Part of the college experience, no doubt, is the tireless attempts one makes to etch their name into the university’s lore by committing “the ultimate prank.” On another day, or perhaps in another song, I’ll finally transcribe here on YAB the events that took place on the night of young Mattias’ birthday, where for one night his hall mates became his furniture moving company. As a group, we’re proud of the Great Bed Heist due to its originality and complexity. But had we wanted something simpler, we could have gone with the bread and butter of the collegiate prank:
The Street Sign Swipe.
There probably isn’t a frat house in the country that doesn’t have those long, green, reflective rectangular trophies on their basement wall for all partygoers to behold. Lehigh had it good (from what I’m told.) However, if I were ever to grab a street sign for my mantle, I have to admit, I’ve had a prime selection to choose from over the years. I’ve lived on some weird, weird streets. Don’t believe me?
I grew up in Sherwood Forest. Seriously. It was a housing development in Medford that for reasons unbeknownst, all had streets named after the legend of Robin Hood and his Merry Men. I remember speeding down Little John Drive, making a hard left onto Nottingham, and spinning around to get back home for dinner – on FRIAR TUCK DRIVE. Yes, my road was named after the fat, frothy friar who befriends good Sir Robin with his wine and ale. He was a thief, just like everyone else. What kind of role model is this to look out your window and see? A drunk bandit? Who laughs heartily in the face of authority? I was 7!
My parents soon realized this, and moved around the corner in 1987 to, yes, ROBIN HOOD Drive. Personally, even then, I saw this as a residential promotion. Yes, the house was bigger, and sure, it was closer to the fishing lake, but just listen to the name. Sir Robin was WAY more important that Tuck. He was the leader, the numero uno. That’s a road with some glory attached to its name. God forbid my parents found a better place on Lazy Squire Lane. It may have affected my self-esteem for years.
Fast forwarding to post-college, my first place on my own was on a CELTIC Drive. What was cool about this was not its homage to ancient tribes of ancient Europeans, but rather all three roads in the complex were named after pro basketball teams. Knickerbocker and Laker were the other choices. Being on Celtic was nice, but if I had to pick three teams to name roads after, going from the hardwood to the pavement, it would have been Rocket Road, Magic Street, and my choice favorite, Trail Blazer Trail. Redundancy is our friend.
Granted RANDOM RUN Lane was the best street name to date, and my current address takes me about 2 and half minutes to write out in full, I’m fast forwarding to some avenues we encountered while driving through a housing development coming home from church Sunday. The entire neighborhood was named after BIRDS. Not nice birds like Skylark or Cardinal or Blue Jay. No, no.
Weird Birds.
There’s Canada Goose Court. And look, it’s Gosling Road (McAdams? What?) But then we reached a fork in the road.
To our Left? The beautiful sounding “White Dove Lane.” What grace, what charming elegance. Sounds lovely.
To our Right? Ruddy Duck Road. I kid you not. Elegance need not apply.
1 comment:
I had never come across a development with themed street names until my family moved to Bear, DE when I was 16. All of the streets in my parents’ neighborhood are named after famous Kentucky Derby horses, owners, etc. (Canonero & Bohemia Roads; Decidedly, Dearborn, Riva Ridge & Chapman Lanes; Chesapeake Loop; Doolin Bay Drive; etc.). Of course I had no idea this was the case until the realtor told us, but I guess it’s kind of neat…no signs worth stealing unless you’re a derby fan though.
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