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Thanks....Dick!

During our sophomore year, the entire Industrial Design class was allowed to go on hiatus and explore other areas of interest. Doug Stout was teaching our class at the time, and I really think he was annoyed by some of us, and saw this as an opportunity to get rid of us for a few weeks. Well, under the wing of BYU-dropout-turned-Hollywood-special-effects-guru, Randy (Crit) Killen, we started hanging out down at BYU studios...with permission of the Grand Pu-bah of BYU Studios, Mr. Dick Jameson.

Now, don't get me wrong: Dick was awesome. He allowed us pretty much unfettered access to any project on the lot, and we were able to help work on a couple sets, including one to be used by the Church for one of their videos. And many interesting design projects found their way down to the massive scrim backdrop for photo shoots (the coolest was Scott Allen's giant paper mache planet).

What's the point of this story? Not much. It's just that one time, Randy and I were down meeting with Dick in his office on the lot, and Dick was walking us through slides of different sets and effects. Dick was sitting with his back to us, and I was doing everything in my power to not bust out laughing as Randy would say things like "Wow, that one is interesting.....(long pause)...Dick." And then he'd turn to me and kind of chuckle. Over and over again, always with the long pause.

Ok, it was stupid. But it made me giggle remembering it.

Crazy kids

Go Cougs, rise and shout the cougs are out.  Cougareat, pronounced Coug Air EE at for more sophisticated dining pleasure.  It was as place of intrigue and downright strange times.  I can't recall if I wrote this already but one of the fun things to do was play the same song over and over on the jukebox.  For some reason I was stuck on two songs that were particularly annoying.  Chains of Love by Erasure and some song by Bonnie Rait.  Anyway, I'd pump about five bucks of quarters into the jukebox and play the song over and over and over.  Insert hilarious adjective.  No one noticed of course, but it was still funny.  I also enjoyed sitting down to complete strangers and striking up a conversation about something completely off topic  "Hey, what was the first bicycle you ever rode?" or "Have you ever had hernia surgery?"  Mostly it was an attempt to score chicks, but for some reason I was usually in some long term relationship.  I wasn't a play the field guy.  Stupid me.  One thing about the cougareat is that you could always find cheap food.  Pizza slice being a staple in the PDGreen diet. 

After chillin like Bob Dylan at the cougareat, for some reason I was obsessed with some video game near the bowling alley. I can't for the life of me remember.  I think it was Millipede.  I spent a lot o money on Milliepede and the game was boring.  Once you figured out the pattern it was simple.  Ah well, the life of a student wasn't always the most exciting.  I look back now and think about how stressful I thought life was back then.  I'd crave to have that kind of stress these days.  Hmmm, do I wake up at noon or one.  I think I'll back Russian and go fishing.  Living on 300 bucks a month.  Simple life.  This is a pointless log.  I was just remembering the cougareat and wanted to mention it many times in a blog.  Tastes like chicken man.

The Family Statue on Campus

For some reason, the family statue was a favorite of ours.  We were always doing something with it.  Dressing it, adding extra children or stuffed animals.  I'm not sure why we did it, perhaps we were both from dysfunctional families and needed some warmth in our lives.  Solid copper families give off a lot of warmth

Moo, I Say

Just a quick item for tonight: I miss the little cow signs.
Someone spent a lot of time going down to Kinko's south of campus, making color copies of little cows, cutting them out and pasting them on foamcore, attaching sticks, and then placing their little signs in grassy areas on the north end of campus near the humanities building (forgot the name) and the ASB where people were breaking free of the paved sidewalks, and killing the grass in a selfish drive to shave 2 seconds (if that) from their classroom-jockeying routines.

Most people ignored the signs. But I admired them. Not enough to stop cutting across the grass, mind you. But aesthetically, they were nice.

Clockwork Not-So-Orange

Maybe I am repressing the many visits I made to the top of the Kimball Tower to participate in those sinister (yet paid) psychological tests.
I remember going up to the top floor, occasionally having to wait for someone to let me in (and on rare occasion I would find the door to the the roof observation deck open and venture out), and then I was led into a small room where they had me play a little computer game. I'd play for 30 to 60 minutes, and then someone would come in, thank me for my time, and I'd leave. But that's all I remember. And then weeks later, I'd receive a small check for my time.

Why can't I remember more about this? Did I black out? Was I probed in some way? Was the room some kind of gas chamber where they'd drug me, adjust the implants that they placed in my back molars for better reception, provide me with detailed instructions of the next target I was to kill, bring me out of it slowly so that I wouldn't realize what was happening, and then send me on my cheery way? Should there be an investigation? Is my story enough to warrant some kind of government probe?

