24 Jun 2009. Look at that glass, freckled with dogs.
My memory of li'l DeKalb is unfairly clouded by the most awful traffic I have ever experienced, coming in and out of Chicago. Construction, unfamiliar territory, driving an unfamiliar vehicle, darkness, an ill-timed full bladder, and speeding (DePaul?) demons all contributed their part. All that was missing was a midwest ice storm. Running out of gas would have to substitute. Bless you, DeKalb highway oasis!
The Lewis and Clark expedition, on their way to their winter quarters with the Mandans in Dakota Territory, spent a night in Illinois Country. The lack of deer and other sustaining protein combined with smuggled adulterated whiskey made some of the enlisted men a bit wacko. Usually, in accommodating land with friendly Indians around, this would be only a nuisance to efficiency.
But with desperately hungry brown bears forced out to forage, recklessness was life-threatening.
Sergeant Ordway was one culprit.
He was hungry, cold, intoxicated, and he missed his matronly wife.
A sleeping bear caught his eye. No, Ordway did not mistake it for a huge steak, Looney-Tunes-style. His whiskey goggles showed him his dear wife, Hildegard.
He ambled over with a big, dumb grin, looking for a kiss. Captain Lewis saw Ordway's unarmed approach. It wasn't his duty to psychoanalyze his men, just to protect them.
"Ordway! No!!"
Lewis couldn't load his own rifle quick enough. The bear was smooched.
Mauling, surprisingly fast for such a large beast, would follow.
Lewis got his shot off and downed the animal, but Ordway was already gone. His sacrifice earned a meal of bear meat for the magnificently-hatted corps.
The town of DeKalb, Illinois, was later founded on the spot where Lewis and Clark lost their friend and comrade. DeKalb, in fact, was a shortened form of the burial cross' warning to others: "Don't Ever Kiss A Live Bear."
NIU's Huskies owe their name as well to Ordway and his love of big hairy women.
The NIU hotel should serve bear. Bear steaks, not meaning they should be guests at the table.
23 Jun 2009. Frostburg, WVU, RobbyMo, and Kent State all in one day! Wait, another visit to Kent State? Why on earth would I go out of my way again? Thank a lost water bottle, originally purchased 21 Nov 2007. Which ultimately I am okay with - look at that gaudy yellow eyesore. Replaced with a centennial shotglass.
Before she was into her studies, before she was into her health, before she was into dental school, new ZTA pledge Persephone Evelyn Bumbaugh was into tanning.
Like many young women, she took her skin's tautness and her godlike metabolism for granted, bombarding it with inordinate amounts of UV rays, empty alcoholic calories, and late night slabs of pizza.
Persephone, and much of the KSU student body, took the skin coloration to another level one chilly night in November. Kent State's opening night of men's basketball was being broadcast live on ESPN. In the early days of cable sports, this was unheard of for a small school (they could thank the reputation of their big-time opponent, Ohio State). For Kent State, a televised sporting event was a first. The students, traditionally feisty, shifted into full spring break mode for the game. Persephone and her sorority mates painted themselves gold, with white lettering on their stomachs that spelled out K-E-N-T-S-T-A-T-E. Persephone played the part of the last E.
"Kent Read, Kent Write, Kent State"
During a video camera's crowd scan, mini-riots broke out. A grabby drunk tried to yank off Persephone's sports bra. She pulled away and gathered some momentum on the backswing. She launched forth at his jaw with a tiny fist. She pegged him square, then gave him another shove. He was carried off by ushers. But as she turned back to the court and the camera, her top snagged on a hastily fastened STUDENTS ONLY plastic placard. It tore away a strip of spandex. The plastic sign, though it had no libido or horny malice of its own, managed to do what the drunk frat boy could not. The TV audience at home was beholden to a brief glimpse of golden tanned teen bosom.
Persephone enjoyed the rest of the game in an usher's bright yellow raincoat.
The 'golden flash' was the talk of the school the next day as much as the basketball game itself. A new nickname was born. Persephone quickly tired of the notoriety but was proud to have inspired more school spirit.
The electrocuted bird logo is another story though.
23 Jun 2009. If campuses were animals, RMU would be a basset hound. The Saddest Place on Earth! Sure it was empty due to summer break, but despite beautiful weather, the few employees and summer students milling around looked like they were headed to their own funeral, catered with pretzel rods and tonic water. Even the full retail price of the cup, 99 cents (slightly over 3 cents an ounce), mumbled, "Why bother with markup and profit margin, no one will buy our dumb stuff anyway." :'(
What a jackass Robert Morris was.
