Potty Talk: Intro to the Stall Street

Good People of Warren Hall:
And so it begins.

The year that shall forever be known- seared into memories, etched into history books- as “The Year of 2005-2006.” And rightly so.

Let me tell you something about this year. You know how on every Late Night show, they always say, “we’ve got an incredible show for you tonight,” even if the only guests they’ve booked are Paulie Shore, The Guy Who Used to do the “Dude, you got a Dell” commercials, and Special Musical Guest The Bulgarian Polka Trio?

I’m not going to do that to you. I don’t know if this year’s going to be good or bad. Clouded, the future is. And magic 8-balls and fortune cookies can only tell you so much.

But here’s what I do know. This year is going to be eventful. Stuff is going to happen, man. Stuff that will blow... your... mind... Some things might be good. Maybe one of you might celebrate a birthday. Some things might be bad. Maybe the dorm might catch ablaze, trapping us all in a raging inferno, and the worst part is, while we have marshmallows and chocolate, we’re all out of Graham Crackers.

Either way, I foresee a torrential swirl of events, some planned and some unplanned. I feel it in the earth. I feel it in the water. I smell it in the air. Or maybe that’s just the regular trademark smell of 3rd West.

And I can promise you, the Stall Street Journal will be there every step of the way, chronicling the journey, bringing you information, seeking change, and humbly requesting your assistance to make Warren Hall even better. I, Daniel Walters, your Senator, have three goals for this vaunted publication, the Stall Street Journal.

1) To bring you information about future, past, and present events, as well as Issues that Concern You.

2) To allow you a platform to voice your concerns, non-sequiters, and wacky conspiracy theories.

3) And most importantly, to entertain.

Buckle your seatbelt. Becaue it’s going to be a wild ride.

If I was you, I’d get Triple A.

Warren Calendar for Sept. 3rd through Sept 12

Saturday, Sept. 3rd.
-10 a.m.: Residence Halls Open.
-4.30 p.m: Taste of the Northwest
-9:00 pm. Residence Hall meetings
Sunday, Sept. 4th.
-9:30 a.m.: Church.
-3:00 p.m: Floor Meetings
-8:00 p.m. Traditiation!
Monday, Sept. 5th
-Returning Students Return.
-8:00 pm: The Yell-Off.
Tuesday, Sept. 6th
-9:00 pm: Mock Rock!
Wednesday, Sept. 7th
10:30 pm: Convocation
8 pm: Residence Hall meetings
Friday, September, 9th
8 pm: Stewart Lawn Dance.

Saturday, September 10th
8 pm: Bingo

Whitworth Spotlight: Traditiation

Some colleges have traditions. Some have initiations. Only Whitworth has the audacity, the madness, to combine them together into one unstoppable monster hybrid of a Franken-event. And they said we were crazy! Not since Gogurt has there been a Chimera created of this level of twisted genius.

Every Warren Traditiation has at least three of these four events:

The Wooing of the Ladies: All that practicing your deep,sultry voice in front of the mirror is about to pay off, as the Warren Gentlemen attempt to woo the Lovely Ladies of Whitworth college. Remember, Warrenites, we are gentlemen, so the wooing is more of the “Let me open that stage coach door for you, fair maiden of Whitworth,” and less of the “Giggety-Giggety-Giggety” variety.

Yell-Off: A no-holds-barred, marathon scream-fest. This time its not between you and your parents. Points will be given for clever cheers, pure uncut volume, and visibility of angry spittle. Howard Dean has nothing on Whitworth College Freshmen.

The Mock Rock: Inspired by the musical genius of Ashley Simpson and Milli Vanilli (except we have talent), the Mock Rock takes lip-synching to a whole new level, adding interpretative dance and full-contact miming into the mix. The Gentlemen of Warren hall have won this contest two years in a row.

Read my lips: “What’s that in the air... smells like the sweet stench of... three-peat...”

The Buying of the Warren Hall T-Shirt: You are going to get very sick of me talking about this, very fast.

ASWC'd

The ASWC is a ragtag group of rugged individuals formed for one purpose and one purpose only:

To represent, inform, and entertain. Since those are three things, I’ll combine them into one: Repfotainment.

We will report back the important Issues of the ASWC in this space.

Look for reports on decisions made, surveys taken, events planned, and frivolous points argued over.

It’s your government. Keep it in check.

The Best Dorm Sports Show Period 1

By Colin “Rock you like a Hurricane” Storm.

