"We Dare You" Video

It was late fall, if memory serves, when I first met with a group of student telecasters from Michigan State University's College of Communication Arts & Sciences.

Andrea Kovac, the college's alumni relations coordinator, recruited Ryan Alloway, an energetic and intelligent senior who, were the telecasters an actual corporation, might have been its executive producer. He pulled together a talented team, comprising a cameraman (David Cooper), editor (Ryan Hurst), and director (Veronica Jackson). Anson Mulville and Nick Tootalian worked to ensure quality sound, lighting, and whatever else goes into the myriad complexities of video production.

Most of them graduated this past spring, which left Hurst to wrap things up on his own. To say that his work was admirable would be an understatement. He gave up much of his summer to finalize our project, and though we'd gone through multiple revisions, he was steadfast and an absolute joy to work with. Mark my words, these guys and gal are going places. Why, they've even got Hollywood-style names to match their talent.

Oh, and I almost failed to mention, they did it all for free.

My job, for which I was eminently unqualified, was casting. But how hard could it be, really? It would be a cinch to get MSU's movers and shakers in a video – all of whom were sure to give testimonials for how their degrees or affiliation with MSU had contributed, at least in part, to who they are, the dreams they've fulfilled, their jobs, and the paths upon which they walk today.

So I pursued those at MSU whose names and profiles were sure to result in a successful messaging campaign. But we were repeatedly told that Tom Izzo, Mark Dantonio, and Suzy Merchant were busy with recruits, donors, practices, meetings, games and the demands of the media, not to mention their own families' needs.

Not a problem, I thought. Besides, Michigan State University has a lot more going for it than athletics alone, which is the whole point of the "We Dare You" message.

And yet, the academicians weren't returning my calls either, nor were they responding to my e-mails, though that, too, was forgivable, since some of them – Dr. Andy Amalfitano, for example, who is doing amazing things in microbiology and molecular genetics – were busy conducting research and saving the world.

Clearly, I had a problem on my hands. Was there no one available to issue our dare to Michigan State University's 460,000-plus alumni?

It was my alumni association colleague, Tim Bograkos, along with his pal, Kaleb Thornhill, MSU psych student and Gran Torino actress Choua Kue, MSU mascot Sparty, and College of Music assistant professor, jazz singer and international recording artist Sunny Wilkinson who came through for me by agreeing to tell our story.

Speaking of which, the purpose of the video is to promote the MSU Alumni Association's value to alumni and friends. Our message, as told by our friends, highlights that which makes MSU so great: athletics, academics, arts, culture, students. It's about everything we, as Spartans, have to be proud of, and everything that makes our connection to MSU, including membership in our alumni association, so important.

But I don't need to tell you about it. Check it out for yourself!



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Laurie Robison is director of marketing and membership at the Michigan State University Alumni Association. There, she overseas the acquisition and retention of members. She is an alum of MSU, having earned a master of arts in public relations in 2007. Her blog, Ramen Noodles, serves as a personal journal through which she periodically shares her observations, opinions and insights.

Cedar Village gathering celebrates MSU's Final Four win over UConn

Photo credit: Dane Robison


Following the Michigan State Spartans' Final Four victory over the Big East's No. 1 seeded UConn Huskies, I just wanted to get together with a bunch of other Spartans to celebrate. Granted, partying with an estimated 4,000 students in Cedar Village isn't exactly my idea of a good time, but I really needed to be around those who were just as excited and psyched as I was about our big win.
"Wanna go to campus and check things out, take some photos?" I asked Dane, my husband.
"Sure, if you want to," he said. Minutes later, we grabbed our cameras and headed for the door.

"Where you goin'?" my son asked.
"Cedar Village?" I winced. I had a momentary flashback to my years as a teen when I'd ask my parents if I could spend the night at a friend's or go to a party, always afraid they would say no.

"Are you serious?" my son replied. There was a hint of incredulity in his voice.
"Yeah ... wanna go with?" I asked, half hoping he'd say no. He wouldn't understand all the revelry, and I didn't want him to get bored, then insist that we leave before either Dane or I was actually ready.
"Nah," he grinned, "but have fun."