Ok, maybe I'm just bitter because the game was rigged, and I always lost. Guess I pulled out all of my molars with pliers for nothing.

Dave the Dog

As I've mentioned previously, one of my favorite pastimes throughout my time at BYU was entering a building just before the 10pm lockdown and exmploring the halls. And of course, the Harris Fine Arts Center was one of the best building to explore, as it holds a vast array of classrooms, hallways, theaters, and hidden passages (not that I condone this kind of activity nowadays). One numerous occasions we came across bins of pictures and projects in one of the basement hallways. As I also had classes in the HFAC, I knew that these were items that had been left behind by students, and had never been claimed. One night Preston and I were going through the bins, and we came across a picture of a happy looking dog, seen here:

We named him Dave, and his image became legend. Well, at least in our minds. We made zerox copies and threw up missing dog posters all over campus, we often displayed the picture prominently in our living room, and we even added his image to our Robbie Sorenson shrine (who, by the way, was mentioned in a semi-famous poem by P. Donald Green).

Funky Brigham

Do people still run through the main quad between the library and the ASB, watching the Brigham Young statue do the funky chicken as they run? Maybe not, now with the library extension and the statue moved from the left side of the fountain (when facing the ASB) to the center. But oh, what a jolly good time it was, running about, frolicking near the whale tail (which I hear has been moved down south of the Kimball Tower), or -- my favorite -- sitting on the shoulders of the little girl holding the hands of her parents in from of the Kimball bldg. All in good fun.

To be honest, I only did the BY funky chicken thing once, felt foolish when I did it, and afterwards mocked anyone I ever saw attempting it.

What the flock?

As with many former BYU students, I have a love/hate thing with living in Utah. There are many good things (access to skiing, prominence of the church, close to many locations from the hit film 'Footloose'), but there were just too many bad things for me to stick around much longer than absolutely necessary -- with crappy student job prospects being at the top of my list. I had to pay my own way through school, and after grants and loans, I still needed to work. So I did telemarketing. I sold t-shirts that I made (my best seller was a Brigham Young quote - "You can go to Provo or you can go to hell."). I also sold several paintings. I unloaded trucks for Color Spot. I participated in some paid psychological studies in the Kimball Tower (mostly playing video games where they watched me). I even worked in the deli section of a Dan's Foods (ugh, to this day the stink of ham still bothers me. Not even bleach could get the stink off my hands).

But the job I always admired was the flock of students picking up trash on campus. How did they get this free-loading piece of cake gig? I sure couldn't get onboard that gravy train. And you'd never see one or two of them, picking up trash and moving across the quad quietly and efficiently. No. There were always gaggles of them. 10, maybe 15 of them at a time, half of them standing around, the other half sort of casually looking for trash. Maybe. There was always the dedicated loser who was concerned that he wasn't "magnifying his calling" as a member of the trash herd, but the rest of them were obviously basking in the glory of their do-nothing job. Most would just lumber about, chatting it up. I swear there were couples. That's right -- what a great way to pick up chicks. Or hang with your fiance who you had known for almost 3 weeks. All while looking for garbage on a campus that never has litter anyway.

Damn, I wanted that job. I wonder how much something like that pays?

Zog

Shortly after sophmore year, I drifted in and out of my Coca-Cola / Hagen Daas high and decided I hated sitting around and drawing toasters and fax machines every day as part of my Industrial Design program, and started investigating options within the Art department on the side. I came across painting by Jim Christenson, who at the time was a professor (may still be for all I know) and a well known illustrator. He had these paintings of creatures with huge noses. I liked them, and in my caffeine/sugar delirium, created a figure out of foam, clay, and bondo which one of my design professors - who was also head of the Design program at the time - Doug Stout, called "Zog."

Here he is: . The unshaven look was quite popular back then. And that's not a shawl -- I was creating a layered tapestry of fabrics and plastic gems and other nik-nacks, which is what Christenson's paintings look like. Lots of junk all over the place.

Zog was quite the fixture in our apartment and eventually moved with us to the Hole. I'm not sure what happened to Zog. I seem to remember punching him in the face and causing a large crater -- possibly the effect of a post caffeine/sugar high.

By the way, this is not Zog. But that guy is way cool.

Nectar of the Gods

Ah, I miss Apple Slice. The fact that canned beverages were only $.40 on campus was great, but all I ever wanted was Apple Slice. It tasted kind of like Martinelli's sparking apple cider, but a bit lighter. Mmmm... I could never find it off campus, though. By junior year at BYU, you could never find it in area stores -- or outside of Utah. But on campus, it remained in full supply. Aside from Coke, it was my best friend. Er, well....after my real friends. And after fudge brownies. And pretzels. And cheesecake. And of course Hagen Daas. Then Coke and then Apple Slice. Mmmm....

