People get broken noses for all sorts of reason, normal reasons, if you will.

This is the true account of how this reporter broke her nose.

(Mom, if you happen to read this, what I told you about me and Sara wrestling is the truth and this is a lie. Everyone else, this is the truth and what I told my mom was a lie.)

Saturday night, I went to a party where I met this super, terrific guy. Long story short, I ended up at his place with my back on his bed.

“I want to see the panties you have on,” he told me.

“Okay,” I said. (Note to self, whenever a guy asks to see the undergarments, run away, far, far away.)

I couldn’t remove my pants without standing up, so that’s what I did. I stood up. Big mistake.

I straddled him in attempt to be erotic as I pulled down my pink lounge pants.

“What do you think?” I asked him with my sexiest smile.

“Nice,” he said.

And that’s when it happened. The world literally went crashing down as my legs got tangled up in my pants and I fell through the air.

Theoretically, I should have landed right next to him. That’s what separates theories and laws. Laws are actually true. There are exceptions to theories, and dammit, I was one of them.

As I fell, Mr. Super-Terrific Guy sat up for some reason. I have no idea if he was trying to be a gentleman and catch me or what, but he should have stayed where he was because my free falling nose crashed right into his rising forehead.

Crack, crack! went my nose.

Tear, tear! went my eyes.

F***, f***! went my mouth.

The guy ran and got me ice. I let my tears flow as he offered to drive me to the ER right then and there. I declined.

Needless to say, my throbbing nose kept his throbbing unmentionable organ from my unmentionable area. Talk about good birth control.

For Ss and Gs, I went to the ER the next day. As I explained to the receptionist, EMT, doctor and x-ray technician that ‘me and a guy were just horsing around,’ they all gave me a slight smile that clearly said they knew I was lying.

While I waited for the x-rays to develop, the doctor told me he didn’t think it looked broken. Yeah, well, the x-rays proved him wrong.

For the next four to six weeks, all I have is a broken nose, a damaged ego and no second date. But at least I still have my virginity, Mom.

Margie Creen is a junior journalism major and English minor.

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Five acts will be featured in the Dakota Reader Performance on Friday, Nov. 19, at 7 p.m. in the Studio Theater at the Fishback Performing Arts Center.

The Dakota Reader Performance will be an “evening of poetry, prose, and audio theater,” said Brian Price, the producer and director of the show. He has put on the show since the spring of 2001.

There will be three musical acts, a poetry reading and a reader’s theater.

“What I like about it is it’s more of a variety show set-up,” Price says.

This year’s poet will be Al Bender, a retired science professor. He “has a lot of energy,” Price says.

Jenna Hardy, a sophomore singer/songwriter at SDSU, and Louis Whitehead, a journalism graduate student, will be performing one of the musical acts. The two have been performing together since the spring.

The Brookings Jazz Quintet – Rick Crowley, Dennis Bielfeldt, Steve Morgan, Jim Speirs, and Bobby Grip – will also perform.

SDSU’s Dakota Men’s Ensemble will round out the musical acts.

“I think that it’s going to be a great show and a worthwhile opportunity for a diverse group of performers to go out and put on a show,” Whitehead says.

Tickets cost $5 for students, seniors and children; and $7 for adults.

Most people would call ahead and find out if a desired product that was needed is in stock before trekking to Sioux Falls to purchase said object.

Most people would rather not waste a Sunday in pursuit of product. Most people would rather not burn precious fossil fuel on a useless quest.

I am not most people.

I woke up early Sunday morning. Early is 1:30. I knew that I had to get to Sioux Falls to buy a specific book and be back in Brookings by four in order to make it to work at five.

“Uh,” I grumbled to myself, burying my head underneath my quilt. “Don’t want to go to Sioux Falls. Want to sleep.”

I thought of the Taco Bell that exists in Sioux Falls. That was all the motivation I needed.

I rolled out of bed and put on a sweatshirt. No need to wear a bra under bulky clothes. Three minutes later, I was sitting behind the wheel of my car with a cigarette hanging off my lips as I drove south on the interstate. The cigarette tasted menthol, thanks to my friend, Oral-B.

I arrived at Taco Bell 48 minutes later. Next stop, Barnes and Noble.

I walked right up to the Customer Service desk with a grin on my face and a song in my heart as I asked for the book I needed.