Going in and getting the word out

Soon, we were on the road, and I notified the Twitterverse: "Heading into EL to check out the haps." (Follow lolorobison on Twitter for a blow-by-blow report, or friend me on Facebook.)

We approached campus by heading north on College Road, west on Forest, and north on Harrison. Dane asked me to swing by the Spartan Statue, so I proceeded east on Kalamazoo. He took a few photos of Sparty, who currently sports a basketball jersey bearing the number 1. Campus may have been eerily quiet, but the air was charged with an invisible electric current. Here and there, small groups of pedestrians rushed along the sidewalk, chatting excitedly. Two girls stumbled as they walked along West Circle Drive. We veered to the right toward Auditorium Road. I'd planned to park in Lot 9, which is the parking lot closest to Cedar Village. And that's where it became clear that something big was going down in EL. With the exception of a single unoccupied parking space at the farthest point west of the entrance, the entire lot was packed. Suddenly, a steady stream of cars began pulling in and milling around. Everyone was looking for a vacant spot.

As soon as we exited my car, I heard a chopper (or was it choppers?) overhead. We proceeded on foot toward Bogue Street, and merged into small groups of students headed in the same direction. As we neared Bogue, the familiar smell of beer permeated the air. In the distance, we heard a deafening chant: "Go Green! Go White!"
Just off Bogue at Waters Edge Drive, the entrance into Cedar Village was barricaded, and officers from the MSU Police Department stood by, taking it all in.
Dane and I discussed whether we dared to venture into the madness. Although I didn't vocalize it, my concerns were twofold:

1) Based on past student practice, there was a real possibility that a riot might ensue; and

2) We were the "old farts," and we'd definitely be crashing their party.

Our discussion went like this:
Me: "Well, what do you think?"

Him: "I dunno, you?"

Me: "I mean, should we go in?"
Him: "I guess, if you wanna."
I looked down the alley again, beyond the barricades, but I couldn't make anything out because the headlights of a car parked in the alley blinded me.

We agreed to keep our eyes peeled, stay together and get out at the slightest sign of trouble.

Now what?

We walked in slowly, cautiously. As we arrived at a point just south of the "gathering spot," I gasped at the size of the crowd. It was an immense sea of people, chanting and jumping to a frantic rhythm. The sea moved like a creature comprising thousands of individual parts. From the balconies of the apartments bordering Cedar Street, onlookers chanted along with the crowd. "MSU! MSU! MSU!"The mood was friendly and infectious. Young females flirted with male police officers, who seemed to enjoy the attention. Though they were on riot watch, the officers were relaxed, yet composed. They obligingly posed for the camera.

"Dude, check out that cop," one young man pointed toward a female officer. "That's a chick – that's so hot!"

"Are you on Facebook?" a 19-year-old woman asked MSU Police Officer Casey Christman. She asked not to be identified. "Can I find you there? Can I friend you?" she bounced on her toes, clearly hoping he'd say yes.

She spotted me and my camera and jumped at the chance to ask if I'd take her picture.

"Are you with the paper?" she asked hopefully.

"No, I'm not," I answered, laughing at her enthusiasm. "I'm a blogger, and I write about ... whatever comes to mind."

"Will you put my picture on your blog? How will I find it?" I promised to send her an e-mail notification.

She posed with Christman, then with fellow partiers.


'I was here'
I asked Christman how many people he estimated were in attendance tonight, and he said he didn't know for sure.

"It started out at about 500, but that was hours ago, and I haven't heard anything since," he said.

I told him the media had reported that about 4,000 were expected to turn out, and he said, "Yeah, that would seem about right."

Three serious-looking individuals, all much older than even me and Dane, sauntered by, each wearing a white T-shirt bearing the words "ACLU OBSERVER." They stood along Water's Edge, keeping a watchful eye on the evening's festivities.

A petite blond approached and asked me to take her picture. Her name is Leah Tessier. I asked her how old she was and whether she's an MSU student. She hesitated just long enough for me to doubt her response: 23 and not a student.

