On March 16, the city of Chicago celebrated its biggest annual holiday by dyeing its namesake river the Crayola color “Toxic Waste Green™”. Millions flock to this event, celebrating with green outfits, green beers, and green vomit in the streets.
“St. Paddy’s Day is an amazing weekend,” said the mayor of Chicago, as their green beer sloshed over the rim and all over their wrist and hand. “We got the beers, we got the bros, and we got the hotdogs. Probably the best weekend of the year for this miserable, cold, windy city.”
However, every bright light brings a shadow: rumors abound of the return of Chicago’s mysterious “St. Paddy’s Day Pincher”.
“He’s a menace,” said the editor-in-chief of the Chicago News. “He’s going around the city, pinching anyone not wearing green. We need pictures to identify this man. No one is safe!
He pinched my mother’s tookas!”
The Pincher hasn’t been caught by camera anywhere, but his presence — and devious deeds — is evident throughout the city.
“It’s horrible,” recounts an attendee covered in welts and bruises. “He doesn’t just do a single pinch. He pinches and pinches until you run away or find something green to wear.”
“One time, he followed me into a Walgreens, pinching me over and over until I bought a green hair tie,” said another. “Then, he just disappeared.”
T. Lindeman travels to Chicago every year for a “Boys’ Trip,” visiting friends and engaging in the festivities of the city’s biggest holiday.
“We love it,” explained Lindeman. “We get to see a river that looks like the same color as the Ooze that made the Ninja Turtles. And all the bars in the area serve green drinks that I assume are made from that same water.”
Lindeman has visited Chicago for the event nearly every year for the past 10 years. However, nearly half of those visits accidentally missed the correct weekend for the river dyeing, arriving either a week too early, or too late.
“You’d think after scheduling for the wrong weekend once, that would be lesson enough,” said Lindeman. “But you’d be wrong.”
Suspiciously, the St. Paddy’s Day Pincher also arrived on the same wrong weekends in the past. On those weekends, he truly proved to be a menacing antagonist.
“So many more victims are pinched on those off-weekends,” reported the Chicago chief of police, tossing back a shot of green Malört and gagging. “Why would someone think to wear green on a weekend that wasn’t St. Patrick’s Day? We had no warning — and I have the welts to prove it.”
“He was 15 feet tall, he was,” slurred an anonymous reveler. “With skin as green as clover, eyes like the emerald sea, and incredible abs! I think I stood next to him at the urinal at Streeter’s.” Video evidence from Streeter’s Tavern shows the anonymous reveler entering the men’s restroom alone, slipping on the wet floor, and falling into the urinal trough, before vomiting on himself and falling asleep. Or, the “Streeter’s Special,” according to the sign out front.
Lindeman confirms that fact that his visits aligned with the Pincher’s are coincidental and entirely unrelated.
“I’ve never heard of this handsome Pincher,” remarked Lindeman, whose thumb and pointer finger are currently in splints. When asked why, he explained the digits were worn out from overuse. “It has nothing to do with anything.”
At the close of the weekend, the Pincher vanished into the night. At about the same time, Lindeman boarded his plane home. Can we expect another visit next year? This reporter says yes, probably whenever Lindeman returns. Whether that be on the right weekend or the wrong.
In high school and college, I was on the rowing team. Rowing is a sport that can happen wherever there is a river long and wide enough to fit a few boats side-by-side for a good distance. Despite that pretty general criteria and the abundance of water on the earth (or maybe because of it), teams find themselves traveling all over the place to practice and race. Through my time in school, we traveled across the US for training trips and races in California, Florida, Massachusetts, New York, Ohio, and Tennessee, to name a few.
This continued after college as well with alumni rowing, but with a twist. Instead of many short trips across the country, we with were invited to fewer races, but they were farther flung across the world. The first of these for me was to China.
