University of Wisconsin, Madison

6 Aug 2009. Madison is no quaint farm town. They have a rush hour all their own. And downtown construction. And marauding hippies. I guess I kinda drove mostly around campus, through many one-way streets. I don't even know if I visited the official UW store, there were several in a row in that whole State and Lake area.


"The men need shaving swag bags, sir!"
"Send in the badgers."

The term 'Wisconsin Badgers' is a tribute to the brave brigades of badgerhounds who served in the American Civil War. The canine soldiers, clad in navy wool coats and hats, commonly called dachshunds or weiner dogs, were drafted to bring shaving supplies to the Union troops. The 'swag bags' included, among other accoutrement, badger hair lathering brushes.
At the University of Wisconsin, the Badgerhounds took the sports fields and courts until The Great War, when German terms, such as 'hound', fell out of favor. Thus they became, simply, the Badgers. The honor bestowed upon dachshunds was transferred to its dishonorable rodent prey, and the weiner dogs' badger hole of disrespect grew ever deeper.

Sie wünschen mutton chops? Ich verlange SATISFACTION!

(You want mutton-chops? I demand SATISFACTION!)

University of Northern Iowa

6 Aug 2009. Campus was deserted but I got to see the Unidome and two healthy young ladies checking me out. Checking my merchandise out, that is. Ostentatious purple plastic yards on clearance for two dollars?? In Cedar Falls, a jaw falls.


Jethro trudged through the wet gravel, the cool water between his paws the only relief from the unfiltered country sun.
The water from the Black Hawk river was clear and fresh, but the sparse diet of roots and grubs was inadequate for any bulldog. Jethro's nose was dry and his haunches were weak.
Occasionally, he saw Sir Francis Drake or the rest of The Golden Hind's crew in the distance. They would wave him onward, he would obey, they would disappear.
This time his hallucinations grew feline.
"Hey cat. You got any food." mumbled Jethro.
When the cat stalked away instead of evaporating back into his mind, Jethro realized he was dealing with a real wild animal. He stood at attention the best he could, trying to still his shaking legs.
Rustling and thumping sounded around him.
Left? No, right. No, behind!
Now right. Or left.
Jethro retreated from the open riverbed up into the wild rose shrubs.
To be pounced upon.
Dog and cat - large cat - rolled back down into the shallow water.
Jethro could barely see straight. The dizziness overtook him. His adrenaline hit empty. Conceding defeat, he lay on his back, thinking of England and its lost captain.
"I'm sorry, Drake."
The cat paused, blinking, before rearing up. Jethro's collar charm glinted in the cat's eye. It took only a second for the cat to recognize the Royal Seal.
"Sacre bleu!" said the cat. Off it ran.

Jethro gathered himself under the shade of a willow, gnawing on its fallen bark.
The cat came back to drop a dead pheasant in front of Jethro.
Jethro stood up and backed away from the cat, growling. He stopped when the cat nosed the pheasant toward him.
Jethro peered at the cat. He snatched the bird off the ground and wrapped his jowls around it. In two minutes all that remained was beak, bone, and feathers.
Jethro spit out a claw spur. "Thanks."
"De rien."
"Do you speak English?"
The cat licked its chops, saying nothing.
"Er....parlay voo Eenglaze?"
"No. Français."
"My name is, oh...jay swee Jethro."
"Napoléon." said the cat in a weighty baritone.
"Where are you from? What's up with the freakout about my collar?" Jethro dingled the charm, hoping to get through with some basic paw language.
Napoléon furrowed his brow and emitted a low, gurgling mrow. He pointed his nose skyward and ran away.
"No, wait, hold on! Uh...par-ay! Alto! Aw, jeez. What a head case."

Jethro continued vaguely east. He figured with several days behind him, it was another couple weeks till Chicago.
A purple mass of fur and a toothy smile popped into Jethro's view.
"Aah! Okay, okay, now you're freakin' me out!"
Another cat joined Napoléon's side, this one with a silver coat.
Napoléon introduced her: "Joséphine."
Jethro was near starving an hour ago. Now he was having meet-and-greets in broken French with wildcat lovebirds.
"Hi. Listen, it's great that you can talk. I mean, you, me, in the middle of Iowa territory, what are the odds? And I really appreciate the bird, Napoleon. But I don't speak any French and it's taking a lot of mental - "
"You don't have to." said Joséphine with a spotty French accent.
"Oh, praise the queen."
Jethro sat, all ears now.

