Wednesday Word of the Week

Polyglot (pah lee glaht)
noun

def - a speaker of many languages

"Ling's extensive travels have helped her to become a true polyglot."

Alternative definition
noun

One who uses gravy on three or more food groups in a single meal

"Uncle Kevin, a notorious polyglot at family gatherings, succumbed to a food coma exactly 7 minutes after Thanksgiving dinner."

PC DOG FIGHTS

I got my Flip video camera a couple months after I got Biscuit, around the same time Harper came onto the scene. With the snow melting in Park City, three dogs running around the house and a new toy to play with, I accumulated a plethora of footage in no time. Feeling nostalgic, I finally decided to do something with all the videos I took.

Here's to the good people, gangster dogs, and great times at 920 Norfolk Ave.

Wednesday Word of the Week

Lavaliere (lav-uh-leer)
noun

def - an ornamental pendant, usually jeweled, worn on a chain around the neck

"Every girl in the sorority dreamed of wearing Johnny's fraternity lavaliere."

Alternative definition
verb

To projectile vomit

"Dude you lavaliered all over Emma last night!" "I know, tacos and Jaeger was probably a bad idea."

Dr. Jekyll & Mr. Sprague

Ever since the diagnosis of schizophrenia as a mental disease in the late 1800’s, the idea of split personalities has found a niche in popular fiction.  We’ve all read the stories about a hero who has split, or multiple identities.  By day, Spider Man is nerdy reporter Peter Parker; millionaire playboy Bruce Wayne moonlights as Batman; even Superman conceals his identity with the clever façade of Clark Kent.  However, this Superhero blueprint of average citizens modestly cloaking their valiant secret identity is not always the case.  Sometimes the shift into the alternate personality is undesirable, unpleasant, and unavoidable.   Dr. Jekyll loses himself in his wild subconscious alter ego, Mr. Hyde.  The renowned physicist Bruce Banner, when provoked by anger, transforms violently into the Incredible Hulk.  My roommate, the mild mannered Ben Sprague, mutates into a riotous, foul-mouthed beast.  One may ask, what causes these upstanding men to fall victim to evil alter ego’s?  Dr. Banner had an unfortunate accident with some gamma rays that left him with an angry green split-ego.  Poor Dr. Jekyll’s brilliant mind couldn’t endure the burden of his own genius and he descended into madness.  Ben’s transformation occurs only seventeen weeks of the year; nearly every Sunday and an occasional Monday.  The catalyst of his metamorphosis; The Dallas Cowboys.

“Oh, my, dear, GOD! I can not believe he has the audacity to make that call!  I mean where does that (expletive deleted) son of a (four expletives and one racial slur deleted) get off making that call?  Isn’t this America?  Are we not guaranteed the right to a justly refereed football game?  Did I miss something?  Are we suddenly now in Communist Russia?  God what I wouldn’t give to be anywhere within shooting distance of that game right now.  I hope that ref gets hit by a bus on his way out of the stadium.  No no, that’s too compassionate.  I hope he wins the lottery and goes on a fantastic vacation with his family and children.  Except when they’re over Philadelphia both wings simultaneously fall off, and the plane crashes directly into Donavon McNab’s chest, killing him, the ref, the ref’s family, the Eagles and the entire city of Philadelphia.”

           

Ben sits back down on the couch after one of his tirades.  He exhales loudly through his nose and resumes his focus on the television screen, seemingly unaware of the broken chair, dented refrigerator and possibly crippled roommate he left in his wake.  Depending on the circumstances, these outbursts can last anywhere from a couple seconds to an hour.  One particularly drunken Sunday night Ben caused such a ruckus after a referee “missed” a call that my roommates and I locked ourselves out of the room and stayed there until an RA, who was patrolling the hallway two floors down, came up to investigate what she called “violent noises.”  There is a direct correlation between the level of the Cowboy’s play and the severity of Ben’s destructiveness.  Ben generally directs his aggression towards the TV in verbal form.  He exhausts himself, shouting at no-one in particular, in long-winded rants that often border the criminally insane.  Sometimes, however, verbal violence doesn’t quite satisfy his lust.  It is not uncommon to see balls, books, chairs, or any other object he can pick up hurled across the room or out the door.  Numerous chairs and walls have met their demise at the hands of Mr. Sprague.  Crossing the living room during the Cowboys game is like sprinting through the jungle in Vietnam; you don’t know if you’re going to make it to the other side.  For this reason it’s hard for us to entertain guests on Sunday’s when Ben’s around.  He usually consents to stay in his room but the muffled yells and bangs can still be heard when the Cowboys make a bad play.  One freshman girl, who happened to be leaving our residence on a Sunday morning, heard a loud crash and a primeval roar from upstairs and turned to me wide eyed, gripping the door handle and asked “was that an animal?”  I’ve lived with or next to Ben for three years now, so I’ve become accustomed to his behavior.  Still, there are some times that even I am shocked at the things that come out of his mouth.  Just when I think I’ve heard the vilest, most offensive thing he’s ever said, he pushes the boundary that much further.  Through coping mechanisms like ear-plugs and pot, I’ve learned to accept his behavior and even feel somewhat sympathetic for him.  Ben is a victim.  He is consumed by his one true passion; his undying love for the cowboys.

