Sacred Heart University

16 Nov 2009. Whoa! Caught in the lunch rush of a normal school day! Youthful pedestrians everywhere! Now this is the buzz, the pulse, the lifeblood, the soul, the spirit, the energy, the sacred heart of a campus.


"Hello?"
"Trevor?"
"Hello, Ishmael."
"Trevor! How's the priesthood!! Any hot nuns?"
"Ah, it's hard to tell. With the robes and all."
"Say hi to the hot nuns for me when you figure it out. Getting used to the northeast yet?"
"It's Fairfield, Connecticut. It's as exciting as it sounds. But I'm getting on all right. But you! I hear you're a TV star! Tell me all about that. I finally have some time."
Ish laughed. "TV star?? I spent a few weeks in BFE Iowa. It was fun but I'm no star."
"Iowa...what kind of show is this in Iowa? Nature show?"
"Reality show. You never heard of The Real World?"
Trevor lied. "Ah, the TV show? Yeah I think so. So...did you win?"
"There's not really a winner, but, yes I won. Wink wink. MTV can recruit some fine looking talent...not to rub it all in your face, Father van Ness. I still don't see how you can go without the women."
"You're not rubbing it in my face, you know, it's part of my commitment. But I'm not a 'Father' yet, so you can still call me Trevor until then. In fact, I'd prefer it."
"Good, that sounded weird the moment I said it. When you get promoted to Pope, then I'll call you Father. Or Padre. Yeah, I like Padre."
"Pope?? Hold on now - "
"But if I call you Trevor, can you stick with calling me Ish? Ishmael is too formal."
"Isn't that your name?"
"You're the last one that still calls me Ish!"

A call of distress interrupted the old friends.
"DEACOOOOOOOOOOON! Deacon, I need you!"

Ish asked, "Who's that? What's going on?"
"Ah, one of the nuns. Probably Sister Mary."
"Ha, nuns in trouble! Do your thing, Trevor. We'll catch up later."
"No, I keep putting you off and I feel bad about it. I'll call right back. Sorry, Ish."

Trevor stood up as a wizened old nun puttered in.
"Sister Mary, what seems to be the problem? You're screaming bloody murder while I'm on the phone."
"I'm sorry, Deacon, but this is an emergency! We've been robbed!"
"Well, hold on now. What was taken?"
"My sacred candy hearts!"
"...Your what now?"
"They were in a jar on the mantle! It's open and they're gone!"
"Wait...you think someone broke in to steal candy hearts? We can buy another bag at The Pantry."
The wizened old nun spit dust. "Buy...another...bag? Do you even know what the sacred candy hearts were? I was meticulously hand painting the psalms on these tiny hearts. It was hours and hours and hours of my time. I was almost finished! They were irreplaceable! I cannot just buy another bag!"
Sister Mary was red.
Trevor was pale.
Yes, these chalky candy hearts had tiny words on them, but don't they all? They were sitting in a candy dish above the fireplace for all to enjoy!
He was now very afraid of this wizened old nun.
"I...didn't know...there was anything special about them. I...offered them to our visitors...I'm sorry."
Trevor thought the wizened old nun's eyes were going to fall out of her head.
"You...gave...them...away!?"
"Not...not all of them! There's still some left, right?" He slowly circled around her.
"YOU GAVE THEM AWAY!"
"Let's go see right now!" Trevor ran down the hall to the living room.
The jar was mostly empty, one pink one lay at the bottom.
"Here's one right here!" He held it up as a vampire hunter would hold a cross. Part righteous-power, part please-don't-kill-me. Sister Mary was on his heels with fire in her eyes.
She still had the composure to ask, "Read it to me! I don't have my looking glass."
Trevor held his breath and silently said a half-second prayer.

Please don't let this be one of those psalms about smiting.

Trevor could not have picked a better psalm out of the Bible.
"Happy are those whose transgression is forgiven, whose sin is covered."
The wizened old nun's posture softened. She breathed and actively took control of herself. "Psalm 32. All right, Deacon, all right. We can just ask your visitors to give them back. It will be okay, I apologize for the outburst."
"Give them back? But they were candies. We...ah, we ate them."

******

"Trevor?"
"Ish."
"What's going on now? You sound out of breath. Everything okay?"
"Oh yeah. All good. Just a nun calling me a motherfucker."

Montana State University

4 Aug 2009. Wheat Montana was a great recommendation by the ladies at the MSU bookstore. Like Panera but with corrugated metal instead of pastel overstuffed easy chairs.


