18 Nov 2008. Quietly integrated and hidden within the city lies the home of the UDC Firebirds, near the headquarters of charitable playground builders KaBoom!, do-it-yourself pottery shop All Fired Up, and salsariffic Uptown Tavern. They like to make buildings out of concrete on this campus.
Trevor and Ish, UDC students and interns at the Smithsonian National Zoological Park, had heroism in their hearts and wildlife in their convertible. An okapi and a giraffe, specifically.
For its 75th anniversary, the National Zoo was unveiling a new habitat for its "Hoofin' it to the Serengeti" exhibit. The guest of honor for the day was to be Michael Babatunde, prime minister of the okapi capital of the world, Zambia. A week before the unveiling, the zoo's ungulates up and died. Did they contract some rare horse flu or eat rat poison? Who knows. The zoo director was horrified at the prospect of showing nothing but an empty, though slick looking, faux watering hole.
Trevor felt bad for the zoo director and saw this as an opportunity. He decided to help. He called his friend at the Frederick Animal Park in Maryland. Then he enlisted Ish.
"Ungulates?"
"Hoofed mammals."
"I work in the aviary, Trevor. There's not many hoofed mammals in with the birds."
"No, I can get the animals. I just need to borrow one of your parents' cars. They're still in Hawaii, right?"
"Virgin Islands. Which car do you want? My mom's minivan or my dad's Firebird?"
"Ish, we need to get an okapi and a giraffe to show to the prime minister of Zambia, so obviously, we need to arrive in style. Let's take the Firebird."
Trevor's contact at the Frederick Animal Park came through. He had two tranquilized juveniles ready to go on the Saturday morning. He made them promise to have them back the next day for their weekly checkups.
The okapi went in the trunk. With the backseats folded down and the cargo net up, Trevor and Ish could keep an eye on it while restrained. The giraffe was a litle trickier. It was laid across the folded down seats, buckled in.
Ish drove, windows down, headed southeast on I-270. Ish's afro and Trevor's shaggy moustache flapped in the wind.
Trevor said, "We're gonna be local celebrities. What're you gonna do with all that prestige? I'd like to do some time with the Peace Corps or the foreign service."
"Um, travel around? Haven't really thought about that kind of thing, but west Africa sounds kickin'. I'd like to go there."
The cars in front of them slowed.
"Whoa, slow down, Ish."
"Where's this traffic coming from?"
"Skins game?"
"Football is on Sundays. And it's the offseason."
"Well, I don't know."
"It's only ten AM. We got two hours."
"I know, but still."
Forty minutes of normal traffic and an hour of construction detours later, they crossed into District territory on Connecticut Avenue NW.
"We're FINALLY moving! Suck, that was RIDICULOUS."
"Just get us there, Ish. I think the giraffe is moving."
"Moving? Already?"
"We were planning on being at the zoo an hour ago."
"I don't want it in here when it wakes up. A bee in the car is bad enough. Can you tie its legs? Look for some string or something."
"That's what I'm doing. All...I...see...under the seat...I have jumper cables and bungee cords."
The giraffe squealed weakly.
"Get the freaking bungees on it! Is the okapi moving too?"
"Calm down! One thing at a time! Don't worry about the okapi, it's stuck in the trunk."
Trevor wrapped the bungee cords around the giraffe's front and back ankles. The giraffe stuck its head between the driver and passenger seats. It started tonguing the gearshift.
Ish pressed his body left. Trevor pressed his body right. They both froze.
They pulled away from a traffic light. The Firebird reached 15 mph before groaning for second gear.
"Ish, hurry up!" said Trevor through gritted teeth, still giving the giraffe space.
"That thing is gonna bite my hand."
Trevor pulled the lever on his right to flop his seat forward. The giraffe moved its head back. It started chewing on road maps sticking out of the passenger seatback. Ish shifted the slimy gearshift into 2nd, 3rd, and 4th in three seconds. They pulled into the employee parking lot. The lot was full so Ish parked along the curb. He reached for the emergency flashers but in his shaken state he accidentally released the trunk door. The okapi fell out and galloped into the park. Tourists shrieked.
Trevor jumped out. "Get a wrangler for the giraffe! I'll get the okapi!"