As I was still folding up my cap and gown, I received a message from my older brother Jack, who had recently finished up grad school in the UK. His Cambridge team had been invited to send a boat of rowers to China for a week and half to race in three different cities, and they asked him if he wanted to go. He declined as he was busy working at the time, but he let them know that I was still fit (having just finished the national championships) and had absolutely nothing going on (which was a great burn on the fact that I didn’t graduate with a job lined up). So they agreed and I was invited along to race!
I got my passport ready and went to the Chinese consulate to get my visa sorted. Then I boarded a plane to go spend 10 days on the other side of the world with a bunch of people I had never met.
Most rowing trips in high school and college followed the same format: cramped flights or buses, two to a bed in a Days Inn or HoJo, bag lunches, lots of downtime, and straightforward racing. In high school, we also had to pay for most of the trip. All that is mostly what I was expecting on this first trip to China. We’d go to each city (Chengdu, Wuhan, and Linfen), do our racing, and have lots of pal-around time at the hotel in between some serious bouts of rowing. But this would be all-expenses paid—I just had to get my passport and visa, and they’d cover everything else. I was also told there would also be a banquet at the end of the racing, which was new to me but didn’t seem too out of the ordinary.
After a long, cramped flight on China Air, I arrived in Chengdu. That’s when I first linked up with Dave (my brother’s friend and the organizer for the Cambridge team) and met the rest of the crew. We were met at the airport by some of the organizers and some of our “handlers”. Having handlers seemed weird to me, but I supposed we needed translators. I later figured out that they were basically chaperones who were there to make sure we stayed out of trouble and were where we needed to be at the right time. They were all local students who were studying English, and they all seemed pretty fluent.
When we arrived to the hotel, I got my first sign that this wouldn’t be a normal rowing trip. The hotel was enormous, gilded everything, with huge rooms and no need to share beds. I shared a room with the other American on the trip, but we both had our own space.
I was worried: would I miss sharing a tiny bed with another giant dude? (Luckily, I got used to it.)
That night we all crashed early, exhausted by the long flights. But first thing in the morning we were up, traveling to the race course to take a look at our equipment and get it sorted for practice. On the way, we properly introduced ourselves in the light and figured out the lineup for the boat. Everyone on the team seemed great and I was settling in nicely. This would be a great trip, and nothing could go wrong!
We got to the course and that’s when the wheels started falling off. For most rowing trips, you bring your own equipment — boats, oars, cox-box, etc. And the boats are already wired up with speakers and have shoes and seats screwed in. These boats were completely empty, and in two pieces (the front and back were separated). There was a pile of shoes and seats off to one side, and a pile of oars off to another, for all the various competing teams to sort through. The Cambridge team seemed to know to expect this and they had brought their own speakers, wiring, and cox-box, and told a few of us to quickly go through the oars, shoes, and seats to ensure we had matching sets that fit the boat.
A matching set of oars!
Why would the regatta organizers fly everyone over only to have equipment that didn’t match, or that was slightly broken, or in any way wasn’t good? I don’t know, and I never figured it out. This free-for-all was simply part of the competition, every time. Could you get enough workable equipment to get your boat in the water and take some strokes? If so, you were better off than most.
While half the boat went to scavenge from the piles, the other half went to work assembling the boat itself. After finding the right bolts and putting them together, we were met with an interesting hiccup.
It was over 100ºF, and these boats had been sitting in the sun for a few days. When we tried to tighten the boat together, we found that the heat had actually warped the fiberglass, and the two halves of the boat wouldn’t fit smoothly together. That means water would leak in through the seam, which just so happened to be at the six-man’s seat—my seat. So we did the only thing we could. We complained until we realized the organizers didn’t care, then we bought Vaseline and shoved it into the cracks, and kept some sponges in the bottom of the boat to bail it out when needed.
