Alex "Q" Bieler, assistant sports editor

Just the other day I was talking to my mom when a certain phrase she used drew my mind to freshman year. The memory, at the time, was quite humorous, enough so to distract me from my mother’s monologue. Now, I couldn’t even begin to say what I remembered.
As the end of the school year approaches, such moments have become commonplace. For nearly four years, Gannon has been my life. While here I’ve lived, I’ve loved and I’ve lost. Friends have come, friends have gone. But soon, I’ll have to walk away from that.
I don’t know how I’ll react after I walk during graduation and away from the home I’ve made, but I know what I’ll be thinking about when I’m there.
I’ll remember the time that I first met my four-year roommate Jacob Nemchick during orientation, when my Ozzie Newsome jersey initiated the first of many conversations about sports. I’ll remember when Kyle Lassak couldn’t remember my last name, leading to the nickname “Q.”
I’ll think of the first time I saw the rest of the journalism communications majors in class after I switched majors. I reminisce about the good, and extraordinarily long, nights in the Knight Office on Tuesdays.
I’ll look back to last summer, when the warm Erie nights felt endless when you were with friends. I’ll retrace that timeless moment when you look into someone’s eyes and know that there is nowhere else you’d rather be.
While I walk up during graduation, everything will slow down. Tears will be shed, relatives will be proud, and I will just think about a certain Harvey Pekar quote:
“Ordinary life is pretty complex stuff.”
Graduation is just another step in the grand scheme of things, but to each individual, it’s a whole new life. I still don’t know exactly what will happen to me after May 7. Will I adjust to the usual grind of an everyday job? Will I someday make it big?
Will I ever see my friends from Gannon again?
Graduation is a simple concept, but the thoughts running through my mind as I walk will be anything but. I don’t know what will happen in the future, but I’m not nearly as worried as I should be, because after all the people I’ve had the pleasure of knowing, one thing is certain – even after I leave Gannon, Gannon will never leave me.
Thank you for making my life so complex.

ALEX BIELER
bieler001@gannon.edu

Alex "Q" Bieler, assistant sports editor

I rarely like such a description. It doesn’t truly say anything about the subject matter. However, one notable exception exists: covers.

Cover songs fit “the same, but different” expression amazingly well. The song is the exact same in base nature, but the difference can range anywhere from merely the performing band to a certain set of lyrics to an entirely new experience.

For example, one time when I was preparing the playlist for my show, Catch 20-Q, on 90.5 WERG in the station’s jock lounge, I played some various covers for whatever members of the Prime Time Sports Guys when they were free, challenging them to guess the origin of the song.

About 80-some seconds into Paul Anka’s big band version of “Smells Like Teen Spirit,” Everett Wensel’s eyes shot open à la Uma Thurman post-adrenaline shot in “Pulp Fiction.” He began flailing his arms until he could finally verbalize the title of the song, pumping his fist in glee when he recognized his success.

That’s part of the reason I love covers so much – they’re a new twist on an old dance. Even the extremely faithful takes on old songs, like 95 percent of all “Creep” covers, give an old song a breath of fresh air.

When a band takes a tune in an entirely new direction, well, that’s when something truly electric happens.

The same, but different. The Punch Brothers cover of Radiohead’s “Packt Like Sardines in a Crushd Tin Box”? Bluegrass meets electronic isolationism.

Owen Pallett’s take on Bloc Party’s “This Modern Love”? The same feel of the song, but with a looped violin and vocal patterns.

The Polyphonic Spree playing Nirvana’s “Lithium”? Well, who knew Nirvana could be so much fun?

Like the Spree cover, some takes are meant to be just that – fun. Others act as a tribute of sorts, often leading to full albums in honor of the original band.

Then there are the versions that put a whole new twist on a song, like Obadiah Parker’s take on Outkast’s “Hey Ya!” Wouldn’t have guessed that what was once such a bright, catchy song could make shaking Polaroid pictures sound so sad.

I find covers so captivating, I’ve decided to devote all three hours of Catch 20-Q this Thursday to them. I figure that if anyone asks about the upcoming episode, I can just say that it will be the same, but different.

I think that should about cover it.

ALEX BIELER

bieler001@gannon.edu

Alex "Q" Bieler, assistant sports editor

Hello, my name is Q, and I’m a journalism communications major witha numbers fixation.

The typical comm student has developed a certain figure-fearing reputation. Unfortunately, it’s not horribly off base, as some of my counterparts would go into hysterics if faced with an entry level Sudoku.

