Thursday, December 11, 2008

Metatext 5

I'm very pleased with the way that my fifth project turned out. I wanted to create an Alternate Reality game where my friends (and others) could submit their own zombie/alien/monster story about a horrifying night in Morgantown. My idea spawns from the movie "Cloverfield" where you have this strange occurance that is video taped and therefore in the first person view, but no details are actually given. What is the monster? Where does it come from? Why, Why Why? These are all vital questions in that movie, yet none of them are answered. To me, this is questioning the way that a mystery narrative (or any narrative at all, really) works--through a logical progression of events. The narrative in Cloverfield, and in my ARG, is not important, not as much as the individual experiences, which is one of the reasons it has to be collaborative. My zombie attack narrative will be a certain way no matter how many versions I create. But when other people create their version of the events, many interesting possibilities come to life. Also, because the people creating the narratives will not know the other narratives, the stories could be totally unrelated in nature, again attacking conventional narrative ideas.

I started with my post, which is not a premise (as I said it was) as much as it is an example of what I wanted from people. I attempted to make it as broad and open ended as possible, although upon further review I see that I could have possibly done a better job of this. Everyone seemed to think zombies were attacking, although when I impressed upon them that it didnt' HAVE to be zombies, they merely responded that they always knew that zombies would attack Morgantown--see, I'm learning new things too. So I set out, nervously turning over my authoring rights to my friends *Crosses self*, and I was very pleasantly surpised by what they came up with. Most specifically, I enjoyed the variable nature of the narratives: Ann's is a harsh critque on the silly horror film cliches (that nonetheless gross millions every week), Paige's is a parody of the "frat boy" lifestyle on campus, and Zach's is almost like a video game narrative. This wide range of ideas expressed through a fundementally simple story (zombie attack. While we all love it, it's been done before. Maybe the next Romero film will be "Oven of the Dead") really allows one to see the beauty of collaborative writing. I'll admit, I was afriad, but I am tremendously pleased with the way it turned out.

A Note About the Title: I titled my ARG "LOL WUT" after the viral picture on Google Images of the large green pear with teeth (see link on title). I titled it this because it has many of the main goals of the ARG contained in it. First, the attendees of the event know something strange is going on, but they're not entirely sure what, they have to depend on their imaginations to fill in what is going on--very similarly to the way people respond to that picture of the pear (I guess it's a pear. Either way, I can't stop looking at it and laughing). Secondly, this project is a parody at heart. I love zombie movies, but what I love more than the living dead is making fun of the living dead. "LOL" signifys the laughter at the parody, and the "WUT" signifies the confusion in the ARG. A perfect title.

Haloween

When I was 10 years old, I was really disappointed at the thought of never dressing up for Halloween again. To my awesome surprise, I found out people dress up for halloween in college! Except now, there's so much pressure to find the best costume. My friend and I were sitting around talking about the upcoming presidential election when the idea struck us: we should dress up like McCain and Palin! We rounded up some clothes and whatnot, and asked a few friends to come over to judge our impersonations.
 
While I was putting on my Sarah Palin business jacket, I realized that my friend's basement was really cold. What was going on? I hurriedly put the rest of my costume on and walked up to the garage. My friend had apparently noticed the same sudden oncome of winter. When a thick fog rolled underneath the garage, we opend the garage door. One of our friends was kneeling and mumbling some kind of nonsense. When we lifted her up, she had blood all over her and begged us to help her. "Kill me or I'm going to kill you!" McCain and I were very confused. And I did not want blood on my fake glasses.
 
Strangers started showing up, looking the same way our friend did. Is everyone really drunk? I said to McCain, "Do you think they look kinda like.. zombies?" At that moment, our blood covered friend jumped up and attacked me. McCain grabbed the guns that we were going to carry with our costumes, and started shooting. Definitely zombies. We grabbed some extra bullets, and decided to find out what was really going on. What better way to impersonate McCain and Palin than going on a crazy zombie chase? Seemed like something they might do. Before we went out on the hunt, we decided to take a great action picture in case we didn't get the chance to really dress up for Halloween. because of the zombies We didn't want a good costume idea to go to waste!
 
Who knew that dressing up for Halloween would turn out so crazy?
 

              -Contributing Author: Jennifer Dempsey

Wednesday, December 10, 2008

Natural Selection

Part One:




Part Two:



                  Contributing Author- Ann Finley

Screamo, Death Glares, and the Questionable Antagonist

I awoke to the hienous blast of scremo in my right ear.  My friend Amanda laughed as she turned the digraceful noise off.  Feeling slightly mollified I asked, "Are we there yet?"  

