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vol 02 / issue 01 / 01’10

SHE PICKED UP THE HABIT
TO BE LIKE HIM
Features What the hell is wrong with freedom?
That’s what it’s all about.
Pg 3 . . . . . . . . Liberty in the Media

T
Pg 4 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Local Suds 5
he quote above is from the movie Easy you fresh, new content focusing on subjects
Pg 5 . . . . . . . . . . Fuzzy Advice Rider, a tale of adventuring motorcycles as interesting as Dennis Hopper for months
and the free-spirited men who ride them. (maybe years) to come.
Pg 6 . . . . . . . . . . . Poetry by Cliff I learned recently that my father shares Thanks to our merry band of scribes and
in my appreciation for the film, and I’m fairly artists, this issue contains the most pieces we’ve
Pg 7 . . . . . . . . . . . Extreme Beers confident that anyone who watches the movie ever published.
at least partly envies the main characters. Due to a fellow editor publishing under
Pg 8 . . . . . . . Pro-peace Brookings (Though I’m sure we’d all like to avoid their a Creative Commons license, a story on our
Pg 10 . . . . . . Coffee Cover Story unfortunate demise.) media graces the adjacent page.
To me, the quote speaks perfectly to PS>flux experienced a buffet in Toronto,
Pg 11 . . . . . . . . . . Cats and Dogs current events and trends in our area of the and his creative log appears on page 4.
world. Texting while driving, boarding an Papa Bear once again tells it like it is
Pg 12 . . . . . . What an Ugly Hill airplane and lighting up a smoke are just a few on page 5, and page 6 contains a poem from
of the activities we are now forbidden from or a rather good writer hailing from a certain
Pg 13 . . . . . . . . . . . Edgar Allan Poe inconvenienced in doing here in the U.S.A. monarchial island in Europe.
Yet we are still able to go about our lives Mr. Bell shares his fancy for over-the-top
Pg 14 . . . . . . . . . . . Gina Fiction in a relatively free manner, compared to many beers on page 7, and I included a short piece of
other citizens around the globe. mine on a great group in Brookings starting on
Pg 15 . . . Lois Lane and Beer Pong I don’t mean to recall images of a certain page 8.
gray-haired former owner of the Rangers and Kate admits her addiction on page 10,
his proclamations of “freedom” in the past and Simeon tells of a great organization (and
decade, nor do I wish to ramble on about how previous supporter) on the following page.
far we’ve strayed from Jeffersonian democracy Then comes some strange stuff. Catey has
in our country. a wonderful story on page 12, a biographical
All I’d like to do is point out that we here piece on the master of short fiction rests on
at The Peg Leg Update are a peculiar bunch. page 13, and our eastern friend Gina starts a
We do our best to bring you stories of strange series on page 14.
characters, interesting places and under- Our content ends with a look at stereo-
mentioned events every month. types, and don’t be too alarmed with the beast
And it’s all possible because of our on the back page.
advertisers, whom I’d like to personally thank. Above all, enjoy. And be happy: the
The publication you hold in your hands purple monsters from Minnesota made the
(or read on the Internet) comes to you with no playoffs.
charge, and we’d like to keep it that way. We - Mitch LeClair
have big plans for 2010, and we hope to bring Editor
We publish The Peg Leg Update under a
Creative Commons Attribution 3.0
Unported license.
We have published The Peg Leg Update once a month
in the town of Brookings, S.D., since the beginning of fall 2009.
Basically, feel free to reprint anything you see
Thanks for taking a look.
here, but attribute it please.
Editor: Mitch LeClair - leclairmitch@gmail.com
<http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/> Advertising: Stuart Ensz - stuensz.plu@gmail.com
Nychole Swanson - nlswanson@jacks.sdstate.edu

Scribes: Kate Wegehaupt, Catey Watkins, Cliff Cawthon, Simeon Brown, Jay Albertson,
Gina Caciolo, David Franke, William Anderson, PS>flux, Mitch LeClair, Ross Bell
thepeglegupdate@gmail.com
Cover art: Trevor Drawdy
All illustrations + logo design: Siri Boyd
Layout: Brandon Henderson

Find us on the Facebooks and Twitters too. For more information: visit our blog, e-mail us or send a few pointers for a solid meld.