Finally, it was all put together, we had serviceable oars, and were ready to launch. The water was a nice neon green, like the ooze that made the ninja turtles, and the heat was oppressive. We asked our handlers if we could have water, and they said it would be ready for us when we finished practice. We tried to explain that in the heat, it’d be dangerous to work out without water, but they didn’t seem to get it.
So we launched and practiced, trying not to splash any of the water into the boat, and frequently stopping to bail out the leaks. But against the odds, the rhythm was nice, and the squad had some power. After a while we swung it into the dock and put it away. We looked for our handlers and the water, and finally saw them running over with a few boxes. We opened them to discover dozens of cans of Red Bull. As it turns out, Red Bull was sponsoring the regatta, and so cans of Red Bull were the only drinks provided to the athletes. We talked to them again about the need for actual water, and they assured us it would be provided the next day for the race. Which is a little true, they did provide bottles of warm, sweetened, flavored seltzer water. Better than nothing!
We headed back to the hotel to cool off and have lunch. Unlike the bagged meals for US rowing trips, all our meals were provided for. We usually ate at the hotel, which is what we did that day. Meals typically consisted of noodles, rice, and French fries, although Dave (who had gone on some of these trips before) was more adventurous with some of his snacks.
After lunch, we headed out of the hotel to go find some water bottles and granola bars to have for the next day. The handlers did not like that, they wanted us nice and cozy in the hotel, not outside in the world where anything could happen to us. Like what? I don’t know, nothing happened. But we frequently had to find strong excuses to leave the hotel, or simply sneak out.
Again, an early night, and we woke up the next day to race. Typical races are started fairly, with an agreed-upon starting sequence (naming each of the crews competing, then saying “Attention…Go”) and an umpire making sure the boats are aligned evenly. In China, it didn’t really happen that way. They started off with the names, but no aligner to make sure everyone was even. Then they said something very loudly, which may have been “Go” or may have been anything else. Whatever the case, we sped off the line and raced. We got 3rd place.
After the race, there was a short ceremony where they announced the top three finishers for the mens’ and women’s races, and then they set loose a bunch of ducks into the race course and a ton of locals jumped in to grab them. One of the French women’s team’s competitors jumped in to catch one, and she came climbing out with a duck in her arms. However, she must have gotten some of that neon green water in her mouth because she got very sick and ended up in the hospital. I don’t know enough about Chinese hospitals, but she was later airlifted home to France. We heard she ended up recovering.
After the race, we had our first banquet. We dressed in our blazers and had to perform a short skit for the organizers and the other competitors. We chose to do a dance routine to “Everybody Was Kung-Fu Fighting,” which went over very well with the organizers. When all else fails, just pretend to do karate in front of the Chinese officials and you’ll be golden.
We ate dinner, which was pretty good, but the chefs must have put the names of the dishes through a translator because they came out somewhere between humorous and terrifying. A few examples are: “This is good yo” (no idea what it was), “Baba rice” (lamb over rice), and my favorite, “Fragrant smell of urine” (not too far off, but I didn’t try it).
Noodles and greens, with a healthy amount of spice on top.
We were also introduced to Chinese drinking culture. The organizers would keep coming up to our table to cheers us with a “ganbei,” and then have us all finish our drinks. By the end of it, the organizers were obviously toasted (the rest of us too). I’ve never been to a race where the hardest part was keeping up with the drinking of the organizers. I kind of liked it.
Afterwards, we headed out to some clubs, where it felt like if you were tall and white, locals would invite you over to their table and give you free drinks. I don’t think I spent money on anything in China (which was just as well, considering my aforementioned lack of a job at that point).
The next stop was Wuhan, which has become internationally renowned lately. When we checked into our hotel (which was attached to a water park), I found that the hotel had learned it was my birthday, and they had sent up a birthday cake to my room. Great service! I was already warming up to this new city — I guess you could say I had Wuhan fever.