Napoléon and Joséphine came from the western mountains. They had learned French from the trappers in the frontier. Napoléon was just fine, thank you, with French, but Joséphine didn't hesitate to also pick up English from other pioneers. The couple's position as liaisons to humans moved them to the top of the cats' social order. But when the other cats got tired of their God's-gift-to-the-animal-kingdom attitude, or as the raconteur put it, their "jealousy and inability to carry on a conversation", Napoléon and Joséphine were exiled to northern Iowa.
Listening to Joséphine's retelling, Napoléon recognized the word exile. He bristled and hissed, "Nous avons été traités comme des chiens."
Jethro looked over for a translation. Joséphine explained, "It was our Waterloo."
"Why can't you just go back to another part of the west? It's enormously huge. You can find a new pack of wildcats or panthers or cougars or whatever the correct term is."
"All of those names are fine. But the mountains are no longer our home."
"So what now?"
"We would love to make it to Paris. The trappers tell us it is a glorious place, where the streets are filled with endlesss rats. Enough to feed the largest cats. It was only a large and fancy dream until Napoléon saw your Royal Seal. We are willing to put aside our countries' differences if you can help us get to Europe! ...That is where you were going, yes?"
"I wasn't going anywhere really. Drake and the crew are gone. Taken by prairie rodents, catapulted from buffalo-mounted coyotes in headdresses. My initial goal was Chicago."
"Oui, oui, Chicago! Nous connaissons le chemin!"
"Yes, if we take you there, can you put us on a ship to Europe?"
"I really don't have that kind of pull. Sure, I may be English, but I'm still only an English bulldog."
"Oh, please help us get home, Jethro! We will do all the hunting for you!"
"S’il vous plaît, Jethro!" Napoleon and Joséphine activated their big-kitty-eye glands.
"Aw, jeez."

Have you ever met a cat who wasn't manipulative and French?

Iowa State University

6 Aug 2009. 'A Snack In The Face' was closed, so I settled on breakfast at their next door neighbor. Angie's Kitchen was decorated with old timey knickknacks and ads, including a questionable pro-coal bulletin. Across the street in the ISU bookstore, there were no 'spinning bird logo' gifts, only things like a hammer with the blocky 'I STATE' on the head. ISU fans who approve of this new design are difficult to find.


Aching for an escape from the midwest, Persephone Evelyn Bumbaugh had auditioned for every season of MTV's The Real World since her 18th birthday.
Five years later, she finally got the call.
Unfortunately for Persephone, the reality show's producers were getting tired of the 'bright lights, big city' format. They decided to strip it down to the essential core of opinionated group interaction. The usual urban distractions and tony digs were to be eliminated. The diverse casting remained the same save for one requirement: a token midwestern local.
This is where Persephone fit in.
Later she would realize the catch-22: being cast for a glitzy show would only happen when they eliminated the glitz.

******

This is how Persephone found herself atop a 300 foot wind turbine as a cast member on The Real World: Ames, Iowa.

******

Perhaps because of the odd location, the first two weeks of the broadcast drew low ratings. So the producers had cobbled together some 'challenges' to give their program more of a game show feel. Their first idea was to split the house into three teams and harness volunteers to 6x6 platforms atop windmills in an endurance test.
Ish, a 20-year-old student from D.C., represented the East Coast team and Siobhan, a 25-year-old dancer from Orange County, led the West Coast team. And poor Persephone, with two of her teammates from Chicago and two from Texas, was the only genuine midwesterner on the Midwest team.
They were each on top of windmills a quarter mile apart, only close enough to see each other make sweeping gestures, but they could still communicate with radio headsets. Safety crew and viewers at home could keep watch thanks to cameras affixed to both the participant's hard hat and the windmill itself. Backpacks of food and bathroom breaks were to be provided three times a day. Their furniture was a single vinyl cushion, and their entertainment, aside from three way chats, was a preprogrammed video iPod.
So, clearly, with such a well thought out plan, nothing could go wrong.