"Those falls weren't that great."
"The real Great Falls is a few miles downstream. But there have been so many dams built on the Missouri that the falls today are only a fraction of the spectacle that Lewis & Clark encountered in 1805."
"Could we take a break from the interpretation, please?"
The horse-mounted ranger looked hurt. "Sure."
The young driver exhaled. "I'm sorry. After being abandoned by Alicia, I'm just ready to zone out for a while." He shifted on his seat. "And my butt's numb again. How do you handle it, uberglutes?"
"Yoga. Though I tell people cross country skiing."
"Yoga? You??"
The driver laughed. The ranger frowned.
"All right, all right. My lips are sealed. Cat claw?"
He foisted up an almond-studded pastry through the opening in his cage.
"No, thanks."
The ranger's horse flipped his neck right and grabbed the pastry with its frightening lips.
"Whoa! Look at those lips!"
"Oh! Bad Pompey! No sweets! Please do not feed my horse junk food."
"I have some 9-grain bagels."
"Maybe later. We still have 200 miles to go."
So continued the molasses slow journey of Otter, driving a miniature Bobcat tractor, and Ranger Redfeather, astride a pony.

******

Otter, senior biology major at Montana State in Bozeman, was not content to have his final report be based on mere library research. He did not want his findings on bobcat habitat conservation to exist in a vacuum; he wanted to have impact. A caffeine fueled brainstorm with his academic advisor yielded an original proposal: a fundraising journey from the continental divide in Glacier National Park to Bozeman.
The poetic synergy made Otter's loins tingle with glee: To save the bobcats, a student, whose school mascot is a bobcat, would drive a Bobcat skid steer.
Glacier National Park donated the dark green one-seat machine, retrofitted with a second seat over the shovel. This bumper seat was reserved for Otter to keep a video journal of the trip. He recruited a girl from the MSU conservation club named Alicia to drive. The small cockpit of the Bobcat was basically a Humvee for someone as small as Alicia.
As far as food, it wasn't hard to gather non-perishables for a nonstop three-day trip, but Wheat Montana stepped up anyway. The local chain donated loads of loafs from Kalispell, and also for his stops in Great Falls and Bozeman.
The only group that did not cooperate was Parks Canada. Otter wanted a greater audience for his message. He reckoned that since his starting point was Glacier-Waterton International Peace Park, the northerners would be interested. He reckoned wrong.
Even without Canada's help, Otter was packed and ready. Alicia was not. She was unprepared for inclement weather, and in a Teton County rainstorm, she caught a cold. She dropped out, her parents picking her up roadside in Great Falls.
This crammed Otter's long swimmer's limbs behind the wheel, taking the camcorder out of his hands and limiting his video footage. The shovel-seat was now used as an equipment shelf.
They ate up the road at 7 mph, swapping stories and making fun of Canadians.

******

"I still can't believe they refused to get on board on account of 'bobcats not being endangered enough'. That's not even the point! What, do you have a long list of college student fundraising slo-mo marathons?"
Ranger Redfeather concurred. "Canadians are small-minded."
"I would always defend them. I would always give them the benefit of the doubt. But if you can't even be bothered to send a maple leaf bumper sticker for the Bobcat, then what other conclusion can I reach?"
"I have known of their ways and now you do too."
"So the US Park System has to step it up and donate a Bobcat, a horse, and a ranger's time."
"Pompey is mine. And Glacier did not donate me. I am donating my own weekend."
"Are you serious? Why?"
"One: The bobcat is my totem animal. Two: Conservation is never a poor choice. Bobcats are numerous now, but so were passenger pigeons right before their extinction. Your cause is a good one."
The sun was setting behind the Big Belt mountains. The shadows of Otter and Ranger Redfeather merged and stretched twenty feet into the brush.
"Thank you for coming, Mr. Redfeather."
The ranger touched the brim of his beige Stetson.
"And when I heard the Canadians wouldn't help, I had to! Ha ha ha!"

