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Down Boy: Don’t forget your pants

It’s refreshing to go back to new classes. It’s an exquisitely fresh feeling akin to slipping out of the shower and into my silky, back to school, polka dot boxers and then reorganizing my multi-pocketed, shiny blue Trapper Keeper.

Some people hit the hooch for self-affirmation when times are tough. I have learned to turn to the Vanguard Arts and Culture section to entertain, soothe and arouse deep seeded passions I never knew I had. You can pick it up three days a week, no questions asked.

I discovered it in a much more traumatic way. It all started on the first day of school last fall …The first day came around and I had the usual stresses. These were worsened by the first day disaster. Yeah, you’re right, I did the unthinkable.

I showed up to school with no pants on!

I left that morning with that little tickle that seems to say, “something just ain’t right Miles.” I figured it was just the sour milk in my coffee and went on my way.

When people started staring I was initially pleased. I just love the attention! “Look out ladies, big man on campus is here,” I said with a wink to a cute girl in my sociology class. I was sure my fifth year would be the best yet. But still that tickle kept tickling, kind of like how silk boxers do sometimes.

My excitement was definitely growing by the time my 12:30 p.m. public speaking class rolled around. The only problem was, the excitement wasn’t going to my head, all of my excited blood was going further south.

As you fellas out there know, sometimes your nature rises at the worst times, like in the middle of class when you are about to do a “getting to know you,” impromptu speech game. I felt that familiar stretch and immediately started sweating.

I learned about Chakras and breathing techniques in my yoga class so I started to breathe real loud and deep to reroute my blood flow.

You’re supposed to think about something real un-sexy so I started thinking of Bob Dole in that Pepsi ad. “Down Boy,” the wrinkly, Republican, Viagra mascot says.

But then my mind just went to that damn dancing Britney Spears, holding the shiny, aluminum can while fireworks shoot off everywhere, and things got worse.

My turn came and I reached down to try and re-adjust and tuck, and that’s when I realized what I’d forgotten this morning. It wasn’t just my sandwich, but my pants! Damn, I was in a tight spot! For Pete’s sake, all I had on was the polka dot boxers!

What’s really weird is this. When I got out into the hall my mom was there! I wanted to say something, but then she turned into Stevie Nicks! “White lines, don’t do it,” Nicks sang like a siren.

I remember being shocked and wondering how the hell Stevie Nicks knew a Grandmaster Flash and Melle Mel song. Then everything went black.

To this day I’m not sure what really happened, I kind of pushed the whole thing into my unhappy place, which I hear isn’t so good.

I had a feeling it may have been a dream, but wasn’t sure, and boy was I a wreck.

All I can say is it’s a good thing PSU has such good counseling and psychological services because later that week, while waiting to talk to a psychological counselor about my crushed sense of self and paranoia, I picked up a Vanguard. It was a Tuesday, Wednesday or Thursday and I flipped to the Arts and Culture section. I read about all kinds of great music, theater, film, art and literature. I had found my weekly guide to great entertainment, and didn’t even mind being laughed at and blacking out any more.

No one had much to say to me that quarter, although I’m almost positive I heard a couple of people say “down boy.” I also see Stevie Nicks often now. I see her in my “happy” place. Thanks VG A&C, you make every thing A-OK.