Why do you think the net was born? Porn. Porn. Porn.

We talk a lot about porn in my 8:00 am class. A lot.

It's Intro to Mass Communication, so I guess it's a notable topic. It's just not something I get too excited about. On the other hand, however, my professor does.

Extremely excited. His eyes twinkle and his smile takes over his entire face. 'Giddy' is perhaps the most accurate term to describe him when he stands on the balls of his feet and rubs his hands together and licks his lips. That might be a slight exaggeration, but it's pretty close.

We were talking about the internet this morning and porn, obviously, was the first thing we discussed. He noted that in 2004 there were approximately four million porn websites that turned a $54,000,000,000 (the extra zeros just create the effect) profit.

"Wha?!? Fifty-four billion dollars... A YEAR?" gasped the girl at the end of our row.

The same girl, mind you, who was confident in her answer of "Two million!" just a few short weeks ago.

"Why, with that type of money you could buy a small country!"

The professor just kind of stared at her and went on to make his next point: The kiddie-porn industry saw a total of 100,000 websites in 2004 and turned a profit of close to $2,500,000,000.

"That's...that's just, oh, that makes me want to barf, " she said. "I think every one of those dirty old men who look at the websites should be shot. I couldn't care less what happens to them. Hell, just go ahead and castrate the entire lot. Serves them right. Serves them right."

You can run, you can hide, but you can't escape my love

I was sitting in my Foundations of Human Communication class this evening half-listening to a guy (who looks eerily similar to Barack Obama) give an oral presentation about why he wanted to become a journalist. He has always seemed a bit snooty and B.S.ed his way through a group project last month, so I chose to doodle and/or half-listen rather than giving him my full attention. His loss.

Taking a break from trying to remember abbreviations for all fifty states, I looked to the front of the classroom and thought to myself, "I wonder if I could fit inside that podium."

This isn't nearly as strange as it sounds. Or is it? It is. Because you see, dear friends, I have a... problem.

For the longest time I played out really irrational scenarios in my head. I think it all began when Micah went to get the morning paper and two guys in a car drove up and shot him with a paintball gun. Just for kicks. Just for giggles. When the police showed up at our house, I ran to my bedroom and hid behind my bed. I was terrified. Truly, I was.

So that got me thinking. What if people were placing dynamite outside my window while I slept? What if a burglar with a machine gun popped out of the attic door in my closet and riddled me with bullets? What if my parents were actually werewolves? And, after M. Night Shyamalan's Signs came out, the inevitable question was, "Where would I hide if aliens tried to abduct me?"

That REALLY got me thinking. It was in a conversation with a friend after watching Signs in a movie theater that we both decided if aliens were to land at that very moment in the parking lot, we would scramble our way behind the looping preview movie screen above the concession stand. Genius. From there I was always looking for places to hide.

It's a bit irrational, I know. But what if it isn't? What if someone sneaked into our house at night and I only had a few seconds to hide? Why, I'd scramble to the giant Tupperware clothes bin nestled in the back of my parent's closet, shut the lid, and hold my breath. If I were to witness a murder on campus and the criminal happened to see me? Why, I'd hide underneath a parked car! A scraggly half-beard wanting revenge because I refused to give him a ride? Show me the nearest forest, and I'll gladly show you my hiding spot on the highest branch of the tallest tree.

If an angry ex-lover were to come stumbling through the dorm hall some evening, I'd be out of luck. Our dorm rooms are just too small. Not a good hiding spot in sight.

And I'm glad I never grew up on a mountain, to figure out how high the world could reach

These are the two men who have courted my ears and my brain for the past two weeks.




Doc Watson: Folk music revivalist/Fingerpicking god




Orville Hicks: Tall-Tale Storyteller Extraordinaire


Ah, true mountain men.

But boy, do I miss the flat landscape of Indiana.