1234567890 PLU 01’10
Is There a Constituency for Liberty in the U.S. Media?
by William L. Anderson

W hen I was a journalism student at the
University of Tennessee 35 years ago,
one thing we were told over and over again
compel Stewart to meet with prosecutors and
investigators in order to stop the bleeding.
(In fact, Stewart was convicted of lying to
the NYT had a lengthy article condemning
Khodorkovsky’s imprisonment, but apparently
believes that denying bail to an American
was that journalism served a “watchdog” role investigators during that fateful meeting.) businessman and holding him in conditions
in keeping tabs on government. I had assumed It is a felony to leak grand jury informa- reserved for those on death row is perfectly
(naïvely, of course) that the term “watchdog” tion and is punishable by up to five years in acceptable.
meant serving as a counterforce against the prison. Yet, the feds did it and no one – no one As one who was involved in the infamous
predations of the state. – in the media complained about this episode Duke Lacrosse Non-Rape, Non-Kidnapping,
Alas, what I have found that it really of lawbreaking which was done in order to and Non-Sexual Assault case, I can tell
means is that modern journalists and their trick someone into committing a “crime” so you that the MSM will swallow just about
mainstream organs like the New York Times, that the press could have its Big Story and the anything from prosecutors, providing it fits
Washington Post, Vanity Fair, Time and prosecutors could indict and convict its Big the anti-capitalist and anti-Bill of Rights
Newsweek, not to mention a gaggle of numer- Fish. narrative that dominates the American media
ous smaller wannabe publications, are making So, who is above the law here? The today. Even though most journalists think of
sure that the state is using all of its powers “watchdog” media assured federal prosecutors themselves as being far superior in intelligence
and then some to push people into line. As a and their minions that both they and the than most Americans, the leaders of the
college professor who works on a faculty that media could do what they darned well please, “Newspaper of Record” were True Believers in
is overwhelmingly left-liberal, the one thing I
and the law be damned. (After all, the law only the “Magic Towel” that allegedly appeared in
hear time and again from my colleagues is that
is for “little people,” not for Important People the Duke case, a towel that managed to make
people need a tough, “kick-ass” government to
like prosecutors and reporters for the NYT.) the DNA of Crystal Mangum appear while
make them behave.
There was no mention of this situation on any not wiping away the DNA of anyone else.
The modern mantra of journalists is “com-
editorial pages of our “prestigious” newspapers; Yes, the same journalists who want us to
fort the afflicted, afflict the comfortable,” and
instead, we saw only the self-congratulation believe that simple cotton towels have magical
we see that theme pursued time and again. This
that happens when the media allies itself with properties also want us to believe that it is OK
leads to situations that tell me that the press
dishonest prosecutors to railroad “chosen” for government-funded “scientists” to fake
sees itself as the entity that will ensure that
people into prison. data and engage in outright fraud just to save
the government keeps all of us in line, as we
Lest anyone think I am simply “defending us from the fate of “climate change.” Oh, and
cannot be trusted with anything as individuals.
the rich” (which, apparently, is a crime in and these are the same people who believe that Al
And Lord help someone who really thinks that
of itself in this present time), I also look at Gore is a genius, an “intellectual’s intellectual.”
the Bill of Rights was a restriction against the
the behavior of prosecutors across the country (Actually, I had some dealings with Gore when
powers of the state against individuals; such
who regularly violate the law and certainly the I worked in Tennessee and can tell readers that
thinking is “so 18th Century” or worse.
U.S. Constitution, all with the blessings of the the guy was just another fat, scripted politician
Take the Martha Stewart case, for
media, both right and left. It is very rare that who enjoys average intelligence at best.)
example. According to the Usual Pundits on
any news organization calls for any sanctions Indeed, the MSM is no “watchdog” of
both the right and the left, the conviction and
to be placed on prosecutors who are exposed as government. Journalists are lapdogs of the
imprisonment (albeit rather brief ) of Stewart
lawbreakers. state, and little more than that. As for the
represented a triumphant moment in which we
Tom Kirkendall, a Houston attorney who constituency of liberty, I do find it telling that
once again affirmed the Principle that No One
actually cares about the Bill of Rights, has the one politician who does speak out for real
is Above the Law. Actually, it demonstrated a
written many posts on his blog about the pros- liberty, Ron Paul, is derided in the MSM as a
more fundamental condition fully supported
ecutorial wrongdoing in the Enron case and “kook” and a “nutcase.” Somehow, that makes
by the mainstream media (or MSM): the state
the prosecution of R. Allen Stanford. (The only sense to me, given what I have seen in the
and its prosecutors are above the law, and the
thing the feds have not done in the Stanford media. From Sean Insanity at Fox News to
press will make sure of that.
case is to declare him an “enemy combatant” Rachel Mad Dog at MSNBC, we see that the
Why do I make such a charge? There
and hold him in the same conditions they held media loves dictators, “take-charge” people
was no way the feds could charge Stewart
José Padilla.) who throw around their weight. As for liberty,
with insider trading, and they knew it. Thus,
Yet, there is no outrage in the media. well, that is passé at best and dangerous at
they hatched a plan with the NYT and Wall
Ironically, Stanford’s treatment is not much worst.
Street Journal being complicit in lawbreaking:
different than the treatment given in Russia
prosecutors fed secret grand jury information
to Mikhail Khodorkovsky, a businessman who [This article originally appeared on
to those papers that was designed to damage
apparently angered Vladimir Putin. However, LewRockwell.com on December 29, 2009.]
the stock price of Martha Stewart Living and

thepeglegupdate.wordpress.com 1234567890
Local Suds 5: “Sabbath in Toronto”
by PS>flux

S unday Dinner is a solid rural institution,
rooted in the knowledge that, once a week,
it’s good to have a day of rest, appreciating
I forced myself to put on the third plate of food;
Momma told me “Eat your veggies.” I order
another Budweiser and nibble at the delicious
He’s from Portland or somewhere like
that; Jake’s lived in towns all along the West
Coast many Midwestern college kids dream
relaxation, community and spiritual renewal. lemon cake; stomach full to bursting but mouth of. “Nowhere like this place, dude,” he says in a
The tradition, although not unique to the unwilling to end the feasting. pothead-vague, Big Lebowski, dude voice. “Space
region, fits well into the Midwestern ethos; in Time slows down on three heaped plates to yourself, shit’s cheap, it’s clean, no cops, nice
ag-based communities, food production and of meat and potatoes into foggy tunnel vision people…” I exhale and look at cows crossing a
consumption is a way of life and industry. One as the body metabolizes half-a-dozen pieces of path horizontally across a steep, forehead-shaped
will benefit from taking time to appreciate the ham amidst a dense, narcotizing sludge of white hill; the path furrows into the brow like a terrace.
bounty around us: meat and grains. carbohydrates. My vision swims with the vibrat- Wind – clean, brisk, South Dakota wind – ripples
In this spirit, I hope you visit the Toronto ing, golden Budweiser as she sets the pint glass grass and a nearby the creek gurgles. “Fuck yeah,”
Café & Lounge; a few close friends are all but on a napkin in front of me. There is a Budweiser Caveman Jake says.
required. The Toronto Café offers a hearty clock over the bar; the closest thing I’ve heard to a
Sunday buffet from 11 a.m. to 1 p.m.; it only sermon this Sunday: Most be born on or before 29 So there’s your Local Suds destination
costs $5.75, a couple bucks more if you want November 1988. Lagging cerebrum fixates on the for this month, oh loyal readership. I sincerely
the salad bar, but you did not come this far up red flashing digits: it’s 1:14, 29 November 1988. hope you take time to enjoy a Sunday Dinner
the food chain to eat rabbit food. Besides, it’s I am a baby; it will be my first birthday soon. buffet in Toronto. An afternoon of restful
a recession. The lounge is airy, has lots of win- The eternal power struggle between the contemplation gains a distinctly American
dows and plenty of space between tables; this Packers, Vikings, Bears and Lions progresses in flavor when commenced with massive helpings
kind of warm setting with friendly dust motes the background on boxy television sets – week by of meat. Remember, Mom & Dad, PS>flux is
suspended in horizontal columns of window week, quality measured and marked in years, days made up.
light is the proper place to eat fried chicken on of preparation for hours of performance; the same,
a sunny Sunday afternoon. The buffet features slow time scale my metabolism rides on taters and
ham, fried chicken, gravy, mashed potatoes, beer.
cheesy scalloped potatoes and carrots. When
you finish, the waitress will bring out a piece I hope you visit Toronto on a sunny
of cake. And all God’s blessed children said, afternoon. The front of the café faces south;
“Fuck yeah.” in front, on the sidewalk, sits an inviting
The majority of your fellow diners will bench, lounging in the sun’s warmth, begging
look like they just got out of church; this town companions. This bench is where one should
of 175 people, 26 miles away from Brookings, observe the next, equally important, Sunday
has three churches, all Lutheran. Interspersed institution: the Sunday Afternoon Nap.
in the dining room are a few farmers and wind On the seventh day, God rested, and the
turbine builders. I suggest going back to the Midwesterners didst do the same, dozing to
bar to eat; the Café’s second room is just as the dim cheers of NFC fanatics, drugged by
spacious as the front, closer to the beer, and bounteous vegetables and meat.
your dinner party will have the whole place to Sunny benches. For your spiritual well-
themselves. If you’re eating in the bar, they’ll being, explore one on a slow, quiet afternoon.
even let you bring in your dog. It’s the perfect Your back against the store front’s stored heat,
place to quietly consume with those close to sidewalk reflects the light of nourishing solar
you. radiation into your face – nap.
Beer at the Toronto Café is $1.75 for a If you’re lucky, and you’ve got a cool
tall tap. Use the extra couple bucks to tip away dog, Caveman Jake might stop by. He’s real
the waitress’s frown at somebody ordering friendly, likes metal, looks like a caveman,
Budweiser so early on a Sunday. name’s Jake. He builds grain elevators, and
has four awesome dogs: two pits and two labs.
I feel the contentment of a cow after a feeder Chat with him for a bit; if he offers, cruise
full of corn; my closest friend, Kanut, lays at my around and see the country with him, half-
feet, licking the taste of buttered dinner role and harvested, autumn fields separated by creeks,
ham on his lips. This is the true Spirit of Sunday groves, and gulleys from hilly pastures filled
Dinner. The bottom of the glass of Budweiser with cattle, passively grinding molars together,
tumbles down my throat, following the carrots on green, like you.