A revolutionary jackass.
A fat man lacking facial hair, he gulped patriotism in gallons. Upon learning of an impending raid on his town by the British guard, he organized the locals.
The redcoats were coming to crack down on a string of tax evasions. As the taxed item in question was an everyday necessity, people refused to pay.
Toilet paper did not exist as we know it today. Instead there were 'lav cloths', round swatches of fabric. With imported lav cloths becoming more unaffordable, the colonists of western Pennsylvania started stitching their own. In the 18th century, personal hygiene was not just proper manners, but a requirement of good health and disease prevention.
So imagine the Brits' surprise when they arrived to a quainte vigourous towne on a hilltop not crippled by dysentery.
Now imagine their even greater surprise when those commoners doff their breeches in unison.
300 pasty white clean bills of health, led by Robert Morris himself. To further the insult, Mr. Morris grabbed an English bulldog and, in a symbolic gesture, scrubbed his backside with the hound.
Furious, the brigade charged. But the diversion worked. The local militia had enough time to catch the British from behind. They were driven away, and Robert Morris was serenaded as Hero. This short event might be referred to as the Pittsburgh Assacre, but that would be crass.
Local bakers created a sweet pastry called a 'moon pie' to commemorate the victory.
The town council agreed to rename their city to 'Moon Township' in remembrance of the historic rebuttal.
The above is just another chapter in the miraculous story of the American Revolution. Once again, daring derrieres saved the day.
The cupola that became the university logo that was based off of Robert Morris' upturned rump.
23 Jun 2009. WVU had long been on my list. And after many cold walk ups ending at locked doors, I wised up and started gathering bookstores' phone numbers and business hours. Even with detailed directions from a nice homegrown front desk lady, I got lost. I visited the downtown campus and got lost trying to get there, stumbled into the bookstore's parking garage out of dumb luck, and got lost on the 45-degree streets trying to leave. Frustrated, I just put the car in neutral, folded my arms in pouting defiance and let it roll till it reached the interstate. Car insurance got expensive after that.
Jessica Hurst's mother had told her never to accept rides from strangers.
Jessica's mother, however, also told her to use mustard when mixing potato salad, and that was a matter of taste at best, a vile befoulance at worst.
But the issue at hand went beyond mere mayonnaise-based side dishes, it even went beyond the State of West Virginia. It went to Ohio. The football Mountaineers were playing their first away game at Cincinnati the next day. Jessica, the lady mountaineer, had lobbied hard to accompany the team on road trips. The administration agreed to foot the bill. Unfortunately she had overslept and the buses left her stuck in Morgantown. Being only the second young lady to don the buckskins, she was quite proud of the honor. But the scrutiny would be especially harsh after a no-show. Failing to live up to the responsibility would surely mean the stripping of her title.
Simultaneously mention the topics 'Jessica Hurst' and 'stripping' would make even the coolest man flush with flop sweat.
Nick Cassavetes, quite cool in his own right, was no exception.
"Headed to Cincinnati?"
"How did you know?"
"You guys have a game tomorrow night, right? Plus the outfit..." said Nick, motioning to her fringe.
"Okay, perceptive. Please tell me you're going there? I'll cover all your expenses for gas."
"Don't worry about gas, I was going that way anyway."
The power locks shot open. Nick stepped out of his hand-me-down station wagon.
"Let me get your bags."
Jessica watched Nick load her carryons in the trunk.
His chivalry, charming.
His Ohio license plate, corroborating.
Her hunting knife under her right pant leg, assuring.
Nick opened the door for her. "If you're hungry, there's some extra chicken wings and potato salad in the paper bag there."
"Potato salad?? Mustard- or mayonnaise-based?"
"Are you kidding? Mayonnaise, of course."
Jessica smiled and stuck out her hand. "Jessica Hurst, West Virginia University!"
"I know - you're on TV all the time! Nick Cassavetes, University of Dayton. All datin', no fu-"
Nick stopped himself short from finishing his automatic call-response. He self-edited. "Fun. All Dayton, No Fun."
"Don't worry, I've heard it. An oldie but a goodie."
The station wagon, and the flirting, continued through the Appalachians at 80 mph.
The ladies of WVU can even turn the heads of iron sculptures.
The NIU hotel should serve bear. Bear steaks, not meaning they should be guests at the table.
