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
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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!
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.
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.
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
WHAT?
Alex, dead. A bloody plunger? What has happened?
this
Cannot
BE HAPPENING
Darkness.....fallling.....
Life...???Death...???
Questionsss???....Answers????
Fading....away............
Using the Telephone
I awoke from my slumber with a start this morning. For a moment I wasn't sure where or who I was, I only knew one sensation---fear. As I lay in bed sweating for a few moments, reality began to trickle back into my brain, and I thought of my mission to find my parents and my origins. For the first time, I wasn't sure anymore that it was what I wanted. As I glanced over at my computer that could hold the answer, I knew why I was afraid. I knew that my origins may not be things that I wanted to know, and that when I did know them, I may not be happy with what they were. These, however, were just normal misgivings, for I had come too far to give up now. I bravely got out of bed and fired up my computer to check my email.
As it turns out, my apprehensions were unnecessary, not because the information I found out was pleasant, but because there was no information at all. This only angered me, as I had become emotionally charged waiting on a response and now none was forthcoming. Angrily I picked up the phone to call Mike King and demand answers. I called once and there was no answer, but I was not going to be put off that easily. I quickly grabbed the phone book out of my drawer and looked up Mike King, finding all 300 entries under that name. Browsing quickly through the numbers, however, I found the one that matched the number I had obtained off the WVU directory, although the address was still the ambiguous Stalnaker Hall PO box. I picked up my phone and dailed the number again.....
Table of Contents
As it turns out, my apprehensions were unnecessary, not because the information I found out was pleasant, but because there was no information at all. This only angered me, as I had become emotionally charged waiting on a response and now none was forthcoming. Angrily I picked up the phone to call Mike King and demand answers. I called once and there was no answer, but I was not going to be put off that easily. I quickly grabbed the phone book out of my drawer and looked up Mike King, finding all 300 entries under that name. Browsing quickly through the numbers, however, I found the one that matched the number I had obtained off the WVU directory, although the address was still the ambiguous Stalnaker Hall PO box. I picked up my phone and dailed the number again.....
Table of Contents
mrking@mail.wvu.edu
TO MR. MIKE RAY KING:
SEVERAL SOURCES HAVE INFORMED ME THAT YOU HAVE INFORMATION REGUARDING MY PARENTS. I AM CHOOSING NOT TO DIVULGE MY IDENTITY IN CASE THIS EMAIL SHOULD FALL INTO THE WRONG HANDS, BUT SUFFICE TO SAY IF YOU KNOW ANYTHING PLEASE CONTACT ME WITH A DATE AND PLACE WHERE WE CAN MEET AND TALK ABOUT MY PARENTS.
Signed,
_ou_e O__ve
SEVERAL SOURCES HAVE INFORMED ME THAT YOU HAVE INFORMATION REGUARDING MY PARENTS. I AM CHOOSING NOT TO DIVULGE MY IDENTITY IN CASE THIS EMAIL SHOULD FALL INTO THE WRONG HANDS, BUT SUFFICE TO SAY IF YOU KNOW ANYTHING PLEASE CONTACT ME WITH A DATE AND PLACE WHERE WE CAN MEET AND TALK ABOUT MY PARENTS.
Signed,
_ou_e O__ve
Directory Search Results
Home > Directory
You entered the following search criteria:
First name: Mike (Exact Match) or (Contains) or (Sounds Like)
Lastname is King
Last name: King (Exact Match) or (Contains) or (Sounds Like)
E-Mail: Any Email address
Limit Search to: Faculty / Staff and Students
Your search returned 1 entries.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Mike Ray King
Department: Facilities Mgt Zone 1
Classification: CLASSIFIED
Title: Campus Service Wkr
Email: mrking@mail.wvu.edu
Postal Address: Stalnaker PO Box 6430 Morgantown, WV, 26506
Phone: 304-293-4230
Created On: 2008-09-02 8:45
Last Modified: 2008-09-06 -2:44
Is this your information? Is it wrong? See the FAQ to learn how you can update it.
© 2008 | West Virginia University Questions or Comments?
PO Box 6201 | Morgantown, West Virginia 26506 | 304.293.0111
West Virginia University is an Equal Opportunity/Affirmative Action Institution.
You entered the following search criteria:
First name: Mike (Exact Match) or (Contains) or (Sounds Like)
Lastname is King
Last name: King (Exact Match) or (Contains) or (Sounds Like)
E-Mail: Any Email address
Limit Search to: Faculty / Staff and Students
Your search returned 1 entries.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Mike Ray King
Department: Facilities Mgt Zone 1
Classification: CLASSIFIED
Title: Campus Service Wkr
Email: mrking@mail.wvu.edu
Postal Address: Stalnaker PO Box 6430 Morgantown, WV, 26506
Phone: 304-293-4230
Created On: 2008-09-02 8:45
Last Modified: 2008-09-06 -2:44
Is this your information? Is it wrong? See the FAQ to learn how you can update it.
© 2008 | West Virginia University Questions or Comments?
PO Box 6201 | Morgantown, West Virginia 26506 | 304.293.0111
West Virginia University is an Equal Opportunity/Affirmative Action Institution.
Today I used the "internet"
After fervently searching for hours on the internet (and probably unwittingly downloading thousands of megabytes of spyware onto my laptop), I was beginning to get frustrated. Mike King was either a ghost, or didn't exist at all, for as far as I was concerned, if Google couldn't find you, then you didn't exist.
At the height of my frustration (and possibly a diet coke caffine rush), I found Mike King by chance. I decided to try a WVU directory search for him, on the off chance that at some point he had been involved with the university, and BANG, "Mike King" returned one search result
This had to be the man! But how to capitalize on this information, because even his directory listing was shrouded in mystery. Why was his classification classified? Was he a student? A faculty member? Even a janaitor? I had no way of knowing as this most critical piece of information was withheld from me by the server. But I also had his email and phone number so I could contact him!
My first attempt was email, because I reasoned that if he was a professor he would check it very regularly. While I waited for him to respond I decided that I would call it a night and head for bed.
Remind me again why "Buffalo Wild Wings" is called "BW3s"?
Today progress has been made, I've discovered a clue to my origins. While walking downt he street I encountered some people who acted very skittish as I asked them about my parents. When pressed further, they told me to "Ask Mike King", and while I didn't think much of it at the time, I realized that this man might know something about my parents and where I came from. Having nothing else to go on I attempted to follow my auspicious informants until I was able to track them to a local sports bar.
Once there I cornered them at the counter and questioned them again for information on this mysterious Mike King character. As you can see, I was unable to obtain any other useful information other than "he's a good man." I must continue this search for Mike King, but now I must turn to the shadier annals of internet databases and google searches.
Also, the wings were delicious.
Once there I cornered them at the counter and questioned them again for information on this mysterious Mike King character. As you can see, I was unable to obtain any other useful information other than "he's a good man." I must continue this search for Mike King, but now I must turn to the shadier annals of internet databases and google searches.
Also, the wings were delicious.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)