photo by Trevor Drawdy

1234567890 PLU 01’10
More Fuzzy Advice
by Papa Bear

DEAR BEAR: How does one properly eat a banana? I always peel it, then place it on a small plate and eat it by cutting it into small pieces.
When suggesting this method to my co-worker he became very defensive. His method is much more traditional, peeling the banana and then eating
it much like a monkey. Who is right? — Nanners in Oregon.

DEAR NANNERS,
Christ, day in and day out I have to deal with shit. Are you getting this readers? “Nanners” over here (who must just be so pleased with her cute little
pen name) wants to know the proper way to eat a banana. Do you spend your days seeking my approval? Can’t you just eat your banana your way and
let your co-worker eat it his way? But, if you must know, here is the proper way to eat a banana. You may be surprised to discover that you are both
wrong! That’s right, according to Miss Stinky Fingers House of Humiliation’s website, the proper way to eat a banana is to have your mistress insert it
in your mouth and let it dissolve.

Hope that helps!

DEAR BEAR: Our neighbors “Alf ” and “Jackie O” (that’s not their real names) are the best neighbors ever! I don’t really know them that well, but
that’s what makes my predicament even harder! Several times a week, just as the moon is rising, I see a woman get out of a cab and walk to a ladder
that goes directly to the spare bedroom. Several hours later I see Alf let her out the front door. He then kisses her on the front porch! Bear, they even
have open mouths! He must be sleeping with this woman! I want to tell Jackie O but don’t know how to do it! What do you suggest? - Nosy in CA

DEAR NOSY,
Do you really want to involve yourself in this? Consider yourself lucky, most of us wait
our entire lives for this exact situation to arise.

Here’s what I would do:

Go to talk to...ahem, “Alf ” himself. Say that you already know what’s going on, say that
not only do you know what’s going, but you find it titillating. Ask if you can watch. While
watching take several snap shots of the sexiness that is occurring. Afterwards blackmail
him, ya know for money, sex or whatever a person such as yourself desires. Maybe
some Precious Moment figurines, or a gift certificate to a stationary store is more your
fancy.

Either way, regardless if he complies or not, show the photos to “Jackie O” anyway.

If you don’t have the nut sack to go through with all of this, I suggest minding your
own business.

DEAR BEAR: Please help me get the word out about Donder! The reindeer in “’Twas the Night Before Christmas” is DONDER, not Donner!
God! No one gets it right! TV, Music, the media! EVERYONE calls him Donner, his name is Donder! Help me, Bear! Clement Clark Moore
would thank you! - Donder at the North Pole

DEAR DONDER,
YAAAAAWNNNNN. Jeez, I’m sorry but I fell asleep half way through the letter. Listen, people give less than a shit about Donder, or Clement
whatshisface. Did you know that the author of that book is dead? Did you know that? Even that guy cares less than you. Are you listening to what
I’m saying? The author of the book, who has lost his ability to care about anything, cares less than you! You must have a pretty sweet life if this is
what you time to take write letters about. By the way, quit trying to suck up. Every time you write to me its always about the holidays, (“Remind
people what Halloween is really about,” “Christian Easter too filled with Pagan practices,”) regardless of the holiday, that lousy wife of yours always
sends cookies. You know what I do with those cookies? I take one bite, spit them out and then give them to the neighbors kids. Kids will obviously
eat anything.

