Funky Farming

I never knew sheep could have gumption, but if the Northeast Student Affiliate livestock judges have anything to say about it, having “gumption through the hip” is a good attribute for any self-respecting ewe.

I got myself out of bed at 9 a.m. Saturday and trekked past Beaver Stadium to the Snider Agricultural Arena to see animal science majors compete in livestock judging. (Yes, Penn State has an agricultural arena. Did you expect anything less?) How could I miss a chance to observe first hand what I had previously witnessed only on Napoleon Dynamite?

(I should point out at this point that at first this entry will appear to have nothing to do with nightlife. Don’t worry. I’m getting to it.)

Inside, students were intently examining sheep, pigs, bulls, horses, cows, and buffalo. (The guy next to me looking at the buffalo said “I bet you never practiced judging these at your school.” And I had to admit, I had not.)

Soon after I arrived, the judges began announcing the winners. Horse No. 4 won, as well as bull No. 4. Upon hearing the announcement, bull No. 2 promptly began to defecate. Then came the pigs and the sheep where, despite ewe No. 1 possessing that all important gumption, ewe No. 3 won handily. Finally, cow No. 3 – with a “high quality mammary system” – and buffalo No. 2 won.

(In case you didn’t know, “if you haven’t judged buffalo before, it’s about the same as judging beef.”)

I got a ride back to the center of campus with the University of New Hampshire’s dairy science team. I thought they’d all be too into farming for me to relate to them – and there was a rather long discussion of bull No.2’s testicles – but they were quite adamant that their parties were just as good as Penn State’s.

That night, the group was having a “dance and social” at the hotel they were staying at, and I wanted to see if they were right about their parties, (see? Told you I’d tie this into nightlife.), but none of my friends wanted to drive me to a livestock judging dance. So I settled on funk night at Hookah Lounge instead.

I had never been to the Hookah Lounge or a funk dance before, but something about the flavored smoke in the air or the D.J.’s groovy plaid jacket, made me feel right at home.

But after two hours of dancing with girls from the alternative high school, doing a robot-break-dance vs. move-your-feet-with-your-hands-at-yours-sides dance off with a fellow Collegian staffer, and an enlightening crash course in the beauties of the album World Psychedelic Classics volume 3, it was time for my night of ‘70s glory to come to an end.

And as I walked home, shuffling down the street to the melodic mix of baritone voice and tenor sax in my head, I realized it wasn’t it wasn’t just sheep who could have gumption through the hip.