At the Collegian, we have what we call beats. They're basically an area that a certain reporter will cover. There is the Greeks beat, business beat, administration beat, football beat, etc.

I've been covering visiting fans and their tailgates and just Penn State tailgating in general this fall. Now, this isn't an "official" beat. It just kind of happened after I tailgated with Notre Dame fans and I decided to keep doing it.

People are sometimes aghast when I tell them I don't tailgate before the game with my Penn State friends. But oh, I tailgate all right.

I've had authentic Wisconsin cheese curds at a Wisconsin tailgate and jalapeño poppers stuffed with Wisconsin cream cheese. (They really stressed the Wisconsin part.) When I said I couldn't have a beer with them, they made me eat some beer nuts instead. I've had chili with Notre Dame fans. Ohio State tailgaters offered me homemade Rita's and deviled eggs.

On Saturday mornings I would walk from my place down Curtin Road to Beaver Stadium. It's surreal walking down the middle of that street by yourself. You're surrounded on both sides by blue and white noise and every smell you could imagine. And looming over all of it is Beaver Stadium.

I've had a lot of friends who have gone to Penn State away games. They said when you go, you just expect the atmosphere will be the same, but it's not. At Michigan you tailgate on a golf course, and Ohio State tailgating consists of house parties and then walking to the game. Kind makes you happy to be living in the middle of nowhere Pa. surrounded by farm lands.

And every single visiting fan that I have ever talked to tells me how special it is here. They are amazed by our football Saturdays. They can't get over it. It isn't like this anywhere else.

I've only ever seen college football through the Penn State lens. So I've come to think that this is just how it is.

Walking through it all really gives me faith in people. That this many people can have a common bond and center around one specific thing delights me. I've seen people in wheelchairs, people on respirators, babies dressed up in small cheerleading outfits that they don't even understand and moms with huge diaper bags under their arms. Older fans using canes and holding onto their darling dears as they shuffle to the stadium. Students sacrificing their voices for their defense.

And Penn State football isn't even phenomenal right now. Why do they travel hundreds of miles and go through so much trouble to tailgate out of their car and then pack up and leave the next day? It's kind of ridiculous when you think about it. (The good kind of ridiculous.)

Maybe it's something in the water. I would think there's a different motivation for everyone. But you can bet that my kids will be wearing Penn State onesies.

Ah, middle school. The days of awkward haircuts, spin-the-bottle and sweaty hand-holding during lunch. Honestly, I miss all that. Corey and Topanga, field trips to the Franklin Institute, the good old days. In college, life is all about GPAs and the future and cramming, which royally sucks.

So, in an effort to stop being stressed and caffeinated out all the time, I'm spearheading a campaign to bring back the middle school days. After observing some of the crazy nightlifing people are doing, I've come to the conclusion that I am not the only one out there who wants to relive some of that middle school awkwardness. Bring on the Tommy jeans and butterfly clips.

Given the arctic temperatures and lack of motivation to be social, the highlight of my Friday night was spent going to Applebee's and enjoying a hearty appetizer of $2.99 chips and salsa. Kinda lame. I know.

But a look around the sparsely-filled restaurant yielded a group of Penn Staters on what looked like a "middle school date." You know, the group of eight or nine kids on a Friday night who went out to Applebee's or Bennigan's or Friendly's -- The Big Three "-'s" bunch, I called them in my heyday. The nightlifers who were on the "-'s" date ordered -- as is dictated by eighth-grade etiquette -- a bunch of appetizers and wayyyy too many caffeinated drinks, all the while trying to awkwardly avoid looking at each other's private parts. I was in middle school heaven.

And then, surprisingly, I saw my fair share of middle grade-esque behavior on the White Loop at 11:30 p.m on a Friday. Let me tell you how surprised I was to see the students who got on at the East Halls bus stop behaving in such a juvenile manner! In between hearty, totally sober cheers of "We are ... Not Drunk!" and "Joe Pa-tern-o" I heard the Loopers chant middle schoolers' favorite word of all time.