Aside from the racing (where we got third and were given a giant dish-sized bronze medal), we also took part in a dragon boat race, which we won (the other boat actually sank). Then we toured the mountain next to Donghu (West Lake) where we rowed, which had a temple at the top. And against the wishes of our handlers, a few of us took some roller-luges down the mountain to avoid the steps and make it down faster. Maybe they had god reason to not like us leaving the hotel. But it was too hot to walk!
Wuhan is known as one of the four “stoves” of China, since it sits in a valley that can get incredibly hot, especially in mid-July. Before leaving for Linfen, we cooled off in the water park attached to the hotel. Upon entering, we were greeted with the sight of a man running across the entryway screaming as he held is son in his arms, blood running off the boy’s head. The water park employees shuffled him into a side room, but the park went on business-as-usual, and we went on some rides. I think this is where I picked up my parasite, which caused me to loose around 20 pounds after I returned to the US. It was fun though, and I got better.
Posing in front of the view of the water park from my room.
The last city of this trip was Linfen, famously one of the most polluted cities on the planet. We heard through the grapevine that in preparation for the regatta, they had actually had the factories in town shut down for a few days before we arrived, just to clear the air a bit. It was still tough to breathe, let alone row. Much like the other cities, it was racing, tourism, and banquet, and then we finally went home.
But! Not before I spoke to some of the organizers and suggested they invite Princeton along to some future races. And the next year, I got a message—would Princeton like to send a boat to race in Wuhan and Changsha that summer? So I organized a boat, coordinated travel schedules, ensured everyone had all their documentation ready, and we went off for another trip, this time with the Princeton alumni. And another year we were invited along to a race in Xi’an, home of the famous terracotta warriors. And another we were invited to Shangyu. We kept being invited to go on these amazing, all-expenses-paid experiences through China, and coming home with medals, engraved plates, scrolls, trophies, and the occasional stomach issue. One time, they even gave a cash prize to the winners and we came home with hundreds of dollars each!
They even made us a flag!
Each trip had its own special moments: two of the guys waking up to find a third had slept, and pooped, on their floor; one guy voluntarily doing shoe-ies over and over; another drinking beer out of a teammate’s unmentionables; watching someone pour an entire bottle of baijiu in their face and not even wince; watching someone take a sip of baijiu and immediately vomit; dancing to the Harlem Shake; dancing to the Macarena; racing in a number of suspect boats; showing up to a regatta we were told was going to be 2,000 meters long to find they hadn’t finished building the lake yet so it would only be 800 meters long; learning the story of the Yellow Crane Tower; having schoolchildren line up for our autographs and pictures; being interviewed on TV for the Shangyu News; bonding with the GCBs; and simply getting to travel with friends to completely new cultures and compete.
GCB.
I’m very happy I did each of these trips. They are tough on the body, between the travel, the racing, and the drinking, but they are worth it, and entirely new experiences to standard rowing events. After coming home from each one, my body sore, my mind tired, my stomach sick for weeks, I always say that I would never go back. But then the next invite comes along and I’m excited again.
“These terracotta warriors are good construction — and I would know!”
I’ve had these one-in-a-lifetime experiences four times now. Maybe I’ve gone to China too many times, and I should give someone else a chance. But also maybe not.
From the Archives is a series of reposted articles from a previous iteration of The Lindeman Daily. There is more information about that iteration of the site in the About section, but the gist is that each post is a satirical news article sensationalizing the life of a college student/recent graduate. Most of these pieces are over 10 years old; some have aged like wine while others have aged like milk. And like aged wine and aged milk, they are probably more palatable when all mixed together. Enjoy!
Originally published June 27, 2011
At approximately 7:55 PM on Sunday June 26th, John C. joined up with his fellow campers in a game of capture the flag on Alexander Beach.
Counselors at the camp discovered John, camper number 10, was missing during the 7:30 PM roll- call in the courtyard of the Cuyler dorms. A quick check of the sign-out sheet showed that he had never officially checked out. When queried, his roommates said that they saw him exit his room, 402, earlier in the evening.
