"Education" at Chico State

Do you know what your college mascot is? Chico's mascot, is Willy the Wildcat, who's holding a nice, frosty, cold one in his left paw. At least, he USED to be holding a nice, frosty,cold one, until the damn PC people got hold of him, and changed him into a kinder, gentler, non-alcoholic Wildcat. Old Willy is the ESSENCE of Chico, baby. BE the Wildcat.

I transferred to Chico State from De Anza JC, at the ripe age of 19... I couldn't even drink legally...yet. Being naive, and just plain stupid, I signed up for 8 o'clock classes... I know, I know, WTH? I will never forget my first St.Patrick's Day experience in this little college town. Little did I know, that the bars, on this very festive occasion, open at 6 AM. Yup, you read that right, people.

We had a midterm on this particular day. And several students, having been AT the bars for 2 hours already, but still in their right minds enough not to MISS the midterm, stumbled into the classroom and proceeded to fill in the bubbles. I watched, in awe, as each drunk would stand up, swagger up to the professor, drop off the scan tron, and make a beeline for the door. Each one, leaving our terrific educational institution, on a mission to finish what they had started...getting loaded. I was left thinking one thing: "Wow! I want to be just like them when I grow up."

And so my journey in Chico began. I lived on Arcadian Avenue with 3 guys. Yeah, yeah, I know what you're thinking, but it was SO NOT like that. These guys, were more like brothers. They studied hard and played hard... so did I. They drank Coors Lite... so did I. They chewed tobacco... ewwwwwwwwwww.

And each one had a nickname. There was Darren, aka, "One Ring". The dude had no friends, and so he never let the phone ring more than once, in hopes, that maybe, just maybe, THIS time, the call was for him. That call never came.

Curt, a really nice guy, was dating a rather, interesting girl with dyslexia, named Tracy. Not being able to read well, Tracy thought my last name, FRANCOIS, was pronounced, F-A-R-C-A. How the hell do you get FARCA from FRANCOIS? Often times, while walking through campus, I would hear my roomies lovingly calling me "Faaarrcaaa", as I would quickly duck into the nearest building to avoid humiliation.

Last of the three amigos, was "Geology Jeff". Jeff loved rocks. I mean, Jeff was a 23 year old grown man, who had a rock collection in his room, along with topography maps as "decorations" on his wall. We would all be hungover as shit on a Sunday morning, and Jeff would INSIST that we should go on a hike... so he could tell us all about rocks! I'm a Liberal Studies major, dammit, not a rock scientist. I have a vivid memory of the one and ONLY time, we gave Jeff money to go to the video store and pick out some fun flicks. Do you know what he came home with? 3 National Geographic videos on ROCKS... I'm still pissed about that. I want my 2 bucks back, Jeff.

Yes, Chico was one of the best experiences of my life. There is something so simple, yet so perfect, about going to college, working part time, riding your bike everywhere, and drinking beer on the porch. I can honestly say, that my best friends were made in that small, college, podunk town.

We bonded drinking beer at The Bear, enjoying Long Island Teas at Panamas, sunbathing at Bidwell Park, hanging at Salmon Hole, jumping off the Roost, and tubing down the mighty Sacramento River, only to end at Wash Out.

Ahhhh, good times, good times.