thepeglegupdate@gmail.com 1234567890
ADVERTISEMENTS

Untitled
by Cliff Cawthon

As my heart beats I feel the weight of a
thousand suns
A grey- green Venus gives me a pleasure
Two minds and a single contradiction
The grey skeleton enjoying an arsenic joint
It is a constant and easy drunkenness
With a real, fleshy actualization of the fallacy
of nations.
The flesh of reality has left the debauched
skeleton bereft.
The taste of the flesh however, drives the light
The taste of the real as opposed to the
truncheon of the deal
It defines me.
Oh what is this dulling of the senses?
Is it slowing down the rat race?
Is it making me finally feel.
Feel the dark, feel the right.
Feel my suppressed fire, making me feel the
light.
Oh what we can get through compromise and
conciliation,
Is it me telling the Guevara, Debs, Martin,
Malcolm, Douglass, DuBois, and the Nader,
the West, and the Negri to wait?
I do understand,
Know
And appreciate;
Wait.
The evil dirty word that has caused so much
pain
The drunkenness that inspired me to be sloppy
The euphoria of the skeleton but, the life of
the flesh
I do understand.
My consciousness transformed, Tuesday, April 20th 2010 @ 7 PM
Through the melancholy windows of a foreign Tuesday, April 20th 2010 @ 7 PM
South Dakota Art Museum
land, to the multitude at hand South Dakota Art Museum
My Venus fades to a commodity, Open Call for Entries
My skeleton is without calcium *Running
OpenTime:
Call
Lessfor
than Entries
10 minutes
All Genres accepted, Winning entries will be screened
The drunkenness of debauchery has been *Running Time: Less than 10 minutes
conquered by the actualization of sobriety All2nd
1st, Genres accepted,
and Audience Winning
Award for 3rd entries will be screened
$150, $100, $50
It was fun, oh it was fun.
1st, 2nd and Audience Award for 3rd
The clock does not strike for we, the chasm Submission
$150, $100, Due
$50 by
may one day be closed. March 19th, 2010
Submission Forms
However, as the skeleton runs smokes with the Submission
CONTACT Due by
Zack Vos zjvos@jacks.sdstate.edu
flesh, I know what is me. or pick up in the UPC office (Union 150)
March 19th, 2010
Submission Forms
[ed: Peglegger Anthony Castillo met Cliff during SUBMISSIONS
CONTACT Zack MUST BE PRESENTED DVD
Vos zjvos@jacks.sdstate.edu
his voyage to perfidious Albion this fall. Visit his WITH A up
or pick SUBMISSION FORM
in the UPC office (Union 150)
blog at http://cliffpeaceleft.wordpress.com/ ]
*Alumni Submission running times can be negotiated
SUBMISSIONS MUST BE PRESENTED DVD
if project runs longer than 10 minutes
WITH A SUBMISSION FORM
1234567890 PLU 01’10 Sponsored by The SDSU Film Society and The University Program Council

*Alumni Submission running times can be negotiated
if project runs longer than 10 minutes
Extreme Beers
by Ross Bell

O ne of my favorite beers is Goose Islands
Bourbon County Stout. At 13 percent
alcohol, this jet black stout is definitely a
beers have sat in barrels that once held brandy,
sherry, cognac, bourbon and muscatel. I have
a hard time wrapping my mind around how
I am one of four extremely fortunate people
in South Dakota to have a bottle of Sam
Adams Utopias. (One bottle went to Monks
sipper. This beer behaves exactly like a fine ridiculous this beer is. House of Ale Repute in Sioux falls). Very
stout should, in that the flavor becomes more Unfortunately, few people get the chance soon several friends and myself will crack the
and more potent as the beer warms up. I have to try Utopias. There are two reasons for this. bottle open. Hopefully we will survive the
six in my cupboard that are out of site, but Given the brewing circumstances, it is released experience. Always remember, good beer is
rarely out of mind. They will age for five years, once every two years, and only 9,000 bottles best when shared with friends. Make sure to
always getting better. are distributed. South Dakota was allotted five check The Peg Leg Blog for a full review of
This issue’s topic revolves around my favorite bottles. Reason number two: the price. The this truly remarkable beer.
types of beer: ridiculous beers. Ridiculous suggested retail price for a bottle of Utopias is Rossabell@gmail.com
beers is a term that I am making up right now. $150. However, most liquor stores boost this
More commonly labeled as “extreme beers” up to $200 because they know someone will [ed: I had the opportunity to enjoy a few small
they are those that have been hopped to hell, buy it. At $200 for a 25 ounce bottle, the price sips of Ross’ Utopias recently. It burned a bit like
used more malts than water or put in oak bar- comes out to around eight bucks for a single cognac and had more flavor than any other beer
rels that once held some sort of liquor. These ounce of the fine nectar. I would bet that I’ve had in my life. As Ross said, be sure to check
totally absurd and extreme beers generally one ounce of this beer has more flavor than a our blog for a review of his Utopias experience.]
have alcohol contents well over 13 percent. tongue would know what to do with.
All have a flavor that cannot be matched by
any other beverage. Sometimes they can get
so ridiculous that you might only be able to
handle a few ounces. These are the beers that I
am constantly seeking.
The most ridiculous beer that I have enjoyed
is Dog Fish Head’s 120 Minute IPA (India
Pale Ale), the holy grail of hop-heads. This
Delaware born beer is absolutely ridiculous,
boasting 21 percent alcohol.
First the beer is boiled for two hours, hence
its name. During the boil it is continually
hopped. Once this process is through, it is
dry hopped daily for a month. This essentially
means that the beer sits in huge barrels while
hops are steeping like tea, every day for a
month. Afterwards the beer will ferment for
another month before being bottled. Splitting
a 12 ounce bottle with three people will likely
be plenty.
Pretty ridiculous, right? Not the most
ridiculous. The king of them all would be a
beer from the Boston Brewing Company, Sam
Adams Utopias. Utopias’ alcohol by volume
is 25-27 percent, making it illegal in 13 states.
It has zero carbonation to it, and it is enjoyed
at room temperature. Utopias is brewed with
a variety of roasted malts and hops, with a
healthy dose of maple syrup to boost the
alcohol content. Champagne yeasts are then
used to eat up all the sugars. The beer ages
for the better part of the year and is combined
with different batches, some of which have
been aged for up to 16 years. These well-aged

photo by Ross Bell

thepeglegupdate.wordpress.com 1234567890
Pro-peace Brookings
by Mitch LeClair

A small group of active adults gathered on
Mother’s Day two years ago and stood
near the intersection of 6th Street and Main
Ave in Brookings.
One rang a bell, and all stood silently
for 15 minutes in remembrance of people
worldwide who have lost their lives to war.
On May 13, 2007, the tradition began,
and it has continued every Sunday at 1 p.m.
ever since.
According to Michael Feikema, one
of the original individuals in the Stand for
Peace group, the participating members had
“stumbled into each other for quite some time”
before finally banding together to publicly
display their frustrations.
He said the initial motivation was when
Jeff Heinle, professor of film studies at SDSU,
had asked him to sit on a discussion panel at a
film series focused on the occupation of Iraq in
the fall of 2006.
Ordained minister and former educator
Carl Kline also sat on the discussion panel.
Heinle, another original “stander,” said he,
Feikema and Kline seemed to get along great.
Along with a few more individuals, the
loose collective began meeting together for a
Ghandian study group before expressing their
opposition to the war in Iraq.
Shortly thereafter, the Stand for Peace
group formed and chose their demonstration
spot: directly in front of the Army recruiting
building.
“When you think about public space,
you see nationalistic images instead of public
space,” said Heinle.
“We want to show residents of Brookings
that there are people questioning our foreign
policy,” said Heinle. “Symbolically, that’s why
we use public space.”
Feikema echoed Heinle’s opinion of the
group’s purpose.
“We just want to let people here know
that there is an organized opposition group
in the community that meets regularly,” said
Feikema.
Kline, founder of a Non-Violent Alterna-
tives group in Brookings, has been leading
non-violent activism here for over two decades.
Feikema said he has played a large role in
keeping the Stand for Peace group active.

