I was out with a recent Carolina graduate who told me about the resurging tradition of streakers in a campus library the night before the first day of finals. She told me I could find it on YouTube, so I did. The video is not censored, so I cannot put it here. This is a family show. I somehow found another video about two streakers who fell in love. This is one of my favorite news features of all time. Enjoy.
Sunday, August 17, 2008
Streaker love
Monday, August 4, 2008
Sports fan license
Sports fans have a license to be fanatic, which isn't pretty. We can act in a way that would get us ridiculed, fired or killed in most contexts. For instance, I can't insert half of a hot dog in my mouth and shout at my students while spewing out beef bits. I can't tell a poker opponent that he sucks. I can't drunkenly chest bump strangers on Franklin Street. I just can't. Only superior men playing sports allow me to do these glorious things.
I was recently an ass. I said something that even sports fans should not say. I suggested that certain sports fans should stifle their enthusiasm because their team will play against mine. That is never acceptable under any circumstance. I would be crushed if only Carolina fans were fanatic. Home-field advantage does not give a school exclusive rights to pride. I wear my colors on Duke's campus, and I would expect them to wear theirs here. And when they do, I will tell them how I feel about their institution. I hope they tell me how they feel about mine because that is the beauty of sports; they turn ordinary people into passionate attorneys. We are as numerous, loud and disrespected as lawyers. But we have more fun.
The best of us have a loyalty that will not flag, and I defend those allegiances. I defend Alec Macaulay's Blue Devils bow ties, Shawne Hammett's Clemson flag and Caitlin Poore's Illini heart. I sometimes pull some Blue Hen spirit out of my sister. At least I try.
I may have said that a certain school was overrated hogwash, but of course that's only a passionate opinion. N.C. State, Virginia, Wake Forest, Clemson and Notre Dame make being a Carolina sports fan fun. What would Carolina be without those guys? I'll slam them without apology from now until forever, but that's my privilege. It's also theirs.
But if Duke University pulled a hairy lip over its gargoyle face and swallowed, we'd all be better off.
I'm kidding.
Go Tar Heels, and go sports fans. May we always be loud and free.
I was recently an ass. I said something that even sports fans should not say. I suggested that certain sports fans should stifle their enthusiasm because their team will play against mine. That is never acceptable under any circumstance. I would be crushed if only Carolina fans were fanatic. Home-field advantage does not give a school exclusive rights to pride. I wear my colors on Duke's campus, and I would expect them to wear theirs here. And when they do, I will tell them how I feel about their institution. I hope they tell me how they feel about mine because that is the beauty of sports; they turn ordinary people into passionate attorneys. We are as numerous, loud and disrespected as lawyers. But we have more fun.
The best of us have a loyalty that will not flag, and I defend those allegiances. I defend Alec Macaulay's Blue Devils bow ties, Shawne Hammett's Clemson flag and Caitlin Poore's Illini heart. I sometimes pull some Blue Hen spirit out of my sister. At least I try.
I may have said that a certain school was overrated hogwash, but of course that's only a passionate opinion. N.C. State, Virginia, Wake Forest, Clemson and Notre Dame make being a Carolina sports fan fun. What would Carolina be without those guys? I'll slam them without apology from now until forever, but that's my privilege. It's also theirs.
But if Duke University pulled a hairy lip over its gargoyle face and swallowed, we'd all be better off.
I'm kidding.
Go Tar Heels, and go sports fans. May we always be loud and free.
Friday, August 1, 2008
Out West
I visited my girl in California last week. I might not love California with my Carolina heart, but you just cannot do some things anywhere but the Golden State.
You cannot hop in a car and drive to Vegas. We attended Zumanity, the sensual side of Cirque du Soleil. I thought it was decent except when a guy wearing horns and slitted contact lenses grunted at my girlfriend while shaking his grapefruit-stuffed Speedo in her direction. I shook back, but nobody noticed because I don't pack my pants with produce.
I played poker at Treasure Island and promptly lost $40. Of course I had to win it back, so we played in downtown Vegas, which I now prefer to The Strip. Downtown had showgirls walking Fremont Street, cheaper blackjack, spray paint artists, $12 steak and lobster, less walking, better poker and people who were friendly in their Camels-and-Schlitz way. Those were my people and that was my place.
On our last day I hit a $100 jackpot with four 7's in the TI poker room.
"Buy us drinks," my table suggested.
"Naw," I said. My girlfriend had been waiting at the pool for awhile. Now I had a story to justify my absence.