 

She nodded and immediately turned on to a completly unfamiliar street called University Avenue. Amanda lives in Morgantown which is about an hour and 15minutes  from the school we attend.  We had decided to relocate to her house for the week since classes were cancelled due to renovations in all the buildings.    As I mused over the slightly perplexing problem of remembering how to get back the way we had come, Amanda suddenly slammed on the brakes throwing us into a spin!  Thankfully we managed not to strike any of the surrounding vehicles or pedestrians.  When we finally spun to a stop I took a moment to thank the good Lord above for the gift of life.  In the next moment I planned Amanda's death as I turned to glare at her in the small space allowed in her Pinto.  Taking into account the recent disruption of sleep, and now the ridiculously close brush with certain death, I used a patented, "When I can breath again..." glare; estimated 9.7 in strength.


Unfortunately the deadly look was wasted on her, since she was staring, as was every pedestrian and automobile operator, whose vehicles were now stopped, at a manwhole in the center of the road.  The cover was trembling frantically, as though it would burst with fear of what it held prisoner.  A dark steam escaped from the edges and was collecting in an eerie cloud right above the manwhole.  

Suddenly and in quite the Charlie's Angel fashion, the cover exploded into the air and the very ground trembled beneath us.  The once thin steam became a thick mass of darkness. It climbed higher into the air and abruptly a flash of green light blinded me.  When I regained my sight I stared in horror, the green now swirling with the black all around me, and felt the moisture vacate even the recesses of my mouth, as my mind completed only one thought before I lost consciousness, "I'm not going to get my homework finished."


                       -Contributing Author, Talia Blankenship

Tuesday, December 9, 2008

Griping, Dancing, and Pasta Eating Zombies

Her name was Andrea, and she was a sorority girl.  Not just any type of sorority girl, but a new pledge, so she was taking drinking to a level some frat boys can’t even match.  Cocktails, martinis, whiskey, vodka, beer; you name it, it was in her system that fateful Wednesday night.  And she had to piss. 

Now walking through Downtown Morgantown, there are plenty of fine establishments to be found that have bathrooms, but she was too drunk to even notice they were there.  She chose the fire hydrant by Stewart Hall, and relieved herself of the alcohol poisoning her system.  Somehow, that fateful combination of mixed drinks, hard liquor, and ramen noodles created a toxin so fearful that mere contact with it or anyone who had touched it would turn one into the walking dead.  Of course she did not know what doom she was bringing upon Morgantown (she’s stupid as shit even when she’s not drunk anyways), and she continued walking downtown, urinating at random locations when she felt the urge.

The next day, as people were being infected all along the path of piss that Andrea made, Mike King was cleaning and complaining.  He was angry about how worthless all the college students he cleans for are, and how bad his life sucks.  As he was cleaning the floors of Stalnaker, he came across a wet spot on the carpet, which was, unbeknownst to him, where Andrea had marked her territory.  Muttering angrily to himself about how evil every college student he ever met was, he began to clean the mess, and was subsequently infected.

The janitorial staff had a meeting later that day, which was a favorite activity among all maintenance members, for everyone loves to hear the angry rants of Mike.  As he began to tell them about the puddle on the floor that he had determined was piss, someone patted him on the shoulder and told him how hard his life must be.  He was happy for the human contact, for all he ever wanted was to be loved, but he would not be human for long, and neither would be the person that had just touched him.

It spread for the rest of the day, the sickness that would turn people into the living dead.  It was contracted by handshakes, passing someone in the hallway, any small touch from one infected to another would cause someone to get the disease.  Luckily for Amy, Hannah, and Paige (although not seen that way at the time) they were sequestered in their room studying for exams.  And as night fell, and the zombification took effect, they began to get hungry.

“We should all get pasta toss before we go insane from all this studying,” said Paige from upstairs.  Both Amy and Hannah agreed, for they all knew the scripture from Genesis, which reads “And on the eighth day God remembered what He had forgotten the past seven days, and He created pasta toss, and He saw that it was good, and gorged Himself on the carbohydrate greatness that is pasta toss.”  So all three of them left the room, and they walked down to the cafeteria, and began to stand in line for pasta toss (on the left, of course, for that is where the man with the “touch” for pasta toss is, and he does the Lord’s work.)