******

"Dang. I just dropped half of my protein bar." said Ish.
"Y'ain't getting that one back." said Persephone. "Siobhan, how's your Philly cheese steak sitting?"
"Not well." West Coast did not have the hardiest of leaders.
"Maybe cuz it was made in Iowa, not in Philly. I've never had the real deal. Or even been there. Ish, how about you? You live close to Philly, right?"
"Philly's like a 4 hour drive from me! Never been there."
"Well, maybe we can check it out someday."
Persephone started singing the theme song to The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air. "In West Philadelphia, born and raised..."
"...on the playground is where I spent most of my days!" sang Ish.
Persephone and Ish continued, Siobhan clearly not knowing the words but happy to sit and shimmy to it. "...I got in one little fight and my mom got scared, she said you're movin' with your auntie and uncle in Bel-Air..."

******

"You've got to be jerkin' me. The forecast was clear. In fact, it still...dog balls! That's a lot of red. Okay, pull 'em down."
The Unit Production Manager slammed his fist on his trailer wall. He wanted compelling TV, which this highwire act was proving to be, but he didn't want his three telegenics in real bodily danger.
The UPM just experienced the uselessness of midwestern weather forecasts. From the safety of his trailer.
Ish, Siobhan, and Persephone would get to experience it a touch more vividly.

******

The sun was setting, but fattened clouds were accelerating the darkness.
Ish's excess fro, Siobhan's midnight ponytail, and Persephone's ribbon locks were waving from beneath The Real World: Ames, Iowa hard hats.
Siobhan slipped on her The Real World: Ames, Iowa fleece jacket. "It's getting chilly."
Persephone said, "I'm not liking this."
"Can't take the cold, Seph?"
"Uh, look at what we are standing on, Ish. Giant lightning rods! Any sign of clouds is enough to postpone this. I can't believe they didn't check the forecast."
Static crackled over the trio's headsets. The UPM's voice cut straight to the point. "Ish, Siobhan, and Persephone, there is an extreme weather warning for the area. This challenge is cancelled. Stay where you are, you will KHKKHK in fifteen KHKKKKHKHHKK."
His voice merged into static as needlepricks of water began to fall.
"Stay where we are? Like we'll jump or something." said Persephone.
"What was he saying at the end??" whined Siobhan.
"Probably 'dog balls'." said Ish.
Persephone ignored Ish's remark. "I heard the word 'fifteen'. And I hope not fifteen minutes. We need to be picked up sooner than that."
"Why?" asked West Coast and East Coast.
Midwest didn't have to answer.
Not like she could anyway.
The wind picked up intensity. Random pops of syllables and frantic arm-waving was the only means of communication now. Dust, corn husks, and pieces of hay swirled in the air. The spin of the turbine blades increased. It reached top speed, the tips of the blades topping 200 mph. The whir abruptly ceased, with a sickening metal on metal SCRKKKKKK, an automatic response to high winds to prevent overheating.
With the constant hum of the turbines silenced, opposing weather fronts provided the only audio.
Persephone heard a crack below. A wooden power pole snapped and tipped over toward the base of the turbine. One of the cables ripped off and snaked out of control, spitting sparks. Persephone's eyes widened, only to be bombarded by the thickening rain.
Well, it wasn't that thick.
She could still see the newly formed cyclone.