photos by Trevor Drawdy

1234567890 PLU 01’10
“I’ve never been anywhere with a group
that displays this type of devotion [to its
cause],” said Feikema.
Besides a few small incidents - neither of
which resulted in anything but civil discourse
- he says the people of Brookings seem to be
receptive to their message.
“Overall there are way more positive
responses than negative ones,” said Feikema.
He added that approximately one out of every
20 or so vocal passers-by shows animosity
towards the group.
An altercation last year involved an Army
recruiter driving a tall silver truck.
“It crossed the center line,” Heinle said.
“He aimed it at the group.”
After his attempts at intimidation,
the recruiter confronted the demonstrators
and voiced his opinion of their actions. The
conversation ended peacefully, and Feikema
said that’s about the only backlash they’ve seen.
“I think the vast majority of the people
in Brookings are very polite,” he said. This
is a contributing factor in the community’s
acceptance of the group’s message, according to
Feikema.
Heinle said the tight-knit group com-
monly finds themselves in conversation past 2
p.m. or later, and any member of the public is
free to stand with them on Sundays.

Taking off my objectivity hat and replac-
ing it with a subjective, self-admitted look at
the Stand for Peace group here in Brookings,
I will say that I have been active in this group
for a few years.
Unfortunately, I cannot brag that I’ve
been there every Sunday like many of the
other participants. Rather, I have joined in a
few times and learned a great deal from these
people about commitment and dedication.
I would repeat Mr. Feikema’s comment
about the group’s devotion. These people are
out there peacefully and voluntarily displaying
their displeasure with the state of affairs every
week - no matter the weather or administra-
tion.
To me, not much has changed in the
transfer of power from Bush to Obama, but
I will refrain from ranting and simply say
this: People everywhere in our country, even
in Brookings, are incredibly upset with the
continued engagement of our troops overseas,
for a variety of reasons.
Like U.S. Marine Major General
Smedley Darlington Butler said years ago,
“War is a racket.”

[For more on the group, please visit
The Post here: http://www.thepostsd.com/index.php/go/item/205-prayerforpeace
and watch a video I recently made of a Wednesday night stand here:
http://thepeglegupdate.wordpress.com/2009/12/07/stand-against-the-escalation/ ] thepeglegupdate@gmail.com 1234567890
I Need My Coffee Fix
by Kate Wegehaupt

I love coffee, which by all measures officially
makes me an adult. Visions of editors
racing to meet deadlines, doctors saving lives,
ones I wanted to be, were those who’d walk in,
not even glance at the drink-menu, and order
some “mocha double shot, no whip”, obviously
offering, depending on the situation, and good
for working out kinks. Consistent throughout,
is that I can rarely go a day without it, and I’m
and executives firing employees, all with cups citizens of the coffee world, a place I wanted to pretty certain that isn’t changing.
of coffee in hand, leap to mind. For me, the live. I’ve reached adulthood (or the verge of it,
start of my work day means measuring out Another friend orders like that; always anyway), as evidenced by my need for a coffee
grounds, scooping them into the coffee pot, lattés, no flavor, with three packets of raw fix, though it’s not quite what I expected.
and listening to the percolation, a routine. sugar. We were chatting over coffee once, Being a grown up is hard. Now, doesn’t that
I think most people have associations like when she mentioned that she isn’t even sure if sound intelligent. But it’s true. There are
these with the drink. In fact, I even have a she likes her drink of choice, but that her dad moments when I would love to go back to
theory: coffee is a reminder of the adult world always drank it. She picked up the habit to be drinking my hot chocolate, just pretending
as seen through our little-kid eyes. Sound like him. Which leads me back to my original competency. When I could revert to little kid
like a great research paper? Let me explain conclusion. I started because I wanted to be an mode, a good day ensured by Dad cutting my
before you get out your red pen. I remember adult. toast diagonally instead of across. It’s not so
early Saturday mornings awakened by the However, a slight problem has developed simple anymore; more is expected that just
smell, with toast cut diagonally, made by Dad. from my love for coffee. By most accounts, looking cool while sipping coffee or ordering
Others chatted around a Christmas table with I’m a happy person. Skies are blue, birds are without looking at the menu. Part of growing
family, reminiscing and making plans over singing, etc. But on days when I don’t get up is learning who you are and what you want.
pots of bottomless black coffee. I imagine still my caffeine: watch out. The chance of rain Let’s get this straight, though: I’m by no
more saw adults drinking mugs, ushering kids increases, bread fails to rise, little kids cry means the most mature or sensible person.
out the door to school and work. Personal and communism wins. In other words, try to People tend to look at you funny for twirling
memories vary, but the end association’s the avoid me. So does growing-up mean I have to unexpectedly down the sidewalk (it’s officially
same. become somber (and apparently cranky), too? the holiday season!) or holding a conversation
Regardless of the origin, the coffee The “go-go-go” attitude provided by caffeine, with your dinner (don’t you feel a little badly
mythos was still there in middle school. mayhem caused when things don’t go accord- about ignoring it all the time?). I’ve struggled
Before morning classes started, the cool kids ing to plan? Is it too idealistic to hold onto my against the typical attitudes of adulthood. Just
would run across the street, buying gas station eight-year-old memories? because I’m getting older doesn’t mean I have
cappuccino. They were mature, practically like Here’s the thesis statement. What I’ve to drink coffee morning after morning, no
high schoolers, holding styrofoam cups and found is that coffee, like adulthood, isn’t longer enjoying the smell and taste and reasons
gossiping about The Osborne’s, a show I didn’t always equivalent to sunny mornings and for doing so in the first place. There are perks
watch. For those of us stuck in pre-puberty, friendly chats. But it is what you allow it to be. to growing up; but there is something to be
we made due with hot chocolate, trying to Sometimes it’s a pick-me-up after procrasti- said for keeping a little-kid perspective, too.
look cool, but spending more time cleaning nating on projects that count for 20 percent of When it comes down to it, coffee doesn’t have
our fogged-up glasses than actually drinking. your grade; other times a mean to whirlwind to be a substitute for energy or enthusiasm, just
But our throats still burned from the steaming through meetings, classes and practices before an added benefit of getting older. Now please
liquid and we still got a buzz from the sugar; crashing into bed; it’s a mediator or a peace- excuse me; I need my 11 am fix.
surely this is what being an adult was all about.
I started drinking the real-deal in high
school, when one of my best friends got a job
working at a coffee shop. I’d do my homework
in some dark corner, pretending I was in
college and feeling ambitious (two things I’ve
since learned do not generally mix), sipping
my frilly drink. When my mind became too
crammed with osmosis and the Battle of the
Bulge, a good distraction was to watch others
order their coffee. You could tell the younger
crowd by the frozen slushy-drinks they’d
order, pseudo-coffee. The especially confident
people would order something meditative,
like tea, making sure to follow the opposite
of trendy. But the people I most admired, the