As Amy, who was first in line, had just received her steaming plate of epic tortellini, the door to the stairwell slammed with a force that all in the dining hall turned to look.  Into the cafeteria walked Mike King, king (pun intended) of the Stalnaker zombies, holding the head of Louie Olive in his hand.  A girl screamed, and began to run, throwing her plate of pasta toss at the zombie.  He began to chase after her, but the aroma and taste of the little bit of sauce that entered his gaping, blood-filled mouth made him halt.  He remembered his humanity, and his abhorrence of university students, but he also remembered that he never wanted to kill them.  He dropped Louie’s head, and fell to the ground, eyes overflowing with tears.

Amy, Paige, and Hannah all watched in horror and wonder, but they came back to reality when they heard the pounding fists of zombies against the windows of the Terrace Room.  “We have to do something!” Hannah yelled, and both her roommates agreed.  And then an idea occurred to her; they had water guns in their room from where they had a water gun fight during the first week of school, and that if they loaded the firearms with pasta sauce instead of aqua, they could defeat the zombies.  She told Paige and Amy of her plan, and they both agreed it would work.  “But how will we get to our room?  It’s probably blocked by zombies,” Paige asked.  “I can distract them with my gymnastic skills,” said Amy, and before anyone could stop her, she ran out of the room, doing cartwheels and flips on her way out, causing all the zombies to chase after her. 

Hannah and Paige hurriedly but carefully made their way up to the room, and grabbed the Super Soakers from the shelf they were stored on.  They quickly made their way back to the dining hall, and filled the guns to the brim.  They ran up the stairs, and were greeted by a horde of zombies coming through the front door.  With carefully aimed shots to the mouth by both Paige and Hannah, the zombies remembered who they were and came back to life with a sudden craving for pasta toss. 

As the night wore on, Paige and Hannah expanded their zombie hunting efforts to the entire downtown campus, and Amy helped to herd all the undead towards where her roommates were hiding.  After a long night of fighting evil, the undead were re-humanized, and all the exhausted roommates went to bed, leaving body cleanup to Mike King.

-Contributing Authors: Apparently a mysterious third person narrator who didn't follow SPECIFIC instructions to create in the first person COUGHPaige/HannahCOUGH

Sunday, December 7, 2008

A Story Without Explanations-- Sorry

As I walk to my mail box today, I find the flag had fallen down on its own, so I put it back up.
Kind of a pain. Maybe it was that temblor earlier?

It's still foggy despite the fact it's two in the afternoon, which is a little weird. Then, out of
the corner of my eye, I saw a few people strolling out of the fog with their hands out,
gesturing towards me meekly. Kind of like zombies. To hell with zombies, I say. I jog back
inside because zombies never seem to run.

I think about this for a little while. Okay, fog in the afternoon: check. It's colder than it
should be: check. There are slow retarded zombies: check. Guess it's a zombie apocalypse,
damn. I had always hoped that if zombies came about it would be an isolated incident, but
what with the mid-day fog, I knew it was probably the more rare and exciting apocalypse
variety.

Well, as long as there are mindless zombies who would make me one of them, I guess I
should beat a few to death with a stick.

So, I find a long stick I stashed in my bedroom. At my front door, I put my ear to the door to
check for zombies. No sound, no heat. No zombies. Okay, I'm good, I can establish a
perimeter of a few meters around my porch and maybe the rest of the house, until the horde
grow stronger, at which point it seems I may need to quit with the stick, and pick up a pistol.
What, am I an idiot, what if I can't get back to my room fast enough? Realizing my error, I
gear up. Couple of pocket knives. Flashlight. Beretta 92G Elite II in a nice DeSantis. Few mags
on the belt. Ten more in my gay little man purse (Knew this would come in handy.). Stick in
hand, I exit my front door.

Zombie, side yard, two shots to the head. Four zombies, front street, head, chest, head;
head, head; chest, leg, head; head, ass (damn manpurse). One in the side street. Little guy,
like 5'7". Stick death to you. Okay, that wasn't as fun as I thought it would be. Another
zombie coming towards me from the McDonalds, he's running, and yelling? Guess he's not a
zombie.

"Don't shoot! Help me!"
"Okay, you carry the stick."
"Fine, I need to get back to my place, my computer is there. It has all my work!"
"Dude, it's a zombie apocalypse, what are you going to do with your school work?"
"I don't know! I need it though!"
"Dude, no you don't, and unless you have a fortified position in mind, you're carrying my
stick. I have a lot of food in my place. We could last a few weeks there. The Kroger's is right
over there..."

Zombie, from around the side of the building, face, face, back. Magazine change.

"Sorry, so anyway, we should get to the Kroger's before this zombie thing gets too out of
hand."
"That's too far away!"
"You want to survive long enough to see this thing through, or don't you!"
"Fine!"