Don’t get me wrong, I love words. But numbers are an integral part of everyday life, so why not embrace them? For one, think of how annoying it would be to order six cupcakes without being able to use the number six. The phrase “I would like to buy cupcake cupcake cupcake cupcake cupcake cupcake, please,” doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue.

Even after studying engineering my freshman year, I still enjoyed working with numbers. Fractions became puzzles, percentages looked fun and simple math seemed like a nice little game.

Sports statistics particularly intrigue me. For example, while waiting to interview one of the Gannon University softball players, I decided to look up her season statistics for fun. By the time she joined me, I had figured out her strikeouts per walk, strikeouts per seven innings, walks and hits per innings pitched, along with a variety of others, just because I was bored.

Luckily, instead of having to find random formulas to please me, the new baseball season provided exciting outlets for my left-brained leanings.

For more than half a year, fantasy baseball allows me to run through the deluge of digits and decimals to try and find something out of the ordinary. Sabermetrics, which you can read about in Zack McDermott’s page 15 article, fascinates me. When Merriam-Webster added acronyms like LOL and OMG, I was pushing for the inclusion of WHIP, OPS and BABIP.

My obsession with following these stats, while really helping me do well in my fantasy baseball leagues, has impacted how I watch baseball. Other than my beloved Cleveland Indians, I root for box scores, not teams.

I cheered when Neil Walker’s grand slam put the Pittsburgh Pirates ahead on Opening Day, but mainly because he was my starting second baseman. When Carlos Marmol blew a save against those same Pirates, I wasn’t sure what made me angrier – that he took the loss for my squad or that he couldn’t strike out a single stinking Bucco despite averaging 1.78 strikeouts per inning last year.

Some of my comm counterparts may look at me funny for my number obsession, but at least I can count on stats to brighten my day.

ALEX BIELER

bieler001@gannon.edu

Alex "Q" Bieler, assistant sports editor

When it came to the extracurricular schedule, I realized that a massive portion of my life for the past few years has been spent working on these “extra” organizations. My discovery drove me to ask just a single question:

When do these activities stop being “extra” and become the main focus of your collegiate career?

It didn’t take long before I recognized that I’ve been placing my responsibilities at The Gannon Knight, 90.5 WERG, the Schuster Theatre and my job with the Sports Information Desk before my classes for a while now.

The reason why extracurriculars come first is the same reason why I enjoyed my internship with the Erie Times-News over the summer – they’re real. As important as classes are, they rarely amount to more than a preparatory learning process simulation. The extracurricular activities actually feel like work.

But still, I do wonder at times if I may have overbooked myself. I, despite the occasional complaint, actually do enjoy working at these various groups, but the lack of sleep does become rather draining after a while.

Then I receive a reminder of why the grind is worth it.

I have my own show called Catch 20-Q (I wonder where that name came from) on WERG from 9 p.m. to midnight on Thursdays, where I essentially play whatever I want. My last show just so happened to land on St. Patrick’s Day. While I was vexed that I couldn’t be out, I knew that the show must still go on.

Near the end of Catch 20-Q, I played a live version of Tom Waits’ “Christmas Card From a Hooker in Minneapolis.” In the following talk break, I spoke about how much I enjoyed being able to play songs that would normally never be heard on radio and that if I could get one person to start actively searching new music, then I’ve done my job.

Immediately after my talk break, someone called the studio. He simply thanked me, telling me how nice it was to hear someone play something so obscure. I never got that man’s name, but his message won’t be forgotten. The next day I noticed a message on the wall of the WERG Facebook page – some fan felt it necessary to praise my show, calling it the highlight of her week.

The extracurriculars may be eating away my schedule, but such sentiments really remind me of why I enjoy them so much. I choose to do it for myself, but being reminded about how I can touch others through the work provides that little “extra.”

ALEX BIELER

bieler001@gannon.edu

Alex "Q" Bieler, assistant sports editor

However, I suffer from the typical singing skittishness found in the shower crooners. While walking back home, I frequently check behind me if an irresistible tune tempts my lips.

These part-time pipes aren’t to be heard in the wrong environment, just used for my own enjoyment. The knowledge that someone else is listening just makes singers dreadfully self-conscious about the imperfections in their voice.

It wasn’t always like that, however. I used to sing to crowds back in my younger days, but when the dreaded puberty hit, my vocal range began to fray at the ends. However, when the chance presents itself, this voice is ready to go to work.

Enter karaoke.

Through this wonderful technology, the normally worried warblers finally get a chance to shine.

The gamut of contestants run anywhere from the secret starlet to the guy fueled entirely by good ol’ liquid courage who picks out the longest song in the book, yet manages to forget 80 percent of the words, despite the cue screen in front of him. A true karaoke crowd takes all types.

