Purdue University

7 Aug 2009. Purdue is perfectly innocuous, like Canada or bread. (Who could hate Canada or bread? asks Matt Harding at the 5 minute mark.) So, of course, no better place for some mild kleptomania and sociopathy.


In an office in now-deserted Lilly Hall, where academic flyers fluttered along the tile floor, Otter looked at Professor J.B. Lee. The Professor was looking down, explaining his fundraising project. Otter was uninterested, supremely more so after a day of politely touring other people’s exhibits. He turned his attention to Prof. Lee himself, who promised not to waste too much of his time. Looking down from his natural born bird’s-eye view, Otter sniffed and got a noseful of pomade perfume.
Poor guy. He would have a wife by now if he got rid of the coke-bottle glasses and the two quarts of industrial sludge in his hair.
“Prof. Lee, where’s Chelsea? Isn’t she one of your students assisting with this project?”
“Oh, yes, one of my best. I suppose she is out with her friends, like young people will do. You know undergraduates.”
Yeah, I know them. I know plenty. And I could be knowing another one right now.
“All right, so how can I help you specifically?”
“Your trek across Montana was so inspiring. It set off a fire in my brain, like BOOM! I would like to ask about your best methods for getting out the word. Publicity and such is not my specialty.”
“It’s easy! Step one is tell all your friends.”
Prof. Lee blanked out then looked at the ground.
“Ah, yes, of course. Of course.”
Otter recognized the downcast gaze of a friendless man. But he didn’t feel like crushing spirits of a nonalcoholic variety right now.
“After that, talk to all of your faculty mates. All of them. Not just the ones in genetic engineering. Not just biology. The whole building.” Otter started outlining his ideas in a rough timeline.
“The whole building? Okay…” Prof. Lee was listening better now, still a little hesitant.
“And since this is an official university event, the most important asset in spreading the word to other media is the Office of Public Relations. They will take to your idea much quicker if you’ve already drafted a press release.”
“I have never written a press release.”
“Neither had I! That doesn’t matter! I had never driven a tractor sober either! There’s plenty of examples online, maybe even in your word processor. Don’t worry about it, when you’re done, I’ll spread the word back to the bio department in Bozeman. We’re not the biggest fish in the tank but every bit helps. You’ll do fine, Professor. Good luck!”
Otter slapped Prof. Lee on the back and got up to put on his coat. Next to Prof. Lee’s computer speaker were several decorative shotglasses. In one quick seamless motion, Otter stretched one arm through his jacket and grabbed one with a giant gold P and one with a beefy cartoon railworker and dropped them silently into his inner left pocket.
One for Chelsea, one for a backup girl.
Otter put his hand on the door handle to let himself out, but Prof. Lee called out. “Wait, Mr. Otterberg, a final issue. What about the God problem? I have encountered that many times.”
“…God problem?”
“You are aware there is a lot of resistance to the genetic engineering field. People say we are playing God.”
“Playing God, huh?” Otter removed his hand from the handle and turned back as the Professor continued.
“I try to inform them of the many merits of our work. That we save lives and increase food production! Some will not hear of it. It is very discouraging.”
Otter sat back down. “Prof. Lee, you cannot please everyone. So many people are kneejerk and shortsighted. Tell me, is there something wrong with striving to be better, more Godlike? Now, please, lay it on me about this whole ‘playing God’.”

Purdue: The Birthplace of Evil, Since 1874.

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 Nebraska

25 Jun 2009. Second floor: Textbooks. Okay, the usual.
Ground floor: Healthy selection of basic printed gifts, cups, shirts, pens, caps and other hatware. Impressive range of designs
Basement: SWEET MERCY! WAVES OF LOGO EFFLUVIA! This is where the Nebraska lifers shop. Furniture, jewelry, formal wear (human and canine), golf clubs, appliances, tents, Manchester, ping pong and billiards tables, radial tires, yacht riggings. Tattoo parlor? Unconfirmed.


*** The following is a diary excerpt from Pydaras Sabakalova, Russian exchange student at The University of Nebraska, Lincoln. ***

5:15 AM. Alarm goes off. 'Somebody's watching me' song from Geico commercial on my iPod dock clock plays as usual. I shower then dress in my only collared shirt, the dirty Hawaiian shirt from work. I closed the restaurant last night and was too tired to do laundry.

5:37. Bike to Hilary Swank Elementary School. I pack my tickets and some books and my lunch. It is early but I am happy to give back to the country that is providing my education.

6:01. I arrive in the school cafeteria. Five elderly Americans tell me I am late. Their names are Earl, Marlene, Jim, Swinton, and Patty.

6:06. Earl tells the voting procedures and regulations to everyone. He says my shirt is "borderline" and I cannot wear my shoes. I have to take off my black tennis shoes and wear his extra shoes. They are bowling shoes and they are too big.

6:35. Earl teaches me how to operate the electronic machines. They are small desks with very thin metal legs and walls. My job is to make sure people do not break them by accident. It seems like a very easy job to do for $100.