Hey guys, I’m your ASWC Sports Events Coordinator. This is my second year performing this job and I’m really excited to get a bunch of stuff going. This section is aimed at giving you an idea of what sports events and promotions are coming up. This will be a sweet year, as almost all six of our fall sports teams are ranked in the top-25 in the nation. Make sure to check this section out and get out to those events to show your Whitworth pride and spirit! Oh yeah. Have a nice poop!

HOME SPORTING EVENTS FOR THE WEEKEND OF 9/3-9/5
Saturday
-Women’s Soccer vs. CSU East Bay @ 11 a.m.
Sunday
-Women’s Soccer vs. Chapman @ 1:30 p.m.

Whitworth Haiku 1

Back to school, again.
An old sign clutches the loop:
Keep off the grass, punks!

Warren Hall T-Shirts Ad

A suave, debonair design, combined with a chic easy-going fabric that will bring you happiness for the rest of your life! All for 10 dollars at your local Senator’s! Or get eight for $79.20 in our special limited time only offer! Buy them now before they hit Value Village and become cool! If we sell them all, I’ll stop using so many exclamation points!!!!!

Changes to Traditiation from Last Year

-More focus on traditiation. Less on traditi-hazing.

-Ground White Rhino Tusk powder no longer used for wooing.

-The Trial of Fire, the Trial of Ice, and the Trial of Blood replaced by less problamatic- but still exciting “Root Beer Baseball.”

-Frank F. Warren’s Ghost scheduled to speak Saturday, instead of Sunday.

-Freshmen no longer forced to lick upperclassmen’s boots. Now allowed to just use regular shoe polish.

-The Scavenger Hunt no longer requires freshmen to bring back “The head of at least one (1) Arend R.A.”

-Less Mock. More Rock.

-Tradition fees reduced to hundred and twenty dollars, or three oxen.

-Not as much use of Shaving Cream, Duct tape, and/or Boiling Oil.

The Outpost: Intro to the Outpost.

By Daniel Walters:

Pocket that pocketknife. Your days of needing to advertise on the Bathroom Wall with etched carvings are over. We here at the Stall Street Journal™©® are committed to serving you, the consumer. We- I say “we” to sound more powerful- introduce the “Outpost” feature of the Stall Street. Where you write my Stall Street for me. Send me a 200-word-or-so feature, poem, advertisement, happy birthday announcement, diatribe, or glowing compliment and I’ll publish it in this very space. That is, if you can beat out all the other letters that I’m sure to receive for that week. (I’m hoping for the E-mail version of the Miracle on 34th Street finale: “All these letters for a Mr. dwalters08@whitworth.edu? He is real! He’s really really real!”)
Just think about it. Is there anyplace more romantic to propose to your girlfriend than this space right here?

“So, Mom, where did Dad ask you to marry him?”

“Uh… eh… the beach. Yup. A sunny… sandy… romantic beach… Well… I gotta go… do something… someplace. Without you.”

Mail away, budding authors. Write me a story. Pen me a sonnet. Shamelessly plug the sale of your used Chia Pet. Whatever it is, make sure it fills space. As any good nihilist will tell you, filling space is what life is all about.

Stall Street: The beginning of the Big Inning

Slogan: It's Back. And this Time. There's Personals.

Weather-o-matic Reading: Perdy

Warren Peace Counter:
2 Months, 1 week, 3 days, 4 hours and 32 seconds until Warren Peace...

Warren "Wizz" Dumb:
Relationships are a lot like Baseball. I know absolutely nothing about either one.

Disclaimer:
The views expressed in this publication are not necessarily representative of the views of Warren, Whitworth, or Walters. Void where prohibited, and in the state of Wyoming.

Whitworthian Headlines: Week 1

Local
Nails, Angry Punches, banned from use in Room Decorating.
“Posters can still be hung using static electricity, pure force of will,” Housing allows.

‘Wallet Donations,’ not actually part of Traditiation, Senator reluctantly admits.
-“Do you wanna buy an elevator key?” adds Walters.
Entertainment
Parents outraged to discover Grand Theft Auto: Vice City has Theft, Vice.
“They make it seem so Grand,” Critics complain.

Comedians still depressed over Jackson’s ‘Innocent’ verdict.
“At least I still have O.J. jokes,” Leno says.

National
Hurricane devestation makes Colin Storm’s last name seem insensitive.
-Couldn’t he just call himself Colin S?” critics say.

Many unable to differentiate between satire, reality.
-Protesters riot over inaccuracies in Ziggy, Hagar the Horrible.

Alternative Mascots for Whitworth, since Pirates seem out of vogue as of late.

