"NWA...no...wait, that's one's Public Enemy," said Toby, fiddling with his pencil and hogging the list of quiz questions.
"Don't Believe the Hype!" That was me, pulling some long-dormant bit of trivia out of the recesses of my brain. Then, "No, Toby, you spelled that wrong! Fix it. FIX IT!"
I'd gotten a little carried away at quiz night at an outdoor Chiang Mai bar, which resulted in a lot of eye-rolling from Toby. But I hadn't corrected his spelling of "Rumours" on the Fleetwood Mac question—damn!—so we lost that point. I tried to bluff that the spelling had been different on the American release but the quizmaster would have none of my lies.
This didn't matter. Between us, Toby and I had an encyclopedia of worthless tidbits in our brains. We crushed at quiz night, which surprised me since I'd never done a quiz night before. But then, the others were a good deal older than us and frequently said: "Bah! That's not music." So perhaps we had an unfair advantage.
Late Monday night, or early Tuesday morning—after the "best noodles in Chiang Mai" drove up on a cart, I got to ride on the back of Toby's bicycle to my hotel. I hadn't been out this late in a long time, though the expats of Chiang Mai seem to live through a whirl of late-night social engagements.
And in the morning, I had to drag myself out of bed early to head back to Immigration. I didn't know if I could get my visa renewed or if I had all the paperwork right, but if anyone asked me who sang "Pulling Mussels (From the Shell)," I'd ace it.
"Don't Believe the Hype!" That was me, pulling some long-dormant bit of trivia out of the recesses of my brain. Then, "No, Toby, you spelled that wrong! Fix it. FIX IT!"
I'd gotten a little carried away at quiz night at an outdoor Chiang Mai bar, which resulted in a lot of eye-rolling from Toby. But I hadn't corrected his spelling of "Rumours" on the Fleetwood Mac question—damn!—so we lost that point. I tried to bluff that the spelling had been different on the American release but the quizmaster would have none of my lies.
This didn't matter. Between us, Toby and I had an encyclopedia of worthless tidbits in our brains. We crushed at quiz night, which surprised me since I'd never done a quiz night before. But then, the others were a good deal older than us and frequently said: "Bah! That's not music." So perhaps we had an unfair advantage.
Late Monday night, or early Tuesday morning—after the "best noodles in Chiang Mai" drove up on a cart, I got to ride on the back of Toby's bicycle to my hotel. I hadn't been out this late in a long time, though the expats of Chiang Mai seem to live through a whirl of late-night social engagements.And in the morning, I had to drag myself out of bed early to head back to Immigration. I didn't know if I could get my visa renewed or if I had all the paperwork right, but if anyone asked me who sang "Pulling Mussels (From the Shell)," I'd ace it.
No comments:
Post a Comment