photo in The Kitchen

1234567890 PLU 01’10
Cats and Dogs
by Simeon Brown

T he Brookings Regional Humane Society
is a fun place to hang out. Visitors are
encouraged to come hold the guinea pigs
stuff…” she trails off. BRHS began forming
in 1998 and ’99, but did not have a location
for housing animals until 2006; up to this
with endless, but rewarding brushing, exercis-
ing, cleaning, and feeding necessary to care
for so many animals. As this NPO is donor-
and pet the rabbits, chill in the cat colonies point, the only animals that could be placed (read under-) funded, it has struggled to stay
and play with the dogs. The Society’s new where the ones lucky enough to coincide afloat recently. Alongside the concern of
building – they moved this summer – has with an open foster home. The first building keeping the balance in the black, the constant
five rooms full of cats, each containing six to allowed them to begin housing some cats and growth required to help Brooking’s homeless
twelve kitties in colonies of shelves and boxes. other small mammals, but this summer’s move animals presents incessant new needs. “We
The Animal Shelter has 45 cats, two rabbits, enabled them to shelter dogs and provides could really use some anesthesia equipment
two guinea pigs, two little birds, and 14 a more humane, spacious habitat for the so we could fix the stray animals here,” one
dogs. Twelve of the dogs are housed at foster homeless kitties. volunteer mentions.
homes during the weekdays, but currently, The Society receives a lot of support Membership is one obvious opportunity
Jack the Whippet and Malaysia, a pure white from volunteers; about 30 large-hearted for Brookings residents to become involved
pit puppy, live in the back kennels and await animal lovers assist the five employees and help the shelter, but BRHS offers other
visitors with excited smiles. opportunities for people to benefit from, and
Tiffany Haynes-Reed manages the contribute too, this admirable, animated
Brookings Regional Humane Society and establishment. One may sign up to foster
explained the NPO to the PLU. The BHRS a dog (I’ve already got dibs on that gorgeous
receives the animals Animal Control finds on pit puppy), or simply show up and play with
the street. The strays are kept at the pound some cats; the animals crave interaction, and
for five days, then, if untagged and unclaimed, lovingly reciprocate benefits to the person
transferred to the Humane Society. “Everyone willing to scratch some tummies or roll a ball.
should know Animal Control works very hard The Society has recently instituted a Low
to place animals,” Reed expressly explained. If Income Spay/Neuter Voucher program to
the Brookings Shelter has no room, the ani- assist area citizens in the effort to control
mal moves to Sioux Falls, or another location the animal population.
in the region with room. This happens with December 12th featured a couple
moderate frequency, as the Society currently fundraising activities; the Shelter hosted
carries cats at capacity and needs more dog a bake sale table at the Brookings Festival of
foster homes. Trees. Also, pet owners can bring their animal
Handling as-much as-possible with to the society on Saturdays in December to
available resources is a balancing act have a Christmas picture taken. The photo-
the Humane Society has constantly graphs cost only five dollars and the proceeds,
navigated in its decade-long existence. of course, benefit the Brookings Regional
The Brookings location, unlike some Humane Society. Further information and
animal shelters, is completely donor applications can be accessed at brookingshu-
funded, and currently in the red. mane.org, but the most pleasant course of
Haynes-Reed mentioned vague action is taking an hour to visit the shelter
discussions in the City Council to someday and take turns with the animals
take some municipal responsibil- putting smiles on each other’s face.
ity for the shelter, putting the
organization under the same
roof as Animal Control, but, “I
think they have bigger things to
worry about – events centers and