Alternative Mascots for Whitworth:

-“The Killer Deaths”

-“The ‘Insert Mascot Here’s

-“The Fighting Peaceniks.”

“The Redistribution of Loot and Plunder Facilitators”

“The Colin Storms”

“The Night Riders”

“The Fighting Dumples”

“The Offensive Ethnic Caricatures.”

“The Whitworth Seattle Mariners”
”The Spokanasauruses.”

“The Scurvy Bilgedogs”

“The Killer Flags”

“The fighting W’s”

“The Bob the Builders”

“The Mission Statements”
”The Needless Redesigns”

“The Fighting Hearts and Minds”

“The Rodents of Unusual Size”

“The Zealots”

“The Senators”

“The Student Loans”

“The Crushing Disillusionments”

“The Torn ACLs”

“The Anthropomorphic Animals”

“The United Nations”

“The Diplomats”

“The Business Majors”

“The Hantaviruses.”

“The Goatmen”

“The Red Robins”

“The White, Middle-Class, Conservative Christians”

“The Promoting Diversities”

“The Killer Cliché’s”

“The Athletes”

"The Flinstones Vitamins"

“The Board of Trustees”

“The Benjamins”

“The Zoot Suit Rioters”

“The Mad Cows”

“The Serial Killers”

“The Shameless Plugs”

“The Patrons of the Arts”

“The Fashionistas”
”The Victims”

“The Judge, The Jury and the Executioners.”

Or, my favorite idea:

The Whitworth Pirates.

Rejected ASWC Mission Statement 1

We, the ASWC, do hereby deign to bequeath our most erudite vision unto the plebian masses- naively frittering away their empty lives tilling barren austerity outside their meager wattle-and-daub fiefdom- by fervently striving for ubiquitous superciliousness, venerating ham-handed and haughty hubris, and endeavoring to embark upon an expedition of extraordinary effusive, garrulous, and loquacious verbosity.

Every Minute Counts Part Two: Camp Scalding.

12:00- The ASWC (Associated Society of Whitworth Commissions) team sets out for Camp Spalding, with the objective of building a team, planning an agenda, getting to know eachother, making arts and crafts bracelets, experiencing the ropes course, and hopefully, if somebody dares us for a dollar, totally swallowing a worm. I swallowed one at Camp Spalding in 6th grade, but now thanks to my years of experience and maturity I know that now, I should probably swallow without chewing.

12:55- A thunderstorm brews above us as we carpool to Camp Spalding, an ominous omen if I’ve ever seen one. The black cat, the broken mirror, and the audible “Dun! Dun! Dun!” add to my nervousness. The firey car crash that kills two ASWC senators on the way is also rather portentous.

1:20- We arrive at Camp Spalding, surrounded only by quite solitude, scenic vistas, ancient trees, and a sprawling vacant lot with the sign, “Future Home of the Camp Spalding Wal-Mart.”

1:59- President Jeff Hunter starts out the meeting of the ASWC (Algerian-Serbian Wicca Cabal), with a message about working together, striving for diversity, taking pride in each others differences, and working out conflict in a peaceful manner.

2:00- Financial Vice President Denise Hewett hits Jeff over the head with a two-by-four. As Jeff lays crumpled on the ground, Denise triumphantly places her foot on his neck proclaiming, “Now I am, ASWC President! Look upon my works, ye mighty, and Despair!”

2:10- We all go ‘round the circle and introduce ourselves. Surprisingly, there are three Turd Fergusons and only two I.P. Freelys

2:50- As a way to get to know eachother, we play the “I never game.” Basically, the person in the middle has to say something they’ve never done, like “I’ve never had a meaningful relationship with anyone.” And then everyone who HAD had a meaningful relationship would have to cross the middle and try to sit in a chair before somebody else got to it. Everyone plays very intensely has a fun time, except for the coordinator who has his eye put out by a chair. “I’ve never had my eye put out by a chair,” the person in the middle says, forcing the disappointed and half-blind coordinator to cross the middle and find another chair.

We find out many other interesting things about the students in leadership positions, specifically that most of the students should really not be in leadership positions. And while Evan Cate (Senator, Mac) may have “never killed more than three hobos with a bowie knife,” Brian Baumann (Senator, Arend) and Jackson Williams (Senior Class Coordinator) have.

3:40: Free time! Of course, as any economist will tell you, there’s no such thing as ‘free’ time.

3:50: The ASWC (Associated Studs and their Women Colleagues) decides to play on THE BLOB. The name is based on a 1958 horror movie, where an indescribable, indestructible mass of tofu tries to kill Steve McQueen.