"You're not going to get me in trouble, are you?" she asked, worried, then finally admitted, "I'm a student here." A search on MSU's online directory confirmed that she is a freshman from Saint Clair, Mich., studying Human Biology.

All around, party-goers asked us to take their pictures. They grabbed their buddies and crammed their faces and bodies together to make sure no one was left out.

"I wanna say I was here, that's it," I heard one young man tell his friend as they rushed along Water's Edge toward Cedar Street.
A couple of girls approached, adorned with green feather boas. They stopped to pose for a photo. It seemed everyone wanted someone to take a photo of them to document their participation in this year's Cedar Fest – the equivalent, I guess, of scratching, "I was here," into the paint or wall of a public bathroom stall ... only better.

"Front page, baby," one young man in a black stocking cap said as he posed. "We're No. 1 all night!"
"All night, all night, all night," others chanted.
Just before 1 a.m. I returned to my new law-enforcement friend, Casey Christman.

"Have there been any major incidences reported tonight?" I asked.

"No, we've had very few," he replied. "A couple of indecent exposures and some disorderlies. Other than that, it's been pretty good, especially compared to 2005. As long as they do what they're doing right now, we [the police] aren't going to do anything more than stand by and observe."

"That's so cool," I said.

"Yeah," Christman agreed. "This is great by comparison!"
In the late 1970s, the first Cedar Fest was sanctioned by the city of East Lansing as a block party at the Cedar Village apartment complex. Throughout the '80s and '90s, however, Cedar Fest spiraled out of control, and was eventually banned by the city council.

The beat goes on

Somewhere at the heart of the celebration, drums beat erratically. They pulsed through the night air, conflicting with the cadence of the chants, yet still in sync with the frenzied atmosphere. Young women mounted the shoulders of their male companions, and everyone chanted, "Go Green!" Hugs, kisses, smiles, laughter. It was fun to be among Spartans who knew how to have a good time without getting out of control.

"I don't want to get into any trouble," Tessier had said more than once. "I just want to have fun."
And that's just it.
Who doesn't want to have fun? But at what price? It only takes one bad choice, one stupid decision to turn a party into a problem. And when you've got thousands of young partiers drinking beer and shouting, "Take it off!" or "Tear gas!" odds are, problems will arise. That was the tension that hung in the air all night. At the edge of the crowd, another young woman screamed, "I'm going up!" She volunteered her body to surf the crowd. I saw her legs kick up into the air, and then she disappeared into the vortex. Another young woman asked my husband if he would be her boyfriend.

"Uh, no," he said (thank God!), and then he looked at her as if he thought she'd surely lost her mind.

Later at Giorgio's a young man asked my husband if I was writing a blog about how bad the cops were.

"I didn't think they were," Dane answered. "In fact, I thought they were pretty cool."
"Yeah, I guess you're right," the kid said, "except that they were all dicks when the girls flashed their boobs." I'm sure it won't surprise anyone that he had taken issue with that fact. "Everyone just wanted to have fun," he added.

And from my perspective, most everyone did.

More photos, compliments of Dane Robison, visit Flickr. More unrelated photos by Dane Robison at TimeFramePhoto.

Read LSJNews online: East Lansing Police: 60 arrested in 'peaceful' celebration.

Good form, runner!

Photo: Olympic runner Grant Robison teaches the Good Form Running method. Photo credit: USA Track & Field, usatf.org.

Thursday, 2-12-09, marked a new beginning for me.

This past Thursday I attended a Good Form Running (GFR) Clinic at Playmakers. The objective of the clinic, taught by Olympic runner Grant Robison (no relation to moi), is to spread the news about a method that helps improve running efficiency and reduces injuries.

At the clinic, Robison was introduced as a hardcore runner who, despite enduring long miles and numerous extreme races, manages to avoid injury. That's right: no hobbling after a run, or sore knees or hips. He attributes his pain-free running career to the Good Form Running method.