******

"Bozeman in view, Otter."
Otter strained his face to focus. He bit his tongue and slammed his head against the metal cage to wake himself.
"Finally! All I have left is 9-grain bagels. Awful. I think I was starting to see things in the road too."
"Hallucinations are common when not sleeping for two days."
"How are you and Pompey doing?"
"Why do you think we use the word 'workhorse'? He is fine. As for me, I have trained with sleep deprivation before."
"So you're a trippin' yoga Indian Ranger."
"Trippin' yoga Nez Perce Ranger, yes."
Otter and Ranger Redfeather puttered onto the MSU campus.
"Look, there's my parents. And some of my friends. And the conservation club I guess." Otter sounded disappointed.
"What were you expecting? A local news crew?"
"Actually, yes. It's not like much happens in - whoa!"
"Otter??"
Otter and his Bobcat sunk out of view. Ranger Redfeather dismounted. Otter, distracted by the welcoming committee, had driven right through some yellow caution tape and onto a rain-weakened embankment. It gave way, sending the Bobcat tumbling into a natural gutter. The stream was only a few feet below, but the Bobcat had rolled upside down, sending cold muddy water into the driver's cage. Ranger Redfeather knew well that it took no more than a few inches of water to drown someone. He needed to get Otter out. Or at least set the Bobcat upright.
"Someone get help!" Ranger Redfeather yelled to the other end of the field. He jumped into the muck. His boots quickly got suctioned off. He pushed his weight against the Bobcat. There was no way he was going to pull it out on his own, or even set it upright. Otter struggled to turn himself rightside-up, but there was little maneuvering room and he was running out of air. Some of the crowd ran away, most ran towards the creek.
"HELP! Someone get a rope!"
Five ropes fell on Ranger Redfeather's shoulders. He looked up. Five stallions that dwarfed Pompey stood with ropes tied to their saddles. They were mounted by men in Red Serge and flat-brimmed Stetsons. Ranger Redfeather tied the loose ends to the back of the Bobcat cage. The horses turned tail and easily pulled the Bobcat up. When it was on steady ground, Otter kicked open the front of the cage and tumbled out. His family gathered around him as he spit and coughed, snotting out mud and gathering his breath.
"Otter, are you okay?"
"I'm ready for a hot shower, please. Thank you for coming everyone. Save the bobcats and so on. Alicia, you made it?"
"Of course, I'm still the historian. Say cheese!"
"Oh, man." Otter grimaced and shivered. He turned to the Mounties. Ranger Redfeather was talking to them.
"Looks like you used a bowline, Ranger?"
"Nothing works better."
Otter said, "Thank you all for saving me. But...I am surprised to see you. I thought Parks Canada didn't want to get involved?"
One of the Mounties addressed Otter. "I'm not privy to that information, but like Ranger Redfeather here, we are volunteering our time. When I picked up my daughter from Great Falls, she convinced me to be here to make up for her leaving early."
"Oh. Well...she couldn't help that she got a cold and...wait, wait...your daughter? Alicia, your dad's a Mountie?"
"Yep, we're Calgarians. Except for the constables, not sure where they're from."
Alicia's dad nodded and the other Mounties called roll.
"Constable Mackenzie, Banff."
"Constable Logan, Medicine Hat."
"Constable Rupert, Moose Jaw."
"Constable Fraser, Head-Smashed-In Buffalo Jump."
Otter shook each of their hands. "Your towns have awesome names."
Alicia's dad said, "Bozeman has a unique ring to it as well."
"Couldn't tell you where it came from. But I'm sure there's a story behind it..."

Sleep deprivation prevented me from getting a better shot of Bobcat Stadium.

Villanova University

25 Oct 2008. Nice looking glass here. Villanova's classy V logo, classy script, classy glass with the craggy punt to keep it interesting. (Saw this same style with the Vancouver Olympic logo in a petrol station in Alberta, so not as unique as I had hoped.) If only they weren't the generic 'wildcats' their athletic identity would be top notch.

Persephone, DDS, MBA (born Persephone Evelyn Bumbaugh, but when Persephone is your first name, that's really all you need) was a forward thinking alum of Villanova University, a religious affiliated school - probably Jesuit - outside Philadelphia. She had a 'sunk cost' outlook on life, refusing to let any past mistakes or accomplishments hold her back from any future ones. Her blonde hair also held this view, the voluminous curls threatening to explode off her scalp at any moment.
Anyway, she found it quite easy to put aside her full time dentistry duties to take up a consulting position with Proctor & Gamble Medical Services. Her DDS degree had served her well, but she was eager to try out her newly acquired MBA skills.
She loved the brand management team she was assigned to. Such a great work ethic and instant camaraderie with the half dozen other brand managers. Although Persephone was the rookie, the team knew a good idea when they heard it. Once they received the blessing of the Collegiate Licensing Association, Persephone was elected to present their recommendations to the VP of Medical Services.
"What have you got for us, Persephone?"
"Villanovocaine."
It was the portmanteau that launched a $325.6 million revenue stream for Proctor & Gamble. It was a slam dunk on all accounts. Persephone promptly resigned from P&G, batting 1.000 (that is, 1 for 1) in the medical marketing arena.
Persephone's later dabblings included Milton Bradley (Hofstratego), Colgate (DePaulmolive), and H.J. Heinz (William & Marinara).

