Columnist’s note: This is the ninth in a series of occasional columns forcing upon you the author’s arbitrary thoughts, worthless suggestions and thought-provoking questions.

Muddy Waters Department:

. The Suzuki Plan, which details future campus renovation projects, has designs for Watson Creek. Planners want to clean it up and reconstruct its banks. I think we should go even further and fill the creek with some big, game fish, so NIU could get rich off the sale of fishing licenses. And we could have surfing contests and a big water slide and…

History Department:

That’s right, history. Recent studies show too many high school and college graduates don’t have enough background in history and geography. So here’s the history (I’ll get to the geography later).

. Speaking of Watson Creek brings up an interesting but little-known historical note. The creek was named for Alexander Graham Bell’s assistant Watson, who was immortalized by Bell’s cry, “Come here, Watson, I need you.”

Seems that Watson got sore at his boss because Bell got all the credit for inventing the telephone. While on a road trip to visit a buddy in DeKalb, the two men were picnicking and soaking up some rays by the creek when Watson suddenly pushed Bell in, out of spite.

“Come here, Alexander, I need you! Ha ha ha, ha ha ha!!!” Watson hysterically screamed, and the name “Watson Creek” was born.

. Similarly, the Ellwood House, one of DeKalb’s foremost tourist attractions, got its name from a famous figure.

Elwood Blues himself owned the house about 25 years ago, when it was the House o‘ Blues Pancake Joint restaurant, serving blueberry pancakes smothered in bleu cheese dressing. All the great area blues artists, from Blind Lemon Lucinda to Mojo Glidden, used to hang out at Elwood’s joint. But when Elwood hit it big in “The Blues Brothers,” he moved out and headed for Vegas.

The extra “L” in the house’s name now is just a typo.

Presidential CamPAIN Department:

. Don’t vote for Bush. Don’t vote for Duke. If you want America to get tough again, vote for Charles Bronson.

Bronson would be a great write-in candidate. If those godless communists in the U.S.S.R. were to pick up their Pravdas two weeks from now and see “Death Wish” Bronson as the next president of the U.S., they’d wet their pants and immediately drop all expansionist plans.

If Bronson’s election didn’t scare the pinkos enough, a diplomatic visit from Vice President Clint Eastwood might do it.

Things I Hate (And You Should, Too) Department:

. Last week on the Huskie Bus, this girl with big hair plopped down in the seat in front of me. I didn’t mind this in itself. But she turned her head to look out the window, hitting me in the nose with her starchy, hairsprayed mane, and nearly broke my schnozz.

Something has to be done about this growing phenomena—big hair—before someone gets seriously hurt, maimed or (God forbid) killed.

. Don’t people who blast their Walkmans (Walkmen?) drive you nuts?

You know the blaster type. He’s usually the guy with the dark trenchcoat, hands stuffed in his pockets, with his head bobbing up and down as he passes you in the hall blaring his Metallica. Or his R.E.M. Or his Wayne Newton—you can’t musically classify these types.

The problem with these guys is that they invade your peace and quiet and force their stupid music on you. My “quiet Walkman” friends and I are going to jump out of the bushes and push the loud guys into Watson Creek, like Alexander G. Bell. That oughta shut ’em up, at least until their batteries dry out.

. Speaking of music, a letter to the editor suggested Rod Stewart’s “Forever Young” ought to be the official song for 7th Ward Alderman Mark Powell and the City of DeKalb. I disagree.

I think it should be “Louie, Louie.” No, I don’t understand the lyrics either—see the connection?

“Where in the Hell?” Department:

. Time for that geography lesson. On a map, locate Mongolia, Williston Hall, and the notes for my history midterm.

Man, geography is tough.