to the region of Cambridge and the University of Harvard, capture a student and rub ourselves all over this lucky undergrad hoping that we, through osmosis or infection, might gain some of their superior wisdom. And if we can't accomplish the rubbing... we wanted to tackle a squirrel and dress it up in a cap and gown "even the squirrels here are superior."

So, because I can't traverse 1 mile without getting lost and Harvard is many miles away, we employed the help of our friend Lindy Nardoni. Armed only with her "boy cut" hair, my "boot cut" jeans, and Eric's "boot camp" experience we traveled to Harvard. We asked Lindy to come assuming that because she lives only 1 half hour away from Boston she would know how to get there and where to go while there. We were wrong. We discovered this when after about 30 minutes on the road I asked, "So what exit am I looking for?" She replied, "How should I know." As this comment resonated in my ear mixing with the sound of rain starting to fall outside, I knew this was going to be an "interesting trip."

We stole about $6 dollars worth of toll change from Jeff's pirate stash of coin in his car. We rode the train into Boston and emerged in Harvard Square. They didn't know it, but I had a secret agenda. I knew that short of rubbing on Harvard students, the best way to appear that you belonged at Harvard was either to transform into a Hippie that could speak for hours protesting a war that I would never fight in because I love the sound of my own voice and I can't leave my Daddy's credit cards behind.... or get a really obnoctious Harvard T-shirt. We got T-shirts. Thanks to my uncanny powers at "synergy" we all got the same T-shirt.

So after walking around Harvard like lost puppies, watching Eric pose like Captian Morgan, and being completely soaked because it rained the whole time, we rode the train home. Being soaked, we all changed into our newly acquired Smart Shirts and adopted new names. I was Guenther, Eric was Chet, and Lindy was Podimer Taylor. "Shut Up Chet" This is how we dined at On The Border. After the hostess realized Lindy was a girl we were all seated and proceeded to annoy everyone around us, laughing so hard I had a sore throat the next day. The subjects of discussion revolved around the fun fact that the hostess mistook Lindy for a guy, girls we were going set Lindy up with, my breasts, Eric's breasts, and of coarse Lindy's breasts. We never broke character and acted like pompous know-it-all's the whole time which added to the fun. In fact, Eric was so thrilled with it he is going to take the game to a whole new level when he goes back to school at ISU in the fall. He will wear his Harvard shirt with pride and lie through his teeth this semester.

"Yeah, I go to Harvard... I just transferred cause it was too easy. Shut Up Chet!"