We jog to the Kroger's, picking off zombies as we go.

"So, I'm Zack, what's your name?"
"Evan, not like it matters now."
Wheez.
"How would a name not matter now?"
"This is the end of civilization, right?"
"Not so long as we know each other's names."

Ten dead (well, you know...) zombies. That's a magazine and a half. The fog makes it hard to
see them til you're close. Geez. We slow down a bit.

"Okay, stay near me, do not go off on your own. We need to pick up a bunch of non-
perishables."
"Okay."

Three more dead zombies. Mag change. Man, the place is empty. At least there is food.

We grab the canned food, a whole cart full, and get out of there. Five more zombies on the
way back. Mag change. Evan is pushing the cart.

At the house, I help lift the cart over the embankment and onto the porch. Unlock door. Push
cart in. Lock door. Those retarded zombies can't handle a door, so I guess we're fine.

"Okay, well, good to be alive, right?" says Evan.
"No kidding."
"So, what's on TV?"
"Zombie!"
"No! What the hell, man?!"
"Oh, sorry, I guess that is all we can do now. ... Here's the remote. I'm going to reload my
mags. It's a good thing I bought enough to be prepared."
"Geez man, what are you paranoid?"
"Oh, fuck off!"

So, now prepared for sticking this out, we stay in the house, conserve food, and talk.

The TV has all kinds of crap about this on all the stations. Uninformed jerks on the 24-hour
news channels. The religion channels are spouting off on how this is the end-times, and now
Jesus is gonna come back and save the righteous for the ever after. Whatever. MTV is still on.
Heh, figures.

On day three, after breakfast waffles, I think out loud, "So if zombies only consume human
flesh, and really don't eat that much of it, I wonder how long until they all starve to death?"
Evan overhears me and posits, "What, you don't think they eat anything else?"
"Have you ever seen a zombie eat anything else than human flesh?"
"No, but I bet they could."
"Yeah, maybe they can, but assuming they don't, how long til they all starve to death?"
"I don't know. Bear Griils says a normal person can live ten days without food."
"Oh Bear Grills! What does the guy on Survivorman say?"
"I think he said like eight."
"Okay, lets say zombies, for some reason, last three times that without food. That's twenty-
four days. We have enough food to last at least that long. We ought to be okay"
"Assuming they don't get smarter and start eating normal things."
"Yeah, and I guess if that happens we can all have a nice friendly game of cards."
"I'm being serious."
"So am I. If they start getting smarter and eating normal things, that will mean the zombie-
ness will be wearing off, and society can get back to normal."
"What if they still prefer human flesh?"
"If they are smarter and still prefer human flesh, then they will at least know not to fuck with
the guy with the gun."
"Yeah, I guess so."

A few more days and the power goes out. Man those guys at Allegheny Power must have
lasted a while. Good thing I stashed a bunch of batteries for the flashlights.

On day 20, the fog begins to burn off in the sun. It has gotten a lot colder, though, but I bet
that is because the sun wasn't getting through for days.

I decide it was time to venture outside and see what there was to see. Evan gets the stick, I
get my gun and the door. Outside, it is a a bit brighter, and there, indeed, are some more
dead zombies just laying around. Some corpses are less decomposed than others, so I keep
an eye out.

"Guess they didn't get smarter, huh." says Evan.
"Doesn't look like it."
"You want to get my car and take a drive? See if there are more survivors?"
"Sure, where's your car?"
"At the Law School."

We drove about, and found other survivors, first at the bong place, on High Street, actually.
And there were more, here and there. It seems all the zombies had indeed starved to death.

A lot of the people are talking about heading out West, finding a place to farm, subsisting.
Doesn't sound like a bad idea


Zachary Santer-- Contributing Author

Monday, November 17, 2008

Steph


Paige


Nadia


Marci







Laura


Hannah


Brittney


Andrea


Amy


Amanda


Alex


Wednesday, October 22, 2008

The Algorithm

1) Every first paragraph must contain a setting of twilight
2) Every third paragraph must contain an epiphany
3) Every fourth paragraph must contain the above epiphany being forgotten
4) Every second paragraph must contain a happy description of Morgantown
5) Every second paragraph must mention Ireland at least once
6) Every final paragraph must have the absence of a definitive conclusion
7) The title of the story must be short and not definitive as to the contents of the story
8) The story is translated from a third person “objective” perspective to a first person narrative
9) No speech by the main character—only "stream of consciousness", kindof.
10) Contain specific geographical details about WVU and/or Morgantown