No copies were in, the woman said curtly.

“Okay,” I thought. “To the Empire Mall!”

I made haste as I walked through the mall. Naturally, I parked as far from Walden Books as possible.

My grin wasn’t so bright and my song as cheery as the first go-round. I asked politely for my book. The clerk politely offered to order it for me.

“It’ll only take 10 days,” she said, smiling. I have a test over it on Wednesday.

This woman was a bit more helpful, though. She gave me the author’s name, which I precisely forgot upon leaving the store. Dammit.

Last Stop CD Shop was next. They, too, were lacking my book. By then, it was time to head back to Brookings, so I figured I would stop at Barnes and Noble one more time. Maybe the customer service woman was wrong.

She wasn’t.

I walked out of the store with two non-test material books and a $30 receipt in my hand.

“(Insert multiple expletives),” I thought, angrily.

I drove back to Brookings at 85 mph, went to work, got off early and went to the library. I found my book within 10 minutes.

When asked why I didn’t simply call ahead to Barnes and Noble, I offer some lame excuse about assuming they would have it. Really, I was thinking that if I had called, I wouldn’t have been able to eat at Taco Bell.

The moral of this story is, call before going. Unless, of course, an ulterior motive is to eat Gorditas. Then don’t.

Epilogue

I was going to end the article right there, but while I was digging underneath my bed I discovered I already owned the book. Oops.

Margie Creen is a junior journalism major and English minor.

I am addicted. Hopelessly, pathetically, eternally addicted. There is no 12-step cure for me.

Every night I go through the same ritual.

I arrive home. Mindlessly, I grab a Diet Coke and a box of Wheat Thins. I move slowly towards the sofa. I try and fight it.

I distract myself momentarily, but then it happens: I envision pure ecstasy and it’s so close.

I drop my beverage and snack. The sound awakens me from my trance and I force my mind away from elation. My addiction calls me, begging me to have just one hit, but I make myself think of something else.

“OK, $54.33 is due by Nov. 15,” I think to myself, feeling my body crave the pleasure, “It’s due… by? November?”

“No!” my conscience screams, no don’t do it! Once you start, you know you can’t have just one!”

“Yes, I can,” my inner voice responds, “I can stop whenever I want to.”

“Margie!” cries my conscience, “Don’t do it! Look! You need to pick up your clothes off the floor!”

My conscience wins the battle and I bend down to pick up my jeans and sweatshirt. I turn, holding tightly to the fabric, thinking of the spoon that holds my boiling happiness. I know I must have it.

The clothes fall to the floor. I pick up my pop and crackers and step towards my craving, aching to feel bliss through my soul.

“Stop!” my conscience yells to no avail, “You can’t!”

“Oh, yes I can,” my inner voice says menacingly, “Just watch.”

I walk towards my destination, my conscience and inner voice fighting the entire way, screaming at each other, arguing, one trying to stop the inevitable, the other feeding encouragement like a john to his whore.

I plop on the sofa and flip open my laptop. My conscience knows it has lost the war as I prepare myself for the unavoidable.

There, amidst the entire Microsoft Office program, sits Galaxy of Games, containing no less than four dozen different Solitaires, all varying slightly, but still needing only one player to achieve the ultimate high.

I open the program and begin. I inhale deeply the smoke that filters out of it. I am sucked in. I have gotten that first sharp, snort of computer cocaine and I am hooked.

I play and I lose. I play again and I lose. I play, play, play till I don’t think I can take anymore and I curl up in a ball in my own filth and I vomit, sobbing, shaking uncontrollably.

“See,” says my conscience, softly, “I told you couldn’t have just one.”

“So,” replies my inner voice, “I can play more. It will make the problems go away.”

I sit up slowly and click again on “New Game.”

I inject solitaire into my bruised arm. I suck on the game, tasting the bitter, awful flavor.

I swallow it down and I see the cards parade in front of my eyes, taunting me and laughing.

I stand on the edge of a cliff, and then I leap off, I fly away, I dance with the kings and never come back and then I orgasm.

I am taken. I am done.

Today I gave in and tomorrow I shall quit.

I reassure myself of this as I take another sip of failure, allowing the sweet elixir to drive me to the brink of madness while endlessly clicking eights onto nines, never giving up the feeling that tomorrow will be the last.