           

There are a few certainties I know about Ben Sprague; he loves corndogs, he hates republicans, and he worships the Cowboys.  His dedication to the Cowboys organization and enthusiasm about Professional football is infectious.  Being raised in a college town, I was never really that interested in the NFL or any particular team for that matter.  Shortly after arriving at college and meeting Ben I found myself suddenly very aware of the NFC East standings and who the Cowboys would play next.  Since I’ve known him, my knowledge of the Cowboys franchise history has tripled.  I am bombarded with facts, which I really have little desire to hear, about Larry Allen’s bench press, Troy Aichman’s concussions, and tales from the illustrious career of one time pro-bowler Tony Tolbert.  Ben may not remember what he had for breakfast, but he can recite every play of the Cowboy’s game winning drive in the 1991 Super Bowl.  He knows first names, last names, coach’s names, water boy’s names, numbers, stats, owners, cheerleaders, and the list goes on.  Just recently Ben paid a visit to the Mecca of Cowboy fans, Texas Stadium.  He likened the experience to a spiritual hajj; a homecoming of sorts, which is strange because Ben is from northern Virginia. 

While he does have some family in the Lone-Star State, he is far from a true Texan.  He can’t ride, rope, or ranch and he despises dirt.  However this has not deterred him from living the dream.  Last year Ben confessed an overwhelming impulse to incorporate boots, belt buckles, and cowboy hats into his wardrobe.  His ideal cowboy, however, was far from a rough neck.  Ben wanted Ostrich leather boots, and a customized belt buckle to match his special edition John Wayne Stetson.  Over the years Ben has forged a symbiotic relationship with the Cowboys in his mind.  Any time he refers to them it’s always as “we” or “us” rather than “them.”  Whether subconsciously or consciously Ben believes that his unfailing devotion has somehow qualified him as a member of the team.  His connection goes even deeper than this however.  Ben feels physical repercussions after a Cowboy game.  If they win he is overcome with jubilation, hugging strangers and crying out freedom.  If they lose, he becomes physically ill, and slumps into a pseudo-depression.

“Hey man are you gonna come out to Pete’s with us tonight” I ask Ben after a particularly disheartening Cowboys loss.

“Eh, I don’t think so.” Ben replies pathetically. 

“Dude why not?  You’ve been talking this party up all week.  Plus isn’t that girl,

with that thing, and the hair, that you made out with that one time supposed to be there?”

            “Yeah I guess, but she’s nothing special.  Plus I think I might be developing a stomach ulcer.”

            “Nothing special!?” I reply incredulously.  “But earlier today you told me that you would eat a mile of her shit just to get an inch from her ass.”  Ben shrugs my question off and rolls himself up in his own self pity.  He asks me to turn out the lights (it’s 6:45 on a Saturday night) and as I leave the room I offer him what little condolence I can,

“try drinking some milk, it might help that ulcer.” 

After witnessing anomalies such as these, there is no doubt in my mind that his passion for the Cowboys is genuine. 

           

Despite his often brutish behavior Ben was not raised by wolves.  He is a well centered individual who comes from a healthy two-parent home.  He simply loves too much, or too hard perhaps.  Ben’s allegiance to the Cowboys is the catalytic energy that provokes his transmutations.  It changes him from an intelligent young man to an offensive beast with the blow of a whistle.  During the week he’s a diligent Dean’s list student.  He is a member of the Westover Honors program.  He is a Bonner Leader.  He takes an active role in politics and aspires to go to law school.  Ben’s resume is superb.  He would be accepted to many of the top tier graduate schools in the nation, that is, so long as they didn’t schedule the interview during a Cowboy’s game.

Wednesday Word of the Week

Machination (mahk uh nay shuhn)
noun

def - plot or scheme

"Tired of his enemies' endless machinations to remove him from the throne, the king had them executed."

Alternative Definition
noun

The act or process of making something macho

"After enduring a lengthy and calculated machination, Jed emerged from high school with a leather jacket and a smoking habit."