Huggstown

Exiting his office, Bob Huggins spared one moment to glance back into the room, his eye lingering on the Maker’s Mark bottle: it is a struggle every day, but for now, at least, there were more important things to worry about. He shut the door forcefully, walking out in a bad mood, again. His players just weren’t working hard enough. He made them run and all they did was complain. He looked out across the Mountainlair plaza, noticing his team running in the dying light of evening. The light dies early this time of year, in the heart of winter, but Bob just presses his players harder, blowing a whistle to indicate a short break. As the players collapse on the cold, hard ground, exhausted, he turns away in disgust and begins to descend the stairs with the hopes of a Philly Cheese Steak Sandwich from a local diner.
As several students stumbled past him-drunk already on a weekday evening-he called to mind the thoughts of his own struggle, of the bottle glistening red as fire back in his office. As these thoughts invaded his consciousness, his eyes wandered to the university employees hanging the Christmas decorations, one dancing an Irish jig on top of a cherry picker. Geez, it really was beautiful. But you had to be a loser to fully appreciate it: the ornaments gleaming in the windows, the lights placed daintily along the streetlights, all watching over the perfect picture of youth—a thriving university. He really did love it here sometimes, but damn, it was hard.
Everywhere he went his mistakes were thrown in his face; all the drunk students, the drugs being passed around, the apathy of his players, it all was almost too much to handle. Each time he saw someone making a mistake, he realized it was like looking in a mirror. How much of his life had he wasted? Was he basically a zombie, walking around like the living dead? He let out a long sigh and entered the diner where an attractive waitress politely asked him what his order would be. Saying nothing he walked to the corner to observe the menu in silence as his regret washed over him.
Standing in the corner of the restaurant, he looked out upon the customers, a few older guys watching the game on TV, and a young student sitting at a table quietly eating a hamburger with several large, mean looking chemistry books piled up around him. The boy was working at a ferocious pace, turning page after page, scribbling so quickly in a spiral notebook that Bob thought his wrist would break with the effort. Now that, he thought, is an effort my players could learn from. No longer hungry, but feeling much better, Bob opened the door and walked back towards his team, no longer aware of the reason he had been feeling so miserable in the first place. A blizzard had started, and the heavy flakes poured down upon his shoulders as he trudged back up the steps towards the team. As he gazed inside at them, laughing and carrying on as kids do, he felt a faint smile play across his lips. He turned away and walked back towards the diner, thinking he would buy that kid a milkshake to cool the fire burning deep within his heart, forcing him to work through his hardship.

Free MBAs

The door slammed shut as Mike stormed out of Stewart Hall, furious with the inability of the university to do anything. The fading light of the fall evening made everything appear longer as the shadows stretched out almost to infinity. Mike was angry because the legitimacy of his degree was in danger and the university seemed totally indisposed to do anything about it. When the MBA scandal broke about a week ago, the only thing Mike wanted was justice, and it didn’t seem that any was forthcoming. The president and the provost had been fired, but that wasn’t justice. Where was the vindication for the students who were busting their asses trying to earn a degree? The university had just forgotten about them. Mike thought that if he went and talked to someone at Stewart Hall, they would at least be able to see some sense in his predicament. They didn’t. They blindly turned him away with more corporate crap and a promise that he knew would amount to nothing. He knew a way to get something done though. He had heard about a meeting on campus, a meeting about people who wanted “something done” and were fed up with the university. That is where he was headed now.
As the sun got progressively lower and lower in the sky the temperature begin to drop into the teens. It was almost winter and the freezing grip of death Mother Nature put on Morgantown every year would soon be descending onto the city. A true American cold, nothing like the winters in Ireland, where the wind was quiet and the cold mild. While the couples would play in the snow and the students would trudge from the library with frost on their eyelashes the city would look beautiful encased in ice, totally numb to the decay that was going on inside its university.
As a few flakes of snow drifted down from the heavens Mike realized that the university wasn’t going to do anything, because they were numb just like everyone else; they didn’t care. Not about the students, not about the faculty, they were too caught up in their own silly worries to give a damn about anyone else. As the realization broke over Mike, he felt the cold for the first time, truly, deep inside his bones, slicing through his skin, and he realized he had to get under some cover from the impending snowstorm.
As Mike walked quickly through the cold air, he accidentally bumped into a passerby, who immediately broke into a sympathetic smile and a genuine reply of apology. Mike, in no mood to interact with anyone at the moment, merely grunted and kept walking, but suddenly didn’t feel as cold as he had a few seconds before. He turned to greet the stranger, but the man had already turned his back and was hurrying along, also trying to arrive someplace warm before the storm hit in full force. Mike went back to his walking, although he was suddenly not as cold. A warm fire seemed to be spreading through his entire body, right up to his fingertips and out of his body, warming the air around him. He realized he wasn’t numb at all, only he couldn’t quite remember why he was so concentrated on the idea of numbness. As he turned back to walk towards his home at the top of High Street, the idea of a hot chocolate appealed to him greatly. As the fire in his soul continued to rage, he walked down the street, away from the quiet solitude of his home and towards the bright lights of the local coffee shop.