T. Lindeman, Princeton Class of 2014, went quickly to the room in question and banged on the door, blew his heavy-duty whistle, and generally made lots of noise outside the door. When no one answered, he went back outside where roll-call had just finished, and informed the other counselors that John was officially “Missing Level: Five.”
The camp, which runs from the 25th to the 29th, is the second of three elite rowing camps held at the University. During the first camp, the five counselors worked together to keep the unruly and promiscuous campers from taking part in any “hanky-panky.” Several boys were caught by T. Lindeman returning to their room a half an hour after lights-out at 10:30 PM, after visiting a room consisting of three girls. Once J. Lindeman informed the camp director of T. Lindeman’s story, the boys were threatened with expulsion from the camp and were no longer a problem.
“I feel like that catch was just preparing me for the missing camper problem this week,” said T. Lindeman. “I became much more observant, and began to think in different directions.”
T. Lindeman immediately set another counselor to work finding John’s cell phone number. It turns out that he did not give an area code. T. Lindeman deduced that his area code must be the same as some other campers’, specifically that of his schoolmates. It was known that there were other campers from John C.’s in attendance, so T. Lindeman cross-checked the area codes to come up with a number.
“I just thought that it would be a quick fix to the problem, and entire thing would have ended there and then,” said T. Lindeman. “I was wrong.”
Things became much more complicated when it was not John who answered the phone, but his mother. It turns out that he had put his home phone number down instead of his cell. T. Lindeman asked for John’s cell number and assured the parents everything was fine while another counselor called John. When John didn’t answer the phone, T. Lindeman raised the Missing Level to “Missing Level: Three.”
“Missing Level: Three” involves gathering the aid of a coach staying in the dorms. Since Coach Smith was already involved, it was obvious that the situation was rapidly deteriorating. The dreaded “Missing Level: One,” in which the counselors call CES, seemed to be a very real possibility. It is fortunate that the crisis did not rise to such a level because the counselors would have had some trouble calling CES. They did not know CES’ number, or even what the acronym stands for.
T. Lindeman then sent a counselor back into the dorms to look elsewhere. After she checked adjacent hallways and bathrooms, she returned outside where T. Lindeman understood she had no luck.
“I quietly looked around and called his name,” said the counselor “but he didn’t answer and I didn’t see him.”
Fifteen minutes had already elapsed since the roll-call. Thinking quickly, T. Lindeman knew that if another five minutes passed with no luck, the master key would have to be used, and John’s dorm room would have to be searched for clues. Not wanting things to have to come to that, Lindeman forced himself to go over the clues he had.
“I thought that the report from the witnesses, John’s roommates, might not be spot on,” said Lindeman. “These kids are unreliable and emotionally immature. Under more jovial circumstances, I would believe them. But things were getting tense.”
Lindeman’s next thought was of their search methods. Up until then, their tactics were relatively quiet. “I decided to change that,” he said.
Walking being the dorms to room 402’s back windows, Lindeman began blowing his whistle much more sharply into the open windows, and banging on the glass. After several minutes of this, with only moments to spare before he would have to declare “Missing Level: Two,” he thought he saw one window move slightly. Unable to see clearly due to the brightness outside, Lindeman shouted in, “John, come outside!” He raced to the fourth entryway just as John emerged, bleary-eyed and disoriented.
“I guess I fell asleep,” John later said. “These practices are pretty tough, and I didn’t really rest up before coming to the camp. I’m sorry I caused a problem, and happy they were able to fix things so quickly.” The entire ordeal lasted 20 minutes.
The other counselors were very happy with what T. Lindeman accomplished. “There’s a reason he was given the best review by the previous week’s campers,” said one counselor. “Even with my miniscule responsibilities in the search, I nearly caved under the pressure.”
“I was pretty overwhelmed, too,” said another counselor. “I had no idea these camps got no serious. Apparently it isn’t all sunshine, happiness, and bronzing.”