thepeglegupdate.wordpress.com 1234567890
What an Ugly Hill
by Catey Watkins

I t wasn’t really an ugly hill, it was just
another hill. She hadn’t said it out loud,
but she was sure the hill had probably heard it
she’s said and done, her friends probably think
she has turrets the way she suddenly curses at
herself. She realizes she was supposed to do
perfect smile disappear before her eyes. There’s
something so attractive about fire.
So warm and destructive, it was the
anyway. She walked, well no, mostly trudged to something, remember something. It’s starting perfect ending for that perfect photo. But that
the top. It wasn’t a fun climb and it had been to get dark and grow cold and she’s looking was just a prelude. She opened her chilled right
much harder than she had anticipated. Who around at the ground...She’s searching for hand. The diamond, too, had been perfect. She
knew there were hills with that kind of slope something that just won’t come to her. She loved that ring, she really did. But every time
around here? She’d stopped to rest several gets on her hands and knees, feeling with her she looked at it she saw his lies. The times he
times on the way, if she had liked nature more hands. was hanging out with the boys, the times that
she might have enjoyed the view. As it stands, “Tell me I didn’t lose the damn thing. it was his mother calling him, the times “it will
the outdoors mostly just annoyed her. Even the You can’t just lose that sort of thing at a time never happen again”...she couldn’t bare that
darting rabbits and chirping birds annoyed her. like this....stupid crap.” She trails off into constant reminder. She probably could’ve sold
And she was missing Grey’s. She’d never admit mumbling as she scours the ground frantically. it, or given it back. But she didn’t want anyone
that her life was now based around what times Suddenly, she stops, she curls her hand around else to have that ring. She felt like it was
certain shows were on, but it had been reduced the small object. She stares intently at it while cursed, as if it would ruin the life of who ever
to just that. A TV network dictated her life. forcing herself upright. This had to be done. A wore it. She didn’t want another girl to feel like
She let out an audible sigh. normal person would probably call her crazy, she did—to cry like she had.
Once at the top, she plopped down in a she probably was. It didn’t much matter at this She just stood there for a moment and
clearing. The hill came to a peak, then it just point what someone else would say or think. If collected all her memories of the two of them.
sort of dropped off into this half dried up she didn’t do this, she was afraid she WOULD She put everything ever said and done between
stream below. It was kind of picturesque, but go crazy. She came to that edge for what she the two of them in a ball: all the “sorry”s, all
mostly kind of depressing. She stared at the sky was determined to make her last time. She the laughter and tears, all the slow dances…
turning into warm autumn shades, forgetting clinched her right hand even tighter while all of it. And then she chucked it. She threw
to be azure. She was so sure this moment was she slipped her left into her jacket pocket. that ring and all her hurt as hard as she could.
supposed to be beautiful and stirring, maybe it Fumbling, she pulled out a lighter and her She even let out a triumphant yell as she did.
too forgot. The wind had died down, but the last photo of the two of them. They’d been She couldn’t even see where it landed if she
cold rose from the ground through her thighs fighting all day, but looking at the picture now had had any second thoughts about keeping
up to the tip of her nose. The grass was clearly you’d never be able to tell. In the picture, she it. But she didn’t. That ring had weighed a
dying, but it was still thick enough to pad her was leaning into him and his arm was draped thousand pounds on her soul. And then, she
from the hard ground, even though it let some around her. Her hair was in his face but his did something she hadn’t done in a while. She
of the dirt be exposed. That stringy hair that smile was clear though it any way. Their eyes smiled. Not big, not joyous laughter, but a
she hates so much kept falling into her eyes, were sparkling; her smile was more bash- smile nonetheless.
maybe if she cared to be looking at anything ful—embarrassed probably by how petty their Her journey down that hill was the last
particular, it would’ve annoyed her. If someone arguments had been. she ever took, she never made it to the bottom.
was standing close enough, they might have She realized she was staring at that damn The girl who did make it to the bottom, most
heard her laugh to herself, not unnecessarily photo again, as if looking into it might answer certainly wasn’t the same that had gone up the
out of spiteful irony—more or less just another all her ‘why’s. It wouldn’t and she knew it, but hill-that girl would’ve never got into that beat
lesson learned; more time lost. She stared she was always mesmerized by how perfect the up mustang smiling and humming a song. No,
down at her dirty tennis shoes, how the shoe two of them had looked in that picture. They that girl had fallen into that dried up stream
laces frayed, how well-worn and under appreci- probably had appeared that way to everyone, along with her bad memories and perfect
ated they both looked and were. She thought oblivious of how their opposition had kept her diamond.
about his stupid crap music and his crap jokes, awake at night. Snapping herself out of it, ran
she thought about how she smiled and played her thumb over the lighter. With a sharp “flick”
his crap games. She didn’t like how uncomfort- it was lit. The colors of the photo wavered,
able she felt around him; restless in her own and then rolled up into itself. She watched his
skin. She rolls her eyes after realizing she’d
been wrinkling her nose just at the thought
of him-a habit she’d noticed much more after
he’d told how cute he thought it was.
“Cute, yeah freakin’ adorable...” She’s been
mumbling to herself a lot lately... Especially
when she thinks about all the stupid things

1234567890 PLU 01’10
Edgar Allan Poe, Virginian
by David Franke

[ed: The book pictured below got me through ending this week, so I wanted to catch it before There was also a lot of bragging, claiming
some turbulent times last May. I spent a night in it closed. I took the curator’s tour – the curator that Poe was the first American writer to
the Leipzig, Germany, station on my way from of this exhibit was Chris Semtner, who is also win international fame, or something to that
Poland to the Black Forest, and I had to make a curator of the Poe Museum in Richmond. He effect. What about Washington Irving, I asked.
3 a.m. train. So, in order to stay awake I bought was very knowledgeable. “We’re talking about INFLUENCE,” Chris
shot after shot of horrible German espresso from a As a long-time fan of Poe, I knew, of answered. Irving, he claimed, echoing Poe,
vending machine on the tracks and circled a bench course, that he is the father of the detective really wrote in the English style, merely sub-
reading Poe. story – that’s why the Mystery Writers of stituting American locales. Poe, on the other
Yes, he might be one of the most talked about America call their annual awards “Edgars,” hand, established new writing genres and styles
American writers ever, but he’s far from overrated. which physically are small busts of Poe. But I that had great influence on literature not only
Open a cheap bottle of Pinot Noir and lose yourself
learned that he also invented science fiction, in America but throughout Europe. As just
in his prose for evidence.
having great influence on Jules Verne, who one example, he broke with the Gothic horror
When I saw this article on the internet, I
then went on to write some pioneering science tradition of having a moralistic lesson and
immediately wanted to share it with our readers.
fiction himself. Poe loved to have fun with his ending on a happy note of virtue triumphant.
Anything to promote ol’ Edgar.]
readers – to see what he could get away with. Poe had no morality lessons in his tales, and

T
He wrote a story for a New York newspaper often it was just the opposite, which infuriated
he purpose of my last writing was to about a man crossing the Atlantic Ocean in the leading Yankee writers. There was no love
draw attention to a great movie: The a hot-air balloon. People believed it, and the lost between Poe and the Yankee scribes – both
Planet of the Apes. Of the two quotes I listed, newspaper sold out, so they repeated the story excoriated the other in print. (I’m getting to
the 29th scroll was the most poignant to me. the next day. I don’t know when (if ever) read- like Poe more and more.)
I got a lot of work done on Sunday and ers learned that this was fiction. Calling Orson Poe was quite a character. In addition to
Monday, so I took advantage of the beauti- Welles! being broke most of the time, he was also a
ful weather today to drive to the Library of One exhibit exclaimed, “Poe was the first drunk, of course. He was quite a ladies’ man,
Virginia in Richmond. This is the 200th anni- American writer to earn his living by writing.” and there were some interesting stories about
versary year of Edgar Allan Poe’s birth, and all I took that as a cautionary tale, since Poe was the lasting impact he had on a number of
year they have had a major exhibit on Poe. It is impoverished most of his life. ladies before and after he married his 13-year-
old cousin, who died tragically of tuberculosis
at, I think, age 24. (That decade was probably
the only happy time in his life – they really
enjoyed life together.) He would write one
of his romantic love poems, and change the
name of the woman in the poem to whomever
he was courting at the time. He unabashedly
lied about his bio, too – saying he graduated
with honors from the University of Virginia
(not!) and that he fought in the Greek War for
Independence (he never got close to it). Fact
and fiction had a way of blurring and merging
with Poe.
Interesting tidbit: Manet illustrated one
of Poe’s books before going on to become one
of the leading French artists.
I asked Chris for his recommendation as
the best biography of Poe, and he said “Edgar
Allan Poe: A Critical Biography,” by Arthur
Hobson Quinn. It’s a fairly old book, but you
can get it on Amazon.com.