Tomorrow I shall be clean. Tomorrow. There’s always tomorrow.

Magie Creen is a junior journalism major and English minor.

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Devon moved out because I’m a bad roommate.

Apparently, she didn’t like it that I never took out the trash. Or washed the dishes. Or put away my things. Or that my cat pissed on her couch. More than once.

These things are understandable, certainly.

It’s not that I’m lazy, it’s just that I have better things to do with my time than clean.

Cleaning is for anal people, and I’ve never been a fan of that position.

My mother hates cleaning too. Her mother hated cleaning. I’m sure her mother hated it too, but she’s dead and I never met her and she was from Germany so let’s just drop it.

A woman I know told me that if she were to die tomorrow, she didn’t want to spend today cleaning. That reasoning stuck.

In the dorms, I had a pumpkin on the floor. Turns out, that pumpkin was rotten. When my roommate went to move it, the whole bottom fell out. A friend of mine still comments on my room reeking until the end of the year. The pumpkin incident happened in late September.

My first apartment in Brookings was quaint. As I unloaded dishes and pans, I told myself that I would keep the place spotless, immaculate, and free of clutter. That lasted about an hour.

Eventually, my friends stopped coming over. They didn’t like to sit on stale Cheetos and soiled clothes.

I would straighten up the living room or kitchen just enough for them to come back, but as soon as they left, it would somehow turn back to the way it was meant to be.

I think what finally made me realize that I am indeed not a clean person was an incident last Friday.

A few of the neighbor boys were hanging out in my basement apartment with Devon and I, when I left for a moment. When I returned, two guys were frantically washing dishes and sweeping the floor. Two guys who were half-drunk.

Those two were so bothered by the clutter and nastiness that exists in my apartment that they insisted on cleaning before they could enjoy their drinks.

After that night, I told myself a second time that I would keep the place clean. Today is Thursday and the dishes are piling up. The trash is full and I caught my cat preparing to piss on my new roommate’s couch.

Some say that cleanliness is next to Godliness. I don’t know what that means, but I do know that cleaning sucks and you’ll never catch this reporter anywhere near a mop.

To my dear friends who frequent my pad: I apologize for the mess and disorder. Please remember I’d rather go to a movie than waste time making it look nice for you.

To my former roommate, Devon: Sorry I’m a pig and I messed up the apartment. I hope you like your new couch.

Magie Creen is a junior journalism major and English minor.

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The first-ever Multicultural Meet and Greet event, which introduced people from different cultures, “was a success,” said Rozhyer Aware, program advisor for Multicultural Programs.

“The purpose of this event was to create a network for those of ethnic backgrounds and those that are interested in diversity issues and programs,” Aware said about the Sept. 30 event at Tompkins Alumni Center.

C.D. Douglas, the executive director for Trio and Multicultural Programs, said that the Meet and Greet was a good opportunity to educate students and make them more aware of what the program has to offer.

“We have a passion for what we do at SDSU,”Douglas said.

Douglas, Aware, and Program Advisor for Native American Programs Steven Martin each said an introduction and welcomed everyone to the event.

Aware also said that the event was good for clubs to gain more recognition and for member to meet each other.

The event had representatives from the Black Student Alliance (BSA), the Indian Association, the Native American Club and Minority Mentors.

“I think (the event) was a success because we had a diversified group of people,” said DarQuie Taybior, president of BSA.

Aware said that she was pleased that the event had a “warm atmosphere” for guests.

Many students living in the dorms would love to have two televisions, four refrigerators, two video game chairs, six beds, and three portable closets. However, most students don’t live in a dayroom with five roommates.

Josh Cecetka, Ned Horsted, Justin Thompson, Jon Schaefer, Miles Tate, and Cody Catron all live in the former second floor dayroom of Mathews Hall. Six guys in one room seems like a recipe for disaster, but as Horsted explains, “All our personalities match. We all get along.”

Upon walking in the room, to the left you see loft beds with a couple of desks shoved underneath them. To the right, you see a futon facing a large TV with an entire collection of game consoles below it. Against the east wall, sit four desks with computers, papers, books and empty soda cans strewn across each of them.

