Tag: 4 for 4

4 for 4: Life and Liberty

As a special Valentine’s Day treat, the four editors of The Chanticleer have written about a few of the things that they love. Here’s Arts and Entertainment Editor Alissa Camplin:

Alissa Love.jpg

To the most wonderful little girl I’ve ever loved,

I knew you would change my life the first time I saw you. It was a hot and muggy 4th of July and you walked up to me in the middle of my shift without a care in the world, despite your bleeding paw and the fact you were soaking wet.

I was so smitten by your sweet and understanding eyes and the most gentle disposition I had ever seen in a dog. I remember asking Facebook to help find your parents, only to have people respond that you had been wandering around JSU for over a year. I was heartbroken.

How could anyone not want you? You were kind and considerate. Especially now, I just had to accept the fact that I will NEVER understand how anyone could turn you down.

I went digging. I found the owners that were supposed to keep you safe. I found the people that were responsible for you roaming the streets. And I decided that you would never, EVER have to do that again. I changed your name to Liberty in honor of 4th of July and promised you would eventually like scheduled feedings and pet insurance more than the “freedom” you were finding in chaos. Sometimes I feel like we’re still working on it, but it’s getting better every day.

I don’t know exactly the moment I decided that you were coming home with me, but I know that by the end of my shift, I was calling you mine. I was telling random people in my checkout line that a pup had adopted me that day and how excited I was to get you home and in my arms.

Not all of it was roses and daisies. I had some things to work through. I wasn’t in a pet friendly apartment and I had no knowledge of the Pyrenees breed. Both of these issues ended up being resolved with Google searches as I found a place that we could both call home and did so much research on your breed for hours on hours.

After that, you quickly became my favorite part of the day.

Thank you for being my go-to date to Lowes whenever I don’t want to go alone. Thank you for cuddling my when you can sense my stress level is high. Thank you for being my most understanding and most loyal companion. Thank you for letting me dress you up and take pictures of you to post on your Instagram. Also, thank you for never ever ever having an accident in the house. You’re the best, Lib.

My sweet Liberty has changed my entire life for the better. Every second since you picked me has been full of love and tenderness that I’m convinced only you could bring.

Happy Valentine’s Day, Lib. I love you more than life itself.



4 for 4: Let’s taco ’bout us, baby

As a special Valentine’s Day treat, the four editors of The Chanticleer have written about a few of the things that they love. Here’s Associate Editor Chris Brown:

Chris Love.jpg

Sorry Daniel, I didn’t mean to steal your pun-under with my headline … or did I?

Anyways, if you know me at all, especially my best friend’s wife Leslie, you know I’m all about tacos. (You thought I was going to say sports, didn’t you? It’s OK, I don’t blame you, but I write about that enough, so I figured I’d write about my favorite food since I’m always eating.)

There is no wrong soft taco: shredded chicken, beef, steak, etc. It all sounds and tastes amazing. In fact, I know I’m not the only person who loves tacos. I mean, there is even an entire day decidated to tacos.

Quick story time: growing up, I would go to Taco Bell and order tacos just to see how many I could eat at one sitting. As years passed, every time I’m really hungry, I still figure out how many I can eat. In fact, there have been many a Saturday nights that one of my best friends, Matt, and I just sit at his house playing Mario Kart 64 and eat tacos. It’s a lovely way to pass the time without getting into trouble.

I will say, though, that when I eat at Mexican restaurants, I decide to order chimichangas rather than tacos.

But back to the topic at hand …

there is just something magicial about tacos. Maybe it’s the way they’re made or the taco sauce I pour on them, but they’re amazing. Thankfully, though, Taco Bell doesn’t have a buy one, get one free promotion or else I would weight more than 250 pounds … maybe that would get me a tryout on the football team.

But really, it’s OK to love eating a certain food, especially if it’s tacos. You may think you’re a terrible person by eating food to cover up your feelings of being alone this Valentine’s Day, but, if you do, just think about how I’m writing about tacos rather than a girlfriend.

Did that help?

4 for 4: Love is the cat’s meow

As a special Valentine’s Day treat, the four editors of The Chanticleer have written about a few of the things that they love. Here’s Editor-in-Chief Katie Cline:

Katie Love.jpg

Love is the cat’s meow. Yes, I mean that love is great. But I also mean that, literally, love is a cat’s meow. Specifically, my cats’ meows. I have four cats: TomTom, Albus, Nugget and Minnie. They’re all former strays, and they’re the biggest goofballs you’ve ever seen.