By the by, I've been dealing with a bad left ankle for years. Just off the landing of my front porch, I'd accidentally stepped into a hole and sprained it. That was way back in 1996 when I was pregnant with my fourth child. It had swelled a bit, so I'd iced it and, after a couple of days ... it became a thing of the past as far as I was concerned. Until I started running again.

It seemed that during and after nearly every run, I'd get to a point around mile No. 8 where I just couldn't put weight on my left leg, because my ankle would "catch." If I was in the middle of a run when the catch occurred, I'd slow down and try to run through the pain, and eventually it would subside and allow me to finish. Otherwise, I'd simply avoid using the ankle for a bit, and soon, I'd be able to just run through it.

What finally caused me to refer myself to a sports-medicine professional was the fact that I'm heading into a half-marathon, marathon and sprint triathlon this spring, which is what I'd been training for. Dr. Jeff Kovan, my sports-med doctor, took X-rays, and I was relieved to learn that there's no evidence of a fracture or arthritis. That news alone gave me enormous peace of mind.

I did learn that I am flat-footed, and I overly pronate, more so in my left foot than the right. Kovan suspected the ligaments in my left ankle stretched when I'd sprained it 13 years earlier. Now my arches have collapsed, and the resulting pressure will begin to compromise my knees, hips and spine.

"So what's next?" I asked.

"Physical therapy," Kovan replied.

He referred me to Katie Snyder, a highly in-demand physical therapist. "She'll help you strengthen your ankle and improve your balance," he promised.

So I went to see Snyder.

"Yeah, you're pretty flat-footed, so that causes you to over-pronate. And you're left leg is slightly longer than your right, which means it strikes harder on the ground on impact, so that's jamming up. And your glutes are weak. I can help with all of it."

She gave me some exercises to help, and I imagine they will, because I burn in all the right places. She also gave me a temporary orthodic insert to help with my arches.

But after almost two weeks of running with the insert, there was no improvement. I'd seen Snyder the morning before I'd attended the clinic. She'd inserted a lift in my right shoe to lengthen that leg a bit.

When I arrived at the clinic, Robison had me change into my Brooks and run for about 30 feet while he videotaped my form. Then he addressed the attendees:

"Humans are naturall born with the ability to run properly in their bare feet," says Robison. "Shoes cause our feet to strike on the heel and stress our ankles, knees, hips and back, leading to injuries." He talked about how runners from Kenya have good running form because they have always done so barefoot.

We watched a video of his Olympic trials, and witnessed how they naturally incorporate GFR. They are graceful and efficient runners, and they win races. More relevant to me, however, they are injury-free.

The GFR method, according to Robison, comprises four key points:

1) Stand with your feet parallel and pointed forward. Bend slightly at the knees.

2) To tuck your hips in the recommended position, raise your hands and arms high over your head. This automatically causes the arch in your back to straighten out and your hips to tuck and align to support your spine. It strengthens the core during the run.

3) Lengthen the spine, and straighten your back so it's upright. Keep your head centered and steady. Relax shoulders, but keep them pinned back to ensure a straight spine. Arms should swing naturally at the side with forearms bent at the elbow at a 90-degree angle. Hands should fold gently, like you're holding something very fragile in each hand. Thumbs should rest upon the outside knuckle of each pointer finger.

4) Lean forward and find the point at which your feet remain flat on the ground and you're just about to tip forward but you don't. Your foot will engage to stop you from falling, and that forward momentum just kind of kicks your run into gear. Take small steps.


When Robison replayed my video, I saw that each foot hit the ground heel first, which means I pound hard on the ground, putting a lot of torque on my ankles, knees and hips. Ideally, the foot should land midfoot, and running should be quiet and level.

Today I tried my luck at GFR. It was tough, trying keep in mind all the critical posture requirements. My goal was to log seven miles. After mile No. 1, my muscles needed a break, so I walked. At the suggestion of my running coach, Ann Crane, I decided to run a mile, then walk for a minute, and so on. I felt my muscles tire a bit, so I took it slow and easy. After five miles, I ended my run, mostly because the Michigan Athletic Club, where I work out, was about to close. With the GFR, it took me 70 minutes to finish a five-mile run, compared to my usual 10-minute-mile pace.