Free MBAs

The door slammed shut as Mike stormed out of Stewart Hall, furious with the inability of the university to do anything. The fading light of the fall evening made everything appear longer as the shadows stretched out almost to infinity. Mike was angry because the legitimacy of his degree was in danger and the university seemed totally indisposed to do anything about it. When the MBA scandal broke about a week ago, the only thing Mike wanted was justice, and it didn’t seem that any was forthcoming. The president and the provost had been fired, but that wasn’t justice. Where was the vindication for the students who were busting their asses trying to earn a degree? The university had just forgotten about them. Mike thought that if he went and talked to someone at Stewart Hall, they would at least be able to see some sense in his predicament. They didn’t. They blindly turned him away with more corporate crap and a promise that he knew would amount to nothing. He knew a way to get something done though. He had heard about a meeting on campus, a meeting about people who wanted “something done” and were fed up with the university. That is where he was headed now.
As the sun got progressively lower and lower in the sky the temperature begin to drop into the teens. It was almost winter and the freezing grip of death Mother Nature put on Morgantown every year would soon be descending onto the city. A true American cold, nothing like the winters in Ireland, where the wind was quiet and the cold mild. While the couples would play in the snow and the students would trudge from the library with frost on their eyelashes the city would look beautiful encased in ice, totally numb to the decay that was going on inside its university.
As a few flakes of snow drifted down from the heavens Mike realized that the university wasn’t going to do anything, because they were numb just like everyone else; they didn’t care. Not about the students, not about the faculty, they were too caught up in their own silly worries to give a damn about anyone else. As the realization broke over Mike, he felt the cold for the first time, truly, deep inside his bones, slicing through his skin, and he realized he had to get under some cover from the impending snowstorm.
As Mike walked quickly through the cold air, he accidentally bumped into a passerby, who immediately broke into a sympathetic smile and a genuine reply of apology. Mike, in no mood to interact with anyone at the moment, merely grunted and kept walking, but suddenly didn’t feel as cold as he had a few seconds before. He turned to greet the stranger, but the man had already turned his back and was hurrying along, also trying to arrive someplace warm before the storm hit in full force. Mike went back to his walking, although he was suddenly not as cold. A warm fire seemed to be spreading through his entire body, right up to his fingertips and out of his body, warming the air around him. He realized he wasn’t numb at all, only he couldn’t quite remember why he was so concentrated on the idea of numbness. As he turned back to walk towards his home at the top of High Street, the idea of a hot chocolate appealed to him greatly. As the fire in his soul continued to rage, he walked down the street, away from the quiet solitude of his home and towards the bright lights of the local coffee shop.

Couch Burners Anonymous

The setting sun shined brightly through the opened window on the third floor of Stalnaker Hall. Groggily, Alex got out of his comfortable desk chair and ambled towards the door, ready to face another harsh, fall Morgantown wind. As he descended the stairs he wondered how his most recent project was doing; the students involved in the group seemed to be unresponsive to his ideas. What a laugh, he thought, “The group,” a silly idea started in a college dorm room that turned into what was being called “WVU Students Who Care.” Really, it was “Couch Burners Anonymous,” a WVU spirit organization started to cash in on the serious money that was available to be made by rabid students wanting guaranteed football tickets. Well, thought Alex, we care about WVU, just not in the way that everyone thinks we do. Now he even heard that the papers were crediting his group for the decrease in couch burning in the city limits. Alex wasn’t that naïve, he knew that people were burning less couches because the football team was garbage, they couldn’t even beat the nonconference opponents, what was going to happen when the big dogs came to town.
As he opened the front door of Stalnaker, he was initially shielded from the wind by the large pillars that made the balcony of the large building. As he gazed out upon the campus, he started to think about how beautiful the school looked in the fall: like something out an Irish fairytale. The trees were beginning to change colors and lose their leaves, reminding everyone of the cold weather to come, yet no one was depressed by the impending winter. They were happy, frolicking in the fallen piles of leaves blown up against the buildings by the wind. As Alex watched the kids playing, he suddenly realized that he wasn’t happy. Those kids, they were happy, jumping up and down without a care in the world, not trudging through the cold wind to another meeting where no one would listen to anything he had to say. Although the campus was beautiful this time of year, it only brought more misery to Alex than happiness.
As he opened the door to the Mountainlair, a sight inside suddenly drove the realization from his mind. The students in his group were gathered around outside the meeting room, sitting on the floor designing spirit posters for the impending game. Alex was so pleased that suddenly his dark thoughts were no longer important, he could no longer remember what the pleasant fall scenario had made him realize—the only thing that mattered was that his students were happy. And he was happy, strangely.
Alex began to help his students with posters, while musing over the thought that perhaps his students were energetic enough to make a difference, and that perhaps people were burning less couches because they DID care about the university. That was a lot of perhaps. As the sun slowly disappeared behind the beautifully colored mountains, the entire WVU campus was alight with a roaring orange flame, almost as if it had become the flame of a candle.