We floated around until a middle-aged Florida Gator fan saw my Carolina hat and told me I should have gone to a real school. He said Carolina is snooty and Virginia is Harvard. Whoops-i-daisy. Guess which school doesn't want his daughter. Guess. Guess. I hope she transfers like me and either fixes her old man or divorces him.
You cannot be in an earthquake anywhere but California. I was brushing my teeth on the second floor when I heard a low rumble below. At first I thought someone was bombing my girlfriend's house while we were in it. I thought teaching would kill us, but terrorists were doing it instead. The whole bathroom swayed back and forth for six seconds while I nervously brushed.
I cannot enjoy the Santa Monica beach with my best high school bud and his fiancee anywhere but California. I will be a groomsman in his September wedding. I had to pee at the beach. My friends told me you had to pee in the ocean, but I could not do it because the water was cold. Maybe my prior unshakable training was to blame. Flustered, I hiked a couple miles to the nearest disgusting bathroom.
You cannot be a member of The Price Is Right studio audience anywhere but California. I recommend the show to anyone who has seen it on television at least once. That means everyone. The studio is like a time machine stuck in a groovy 1960s dance party. We did not go on down, but I got on the tape. Watch carefully when the cameras pan to the friends of a small, unsure contestant in a neon yellow T-shirt that says "Dena knows the price." I'll be jumping as high as I can behind them in my favorite hat.
We saw Drew Carey and Bob Barker chatting on the porch of Maggiano's after the show. No, we did not follow them there. They must have followed us.
You cannot go to In-N-Out four times in one week and promise your girlfriend not to tell anyone anywhere but California. This is the best fast-food franchise in the country. The menu is a manageable three items, and they make fresh burgers everyday. I recommend the Double-Double with grilled onions and a chocolate shake.
You cannot hop in a car and drive to Vegas. We attended Zumanity, the sensual side of Cirque du Soleil. I thought it was decent except when a guy wearing horns and slitted contact lenses grunted at my girlfriend while shaking his grapefruit-stuffed Speedo in her direction. I shook back, but nobody noticed because I don't pack my pants with produce.
I played poker at Treasure Island and promptly lost $40. Of course I had to win it back, so we played in downtown Vegas, which I now prefer to The Strip. Downtown had showgirls walking Fremont Street, cheaper blackjack, spray paint artists, $12 steak and lobster, less walking, better poker and people who were friendly in their Camels-and-Schlitz way. Those were my people and that was my place.
On our last day I hit a $100 jackpot with four 7's in the TI poker room.
"Buy us drinks," my table suggested.
"Naw," I said. My girlfriend had been waiting at the pool for awhile. Now I had a story to justify my absence.
We floated around until a middle-aged Florida Gator fan saw my Carolina hat and told me I should have gone to a real school. He said Carolina is snooty and Virginia is Harvard. Whoops-i-daisy. Guess which school doesn't want his daughter. Guess. Guess. I hope she transfers like me and either fixes her old man or divorces him.
You cannot be in an earthquake anywhere but California. I was brushing my teeth on the second floor when I heard a low rumble below. At first I thought someone was bombing my girlfriend's house while we were in it. I thought teaching would kill us, but terrorists were doing it instead. The whole bathroom swayed back and forth for six seconds while I nervously brushed.
I cannot enjoy the Santa Monica beach with my best high school bud and his fiancee anywhere but California. I will be a groomsman in his September wedding. I had to pee at the beach. My friends told me you had to pee in the ocean, but I could not do it because the water was cold. Maybe my prior unshakable training was to blame. Flustered, I hiked a couple miles to the nearest disgusting bathroom.
You cannot be a member of The Price Is Right studio audience anywhere but California. I recommend the show to anyone who has seen it on television at least once. That means everyone. The studio is like a time machine stuck in a groovy 1960s dance party. We did not go on down, but I got on the tape. Watch carefully when the cameras pan to the friends of a small, unsure contestant in a neon yellow T-shirt that says "Dena knows the price." I'll be jumping as high as I can behind them in my favorite hat.
We saw Drew Carey and Bob Barker chatting on the porch of Maggiano's after the show. No, we did not follow them there. They must have followed us.
You cannot go to In-N-Out four times in one week and promise your girlfriend not to tell anyone anywhere but California. This is the best fast-food franchise in the country. The menu is a manageable three items, and they make fresh burgers everyday. I recommend the Double-Double with grilled onions and a chocolate shake.
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