THE BLOB, a massive inflatable floating mass set out in the lake, coyly invites a light girl to get on one end. Then, two heavy males jump from a fifteen foot platform onto the other end of the blob, catapulting the flailing screaming girl into the air. What could possibly go wrong!

4:07: Something goes wrong.

4:30: The paramedics are quite friendly and the Emergency helicopter pilot quite adept. The doctors say that everyone is going to be fine, although Natishi Editor-in-Chief Amanda Smith will be left with a scar the shape of Indonesia on her back for the rest of her life.

4:35: The ASWC receives its first challenge! Trying to explain to the Student Body why we have to pay three hundred dollars out of unallocated to replace the Camp Spalding Paddle Boat that we sunk.

4:50: The ASWC plays an impromptu game of pick-up volleyball, showing why they are involved in Student Government, and not in something involving more hand-eye- coordination, like being popular.

6:30: In another meeting, we start to tell our Life Stories. We find out many interesting details about the executive officers, such as that Denise Hewett’s favorite Neopolitan flavor is Strawberry, Colette Reid speaks seven languages, including Ewok and Klingon, and Jeff Hunter’s actual name is Jennifer.

7:20: We brainstorm values and ideas for the ASWC. While many good ideas are put forth, our policy of not rejecting any ideas leaves us with, among others, “Jerky flavored toothpaste,” “Change the name ‘Whitworth College’ to “McGrady’s House of Funtime Education”, “Kill all the Squirrels,” and “Get people more involved.” Ha! Get more people involved… The crazy things people come up with…

9:00: For the rest of the night, we play a game of no-hold-barred Pictionary. After a few hours, the drawings become crude, obscene, and almost completely indiscernible. The National Endowment of the Arts immediately gives us a 10,000 dollar grant. Somehow, Senator Jeff Brown mortally wounds himself with the Felt Tip Magic Marker. “Romeo and Juliet! Hamlet! Anthony and Cleopatra!” the teams guess.

12:30: Instead of sleeping in the cozy cabins on soft, comfy mattresses, we decide to sleep in the lodge on a thin layer of carpet that tops a floor made entirely out of diamond-hard concrete. Builds character.

3:00: We are woken up by an obnoxious jerk with a hockey mask and a chainsaw. “Go back to sleep, Jason!” Colin Storm groans, before turning over and going back to sleep. That was the last time we ever saw Jackson Williams or Chad Boyer alive and with all their limbs and organs attached to their bodies.

7:30: After waking up seventeen times in the middle of the night, I finally get out of my paper sleeping bag and off that stupid merciless rock hard floor. On the plus side, after lying on my back all night, my Scoliosis is completely cured. A few other ASWC members were not so lucky, however.

They woke up…

Dead.

8:30: We begin to discuss the exact wording of the ASWC mission statement. Because, you know, without a buzzword-laden official-sounding, pretentious mission statement, we’d completely fail as an organization. I don’t know how many times when I’ve been in meetings and everyone has lost all hope and then suddenly somebody remembers. The mission statement! they say. And we all look at the mission statement and are completely revitalized and filled with purpose.

Despite the importance, the solemn gravity of our task, however, we agree to get it done quickly without petty squabbles or disagreements.

12:30: The first punch is thrown in the middle of a screaming match over the placement of a semi-colon in the Mission Statement.

12:35: We finally head home. “Well, that was a successful retreat,” Evan Cate, the driver of the car says, looking back at me. In retrospect, he should have been watching the road. Last thing I saw was the fender of a Mach Truck bashing Evan’s Pine-Scent Air Freshener to the back of the car…

Every Minute Counts. A Series.

Many people may think that being a Senator is easy. That they just spontaneously appear at the beginning of school with a clipboard in one hand, T-shirts in the other, and the Magical Senatorial Scepter of Power in still another. (All Senators get a third arm. It’s quite a nifty perk. A baseball pitcher could pitch and scratch at the same time.)

Well, for many Senators, it is that easy. They shuffle in, throw a few value village T-shirts on a card table, scratch out a bathroom newsletter with a broken green crayon on a sticky note, and call it a year.

But not me. No, I have to make things extraordinarily difficult for myself, with no foreseeable long term benefit for anyone. It’s that pesky Protestant Work Ethic. It’s why Alfred Kaerche built Mt. Rushmore when he supposed to be on vacation.

“Relax,” Alfred’s wife said.

“And WASTE MY TIME! NEVER!”

“We’re out in the mountains, honey. Of South Dakota. There’s no tasks to accomplish, nothing you can do besides sitting here, on this nice white, granite, surface.”