******

A convoy consisting of The Real World: Ames, Iowa van, two police cars and an ambulance approached Siobhan's turbine first. Both Persephone and Ish stood up and watched the ants in uniform sprint to the tower and disappear up the internal ladder.
Three minutes later they unlatched the top door and hauled Siobhan inside.
Ish was between Siobhan and her, so Persephone knew she would be last in line. She had experience with tornadoes but was never forced to remain outside, let alone strapped on top of a 300 foot metal pole.
The rain intensified. Wayward cardinals were tossed helplessly in the gale. Long distance vision was naught. She could only make out the headlights of the rescue brigade. She screamed "Hurry up!" but she could barely hear her own voice. Amping up the decibels, she unleashed a primal roar skyward. The rain didn't bother her anymore; she was soaked to the bone.
Nature once again reached into its bag of tricks.
Ice balls tinked off the white metal of the turbine and the yellow plastic of her hard hat. They attached themselves to Persephone's hair and fleece jacket. They gathered in every nook: on the cushion, in the backpack, down her shirt, and up her nose.
The hail grew larger. Persephone batted them down like frozen volleyballs. She emitted a grunt with each direct hit. One smacked her in the nose, another on the lip, a particularly fat one on the funny bone.
She couldn't keep up anymore. She shrunk down and laced her fingers over the back of her neck. She volunteered for this?
She looked over towards the other towers. The headlights had advanced to Ish's turf. But on the edge of her platform, another light caught her attention.
The tiny red power light on the camera.
Which sparked the light in her eyes.
It hit her.
Why she was cast.
Why anyone on the show was cast.
She stood back up. She flipped off her hard hat and placed it on her backpack, opposite the other camera. She aligned herself in the middle of the platform. She squared her feet, hips, and shoulders. She brushed off her face and inhaled her lungs full (through her nose).
"Keep it comiiiiing! I love it! I love it!! This is what I'm here for and this is what I do! Persephone Evelyn Bumbaugh, Indianan by birth, midwestern by the grace of God! We can take whatever you give us and we'll shout for more! For mooooore!"
The hand gestures and fist flying were at full pump.
"Wind, rain, hail, it's just another day. Doesn't matter. Ooh, Iowa cyclones? Waterspouts, tornadoes, twisters? Nothin' new! Why don't we sing about it? In west Indiana, born and raised, on the playground is where I spent most of my days. Chillin' out, maxin', relaxin, all cool, and all shootin' some b-ball outside of the school..."
Persephone carried on with her cover of The Fresh Prince theme song. The hail passed. She interrupted herself.
"What's that? You givin' up? Out of steam? That was barely anything."
Thunder boomed, clearly insulted.
"Bah ha ha! Do your worst! Oh, you already did? And I sang all the way through it, how 'bout that?"
The rain spread thin. Persephone wrung out her hair. She did a little dance.
"Look at this. Look at this. Look at these moves. You got nothing! This tornado is just my dance partner."
She looked over at the other two turbines. Neither Siobhan nor Ish were there. Down below the rescue vehicles were parked in front of the live wire. The whine of a fire engine grew near. Her throat was scratchy as she laughed. She kicked ice gravel off the platform and stomped down with both feet.
KTH-THUNK. The wind had slowed to the point that the turbine could reactivate.
Clapping and pointing at the receding cyclone, Persephone sucked in air down to her abdominals. Her final scream was filled with some triumph, but mostly showmanship.
"YEAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

******
After the cyclone incident, ambitious outdoor challenges were scrapped. Persephone led Team Midwest to sweeps of piddly little scavenger hunts and obstacle courses. But save for the episodes on the turbines, ratings drew series lows.
Viacom, MTV's parent company, had to pay fines to the Iowa State Police for endangerment and royalties to NBC for broadcasting The Fresh Prince theme song.
The small town experiment was a failure.
The following season, the show reverted back to its original format for The Real World: Philadelphia (technically the house was in King Of Prussia). Persephone parlayed her temporary fame into repetitive speaking gigs at colleges, a thankless MTV consultant job on location in Philly, and, when she got bored, graduate studies in business and dentistry.
All because she was the young woman who out-blustered a cyclone.

Sure, but can coal coerce blondes to cry to the heavens?

University of South Dakota

5 Aug 2009. Word problem time! If you are in Brookings and the University Bookstore in Vermillion closes in two hours, can you make it? Answer: Yes, but only if the stragglers from USD student orientation day are still shopping, thus keeping the doors open past closing time.
The bookstore cashier, the Oprah Winfrey show, and now the College Cup Project all recommend the fresh bread from Jones Food Center.


Frank tossed his dark greasy combover out of his face. He coughed out some sputum, gagging on it in the process. Several children looked behind and gave Frank dirty looks. They shuffled forward into the crowd.