Bowling Makes Me Sweaty

Mmmm....nothing gets you more pumped physically and mentally than an early morning game of bowling. The fact that you can also get credit for it as part of your general electives for physical education is just the gravvy on top. Alan Nicol (seen here in a photo) and I decided to take this class together, as neither of us were much into real sports. See a virtual tour of BYU's facilities here. Besides, I had just finished up with a nightmare of a swimming class (nothing like sweating in a pool of cold water, and drinking your fill of chlorine each time) and wanted something a little less challenging.

Of course, Alan and I were determined to perfect some odd techniques, such as an all-tippie-toe approach, an eyes-closed-fling, and the watching-some-hot-chick-and-not-paying-attention fumble. The first day of the class, the teacher announced "If anyone can bowl a 200 or higher, they automatically receive an A and do not have to return to class, ever." So of course some guy does it on that first day, and we never see him again. The closest I came was 178. So Alan and I were stuck in a class with a bunch of good looking women. Oh darn.

"Off my leg"

The BYU humanities department used to have this international movie theater where you could go see edited for consumption intl movies for about a buck. It was a fairly popular place since it was cheap and the lines were long. I remember one time we went to watch some french maiden movie, Manon of the Spring or something similar and were waiting in line, probably being obnoxious and accidently pushed the velvet ropes of the line onto someone. I remember in a clear distinct voice someone bellowing out "OFF MY LEG", of which we couldn't comprehend. I look around and the mantra "OFF MY LEG" occurred again. I look around and noticed the velvet rope was on this guy and that for the life of me I couldn't figure out why he didn't just move the velvet rope himself OFF HIS LEG. Instead we had to remove it for him. He was clearly offended that we had invaded his space. OFF MY LEG became part of my lexicon moving forward, signifying frustration or irritability. The guy probably ended up dying of a heart attack at age 35 because of stress.

Stupid People

Second year in the industrial design program meant 3 hour drawing labs in the Brimhall building. In 1987-1988, they were in the process of refurbing the outside of the building, and they had a chain link fence surrounding part of the grounds directly across from the JSB and testing center. At the time, I believe our teacher was John Marshall, who led the transportation design team downstairs. Anyway, we usually spent our days with about 30 minutes of instruction, and the rest of the time working on whatever drawings or schematics we had to complete.

Now, the fun thing about the Brimhall was that it had tinted, one-way windows, allowing you to sit and watch people on the outside, and they had no clue they were being spied on. So I came up with this great idea. We were on the 2nd floor facing the JSB and the MAJOR walkway to the testing center. I quickly created a sign that read 'Do NOT look up!' and placed it on the fence just under our windows, giving us a front row view of people's reactions. By the time I ran back up to the classroom, just about everyone was already plastered to the windows laughing. Even the teacher.

It was hilarious. People would walk up, pause while reading the sign, and then 95% of them would look up. One guy walked by drinking a soda, looked side to side as if to check and see if anyone was looking, and then tilted his head back as if taking a large drink -- and looked all around up in the air. One girl stopped, read the sign, looked up and all around, and then shook her head with a look of disgust as if thinking "what are they talking about?"

This little stunt filled our entire 3 hour block. Like I said, even the teacher sat and watched and laughed at people the ENTIRE time. As we left for our next class, incoming students for the next class were told of the prank, and they took up positions at the windows as we exited.

The sign was gone the next morning.

Marla Banks, Fashion Queen

What do you know -- another boring evening in Provo Utah!

Apparently the feeling was mutual across town, because out of the blue Marla (sister of bohemian angst boy, Jared) calls us up and wants to know if we'd like to dress up and parade around campus. "What do you have in mind?" I ask, and she recounts how she and her roommate came across a lovely tiara, sash, and some killer high heels that just screamed to be work together in some kind of prom queen fantasy outing -- with a nerdy edge. The edge was my idea: "Make sure you wear a took under your tiara." It was the middle of winter, so this actually made some sense.

But what should I wear? Preston suggested I wear the full-on nerd outfit, including clam digger shorts, a wide retro tie, and mismatched socks -- with a took, of course. And a fine took it was - red with a pattern of Alaskan huskies. Andrew supplied the glasses, and I was ready. Marla showed up, and her outfit was magical. A picture was necessary.

In the background is the giant pen drawing that Preston and I created our first week in The Hole.

After a short how-you-do and other typical chit chat, we got down to business and drove around campus looking for a hot spot in which to dance. We found it at the stop sign in the parking lot near Smith Field House. There we quickly exited our vehicle, and with radio blaring, we danced in the headlights.