"With what?"
Trevor didn't answer. He didn't know.
Shoot me, thought Trevor, running through the crowd in his olive shorts and khaki shirt. There goes my spot in the Peace Corps. I don't even know how to wrangle an okapi.
But Prime Minister Babatunde did.
The Zambian entourage fled from the animal's path. Babatunde stood fast. He whipped the scarf from his neck and around the okapi's. With a flick of his wrist, a knot appeared in the scarf. He held the scarf in one hand and placed the other on the okapi's withers. He ran alongside it. As he slowed his pace, so did the okapi's.
Trevor caught up. He saw Babatunde's colorful garb and rightly assumed he was the big guy.
"I am so sorry, sir. I didn't mean to put you in danger."
"Danger? Do not be silly. It is just a baby. Where did it come from? I heard many animals died from a disease."
"Me and my friend brought it from another zoo for this event. I wanted to surprise my boss but everything went to hell."
"Not at all, young man. Please, sit with me."
Babatunde sat down cross legged on the concrete. Somehow he induced the okapi to lay down as well. Trevor joined him. The Zambian groupies came around too.
"What is your name?"
"Trevor van Ness."
"Let me ask you, Trevor van Ness. Did anyone else bring extra okapi? Did anyone else even consider the idea of extra okapi?"
Ish and a few other zoo employees came to stand behind Trevor.
"Is this your friend here?" Babatunde pointed to Ish and his fro.
"Yes, that's Ish."
Babatunde spoke something foreign to his aides.
"You will be honored at the ceremony that you just saved. I will see you in a few minutes."
He stood up with the help of his aides. He handed the okapi over to a zookeeper and walked off.
"Trevor, is Zambia in west Africa?"
"South Central."
"Eh, won't be picky."
A newspaperman picking up the story wanted to give the audacious youngsters flashier names than 'students' or 'zookeepers'. Since he couldn't be sure of the spelling of okapi or giraffe, he went with their makeshift animal transporter. Looking at the hood, the name Firebird was clear even to the illiterati.
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
25 Oct 2008. A new feature on the CCP is campus photos. There is one for Drexel below but in a few weeks they will start showing up regularly beginning with UNC Asheville. Getty Images will still act as stand-in when my photos turn out blurry and useless, which happens quite often!
"What do you want?"
"I want to sing - "
"You sing beautifully!"
" - without causing destruction!"
Maria shut up. No argument there. But this was an unnatural operation Mario was talking about. Dangerous too. Obviously, there were not many doctors who knew how to safely remove a dragon's pyrovox glands. She could not help but protest Mario's proposal.
"You would be giving away what makes a dragon a dragon."
Mario crushed the rocks under his feet.
"What makes a dragon a dragon is not about the smoke on its breath but the fire in its belly!"
Mario caught a spark of fright underneath Maria's normally strong exterior. He forced himself to lower his voice.
"I have made my decision. Do you stand by me?"
"Always."
Mario relaxed. He walked over to Maria for a dragon's kiss, nuzzling her neck. He spread his deep blue wings and lifted off the ground.
"I love you, Maria."
"I love you too. Be careful!"
Mario headed west. 600 miles and the Appalachian mountains lay between him and South Bend.
*TO BE CONTINUED*
Part 1: Notre Dame
Part 2: Toledo
12 Sep 2008. A walk through this religious-founded school - most likely Jesuit - yielded a rock gray tumbler. May be used to tumble rocks, if that's how you get your jollies. No demons were spotted anywhere. :(
Admiral George shouted through his mustache."Ahoy! Yates!"
"Ahoy! Healy!"
"Ahoy! Maguire!"
Now granted permission, the three young men in gray jerseys and short pants jogged onto the basketball court. The crowd yelled. They cheered. They jumped. They clapped.
They were getting desperate.
Georgetown was trailing Syracuse by twelve points halfway through the second half. If Georgetown was to advance through the playoffs, they had to cut the deficit now.
George McDonough, the PA announcer given the honorary title Admiral for his frequent kayaking trips on the Potomac and thus began introducing players with an 'ahoy', was sweating too. Fortunately the sound system was too rough to pick up any subtle vocal tremblings.