Photographic rendering, Loudmouth Midwestern Marketing Dentist

Eastern Mennonite University

27 Sep 2007. From the tiny campus bookstore. An indoor track runs right in front of its entrance.

Some people use sarcasm to make jokes or poke fun. Others use it with hateful intentions. But the vast majority who employ sarcasm, and its self-absorbed cousin irony, have no idea of the vast cultural history and impacts of these two uniquely human ideas. Royal Bristlermartin and Peter diScala were two such rare individuals. They also carved it epic.
Amateur sociologists, amateur surfers, amateur proselytizers, and professional bellhops, Bristlermartin and diScala longed to change the world. Indeed they would, but not in any way they could ever predict.
******
As Mennonite missionaries and groms, Royal and Peter split their time between the Hawaiian islands of Maui and Oahu. They gained unprecedented exposure to the most biting sarcasm and irony working in the religious education and customer service positions. Their surfing excursions were where they could vent their day-to-day frustrations. The ocean gladly absorbed the negative energy and turned it into the toe curling waves for which Hawaii is famous. One might imagine a religious scholar as cooped up in a tiny room, with nothing but candlelight to illuminate pages and spark ecclesiastical thought, but for Royal and Peter, it was precisely the opposite. The majority of their important discussions and insights were on the Pacific crests.
******
When the Mennonite church announced plans to start an educational seminary in the continental U.S., Royal and Peter sat up and listened. Like most of history, timing made all the difference. Their reports from the mission field and desire to educate on the dangers of sarcasm and eradicate the causes of ennui were well known to their contemporaries. Any earlier and they would be too into surfing to seriously consider leaving Hawaii. Any later and they would have been far too jaded by the perpetual battle against hopelessness to believe they could make any realistic change.

They were ambitious, not naive.

Their bare ambition showed when they applied to start their seminary in an epicenter of sarcasm and irony: a pseudo hippie enclave and college town. Ideally they would have gone to Berkeley, California, as it housed both hippies and undergraduates, but the church hierarchy was not eager to pay Bay Area rents. Undaunted, Royal and Peter continued their search. Their final choices unfortunately were not in agreement. Royal chose a college town: Harrisonburg, Virginia. Peter wanted a hippie enclave: Salem, Oregon. Both cities were within a few hours of the shore so they could frequently visit the surf that so inspired them. Royal saw his stalemate with Peter was not going to end anytime soon. Time was working against them as there were dozens of other seminary prospects being considered. He filled out the requisite forms for establishment in Harrisonburg and sent them off. He figured starting one of their locations would be better than none at all. His guilt assuaged, Royal left for Virginia. When Peter found out, Royal was long gone, never to speak to Peter again. Peter did not give up though. Several decades later, Peter founded the Western Mennonite Sarcasm and Surfing Seminary. Both the Western and Eastern S&S were educating on the evils of doubletalk and committing to eradicate it. But thanks to its early start, Royal's school is now the preeminent institution in the church: Eastern Mennonite University.

The young theologians discussing The Boardless Surfer, Jesus of Nazareth

New Mexico State University

January 2007. Pistol Pete, who stole your weaponry? Pity the rugged rancher who is limited to a short range, if ultimately more useful, length of rope! Oh, what's this? They were under a haystack of pro-cartoon-firearm complaints the whole time! Well then, back to business as usual.
When NMSU brought their logo into the 21st century, they also took away their mascot's pair of six shooters. It wasn't long before they were restored. I am all for tradition over rampant political correctness - kids couldn't get a working gun that looks like that if they tried - but in this case, the lasso logo was better balanced. Pete looks kind of awkward now, like he is falling forward (perhaps he drew too late?) and will be goin' down shootin'.
The rocks glass is great, the first in this set. The weight and handfeel is top notch and the curved-in rim makes it unique although the printed design is nothing special. Las Cruces looked so sad when I passed through, covered in mist and fog. Don't get me wrong, the school looked put together but if Las Cruces was a face, it sincerely needed a shave. Is that part of its charm? I'm no New Mexican and will probably be only a tenth of one on my manliest days.