Oh, the splendor of it all.

So close, you could touch it

What was it about Budge Hall? To this day, i don't know myself. And yet week after week, we'd drive by in Preston's 280Z, or zip through the drop off on Astrid's scooter (which died) and scream. Ah, those fun filled evenings when boredom became so great in Provo that we resorted to an act which rarely, if ever, drew attention from anyone but some poor confused co-ed walking back to her room.

We took a couple pictures outside of Budge Hall sometime during our junior year. Here's P:

Both Preston and I, on separate occasions, have passed through Provo in more recent years while visiting friends and family in Utah, each of us having performed the ceremonial "Budge Runs" as we used to call them. Not that they ever made sense, but the latter solo runs made much less sense than in the old days. But, I think, all of them had about the same effect. But you know, those old time runs were meaningful on a much, much deeper level....

ok, there is no deeper level.

Happy Faces

Where the heck was that photo booth where we took all of these? For the life of me I can't remember. That was also during my phase where the only shirts I'd wear were old used pajama tops from Deseret Industries with big suit coats -- sometimes almost David Byrne big, if you know what I mean.

Adventures in Geology

Geology has always been an interest of mine, and going to school in Utah was a geological wind-fall. The state offers numerous "geosites" of interest, from dinosaur fossils to diverse rocks and minerals.

Alan Nicol, a fellow industrial design student, and I wound up taking a class together. The instructor was Brother Bissell, a man who lived in a gray shop jumpsuit, and who had a great sense of humor and was full of stories that usually took us far, far away from the subject matter. But he also knew his stuff.

The most memorable aspects of this class were the off-site trips. On one such trip, we were discussing many of the rocks and minerals found in the Utah basin, including schist and an igneous, porous rock - the name of which now escapes me - which had the habit of trapping prehistoric bio materials (plant and animal) that were released from their tiny little pockets when broken open, causing a foul smell.

On our big trip out into the high Utah plains, we stopped often, with Brother Bissell pointing out various rocks and asking "OK class, what is this?" to which we all replied in unison "It's a rock!"

Here I am with Alan, performing a specialized, synchronized geological technique, only to be used by qualified professionals, of course:

I believe it was shortly after this photo was taken that Brother Bissell pulled us all into a circle, and once again held up a rock and asked "What is this, class?" and everyone chanted "It's a rock." At that point, he took out a small hammer and chipped off a large piece of the rock, and right away you could smell the release of gas and prehistoric microbes, probably infecting us all with some ancient monkey-dinosuar disease. "Does anyone know what rock this is?" Bissell again asked. "That's schist" came a voice from the crowd. "No," Bissell replied "that's not it." But the guy who replied came right back with "Well, it sure smells like schist."

Ah, geology humor at its finest.

Fun at the HFAC

I think we found more to do in the HFAC than any other building on campus. It was, at the time, the most interesting building, with lots of twists and turns -- and there were always bins out in the hall containing discarded photographs and art scraps and other interesting tidbits.

For example, once in a while we'd find a open closet. And you know how fun closets can be. Here we are in a utility closet.

Other times we'd just play in the fake vegetation.

And then every so often we'd come across a group of people who'd let us just be silly. In this case, a group of friends and fellow students from the directing program - which was my second major (after industrial design) - sitting around doing some kind of gift exchange thing for Christmas. I would be the guy pretending to be dead in the center.

About the Foam

In the latter half of Preston's tale of the U2 concert roadtrip of 87, he mentions a burning toilet. There's a little story behind the foam upon which it floated down the Provo river.

Sophmore year in the industrial design program was ALL about the foam. Most of our projects, including the all important "speed shape" project, typically began with a drawing and a large piece of foam. Now, everyone was out buying a mid-density green foam which was perfect for carving, and, with a light dosage of primer paint, for building up a bondo-based (auto body filler) design. (I still have my speed shape) The foam did not come cheap.

As a visiting professor, Randy Killen was a BYU drop out who built a name for himself in special effects in Hollywood, working on such notable flicks at Nightmare on Elmstreet 3, The Howling 5, Beetlejuice, and he built one of the coolest swirling liquid contraptions I've ever seen for a weak movie called Prince of Darkness co-starring Alice Cooper. He also worked on those cool old Duracel battery commercials with the James Bond boats and chariots - if you remember them. But I digress.

Randy had connections at the BYU studios north of campus, and came across a massive stockpile of 8 foot by 3 foot by 6 inch slabs of the coveted green foam (as seen here) -- and they were willing to donate it all to the design department (and sophmore class, specifically) for free. We just needed to get it out of there. So we made a team effort, borrowed trucks, and moved all of that foam up to the Brimhall building and into the middle shop room where the paint booth was/is.