7:00. The polls open. There are many people in line. This is a very patriotic day I feel! Everyone has their say in improving the country.

7:01. My first voter! It is a tall man with a big beard wearing overalls. He works out the electronic machine on his own without any problems. This is good. It was hard to understand his talking through the big beard.

9:59. Earl asks me to take a break. I see that 144 people have voted on my machine but I am not tired at all. I am having fun greeting all the people. I wander the halls for a while and sit for the rest of my break. Marlene asks how I can be an election officer if I am not an American citizen. I think she is meaning to say that someone else should be making the $100 instead of me, but those are not the words she uses. $100 is more than I make in one day so I am still excited.

10:15. Resume work at the electronic voting machine. A small metal clip holding one of the machine walls broke while I was gone. I ask Patty what happened because she was watching the machines for me. She says she does not know.

12:30 PM. Lunch break. I am hungry so I am glad I brought extra borscht. I cannot find it so I ask if someone had seen my borscht or wheat thins. Jim says he thought the table was group food. He ate half of the box of wheat thins. Then he ate the other half. He was fat so he should not eat other people's food. But nobody ate my borscht. I asked again where was it? Earl said all he saw was leftover beets that the cleaning person forgot to throw away. I told him they were mine. He asked if I was sure because they were cold and starting to smell and he put them in the trash. I started to say that in Russia it is supposed to be cold but Marlene called Earl over with a voter problem before I could explain. Swinton felt bad I had no food. He offered me his kelp dogs. I had never seen black hot dogs made of plants but I was very hungry. Swinton was nice but I do not want to eat kelp dogs again. I spend the rest of lunch looking at my Russian-English dictionary for romantic words.

1:14. I return to the voting machine. Someone had written all over the computer screen. I think they were trying to vote by writing with a pen on the computer. I ask Patty what happened. She says she does not know. I still am hungry and have a bad taste in my mouth but it is okay because I only have four hours and 45 minutes left.

3:15. Earl gives me another break. I drink lots of water from the water fountain. I walk outside. There are small girls in uniforms selling lemon cookies to raise money for a trip to Texas. I would like to help them get to Texas and eat lemon cookies but I did not bring any money with me. All I brought was my tickets to 1776. It is a musical about the starting of America. I want to surprise Sarah Anne with them after the polls close.

3:31. I return from my break. Earl looks at me weird but does not say anything. A leg on the voting machine is bent. I ask Patty what happened. She says she does not know. I think that Patty might not know anything.

6:10. The last voter leaves. The polls close at 6:00 but the voters still in line at 6:00 are allowed to vote. Earl types on the voting machine and a long paper list of voting numbers prints out. He helps me put away the voting machine. The bent leg is hard to put back in the box. He asks what did I do to the machines. I said I don't know and to not ask Patty because she also does not know.

6:37. We are all still in the cafeteria. I ask are we allowed to go? Earl says no and I ask when. He says when he is done with the papers we all have to sign to be a witness or else we do not get our $100. He says Nebraska elections take more work because the unicameral legislature is more complicated. I ask how can the unicameral be more complicated than the bicameral. He asked if I read the booklet for election officers in the mail. I said I did not get anything in the mail. I start to worry because Sarah Anne is done at work at the Love Library at 7:00 and the musical starts at 7:30. I like Sarah Anne because she is a very pretty American girl like Russians see in movies and magazines.

6:58. We are still in the cafeteria. Everyone is sitting around. They are very patient or very boring, I cannot tell. I ask to borrow a cell phone but nobody has one except for Earl and he says it is only for election business. I tell a lie that I need to call a friend to tell him that the polls are closed and that he should not come to vote now. Marlene says my friend is ignorant. I go to the corner of the room and call the Love Library. Sarah Anne answers "Love Library" like she is ordering me to love the library. I say "No, love Sarah Anne". She laughs. I tell her to wait at the Love Library until I get there please. She says okay. I like Sarah Anne also because she says my name in a very nice way that makes me forget it is a bad name in Russia.

7:22. Earl finishes his work and we all sign the papers to be a witness. Everyone still stands around but I leave fast. I am very very hungry but I need to go meet Sarah Anne. It is more important.

7:28. I run into the Love Library. I find Sarah Anne talking to a friend at the front desk. She looks at me and smiles and says "Pydaras!" that makes me forget I am hungry, late, and angry. Then I see the clock behind her that says 7:29. I tell her we have to go or we will be late for the musical. I show her the tickets. She says that is sweet but we will never make it in time. She says we should go sit in the lobby instead and eat popcorn and hot dogs until the intermission and we can see the second act. When she says hot dogs it reminds me of the kelp dogs. I start talking about my bad time. This makes the walk go very quickly and we are already at the theater. I try to remember some of the words from my dictionary and hope I get it right when I say to Sarah Anne "You redeem my day."

Oh, Nebraska bookstore, you redeem my coupon. <3

University of Iowa

24 Jun 2009. There should be more merchandise trailers dotting America's campuses. Something about making a credit card transaction out of doors makes one feel...primal. Excuse me while I hunt some fierce wild corn.