MBA Scandal Shocks Graduate Students

The recent eMBA scandal at WVU has shocked people far beyond the bounds of the campus of West Virginia University. From Matewan to Martinsburg people are outraged at the University’s scam to award the governor’s daughter with an Executive Masters Degree in Business/Administration, even as the details to the situation remain unclear. The ripples from this event might shake the foundations of the years to come, but not everyone on campus is entirely sure what exactly has happened, even the people who are most directly affected by the scandal.
Recently, a Pittsburgh newspaper uncovered a scandal at WVU where the administration retroactively awarded the governor’s daughter a degree that she did not have the necessary hours completed. At first the administration attempted to deny the reports, but after a third party investigation was carried out, it became clear that the degree was awarded against the rules of the university. This immediately began a media firestorm that resulted in the eventual resignation of WVU President Mike Garrison, and the Provost Gerald Lang. In the midst of all the outcries for the wrath of the Board of Governors to fall upon the WVU administration, however, a lot of the media has forgotten the real victims in this situation: the students, and more specifically, the students in the Business program.
Many of the students at the Business school at first seemed apathetic to the scandal, focused only on how much money Rich Rodriguez was going to be required to pay the university for opting out of his 6 year contract. There were students, however, that were deeply touched by the scandal. Second year graduate student Mike King believes that the scandal could seriously harm his chances to get a good job in the future. “I just think that prospective employees will think about that fact that my degree comes from a school that has a history of giving out invalid degrees. I think they’ll wonder whether I earned my degree or not.” Mike comments on the fact that because the scandal was such a big ordeal in the media, it is likely that any future employees will know about it and will bring it to mind when they look at a resume that says “WVU.”
On the flip side of this controversy, there are many students that have their spirit in the university revitalized by the trouble surrounding it. The students have had many rallies and meetings in support (or in opposition to) the administration and it is possible to see signs about the controversy all over campus. In many ways, this scandal has brought the university together in a way that only adversity can; for once, there are no division between different races, fraternities or religions. For once, we are all Mountaineers; and we are strong.

Bob Huggins Return to WVU Exemplifies the Mountaineer Spirit

As the shirt says, “This is Huggstown Now,” and truly, media read on the front of the shirt is correct, because the moment Mountaineer basketball coach Bob Huggins accepted the job at WVU, Morgantown became Huggstown. Bob Huggins decided to return to a city that absolutely adores him after a long time away building his illustrious resume at the University of Cincinnati and (briefly) Kansas State University, and the second he got off the plane he was a hero. Never mind that he made a name for himself at one of WVU’s conference rivals; never mind that he left Kansas State in a state of turmoil after staying only one year—as far as everyone in Morgantown was concerned, he was always a Mountaineer.
While Bob Huggins may have ended up back where he belongs, he certainly traveled a tenuous path, and perhaps in that is the reason his story is so interesting. After an incredible career at Cincinnati came to an end with a DUI conviction and alleged prescription drug abuse problems, he was out of work for about a year before he landed obscurely in Manhattan, Kansas as the Kansas State basketball coach. Immediately turning the program from a doormat in the Big XII Conference to a national competitor in one year he earned the respect and admiration of a whole community of fans. Needless to say, they were unhappy to see him leave after only one year to return to his alma mater, WVU.
Bob Huggins is what every mountaineer should aspire to be; spirited. The fact that he is a native West Virginia is not what is important in this story although it is the point that most of the media focused on; what makes Bob Huggins a Mountaineer is his unquenchable spirit. When he was down on his luck and it seemed as if there was no escape, he kept fighting, earning a job at a small basketball school and working his way back home to where he could be surrounded by the family and friends that have stood by him his entire life. “There were some hard times; I’m not going to lie,” says the coach, “but I just knew that I couldn’t give up, no matter how bad things got.”
This story should inspire Mountaineers out there who are thinking about quitting, about giving up; they should gain resolution in the fact that others have struggled mightily before, and others have succeeded. This defines what a Mountaineer should be; he should be someone who can fall as low as it is possible to go, and then fight his way out of it, work his way back to the top. A Mountaineer is not someone who merely attends WVU; plenty of people go to school here without achieving that title. A true Mountaineer is defined by the amount of will and fight in his heart, not by the place of his birth. Bob Huggins is the perfect example of what we all as Mountaineers should aspire to be: Welcome home Bob!