******

The kids were gathered to see Vermillion, star of the newest hit of what would later be called TV's Golden Age. The show revolved around a heroic half coyote named for the town in which Animal Control workers captured him as a pup. But unlike the eight Rin Tin Tins who fought along soldiers and police, and the thirty-five Lassies who protected farm towns, the one and only Vermillion patrolled the Wild West. It was the mixture of adventures, westerns, and animal acting that proved irresistible to young American couch potatoes.

Vermillion's lack of suitable backup (trained wild dogs with similar angular bodies were hard to come by) was his greatest asset as well as a liability. His handlers knew this. His co-stars knew this. His enemies knew this.

At appearances, his young fans were assured they were seeing the real deal. And jobs for people like Frank were made easier. Instead of a dozen dogs, Frank only had a single animal's reputation to destroy.

******

Vermillion was kicking off his cross country trip to the Emmy Awards in L.A. with a sendoff in his hometown in South Dakota. A knotholed faux-wood stage was set up on the lawn in front of Old Main Hall. A chrome sided bus chugged into the parking lot. Kids cheered as the show's moppet sidekick, Timmy, portrayed by li'l Tommy Brokaw, exited the bus. Vermillion and his handlers followed. The cheers got louder as they walked onto the stage. Tommy read his notecards, thanking the town and urging the kids to get their parents to watch the Emmys in support of their favorite coyote descendant. Vermillion's handlers unhooked him from his leash and led him in a few tricks: flips, leaps, and catches.

While the audience was entranced, Frank made his way to the middle of the crowd. He suddenly noticed how he was two feet taller than the majority of the audience. His anxiety kicked in. His mission got cloudy in his head. It had to do with the vial in his pocket. Drink it? No, no. Is this scent good, bad? Is it supposed to go on the dog or the crowd or himself or that kid Tommy? He could not quite remember. The kids around him got more uncomfortable. Some left to tell their parents. One boy got uppity.

"Hey, I was here first!" The boy kicked Frank in the shin. Frank winced and moved a few feet away. He noticed some of the parents in the back moving toward him with unfriendly faces. He panicked. He hoped the mission somehow would be accomplished as he uncorked the vial. Frank flicked his wrist, spraying bear scent on the children in front of him. He shook out the last of the drops and didn't look back. Some parents yelled "Hey you!" to the taxi taking Frank back across town.

Vermillion's nose instantly picked up the scent of his species' greatest natural enemy, the bear. He hadn't experienced it since his first few months of life, but it was hardwired into the brains of every coyote. It clicked a switch in Vermillion that activated an unforeseen aggression. His handlers were not ready for it.

Vermillion jumped off the stage and into the crowd. He clamped onto the first leg he could get his jaws around. He flung the horrified child aside. He continued to bite like wild, ears down, barking fiercely. The kids screamed and dispersed, running to their parents. The chaos only confused and aggravated Vermillion. His handlers jumped down and struggled to corral him with ropes and a muzzle. Vermillion, now foaming, responded with bites to their calves. They finally had to violently sedate him with a tranquilizer syringe. The kids who were still nearby and were witness to the squeal and collapse of their TV hero started bawling.

Tommy stayed on stage the whole time, shocked like everyone else. He didn't flee, like his peers. His unflappability was what made him a great child actor. And, in this particular case, it helped him memorize the face of a strange man with a combover.

******

"You forgot what you were supposed to do? You idiot! The scent goes on your legs! What do you think you were wearing biteproof pants for?"
"I got nervous. Ever'body was lookin' at me like I was guilty of somethin' when I hadn't done anythin' yet."
"Now you have done something. Now people will be looking at you. This is a disaster thanks to you. I got the paper right here: five kids and a handler taken to the hospital for stitches."
"I'm sorry, I know. So...I will understand if I only get 50% of the fee for - "
"50%?? Are you insane? That's why you called? You screwed up large and you're getting nothing! Like hell I'm going to be linked to an assault on some six-year-olds. Don't try to contact me again, Frank."
Click.
"Hello? ...Hello? ...Oh." Frank put down the receiver slowly. He walked into the kitchen and hocked a substantial loogie into the sink. Usually that gave him temporary relief. But not today.

USD's Old Main Hall