But the really good news is that post-run, my ankles and knees didn't ache at all. In fact, for the rest of the evening, my knees actually felt like they were massaging themselves.

I don't know about the rest of the world, but I'm going to keep checking GFR out. I'm registered to attend a second GFR clinic in a couple of weeks, and I can't wait to have the coaches critique my form to make sure I've got it down pat. If I can enjoy pain-free running, I'll work hard to do so.

Take a Walk On the Right Side

Is it just me, or are human beings suddenly incapable of moving amongst themselves in an orderly and logical fashion?

It should go without saying, when one finds oneself pushing a cart down an aisle of the local grocery store that, in accordance with laws of order and generally accepted principles of human interaction, everyone — without exception — yes, every Tom, Dick, Harry; every schmuck and schmo; every Jack and Jill; everyone — relative to his or her location and intended direction of travel at any given moment — should advance along the right-most side of said aisle so as not to interfere with, obstruct or otherwise impede the forward progress of fellow shoppers.

Recently, my daughter came over for a visit after her shift ended at the restaurant. She'd had an interesting conversation with a co-worker.

"He asked me if I noticed that I often run into other waitstaff – literally – and I thought about it and said, 'Yeah, actually, I guess I do.'" She giggled.

The co-worker then explained to her that she tended to walk on the "wrong" side of an imaginary two-lane path; that if everyone always traveled along the right-hand side of the path, there would be far fewer people collisions, as well as people being forced to participate in the awkward dance to side-step each other.

It makes perfect sense after all. My own observation is that humans need rules or, better yet, established courtesies that help us function without chaos. See, there exists in this world a few too many individuals who are oblivious to the possibility that those around them might have more important things to do than worry about how they should navigate around inconsiderate human obstacles.

But the best-ever story about two people jostling for the right of way occurred years ago at the Lansing Mall. There, I witnessed the following:

Two women – strangers, both – were walking toward one another, each amicably chatting with her respective shopping buddy. Just before they were fated to collide, however, Woman A suddenly realized that she needed to change course, so she side-stepped Woman B. Clearly, she'd hoped to avoid making much ado about nothing ... except that the oblivious Woman B kept right on chatting, and she also tried to side-step ... in the same direction. She was so engrossed in her conversation, the awkward side-stepping between the two continued until Woman A got her britches in a bunch, put her hands on her hips and said, "Bitch, puh-leeze?!"

Woman B, aka "Bitch," was suddenly speechless (a relief, I'm sure, to all bystanders within earshot), which she demonstrated by the gaping hole that was now her mouth. Woman A, though irritated and abrupt, huffed and took a final sidestep to her right, and continued on her merry way as though nothing happened.

The moral of the story: Walk softly on your right, and carry a big attitude.

Runner's Resolve

Two days into the new year, and I have not logged a single run. Zip, zero, zilch kilometers. I have been running errands, but that doesn't count, I realize. Now I'm in a funk, so I need to get back on track, and fast. The truth is, I'm afraid that if I don't get out there and seize — nay, make — my opportunity to run everyday, I'll be at risk for getting sidetracked, perhaps to the point of no return. I just can't take that chance.

As much as I love running, experience tells me that it'd be far too easy to allow life's mundane tasks and responsibilities to sweep in and take over my running time. I know myself well enough to understand that I'm prone to getting overly absorbed in my work at the office and losing track of time. And once I get home, it's too easy for me to get sidetracked by dinner preparation and housekeeping duties. The point is, there's always something that demands my attention and potentially steals away my me time.

In fact, the last time life got in the way of my running fun was when I was 24. I ran regularly up until the day I gave birth to my first-born. Back then, I allowed nursing, diapers and well-baby appointments to get in the way, and one child led to another, and another, and another. But don't get me wrong: I'd never completely given up on running — I kept at it throughout my life, off and on.

I want more than a now-and-then relationship with running, because I resolve to run regularly for the rest of my life.