idenberry thoughts

By no surprise, my car is having trouble starting this week so I decided to do my errands (what little I had) by foot. At one point during the day I passed the old freshman year of college dorm, Ikenberry (or Idenberry as it said on my police log from the Breeze). Anyway, it got me into one of those moods where I gotta check out some old pictures and one thing lead to another. First, check out the massively updated pics page (64 new pictures uploaded this time!). And if that doesn’t satisfy your nostalgia needs, I’ve mirrored my old website here. Hey, you never know when Tripod will dump that piece of shit. L8r.

THREE YEARS LATER: I don’t recall what kind of errands I had during this time that would make me walk on campus (I had already graduated from JMU six months previously at this point) nor do I remember what 64 pics were uploaded to my old photo database. I can, however, easily summon the vivid memories of where “Idenberry” came from.

Freshman year at college was a tremendous experience. So many choices and so much freedom all at once, it really was overwhelming for this 18-year old. I had dabbled in alcohol in high school but college offered me free access to as much as I could handle and then some every weekend. One night, I decided to tackle the legendary power hour – drinking a shot of beer every minute for 60 minutes. Quickly, the math comes out to (1.5 oz in a shot) x (60 shots) = 90 oz of beer / 12 oz in a beer can = 7.5 beers in an hour. It’s a daunting task and I had failed in a couple previous attempts, but this time I came prepared.

I lived in a dorm called Ikenberry and a fellow Ikenberry-mate, Jeff C[removed], and I popped in a movie (I think it was Wild Things) and set up a digital clock to keep us honest and we iron manned our way through it. After an hour, I was pretty fucked up – running through the dorm, screaming and annoying people enough until Jeff’s roommate, Tim, handed me a bottle of Southern Comfort and told me it was water. I was at the level of insobriety where I believed him (and my tongue was in bizarre agreement!)

Anyway, after a few sips of this foul liquid, I must have needed immediate evacuation as I woke up with my head in one of the shared, dorm toilets (not my proudest moment). Worse, I was actually being awakened by one of the Residential Advisers! I had attended a meet and greet session earlier in the semester where this RA had mentioned one of his good friends had died from alcohol poisoning, so I knew I was in for some rough treatment.

He led me back to my room. I recall telling him I couldn’t see and couldn’t walk, but I made the trek from one building to another (my dorm was actually three buildings) and up the stairs fine. Unfortunately, he proceeded to call an Emergency Medical team out to make sure I was OK. When they arrived, I answered all of their questions – just cursory ones to see if I was aware of what was going on. For example, I remember having to say my name and describe my surroundings. After this exhaustive medical analysis they found me not to be dying of alcohol poisoning and let me sleep it off.

Well, that was not the end of the whole story. I received an IDOC – essentially a “strike” – and was sentenced to a 3-day long alcohol safety class on campus. I would even inflict a self-imposed ban on alcohol for a couple of months (though I famously took a shot on the first day of this so-called ban). And yet the story was still not over!

Every Monday, The Breeze – the JMU school newspaper – would publish a highly entertaining police blotter concerning the previous weekend’s lowlights. The Monday after my brush with destiny made me famous, as I saw my name in the police blotter and identifying me as a student from “Idenberry.”

And now you know … the rest of the story!

UPDATED LINKS: pics, old website


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