Couch Burning in Morgantown Reduced as Compared to Past Years

Recent reports from students and faculty in Morgantown suggest that the amount of “Couch Burning” taking place in the city limits has decreased substantially over the past few years. Couch burning has long been a tradition unfortunately linked with Morgantown, WV and West Virginia University, and officials claim that is one of the black spots on the reputation of the state university. The practice entails a large bonfire of furniture usually set after a signature win in football or basketball.
This practice is dangerous and unsightly, giving a bad reputation to our school as a “party school,” but reports from top university officials indicate that this practice has decreased significantly lately, even with the increased success of the WVU football and basketball teams. Some say this decrease in this particular illicit activity has been due to the creation of an organization on campus known as “WVU Students Who Care,” a group who says their goal is to be aware of the way the rest of the country perceives the students at WVU.
“A lot of people didn’t just come to WVU to party; we came here to get a good education that will be respected by the rest of the society” says Alex McPherson, a second year journalism student and vice president of “WVU Students Who Care,” “our organization is founded on the principle that if the students care enough to try and make this a respectable university, it can be a respectable university.”
Alex’s words ring true if the indications from faculty can be trusted; the students have started caring, and part of that empathy extends to a strong desire to prevent vandalism. It is encouraging to note that although the students involved directly in “WVU Students Who Care” are obviously not starting fires in their backyards, their empathy seems to have extended to the point where they have convinced others to stop defiling the streets of our city, and it is this that perhaps gives the most hope to those who wish for WVU to burst onto the national spotlight as a powerhouse-not only on the football field-but in the academic spotlight, and as a place that produces the future leaders of the country.
Whether it is the “WVU Students Who Care” group that is inspiring students to stop vandalizing the campus, or just the fact that the students would rather burn down Rich Rodriguez’s house than dirty broken furniture remains unknown. What is known, however, is that students on WVU’s campus are making a sincere effort to halt illegal activity that has plagued WVU’s reputation for years—and it’s working.

Thursday, October 2, 2008

Closure

The title of this entry is "closure," but I'm not sure that this story has closure. A best friend was dead, my parents, they no longer mattered. Maybe that was the point of this journey, to show me that my parents don't matter. The past--who cares? The future, now THAT'S something interesting. Who in the world was Mike King? I had no idea, and no trail to pick up. Maybe I'm not supposed to. I don't know. I have a lot of questions, but I no longer feel the the drive to define my past as I did before this adventure. I know who I am, where I am, and what I want for myself--to be happy. I'm not finished with Mike King, but when the day comes when I'm ready to go after him and repay him for the people he's hurt over the years comes, there might be another story. That, however, is not for this day, as I consider the tale of the search for my past complete, well, as much as any tale can be complete. Goodbye faithful readers, until we meet again.

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Mike King Makes his Move.

After my creepy phone conversation with Mike King, I was half afraid that he was going to show up on my doorstep with a bloody knife begging for revenge. As I spent the next week bogged down with chemistry work, I couldn't help the nagging thought in the back of my mind that he would be waiting for me around every corner. As the weekend approached, however, I felt better and better about the situation. After my chemistry test on Friday, I was in much better spirits as I headed back to my dorm room for the pizza party my roommate had planned to celebrate the end of a horrible week (although secretly I think he was trying to cheer me up after the trail had gone cold after my parents, even though I had planned to pick it up again once things had cooled down ). I felt safe, secure and happy, but NOTHING could have prepared me for what I found when I entered the door.















WHAT?





Alex, dead. A bloody plunger? What has happened?








this










Cannot






BE HAPPENING



Darkness.....fallling.....




Life...???Death...???
Questionsss???....Answers????

Fading....away............

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Second Call