"Jesus is a lot like a surfboard."
Blank stares.
This is the moment Peter diScala quickly learns, talking surfing to Iowans is like talking bobsled to Jamaicans. Even for a religious man, it takes a leap of faith to connect with students on such a level.
"The perfect wave is a holy moment. Experiencing God, in a way. And you can only partake in it when you are one with your surfboard."

When receiving their mission calls, surfin' Mennonites Peter diScala and Royal Bristlermartin were first hoping to be assigned together. Near the ocean was a close second. Royal lucked out. He got sent to Hamilton, Bermuda. Peter got Iowa City, Iowa. (Or simply, Iowa, Iowa.) Peter was disappointed at first, but soon was eager for the culture shock and the challenge.

"Okay, I see I will need some help here. Don't go anywhere, guys."
Peter's two dozen students, not much younger than him, complied out of curiosity. He returned twenty minutes later with his bold red striped surfboard, detained overnight in Quad Cities airport on suspicion of being a surfboard in Iowa. The five footer was a first for the entire class.
"That thing's pretty big," said one of the students.
Peter beat out the that's-what-she-said's with,
"That's nothing. I got an eight footer back home in Hawai'i." He flops it down on the ground.
"The thing about classrooms and teaching is it's all theory. You can only learn so much without active application."
He points to one of the many blondes. "What's your name?"
"Julie."
"Hi Julie. Come up here for a second. Come on guys, give her a hand. I'm going to need participation for this class to work for all of us."
A few people clap politely.
"Thank you. Julie, would you lay face down on the board? The rest of you, don't worry, you'll get to do this too. Now you're in the ocean, Julie. It's warm, the water is clear blue, clearer than anything in the Mississippi, you hear nothing but waves and birds. Perhaps a stray hawkeye. So you're paddling around...I said you're paddling around. That's you, Julie."
She starts flopping her arms kinda circular-like.
"Good! You see a swell coming up. You get yourself turned around so you are facing the beach. Now you start paddling like crazy! Fifth gear, let's go! All right!"
The class, still not sure what this is all about, cheers her on anyway. "Julie, go! Gooooo!"
Peter smiles and continues. "It's time to ride! Bring your right foot up to your left knee, toes facing right."
Her shoe catches a tailfin and rips it half off. Peter winces.
"Oh, sorry!"
"Don't apologize, I'm not here, just you and the water. Grip the sides of the board. Keep your chest on the board and push your shoulders up. Now get ready, time to stand. In one smooth motion, bring your left foot up in front of your right. Feel shoulder length apart, toes facing right, head facing forward. Use your arms and core for balance. Yes!! You're up! You realize you're not alone any more - all the guys on the shore are admiring! Strike a pose, you've earned it. Okay. All right, that's hot doggin' it too much, now you fall off. Splash, wipeout. Saline in the face, pride in the water. Ouch. Thank you, Julie."
The students applaud her again. She takes her seat.
"Now how long would it take you to master that on the classroom floor? Two, three times maybe? But on the water, how long? I've done it two or three thousand times and I still don't have it all down. I want to to make sure we are applying what we are learning here with sincere effort. Plus I'll throw in some surfing lessons to mix it up."
"Where can you surf here?" asks a student.
"I'm sure there's some wave pools around, right?"
The class discusses and shakes their heads.
"There's one in Des Moines I think," offers another student.
"We'll think of something."

A converted baptismal font and a few high-powered water jets later, SURFIowa (Spiritual Understanding, Recreation, and Friendship) gets its primitive beginnings. By the end of Peter's time in Iowa, Iowa, SURFIowa becomes an integral part of the community, Mennonite and otherwise. It is the first of its kind in the state. It wins widespread praise from Peter's superiors in the church. His students all chip in for a custom-designed black and gold Iowa Hawkeye board as a going away gift. Still, he wonders what it would have been like if he had been dispatched to Bermuda at Royal's side.

He got the gist from the title page of the summary report. While Peter's was called Immersive Learning: How SURFIowa Got Off The Ground, Royal's dared readers to continue on with the title Wasps, Wasps Everywhere: The Debilitating Effects of Migratory Insect Patterns on Service Missions.

Not pictured: Totally rad merch trailer

Northwestern University

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.

University of Minnesota

3 June 2006. It has been half a year since the last item was added to the CCP. This entry takes me to a state I had never visited before. It was summer break so there was an awkward stillness about the beautiful campus that abuts the Mississippi, but whose pedestrian bridges are flooded with nasty flies at night. Even the turn of the century grain mills look hip and retro. After returning from Minnesota I had heard that there are only two tolerable months to visit: May and June (or was it June and July?). I didn't plan it that way, but we saw the best of the Golden Gophers' home in Dinkytown. On the pint glass, Goldy is running away from a swarm of black flies on his way to a Lake Calhoun. Fun fact: the men's and women's ice hockey teams have two seperate arenas.