Six weeks later, the Oregon Voice Plant Issue has arrived. Check it.

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The Oregon Voice staff, we’re no strangers to the flashing red and blue lights. Tonight, it was my turn to face the siren.

There I was, mindin’ my own business, atop my Schwinn Continental (thanks, Cara), taking in the brisk summer sunset when out-of-motherfucking-nowhere a DPS officer flicks on his lights and siren behind me. The siren seemed excessive to me too.

But, it was a Tuesday night, what else to do other than pull over light-less cyclists?

Fuckin’ with me cause I’m a teenager
With a little bit of gold and a pager.

It’s a bizarre feeling, getting pulled over on your bike, almost surreal. Once to the curb I put my kickstand down, unbuckled my helmet and awaited my fate. A second officer soon rolled up, this one of the bicycle variety.

Questions poured in. Even with much of my short-term memory seriously compromised, I answered ‘em like a champ. Your god damn right I know my address and phone number.

Then shit got serious. My following responses took required more than regurgitation of information.

‘Alcohol?

‘No, no drinking for me.’

‘I smell like smoke?’

‘Well, I just left my buddies house, he was smoking a cigarette…’

All in all, it was about fifteen minutes of some Grade A Hasslage.

Two tangents helped lighten the mood.

The first was about the giant felt rubik’s cube mounted on my bike fender — which the bike cop was totally digging on.

The second was about bike auctions. Turns out, most of the stolen bikes that recovered at UofO, (there’s a lot) that aren’t registered to students are auctioned off for crazy low prices. The bike cop once got two bikes for eight dollars! Who knows, though, maybe he just made that up. Cops are good at that.

To the police I’m saying fuck you punk
Reading my rights and shit, it’s all junk

Before I was let go, I was reminded one last time how lucky I was to be getting off with just a warning. He could have sighted me for $300 in fines.

‘Yes sir, thank you officer, I do realize I’m fortunate not to be written up for failure to signal on my bicycle … in the middle of campus,’ as five helmet and light-free riders speed past.

Yeah, I’m a gangsta, but still I got flavor
Without a gun and a badge, what do ya got?

An occupation void of purpose?

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After a  cane-yielding Pete Townshend and Roger Daltrey exited the Super Bowl stage with two other guys claiming to be members of The Who, one thing seemed evident: Janet Jackson’s nipple has forever altered the halftime show experience. Paul McCartney, The Rolling Stones, Tom Petty, Bruce Springsteen, and somehow, Prince have all performed since Jackson’s nipple made an unexpected appearance at Super Bowl XXXVIII. Now I wouldn’t consider any pre-or-post nipple performances “good” by any measure, but these recent halftime performers look like they would be a lot more comfortable in a Buick than anywhere near a stage.

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We here at the Voice are more than pleased with the reinstatement. Since the cash-strapped athletic program could no doubt use some assistance —  and because we’re tired of renovating our office every year — we decided to spend some of our cash surplus on a gift that will no doubt make Blount’s transition a little smoother… 

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