The room is pretty neat, as far as dorm rooms go, but the trash is overflowing and when asked about whose turn it was to take it to the dumpster, Cecetka momentarily took his eyes off the TV screen, shrugged, and simply said, “Whoever gets (to) it.”

The atmosphere is relaxed. None of the guys have any big problems with each other, aside from whose turn it is to clean, and most complaints are about the dorm room itself.

“Sometimes it’s hard to find space,” Schaefer said, “You have to be creative.”

Thompson agreed and added that the room needed “a little organization.”

They didn’t choose to be roommates. Schaefer, Tate, and Catron are all from Mitchell, but they didn’t really know each other.

Michael J. Kervin, Associate Director of Residential Life, said that none of the students living in any of the dayrooms on campus chose to live there.

“We did have many people that chose to live in quads,” Kervin said.

Quads are basically two regular dorm rooms with a doorway connecting them. The four person rooms can be found in Mathews, Brown, Hansen, and Waneta Halls.

Kervin explained that one of the benefits of living in a dayroom versus a quad, or even a normal dorm room, is that when a roommate decides to move out, residential life does not replace him or her. The remaining roomies gain the lost space.

The guys in second floor Mathews already might be losing someone.

“I was planning on moving in with a friend,” said Horsted, a freshman from Harrisburg.

Kervin explained that there would be no residents in the day rooms next year. The new building (which remains unnamed) will cure the problem.

As for now, the men of 229 Mathews are enjoying the situation.

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Downtown Brookings was hopping Sept. 16, as students and members of the community participated in Take it to the Streets, an event to draw SDSU students downtown.

In its fourth year, 33 businesses participated by offering prizes like gift certificates, jackets, a diamond pendent and a mountain bike.

Patrons went from store to store signing up for prizes and getting a special sheet stamped. Once the sheet was more than half filled, students could turn it in to a drawing for the grand prize: a TV/DVD/VHS combo.

Tom Yseth, owner of the Ram O’Hares, has participated in the event all four years. He gave away Frisbees, samples of the Ramburger and three prizes: a table umbrella, a chair, and a backpack cooler.

This year, Downtown Brookings, Inc., which hosted the event, decided to ditch the pep rally and parade and replace it with a street dance and a live band.

“They’re trying a different spin to get student involvement,” Yseth said.

Doris Roden, program manager of DBI, said that they wouldn’t have a street dance next year, because not very many people were interested in it. However, she said business owners were pleased with the turn-out.

“The students seemed to have fun … We want it to grow,” Roden said. “SDSU students have a very positive impact on our community. We want to say ‘welcome, thank you, shop with us and think about living in Brookings after graduation.’”

Many think that aside from the bowling alley, movie theater and bars, Brookings has no entertainment to offer the students of SDSU.

The attitude of many seems to be, “if you are under 21 you’ll have a hard time finding legal fun here.”

That is what Wayne Jensen wants to change.

Jensen is the manager of Dark Side Paintball Arena. Dark Side is 21,000 square feet of indoor paintball fun located right next to HyVee in the Brookings Mall.

Paintball is a sport that involves guns that shoot tiny balls of unleaded paint at speeds up to 200 feet per second.

Jensen explains that Dark Side offers “something different for the people to do and paintball is an up-and-coming sport.”

Up to 30 people can experience Dark Side at a time. Players split into two teams and compete against each other, playing Capture the Flag or Elimination, a contest to be last team standing.

Paintball not your thing? The arena offers a pool table, foosball table, arcade games, and windows that look into the playing field so you can watch the competitors zero in on each other.

Dark Side Paintball Arena is open Thursdays from 6 p.m. to 11 p.m., Fridays from 4 p.m. to 1 a.m, Saturdays from 1 p.m. to 1 a.m., and Sundays from 1 p.m. to 10 p.m. It is closed Monday through Wednesday.

The Dark Side has an entry fee of $10, which includes gloves, neck guard, mask, and gun. The paintballs cost $2 for 50.

Visitors are welcome to bring their own guns, but Jensen says that they must be checked for speed. Indoor paintball guns must remain at a speed of 200 feet per second or less.

Since the guns shoot at such high speeds, bruises or welts might result. Jensen insists that all visitors wear long-sleeved shirts and pants to protect themselves.

Large groups are encouraged to make reservations before coming. For more information, call 696-0701.