String Cheese Article - XX

A Little Note Goes A Long Way

By ARYN CORLEY

Updated: 07.15.09

Recently someone, or something, left a note on the windshield of my truck. Because I’m not sure if the creature that left the note for me is either human, or inhuman, or vertebrate, or invertebrate, I’ll refer to it simply as “It.”

My choice of pronoun is inclusive out of the utmost respect for all living creatures. Anyway, It left a note chiding me for my parking skills. A little known fact about humor columnists is that we’re notoriously bad at parking.

Nevertheless, I took due diligence in making sure that I hadn’t parked behind a sign, which instructed the whole world not to. The whole purpose is to keep a rather small boat launch from being blocked. There was enough space behind the sign for an impromptu meeting of the Clay Aiken fan club.

At first I was confused as to why the note was left for me. Perhaps the note was meant for someone else? The note was also unsigned, which prevented me from going straight to the source and getting clarification on the matter. It also used appallingly bad grammar and sub-standard sentence structure. Maybe, It hadn’t done well in school.

I showed the note to two other objective people who were just as perplexed as I about the nature of the correspondence. They both read the note, chuckled, and both shook their heads disapprovingly.

“Is this for real?,” they asked.

The only scenario I could fathom was that as It was either slithering along, or riding by in a golf cart, It cast a googly, bloodshot eye on what it thought was a violation of the holy canon of Its existence: the sub-division by laws.

Just as the Holy Bible, The Koran, The Talmud, and the Book of Mormon were delivered to humanity for its own salvation, so are the covenants and deed restrictions delivered to those poor souls who want to live with pink flamingos in their yards.

Strict adherence to the mantra of manicured grass, pet containment, and report-thy-neighbor is the pathway to peace and prosperity.

As I pondered the note further, my perspective began to shift. The note wasn’t left for me. It was left for It. Rather than being a testament to boorish and vapid penmanship, the note itself was a cry for help.

It is not happy.

On a weekend when families were spending time together in joyous fellowship with kids running around in the yard, spitting watermelon seeds, and celebrating the independence of our great country, It was preoccupied with my parking job.

It probably had a family that wished that It would pay more attention to them. Perhaps It is at a point in its life where it feels inadequate or maybe even unneeded. It probably feels that it has nothing left to contribute to this world other than carbon dioxide and vitriol.

While that may be the case, the catty little note It left me offered no solutions to the problem. Regardless, I’d still like to bake It a cake and tell It how helpful it was to me.

After all, the note did help me get past my writer’s block.

STRING CHEESE ARTICLE - XVIIII

SCHOOL AVATARS REPRESENT KOOKIENESS
by Aryn Corley
7/7/2009

High school mascots are an iconic part of American culture. In Texas, more especially, our mascots hold an almost religious significance. They are the avatars of a time when we're discovering who we are, learning how to drive, and growing new hair in weird places. They not only embody a school's team spirit, but sells lots of t-shirts locally.
Most Texas schools are represented by some variation of malfeasant wildlife which possesses a certain ferocity or a really cool costume. In Texas, the most common mascots are eagles, bulldogs, and bobcats. These three are considered the "Holy Trinity" of Texas high school mascots.

The idea of a high school mascot usually follows a simple formula:

Phrase (Home of the...) + Adjective (Fighting) + Plural Noun (Titans) = Mascot.

Try it. It works!

Be warned. The adjective you use makes a big difference.
How discouraging would one's first day of school be if the phrase," Home of the Lactating Tigers" was written on the side of the gym?

Not every school follows this formula. In fact, some schools have downright wierd examples for their mascots.

We have some in Texas. Since page space is at a premium, I'll only list a few examples. These mascots which come to mind are ones that I remember from "Friday Night Finals"; a scoreboard show on the Voice of Southwestern Agriculture radio network. For the record, I am a San Angelo Central High Bobcat. For those who are unfamiliar, the bobcat is a wild cat that chokes on hairballs. Furthermore, this particular cat often "chokes" during the playoffs.
In the hill country, is a little town named Rotan (no, not the big bird that fought Godzilla). Rotan High School's mascot is the Yellowhammer. At first, I thought it was a carpenter that dropped his tool in the commode. Apparently, it's a bird with black and yellow feathers. I imagine the school's colors of orange and white are merely a technicality. If you stare at the logo for a long time then look away, the image burned into your rods and cones may be yellow and black. Who knows?
In Hamlin, you'll find the locals rooting for the Pied Pipers. To my knowledge, this mascot is not only a reference to a fictional character, but may be the only mascot in Texas wearing a cape. Don't let the logo fool you. That dude in the green tights knows where to put that flute if you make him/her angry. The Pied Piper is not one to be trifled with. Especially if you are a rat!
In the small town of Itasca, in Hill county, residents cheer for their Wampus Cats. According to Cherokee Indian folklore, a woman was transformed into the dreadful six-legged half woman half mountain cat by a shaman after she overheard them telling sacred stories. Whatever. As a result, the wampus cat howls, snarls, and wreaks general havoc about the countryside every 28 days.

There are many more unique mascots; too many more to mention here. I just hope that if any new high schools, or any other institution of higher learning (Britney Spears Tech, perhaps?) are built, I get asked to be the one to decide what the mascot is going to be. I would lay to rest the hackneyed macots of yesteryear and usher in a new set of modern of school spirit.

For example, flesh eating bacteria is a fine thing for a school's mascot. It's small, devastating, and fatal. What school's chess team wouldn't want to be represented by such a devious mascot? How would you like to be the team that comes back saying, "We got beaten by the flesh eating bacteria"? Tourists who see the words on the water tower reading, "Flesh Eating Bacteria country" might think twice about stopping or setting up residence.

Although, it might make homecoming a little icky.