“Or is there? Wife, I’m going to dig a trench! In case it rains.”

“Okay. Just don’t get carried away.”



I thought I’d give you an idea, of what I’m doing, a week before school starts, to get ready for this coming year I give you this minute by minute account. Be warned, my memories not so good. It may have some inaccuracies.

DAY ONE: SATURDAY THE 27th.

12:30: Having satiated myself with the an apricot peanut butter sandwich, the last remnants of not-SAGA food I may taste in months, I set out for college. The calls of goodbye from my parents almost obscure the sound of the sledgehammer tearing apart my room to make for the Jacuzzi.

12:55: I gaze once again upon the beautiful campus of Whitworth and reminded of the truth of Whitworth’s noble motto: Servo off Gramen. Latin, for “Keep off the Grass”

1:00: I arrive at the HUB right on time and pick up my room key. Nostalgically, I think of my previous room key, who seemed nice at first, but run off, leaving me with a broken heart and a fifty dollar fine. Oh, how I miss you, Room Key. Oh, how I miss you fifty dollars.

1:30: I shove the key into the lock of my new room, aptly named room 339. I dramatically turn the key and find… the key doesn’t work. Ha! They got me!

1:45: I return, this time with the correct key. I open the door of room 339 and take a look around. It seems a bit Spartan, though the color scheme is consistent. The white walls match the white floors and the white sheets. Though I found the straitjacket a bit restricting.

3:00: I begin decorating, aiming to borrow from both late Etruscan period and the Byzantine designs, with both hints of Frank Lloyd Wright and Frank Gehry. Maybe some posters, too.

3:15: Since Housing forbids use of nails, I am forced to hang my $3000 plasma flate screen T.V. using only spittle and stale chewing gum.

3:17: The Plasma screen TV comes crashing down, shattering, and getting plasma all over the floor. Plasma is a PAIN to clean out of the carpet.

3:18: Housing calls, to pleasantly remind me that chewing gum is prohibited under the new decorating rules as well. Fortunately, the twenty-five dollar fine is easily affordable.

5:00: Leadership BBQ. Enchiladas and corn are served, which while it tastes really good, looks kinda like… uh… well, it tastes really good.

6:00: The games begin! To hone our leadership skills, we play a game where you try to grab a finger- to train our enthusiasm. A game where we try to poke other people- to teach us persistence. And finally a game where we break up into teams to form a giant machine using people- to show us that while we may feign individuality, our idealism will fade until we realize that we are mere cogs in the soul-crushing  machine of bureaucracy, drones assigned to carry out a series of repetitious tasks. It was fun!

7:30: President Bill Robinson gives his address to the students. He focuses on the 6 dances of leadership: The tango, the twist, the electric slide, the Macarena, the freak dance, and that Russian Dance where you squat down, kick your legs and go “Hey! Hey! Hey!”  There are no scarier words in the English language than: You’re going to have to learn to do several dances.

8:00: The leadership of Warren meets together for a Team Building Exercise. In a blatant act of symbolism, we write all of our fears on two eggs (hardboiled for safety reasons).

I wanted to write “That one dream where everything seems all nice and peaceful and all of a sudden this huge wolf with six-inch razor sharp teeth comes bounding out of the forest and he turns to you with his gleaming canines and his red demon eyes and starts chasing you, but you try as you might you can’t seem to run, you seem to be trapped in Molasses and can only inch forward, achingly slowly, as the wolf pounces and sinks his teeth into your neck and then you wake up, dripping in sweat and breathing heavily,” but it wouldn’t fit on my egg.
Then you put all of your hopes on two strips of tape, which we would place on an aluminum baseball bat. For my hopes I wrote, “Not burning down the building in the first couple of weeks.” I find it’s best to start with dreams that may seem difficult, but are in the realm of possibility.

We would then attempt to hit the Egg of Fear wit h the Bat of Hope, a poignant and poetic metaphor that resonates with America’s soul. After all, what is scarier than an egg- a harbinger of cholesterol, a veritable hive of swirling salmonella? And what is more hopeful than a bat- the symbol of the American pastimes, proof that with big dreams, a little bit of work, and a whole lot of Creatine you can be anything you want to be? As long as that thing is a ill-tempered, greedy, brooding hulk-man. Of course, if you swung the Bat of Hope at the Egg of Fear, and missed, instead hitting the Umpire of Crushed Dreams, that means that in the coming year, you will never get over your fears, and your hopes will simply be wiffs in the air, marred with the stench of missed opportunity.

Guess what happened when I swung?