The head counselor also praised Lindeman’s efforts. “He really put all of us on his back. I can’t believe he wasn’t made head counselor.”
“I honestly had no idea what was going on,” said another counselor on the squad. “That might be a testament to Tommy [Lindeman]’s skill. Also, to my complete lack of skill, but probably more to his skill.”
For Lindeman, though, there is still more work to be done. “There are two and a half more days to get through. A lot of the campers seem like really solid kids, but we’ll still need to be vigilant, and we’ll still need to make sure the kids are safe, while making the camp as enjoyable as possible.”
John, though, is full of cheer and covered in smiles. “I’m really glad I got to take part in CTF,” he said following his rescue from certain doom. “I always have fun at the camp’s Mandatory Fun events!”
From the Archives is a series of reposted articles from a previous iteration of The Lindeman Daily. There is more information about that iteration of the site in the About section, but the gist is that each post is a satirical news article sensationalizing the life of a college student/recent graduate. Most of these pieces are over 10 years old; some have aged like wine while others have aged like milk. And like aged wine and aged milk, they are probably more palatable when all mixed together. Enjoy!
Originally published May 13, 2011
This weekend the Princeton men’s crew teams will travel to Worcester, MA for the annual Eastern Sprints Championships. Participants from the Eastern Association of Rowing Colleges (EARC) gather every year to compete in the 65 year old event. Tommy Lindeman ’14 will accompany the teams to watch the races from the sidelines.
“It’s not ideal,” said Lindeman, currently sidelined because of a broken rib. “But I guess it’s just as good as actually racing.”
Lindeman has spectated at races since he was thirteen years old. “My brother [Jack Lindeman ’11] got into rowing in high school, and I was always dragged by my parents to his races. They were pretty boring, but the food was good.” Those high school races, which he watched for the next three years without ever participating in, were 1500 meters in length. Official college races, and even a few high school races, are 2000 meters.
“My first few years were a good introduction,” said Lindeman. “But these extra 500 meters are different. This is a whole different ball game. I’ll miss at least part of the race, no matter where I stand.” Due to the inconvenient scheduling of his high school races, Lindeman was only able to see one or two of his brother’s college events. He considers his first true experience to be one at the beginning of this season, during a scrimmage with Georgetown and Syracuse.
“It was a big shock,” Lindeman said of watching the scrimmage. “And then they went back out later that day for a few more shorter [race] pieces. Talk about ripping off the band-aid.” But it was good practice for this weekend, which features back to back races all day in the 1V, 2V, 3V, and 1F categories. “Eight races in a day sounds like a lot, but that’s because it is,” said Lindeman. “Maybe I’ll catch them all, who knows?”
Lindeman confessed he does not actually enjoy watching races. “I’ve been to Sprints once before,” said Lindeman. “It was during Jack’s sophomore year. I’m not sure how he did. I don’t think I even watched the race. Rowing races are 95% boring, 5% exciting.”
For Lindeman, the main draws are the food tent and the chance be to out in the sun. “I’m really hoping the sun’s out strong this weekend. I want to catch some rays, get a nice tan going.” He was also enthusiastic about the chance to “cram his face with food” and the prospect of “strutting around, macking on all the biddies.”
In between big sandwiches and steamy make-out sessions, Lindeman fully expects to watch at least a couple of the races. “I know it sounds like I’m more interested in the food and babes,” he said. “Well maybe I am, but I also really want my teammates to win. If my cheers, mixed in with the screaming of all the other spectators, can get them over the finish line faster, then I’ll cheer.” Lindeman later clarified, saying he has no proof, or even faith, that cheers make boats faster.
Lindeman will be joined on the sidelines by countless parents, coaches, and with any luck, some hot chicks. Racing begins Sunday morning.
“It should be fun; I hope it doesn’t rain,” said Lindeman. “Oh, and the boats too. I hope they do well.”