Every fan's nervousness came from one missing piece. Noticeably absent from the court was strong forward and debate team captain Carlton Sax. He had broken his hand several days prior with an emphatic slam of his fist on the podium. He was arguing for sturdier tariff laws to stall the introduction of the federal income tax, a cause he sincerely believed in.
His unavailability on the roster was the sole reason Georgetown was down by a dozen. He was also the reason the team had made it this far. Coach can make all the triple switch substitutions he wanted, but without Sax it was just hatching rocks.
Sax and Coach were not worried.
Sax and Coach had other plans.They staged the whole shebang: the fist slam, Sax's hand in a cast, Sax reporting to the game in 'street clothes'. Only Sax and Coach were in on it. They clearly valued the element of surprise, not to mention theatricality.
And now it was time for the big reveal.
Coach nodded at Sax. Sax quietly slipped off the bench and into the locker room to change. He returned in his fresh gray uniform and took his seat. The arena turned its attention from the court to the sidelines. Animated, inebriated whispers reverberated through the bleachers. Admiral George was slackjawed. Why was Sax in uniform with a casted hand? Was he going to play with one hand behind his back?
The answer came when Sax walked to the substitution area in front of the announcer's table. He unwrapped his bandage and tossed it over his shoulder. The crowd - and Syracuse's coaches - were stunned in disbelief. Coach called in a 30-second timeout. As Sax walked onto the court giving the players slaps on the backside, Admiral George had to make the call official. He stumbled over his words:
"...HOYA! SAXA!"
******
Now some contend that the Georgetown Hoyas' battle cry is a pseudo-Latin translation of 'hey, check out these rocks' or 'today, the saxophone'. Decades pass, stories get warped, so the different theories are understandable. But how could you forget the legendary flub of Admiral George and the come-from-behind win sparked by the dribblin' debater, Carlton Sax?
You wouldn't know feasible tariff law if it slithered out of your derriere and voted for William Jennings Bryan!
7 Aug 2008. Northwestern is another brilliantly planned and beautifully arranged campus, crowding the coast of Lake Michigan. Where did the purple wildcat mascot come from? It's hard to say, but I'd like to think it had something to do with a cornbreadus-interruptus safari on the Chicago River.
Young Theodore Roosevelt was riding the rails of the Union Pacific from his fledgling ranch in North Dakota back to his home on Long Island. He sat smiling, extremely satisfied with his recent trip. He had accomplished his main goal, bagging a bull bison, on the final day before departure.
On one side of him was Bill Sewall, a longtime friend and companion on the frontier. On the other side were two men looking at a biology textbook and discussing a local issue.
"By the river? Are you sure?"
"If he said he saw it, he saw it."
"Amazing! With all the raucous construction about only makes it more unbelievable."
TR broke in. "Pardon me, sir, but may I ask the unbelievable event of which you speak?"
"A Northwestern Wildcat has been spotted by the Chicago River! One has not been seen anywhere in thirty years! It had been presumed extinct."
"By the Chicago River, you say? Thank you very much." TR turned to Sewall. "Bill, where are we right now?"
"In Chicago."
"Chicago! By criminy! Stop the train!"
"The train is already stopped."
"Good, good. How much time before departure?"
"Almost three hours' worth."
"Bill, I feel a bit of residual luck. What say we test it out?"
TR, never at a loss for energy, was determined to bag the cat.
******
Armed with a textbook illustration courtesy the friendly passenger, TR and Sewall, still clothed in fringe buckskin and armed with flintlock rifles, rowed the urban waterway in a rented canoe.
"These steam powered behemoths are deafening! Keep your eyes sharp, Bill!" shouted TR as they paddled past a cadre of earth movers.
The duo spent the next hour hunting the wandering cat and admiring the adolescent metropolis of Chicago. The constant din of steamshovels made their heads buzz. It also prevented them from hearing the warning cries from the shoreside laborers.
Bill Sewall began to tire of the cityscape. To him it was much duller and more interminable than the giant dirt dimples of the Dakota Badlands. He was about to request they give up on their impulsive hunt when he spotted it. The Northwestern Wildcat was crouched underneath a bridge, muscular and shimmering grey-blue from the sun's reflection.
