In my year at Ball State, I've found that everyone comes from the smallest town in the entire cosmos inhabited only by his immediate family, the old man who runs the hardware store and herds of zebra and antelope that are just passing through on their way to Pride Rock to greet baby Simba and acknowledge him as their future king by way of frenzied kicking.
You live there too? It's a small world after all.
Since it seems to be a common bond, take my hand, if you will, as we embark upon a series of presently undetermined, magical adventures to the small hometowns of people just like you in a continuous effort both to keep you, as an individual, a satisfied consumer of the media and to take an infinite number of unplanned road trips without having to make up a reason.
Our first enchanted journey takes us over field and plain and unpaved road to Tipton, Indiana: A Friendly City.
We could, however, challenge the truth in this slogan based on a letter to the editor in the Nov. 15, 2002, issue of the Tipton County Tribune. The letter comes from a young man named Leroy who works for an entertainment company called SweetCheeks.
Apparently SweetCheeks was supposed to perform in Tipton at a local business, but the townsfolk raised a ruckus sending Leroy and comrades running for the hills. (Note: This would be Kentucky, because the educated person knows there is no such thing as a hill in that part of Indiana.)
I don't know which local business hired them, but, as the Republican National Headquarters is located on the main drag, I could make an educated guess.
At any rate, Leroy expressed his joy in visiting Tipton before the show was cancelled by writing, "In one short stretch of land you come across goats, cattle, ostrich, llama, and I thought I saw a puddy tat too! I enjoyed seeing that and knowing that it exists. Where I live, you have to rent movies to be witness to such things or know someone who once delivered manure."
You just can't say it better than that.
But I stray from my point, which is: Although Tipton is friendly to her goats, cattle, ostrich, llama and puddy tat, she is less welcoming to her male strippers from out of town with the English skills of refried beans, and for that Tipton gets a gold star and a cookie.
I'm afraid Tipton is not all goats and puddy tats, though. No, we must also throw Blue Devils into the mix. Imagine, for a moment, Abraham Lincoln. Now take away the top hat and add blue-pigment-inducing hypothermia, horns and a constipated glare. You now have an image in your mind of the scariest high school mascot in the entire universe! Congratulations!
Another highlight in Tipton is the second McDiner in the country! Although I have not eaten there, I am confident that it is the McLord's McBlessing to McDining Experiences.
Sadly, our journey must be brought to a close. We will close with a quote from "Tipton County: Her Land and People":
"This community provides opportunities that enable a person to strive to become whatever he wants to whether it's a highly successful businessman, a farmer, or the town bum."
Disclaimer: Unless, of course, your name is Leroy.
Write to Aleshia at aahaselden@bsu.edu
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