TomTom is your most typical “cat.” He cares more about food than he does about you—unless he’s sleeping on you, in which case you better not move. Sometimes he brings dead things into the house and drops them on you. But he’s also funny and sassy and doesn’t let anyone—cat, dog or human—boss him around.

Albus is our fat, sweet boy. He would rather sit in the sun and nap than get in a scuffle over food bowls. You can usually find him lazily chewing on someone’s finger and drooling or playing with our kitten, Minnie. In “Harry Potter” terms, he’s a Hufflepuff through and through.

Nugget, on the contrary is 100 per cent Slytherin. But, since TomTom doesn’t take any of his bullying, he’s resigned himself to harassing Albus about 35 per cent of the time. When the mood strikes him, though, he can turn into 20 pounds of purrs and cuddles who will sit in your lap for hours. He also has a disproportionately high-pitched meow.

And then there’s Minnie, our newest addition. I found her in the Merrill Hall parking lot while doing a paper route, and the end of her tail was broken off. She’s a feisty little thing who loves her “Uncle Albus,” sleeping on my dad’s chest and copying everything TomTom does.

(Minnie is a Gryffindor, and TomTom is probably a Ravenclaw, for the record.)

Despite what people say, I think cats show a more accurate impression of love than, say, dogs do. Dogs love you no matter what. Every day, they run to the front door and lick your face and sleep in bed with you and act like you’re the greatest thing to walk the planet. (I would know. We have two dogs, too.)

Cats are different. A relationship with a cat requires work. They’re not going to worship the ground you walk on. (Frankly, they expect the opposite.) If you go days without visiting, they will shun you. If you accidentally shut their tail in a door, they won’t forget—for a few days.

But when you come to be loved by a cat, you’ll know it. You’ll become a “purr”sonal pillow, but you’ll gain a foot warmer, a comfort blanket, a furry baby doll and a best friend. Some days you’ll walk in and they’ll talk to you. They’ll meet your car in the driveway and follow you out to the mailbox. They’ll curl up in your lap as you read before bed, and they’ll head-butt your chin if they see you crying.

So, yes, a relationship with cat requires work, but isn’t that how human relationships are, too? Don’t we hold grudges and don’t want to be touched and get moody at times? Can’t we be a little selfish and apathetic?

Does that make us any less lovable?

So, go put on your cat sweater and hug your favorite feline today. I already have mine on.

4 for 4: Pun-a-licious

As a special Valentine’s Day treat, the four editors of The Chanticleer have written about a few of the things that they love. Here’s Sports Editor Daniel Mayes:

Daniel Love

What is love?

Baby don’t hurt me. Don’t hurt me. No more. (Just Kidding).

What is love?

Love is… an open dooooooooooor. (Just kidding again).

But what is love?

I suppose it has different meanings for everyone. And even in every individual person, there is different meanings for the word as well. So to answer describe what love means to me, here are some things I love:

I love my family. I love my girlfriend. I love my pets. I love basketball. I love Star Wars. I love chicken wings. I love…

Boring? Boring.

So, how else can I talk about love? I know! I’ll choose one random as heck thing and talk about why and how much I love it.


As you may or may not be aware, there is a section of puns on page three of the Chanticleer. Yeah, that’s me. Hold your applause till the end. Those who know me well know of my love of puns, including editor-in-chief Katie Cline, which was why I was offered the chance to have my puns appear in the newspaper in the first place (ever thankful). But why do I love puns?

Well, there are several reasons. I love the intellect and cleverness that goes behind the best ones. Nothing is more satisfying for me than hearing a well-crafted, thought out pun that makes some obscure connection between words that I’ve never thought of before. And I’m not saying that my puns are like that. Oh no, most of the time they are quite the opposite.

See, another reason I love puns is the looks of mixed exasperation and horror and disgust and cringe that I get when I unleash an especially gnarly pun for my friends. Sure, I love to get laughs too, but nothing beats the looks on their faces when I tell them that I went to the clearance section of a store but only found opaque ants. That look, it’s like fuel for me. That and the audible groaning, the “You aren’t allowed to ever speak again,” and the “Daniel, you make my ears bleed.” That’s good stuff.

I love when I think of one of those grotesquely hilarious puns and some random point throughout the day, and then I crack myself up to the point that I uncontrollably spasm with laughter for hours on end until I can find someone to release my creation upon. Sometimes people ask me why I’m laughing so much. Most of the time they regret it by the time I get finished telling them about experts on largemouth bass being called an o-fish-ionado.

So there you have it. Possibly the most profound explanation of love ever. With me raving about puns.

Sometimes I a-Mayes even myself.

(I am grinning with delight as I imagine the pained cringe-faces on everyone who reads this.)