"Brilliant sighting, Bill. And what a sight she is!"
TR began to load a tranquilizer ball when a piercing whistle sounded.
"Oh no, the train! Bill, I thought we had another hour!"
"We do. That's not the train whistle."
"Then what is it?"
"I don't know."
After the siren stopped, so did the construction equipment.
"That's better. Our ears were taking a pounding," said TR.
Roosevelt finished loading his rifle, steadied it and took aim. A soft mass bounced off his right temple. He looked down and saw a soggy chunk of yellow cornbread.
"What the...? Bill, hoisting rancid cornbread again? Not now."
"I didn't do it."
TR looked behind him. A small crowd of workers were hooting something fierce. One was breaking off pieces of his lunch and throwing it at the canoe.
"Well, they are excited to see the rare cat, but there is no point in assaulting us like pests."
The crowd all started pointing downriver.
"What?? No, the wildcat is here under the bridge. We have him cornered. ...What? I say, just stop all the commotion!"
TR thought of firing a shot to silence them but feared it would scare off the animal.
The men on the side timed their next shout together: "GET...OUT!" The cat ran off.
TR was furious. "What in the name of the devil is the problem?"
Bill Sewall motioned him to sit back down. "Do you hear that, TR?"
Their ears picked up another distant sound, not one of machinery, but of...water. Rushing water. Growing louder. And coming from...Lake Michigan? Everyone standing on the side had scattered by now.
TR put down his gun and took up an oar. "Let us also...make...haste!" he gasped in between strokes.
"Aye!"
The canoe was twenty-five feet from the river's concrete edge when they saw the source of the noise. A dirty deluge was crashing towards them, only seconds away from drowning them in a mixture of lake water and typhoid.
TR and Bill Sewall paddled for their lives, homing in on a waterlogged rope attached at the street level.
Twenty feet more till the edge. Four seconds till the wave.
Fifteen feet. Three seconds.
Ten feet. Two seconds.
Five feet. One second.
Bill Sewall was at the front of the canoe. He leaned forward and grasped the rope. TR leaped from the aft, hoping for the rope but coming up with a handful of Bill's rifle strap. They both held on tightly and took a deep breath. The mess slammed into them. They were stripped of all their equipment save for their clothing and rifles. They were hammered with debris. Their nostrils filled up with gunk. Their instinct was to plug their nostrils but realized one hand would not be strong enough to keep them from flying downstream. So they contended with mud migrating up their noses.
The current started to die. It weakened enough that they could pull their heads above water. They gasped and spit and coughed. They made efforts to keep the water out of their mouths while gulping air. In spastic clumsy motions they pulled themselves up onto the street. It took them several minutes to gain the energy to speak.
"Bill, did we get tossed topsy turvy to the other side? Wasn't the current heading east?"
"It was the current that got reversed I think."
"That is very curious. An enviable feat of engineering I should think."
"Pity about the wildcat."
"Yes. But it was a bully good hunt!"
TR and Bill Sewall returned to the train, smellier than ever.
"Oh there you are! We started to think you would not make it back," said the man who lent them the textbook photo. He stared at the puddles forming on the train deck.
"My heavens! What happened to the two of you?"
TR was still breathing heavily.
"Kind sir, can you believe the unbelievable?"
Just another average day for Theodore Roosevelt.
25 June 2008. Found at an off-campus store. The glass is thin and fragile like those Blue Moon pilsners you find at corporate bars. Don't know how it came home on the plane intact.-A good Jesuit would never go on a service trip and make a jackass of himself.-A noble Jesuit would never insist on getting drunk to incapacitation while on such a trip.-A mature Jesuit would never throw a tantrum when they are restricted from wandering about the bad part of Chicago at night lest they be murdered.-A kind Jesuit would never exclude their hosts from an impromptu New Year's party in the host's basement.-An intelligent Jesuit would never overfill their jell-o tray with vodka which would then prevent it from solidifying.-A proud Jesuit would never set said tray on the ground and drink out of it with straws as a group.-A polite Jesuit would never vomit in the host's basement without cleaning it up.But even a good Jesuit makes mistakes.