Nope, not "sex." Not "seven minutes in heaven." Get ready for it people ... "boobies." One brilliant mind came up with the chant, and I swear this kid is going to be the CEO of a Fortune 500 company because of his ingenuity and creativity. "When I say 'Boo' you say '-Bees," he chanted, bobbing his head and winking at some twig-like blonde. "Boo," he started.

"-Bees!" the rest of the bus yelled back.

"Boo!" "Bees!"

Are you thinking of the middle school cafeteria? Because I sure as hell was, rolling my eyes at my boyfriend, willing the bus to just make it to Burrowes Road.

If you're still not convinced the State College nightlife is run by middle schoolers after those two examples, let me relay a story my managing editor told me this morning. I think I can accurately compare it to the one event that personifies middle school for us children of the 90s: the middle school mixer. Hells yeah. While dancing at a bar, being her fly self, my managing editor was approached by some equally as-fly nightlifer, who, after introducing himself to her, began to dance with her (in the most appropriate way, I'm sure).

Well, in the midst of the sweatiness and bumpin' and grindin' I associate with the middle school dance, he used the BEST pick-up line ever in hopes of scoring, one I'm sure every 13-year-old would applaud: "Can I kiss you?"

Surprisingly, it didn't work, as she replied "Peace!" and walked away.

It's all right, buddy. I'm sure not even Shawn Hunter of Boy Meets World fame would have been able to score with that line.

I got up at 7 a.m. on Black Friday and was in the car and on the road with my aunt, uncle and mom by 8:15. No, we weren't going to the early bird specials at the mall; we were going to Dresden, Ohio.

What? You say you've never heard of Dresden? Pity. Allow me to be your tour guide.

Maybe the name Longaberger rings a bell? You know, the baskets? Maybe your mom or aunt is into them. If they are, you'll know it, because collecting Longaberger baskets becomes an addiction, and they'll probably be all over the house. Well, they make those baskets
in Dresden. My aunt is a home consultant and Friday was their Christmas light-up night, so we figured, what the hey, let's take a road trip to basket land.

When we got there, this was the first thing we saw...

This is the Longaberger corporate office. No, you're not going crazy. It's a basket building.

After getting an eyeful there we went to what they call "The Homestead," which is really just a basket-crazed mall with everything baskets. Aprons, jewelry, silverware, plates, sweaters, soap,
umbrellas, pants, scarves, hats, flip flops, jelly, coffee, stuffed animals, notebooks, flowers, fabrics — you name it, it's there, and it's got a basket on it.

Looking back, this does seem somewhat like a cult ... but moving on.

So we stick around all day, waiting for this Christmas parade, only to find out there is no parade. Well, all hell broke loose. We ate dinner at the basket restaurant (the tables have basket weaves on them) and got all uptight about there being no parade because someone
complained and how we have to be sooooo PC anymore and so on. We were miffed.

OK, so we go outside. It's freezing. Some 18 year old, who can't sing, sings a Christmas song, and then they tell us they're going to have fireworks. "Christmas fireworks?" I think to myself, "Sure, why not." As we freeze our little babushkas off (and if you don't know what those are, ask your grandma), we wait, then BAM! The fireworks start. There I was, watching fireworks and listening to Bing Crosby croon about Happy Holidays — and I couldn't help but feel I should be wearing shorts and flip-flops. It was weird.

And then I got ice cream, because it just wasn't cold enough for me. And then we went home.

Well, time to recap. What did we learn here.

1. Always, ALWAYS get the free food samples in the kitchen store.


2. Don't get attached to stray cats that hang out around the restaurant. They're precious, but you can't take them home with you. :(


3. Don't try to fall asleep when your uncle's car navigation system is talking. "In...600...feet....take....exit....now." No, you take an exit, Miss navigation-system-talking-lady.

Happy Holidays! (I'm so PC right now I can't handle myself.)