[This article originally appeared on
LewRockwell.com on December 5, 2009.]

photo in The Basement

1234567890
26 yrs old: Fight, Fix, & Flight
by Gina Caciolo

S he was half an hour late and I hadn’t
noticed. I fixed small bothers and replaced
tools I had sold in the morning on shelves that
“I didn’t,” she paused, and held her hand
over her mouth, “keep her.”

would lay untouched for hours, knowing all the I felt the hammer slip from my fingers
same, but keeping busy all the same. and then clenched it. My feet were nailed to
the floor. My empty hand balled into a fist.
The door still hung a little lower than the
framework, allowing a draft to pull in through “Or him…” she added. Over tears, she
the top, and I’d fix that next. It still opened and pushed out, “I don’t really know which.”
closed just fine. And you couldn’t feel the cool
breeze every day. Only on windy days. But a I continued to stand still. “Get out of my
draft is still a nuisance and can be fixed. store,” I said.

The table, which held the screws, rocked. Veronica looked at me with disbelief in
Two legs were stuck in the back floor which her eyes. “Dakota,” she said sternly. “I needed
held itself slightly higher than the rest of the you right now.”
floor because of a problem my father had when
placing the tiles. I wasn’t concerned. The tiles I threw the hammer at the pile of books
would be filed and flattened. I had reordered stacked next to her. She flinched and sobbed
the new ones weeks ago in case the other harder. “Get the fuck out of--” but she had
method didn’t work. Mended. Repaired. Done. already ran out at that point.

The hammers, strung so close together My body attempted to move forward, but
they were impossible to peel off, needed to be I held my place. I saw, out of the corner of my
separated. Racks of books were piled without eye, the table holding the various screws, begin
any regard to alphabetical order. to rock. With all my strength, I turned towards
it, let out a throaty roar, and flipped it onto its
There was a sweeping noise and then a back. The screws made all sorts of pings and
loud slam. “Dakota!” said a light, but grinding clanging noises as they landed on the tiles,
and shaky voice. “I’ve been waiting in the scratching each one as they came to rest. I fell
parking lot for forty minutes. There aren’t any to the floor, in a prayer-like stance, and wept,
other cars. Why haven’t you come out?” gently picking up screws, and placing them
back in the box.
I turned around and saw Veronica’s face.
Red eyes, pale face, and a slightly chubby
cheek. I took in the rest. One foot stuck
away from the other, hands rubbing over her
basketball stomach. I was stuck, a hammer in
one hand, all dead weight.

1234567890 PLU 01’10
Lois Lane and Beer Pong
by Catey Watkins

“W hy hello there, strapping young man!
Ah, I see you’ve pulled a chair out
not that most of the females wouldn’t be cool
with that, it’s just that we’re not all really built
I guess what I’m trying to say is: if I let
you be you, can’t you let me be me? It’s not just
for me and already ordered me a salad and for that. But for the record: I’m supposed to be a label, it’s these unspoken expectations that
thoughtfully calorie-free water.” a flawless, strong, smart, beautiful, sex symbol, people have of one another; these ideas about
My, my, how the times have changed…and but not a whore. But if I look sexy, you’ve who the other person should be and what they
expectations. There’s these crazy stereotypes already decided that I am a whore. And don’t should like. How about you like “The Note-
and ideas going around faster then herpes— say that’s crap. I know it’s true, because I do book” and I like “Fight Club” or you can watch
and just like the gift that keeps on giving—its the same damn thing when I see a girl in a “Twilight” while I go see “Ninja Assassin” or
doesn’t care if you’re a guy or a girl. And super short skirt. I’m sitting there laughing and you cook supper while I drink beer? Well, that
believe me, I’ve ran into this a few times, (the high-fiving with the best of them: “She was a last one is sort of non-negotiable.
stereotypes, not the herpes—get your mind out ho…fo sho…” The sooner people understand that
the gutter) and to be honest, it’s a bit frustrat- So in my experience: If I flirt, I’m a slut. If personality and uniqueness are not clearly
ing. I know what you’re thinking gentlemen: I turn you down, I’m a bitch. If I’m disgruntled defined characteristics placing one person into
“Uh oh, some feminazi crap.” But hang on by these various labels, I’m either touchy or a specific group that dictates how they should
here, because I sort of feel women should shut some militant lesbian. If you want to use act at all times, the sooner we can actually
up and make sandwiches too. But it’s not like grunting sounds and hand gestures to win me enjoy one another’s company. And by “one
I don’t think men shouldn’t fix my car and stay over, fine. Try it. I could maybe learn to enjoy a another’s company,” I do mean me kicking
out of my tanning beds either though. I’m not good clubbing to the head before you drag me your ass at beer pong. And don’t worry, all that
really a sexist or a feminist. I’m just decidedly back to your rape cave. But you try it at your salt from you crying because you got whooped
pro-me. own peril. by a girl will at least make your beer less foamy.
But I digress—ok, I get that I can out
drink most men; I can change my own tire
(GASP) and parallel park. I play a sport where
comparing bruises is fun, and I’ve been to basic
training and back. I’ve been called “intimidat-
ing” a few times. Ok, I can see that. Something
I can’t fathom is how I get called “emasculat-
ing.” Really? I’m what you find emasculating?
Not the fact that women today expect you to
wax your eyebrows or shave your chest hair?
But you’re right, a girl like me expecting to
be treated equal is pretty outrageous: heaven
forbid that I think we should take turns paying
for dates or that I don’t need you constantly
hold my hand to make sure I’m ok.
I just think it’s fair that people stop
expecting that every person should be able
to fit in some nice neat little box already full
of ideas that no one chooses for himself or
herself. If I go on a date, I don’t expect to be
sitting across from Indiana Jones or Leonidas
(not that I’d complain on either one). So if you
aren’t Superman, why would you expect me to
be Lois Lane?
Let’s pretend instead that I’m Wonder
Woman—I’m not, last I checked those blessed
by mythological deities don’t still burn grilled
cheese sandwiches occasionally…but if I was, if
I’m this strong, smart girl, why am I expected
to be a sex symbol as well? It’s the generation
of Playboy where all women are supposed to
look like Carmen Electra or Jessica Alba; it’s

1234567890
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