Unfortunately, the Brimhall building was under renovation still, which eventually bled into the shop area where they wanted to paint -- and they asked us to move all the foam outside for a few days. So we stacked it all outside the double doors in the shop, across the street from President Holland's house.

As you can imagine, Pres. Holland was not thrilled with that idea -- a wall of green foam across the street from his house. Someone from his house sent security over to question us about it, and when explained what we were doing, everything seemed to be ok. Apparently not. We got a few more complaints, and it didn't help that they took longer than expected to finish painting the lab.

It was at the end of our semester, and we all had our designs up at the Wilk for a show. A couple of us were walking back to the Brimhall to carry a few other items, and we saw a flatbed truck pulled up to the back shop doors, and two guys loading all of our foam onto it. We ran to stop them, and were told it was a request directly from Holland, and if we wanted to keep any of it, to take what we wanted then and there. We each grabbed a couple pieces, put it back inside the shop, and ran back to tell the rest of our class. When folks went back to grab some for themselves, the truck was gone.

I have to admit, I had harsh feelings against Pres Holland for a few years -- which is all stupid. I mean, it was too much foam for any of us to ever use, and its not like it cost us anything. Plus he's an Apostle now. But hey, I was angry, and at the time it was a big deal.

A couple months later, in the dead of winter, we used one of those giant slabs to float a burning toilet down the Provo river (pictures forthcoming).

De Jong at Night

Everyone knows that building lockdown happens at 10pm -- but if you're on the inside "studying late," no worries. One of my favorite places to camp late and explore during the night was the Harris Fine Arts Center with all of its long hallways and tunnels. Occasionally we'd find some of the back doors to the De Jong concert hall unlocked. One time in particular we found our way up into the spotlight crow's nest, and peered down at the empty stage below where a lonely student was sweeping the stage. We threw a couple pennies -- which are incredibly loud from that height. They hit the stage sounding more like a hammer hitting a table. When the first hit, the guy sweeping stopped and stood silently, obviously freaked out. The second penny sent the guy running.

All in good fun.

Laser Tag

Its hard to believe now, but Laser Tag was almost cool at one time. In fact, I even remember when there were multiple Laser Tag arenas in the greater Provo/Orem area. We went one time with members of Sigma Epsilon and had a blast.

Occasionally you'd see groups of happy people up on campus, running around shooting at each other while dodging in and out of the whale's tail in front of the library, or ducking in and out of buildings surrounding the main quad. One of our favorite pastimes was to sit off to the side and watch these people, with our own laser tag guns hidden away. They'd run by, trying to slip past one of their friends, and we'd gun them down. They'd look around frantically to see who shot them, but would only see us -- innocently sitting somewhere off to the side, just observing.

The Beet Gods

Like so many of our ideas, The Beet Gods were born out of sheer boredom. One evening in The Hole, Preston was badgering me about getting out of the house and doing something. He was bored out of his mind, and I was near comatose. None of the ideas he presented especially struck my fancy. But then a thought crept into my mind: smear red makeup on your face, don a towel on your head, wear your long johns and a cape, and go onto campus.

Preston instantly recognized the value in this idea, and we changed our clothes. That night, The Beet Gods were born. As we did with so much of our conceptual art, we needed Sue Lundquist to see it. She always appreciated our work. We found Sue at home on Condo Row with her roommate from Conecticut -- Tracy Smith, who purchased one of my paintings once. Preston brought his camera. Here we are with her:

Yes, torn jeans were the hot thing back then. We assaulted the ladies, and then retired to campus. Because what good is a cape if you don't have a heating grate to stand over? It beingmid-winter, we found several poor unfortunate souls standing near the grate in front of the ASB that evening. Here is a shot of me:

The Beet Gods were released a few more times that year, always in a time of great need. Blessed be the Beet Gods.

Origins of the Budge Run

I don't remember the specifics of how it started - most of my memories are clouded by the sheer adrenaline rush of the scooter ride, and the testosterone-laden belly screech that made the Budge Run infamous. But what is a Budge Run, really? For that answer, you realy need to look deep down inside oneself and question ones own existence. Or not. Actually, all it consists of are two guys on a scooter, driving through the visitors parcking area in front of Budge hall (at the time it was a girls dorm), both screaming things like "Oh Budge, I love you!" and "Hey baby....Budge! Budge, I say!" and then riding off. That's it. And yet it was so much more to those who participated int his ritual. And yet it was not more. ok, I'm done now.