One particular event during our junior year while living in The Hole really stands out in our collective memory, and we're happy to share this story with the public.
It all revolves around the poetry of Rob Sorenson -- or Robbie, as we referred to him -- and his true love, Maren. Now, Robbie was on a mission in Argentina, and -- if you ask my opinion -- was spending a bit too much time thinking about his girlfiend back at BYU. But Robbie was a poet at heart, and, apparently, he liked to wear cheap, smelly cologne. How do we know this? Well, he spilled his heart out into a short book of really, really bad poetry, slopped some stink liquid onto it, and shipped it off to his girlfriend-in-waiting, Maren the Librarian, back in Provo. As the story goes, the package didn't quite make it to Maren. Not in book format, anyway.
There is some speculation as to how we actually came into possession of the fated book, which became our passion for so many months. Someone was living over at Branbury Park at the time, and it may have landed on the wrong door stoop and accidentally opened. I think the culprit was Iron Balls (more on him later), so if anyone knows Robbie or Maren and wants retribution, start with him. All I know is that this magical orange stink book of verse showed up one day at The Hole, filling our hearts with glee.
I can't express in words how bad his poetry was. I can't believe anyone would actually commit those words to print, much less send it to some girl. Good golly. But Andrew had a wonderful idea -- we'd commit the words to song, make a recording, and send copies to both Robbie and Maren. She'd be confused, he'd be embarassed, and we'd have a good laugh. All good, right?
So we wrote songs. Andrew played the keyboard and sang backup, Preston was percussion and backup, and I sang lead -- and let the passion flow. The songs were hilarious. This was all at that same time that we wrote the theme song for Nedball. After weeks of practice and a few impromptu performances, we invited a large gathering of 20 or so close friends to a night of light food, Nedball, and music at which we performed 3 or 4 selections from the Robbie Sorenson collection. I can't recall if we recorded it all, but I think we did. Andrew might have a copy somewhere, and I think he ended up taking the book too. Or maybe we burned it in a ritual to show our devotion to Robbie and the music. Here we are performing:
Notice the book at my feet, and the small pagan statue which held Robbie's photo underneath which we burned incense in his honor. Also on the wall behind me is my semi-famous fish painting, which I believe my sister has in her house these days. (I was also thinner in those days - I still have that jacket, but it doesn't quite fit)
It was a magical night, and the Nedball playing was fierce. The competition came down, as I recall, to Jeff Miner and Andrew, with Andrew ultimately victorious (as the game had very rough rules, it was usually one of the Hole dwellers who usually won).
Oh yes, I forgot to mention -- we knew who Maren was. She worked in the Harold B. Lee Library at the time, and we'd occassionally go and spy on her, and snicker to ourselves, knowing of the musical gem we were developing. No idea what happened to her or Robbie. Did they eventually marry? We have looked for them, but have yet to find any information on the couple. But if you're interested, here's a Robbie-inspired poem by Preston from a couple years back.
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