So, when I was in college, I named my bed, "The Word," so that I could tell people I spent time in The Word every morning.
It was in college that my goatee first arrived.
Among the classes on my transcript: Downhill Skiing, Wilderness Survival, Basketball (2X), Tennis (2X), Introduction to Acting, Fencing (3X)
One year I lived with a group of about 4 guys in this nice little house about a mile off campus where we were told by the owner that we had to take care of the landscaping. He had a hissy fit when a shrub died in the hedge out front. We should've known he wouldn't react well when he found out that we NEVER ONCE mowed the back yard. There were weeds growing higher than the eaves on the house. Seriously, ten feet or more. There could have been a tribe of dwarves living back there and we'd never have known. It took a serious effort, but we recovered it. We didn't ask to renew the lease.
Same house, same guys. Someone left some spaghetti in a Tupperware container in the back of the fridge... for the year. Although it was never opened, the colors visible through the plastic changed from red to green, and then blue and ultimately pink. At somepoint the contents liquified. We were literally scared to open it. At the end of the year, two of us hosed it at the side of the house. One to hold the container with a painter's mask and rubber gloves, the other to stand ten feet away and hold the hose. I held the hose, Greg Templar held the container. We feared for our long term health after being exposed like that.
One summer I worked a concession stand for the Eugene Emeralds, a short season single-A baseball affiliate of the KC Royal. There I met Mookie Wilson, a member of the '86 Mets, my all-time favorite team. (I am still a hard-core Mets fan.)
I graduated in '95 and don't remember having e-mail, let alone registering on-line.
My college road trips always began in Eugene, but ended in: Phoenix, Seattle, Anchorage, Tijuana, and San Francisco.
I helped perfect "Theme Dates." What's a theme date? C'mon, genius, figure it out. Example 1: Wild Life Date: Began with a trip to a wildlife park, then a showing of Disney's 'Lion King,' and finished with dinner at a restaurant serving wild game. Example 2: Planes, Trains, and Automobiles: Began with a flight to Seattle, continued with a drive to the ferry to Bainsbridge Island, spent the night with friends there, and somewhere we squeezed in a trolly car. Yeah, that one was a little spendy, but you only live once. Example 3: Alaskan Theme Date (Plaid flannel required): Began with duct-taping antlers to the car, wearing plaid flannel shirts, jeans and boots, and going to a barn dance. Dinner was Alaskan salmon and moose steaks. How did we acquire moose? See 'road trips,' above. Theme dates are awesome, and best executed as a group date.
I was present at the invention of Solidaire. Its group solitaire, but the person with the worst game has to perform a previously agreed upon dare. Example: Eating a tablespoon of a spice picked by the blindfolded loser. Having "I love Cheese" inscribed on your forehead in black sharpie. Streaking the circumference of your block while singing, swirlies, playing the next round with you face completely covered in butter--not spread, butter.
Primal Scrap: I came home one day to find two of my eight housemates winging rolls of toilet paper at one another across the living room. Before it ended there were at least five of us involved and anything not nailed to the floor was a projectile, including the recliner and a potted plant. Someone tried to throw the TV, but some things are sacred. I still have a scar from defending myself from a pop can. The scariest moment was probably when I popped up from behind our sofa holding a good sized plastic potsherd only to find myself face to face with a roomie holding the recliner over his head ready to drop it on me. We both saw what was coming, screamed at each other and retreated without firing. From that experience I discovered that a roll of TP, dipped in the toilet, has the ability to knock a man flat without leaving a mark. They were easily the projectile of choice.
"Light the candle!" Those were the last words before a Roman Candle started sparking in the back seat of my '86 Honda Accord. I was traveling with a group of friends in Alaska, and we were in the middle of a bottle rocket was with more friends in the car behind us as we drove home to Anchorage where we were staying for the '92 Cru Alaskan Summer Mission Project. Luckily, no one was injured, and the car survived, but it was definitely stupid.
On the '93 Cru Bolivian Summer Mission Project, I drove the project director out of a poker game in his underwear, and smoked cigars on the roof of our hotel almost every night.