Until a month or so ago, I hadn’t had the opportunity to attend such an event. Eventually, a group of friends and I discovered that nearby Antler’s Pub hosted karaoke nights every Thursday, even holding a multi-week competition. Soon enough, there we were, waiting for our names to be called out so that our performances could be judged.

Twice, I made the final four. The first was a surprise, as I hammed up a performance of Flight of the Conchords’ “Hiphopopotamus vs. Rhymenocerous” during R&B and Hip-Hop night and declared that I was “so gangster that I had to rap battle against myself.” My faithful version of Johnny Cash’s “Folsom Prison Blues” landed me my second top four, but I failed to make the finals either night.

This Thursday marks the champions round. Although I didn’t wow the judges enough to make it, I’ll still be rooting on two members of the “Glee Club” – as our group is affectionately called – Ryann Beaumont and Nicole Dohoda, the latter of whom besting me in R&B and Hip-Hop night.

I may not have ended up the big karaoke winner, but that doesn’t mean I won’t stop singing its praises.

ALEX BIELER

bieler001@gannon.edu

Alex "Q" Bieler, assistant sports editor

I chatted for a bit with my dad and grandpa, who had made a surprise visit to see the show, before setting to work on the stage that bore my Vaseline-covered feet for so long.
The cast and crew descended upon the pair of houses, dismantling the set like carpenters possessed. After the wood sheets, remnants of two-by-fours and the army of bolts and screws that held it together were removed, I stared at the sparse space left from the feverous deconstruction session and realized something:
I was finished.
No more blankets, no more free shows. It was time for me to leave.
I knew after our final bow to the audience that “Lie” would be no more, but the gravity of the situation didn’t truly hit me until the theatre space I had become so accustomed to became the naked space it was during my very first rehearsal.
Multiple people told me that the end of the show would be bittersweet, but for the rest of the night, I had trouble finding the sugar on my newfound lemon rind. The Schuster had become a second home, and now, I had to leave.
Even now, I still feel this draw to the stage I helped bring down. But I know that all things must end in time.
Now, I can look back and be happy with the adventure I faced over the semester and say just two simple words to those who helped guide me through it:
Thank you.
To all the wonderful cast and crew who aided me through my first acting experience, I thank you from the bottom of my heart. I got lucky enough to get stuck with a group of people who could guide me through such an exciting time.
In my brief time at the theater, I encountered crayfish, buffalo, Tasmanian devils, a bunch of crazy eyes and so much more.
Baylor may not have been the happiest camper on stage, but I can guarantee you that the vessel that brought him to life was holding back a smile the whole time.
Although “Lie” may be over, I know that I still have a place at Schuster.
Thank you, places.

ALEX BIELER
bieler001@gannon.edu

Alex "Q" Bieler, assistant sports editor

As a film and theater enthusiast, I’ve long been intrigued by the notion of acting. I didn’t start seriously considering it until my sister was brilliantly cast for the “My Angry Vagina” sketch in the Vagina Monologues. However, due to a variety of excuses, I’ve never actually tried out for a role until “Lie.”
In an amalgamation of exhilaration and terror, I tried out for the Sam Shepard play. Knowing that it’s likely my last semester at Gannon, I walked in as the only first-timer at auditions, a flannel-clad giant among the thespians.
After I whipped out my best “I will drink your milkshake” reenactment, a weight was lifted from my shoulders. I finally tried. The part may not come, but at least I gave it my best effort. Then the casting e-mail came, with the 18th line simply stating “Baylor – Alex ‘Q’ Bieler.”
I blankly stared at the computer screen for a while. Slowly, the reality of the situation trickled into my mind.
I was finally going to be an actor.
Now, two months after receiving that email, opening day is here. Once again, that feeling of exhilaration and terror sweeps over me. After multiple rehearsals, numerous hours spent memorizing lines and 100-plus days of not shaving, I’m finally ready to make my debut.
At 8 p.m. Thursday, I will no longer be Q – and that’s just fine by me.
For three hours, I can stop worrying about my routine schedule. Baylor doesn’t care about song currents or Interpersonal Communication homework. Instead, Baylor acts as a means of escape – providing a few hours away from the doldrums of the real world each day.
Every so often, I find myself speaking like Baylor. In normal conversation, I’ll randomly drop a line from “Lie,” not even realizing until after I said it. I now have two families – one in Cleveland and one in Montana.
In two weeks, “Lie” will end. I’ll go back to normal everyday life. Classes will still go on as usual and it will continue to snow, knowing Erie. However, even after the play stops its Schuster run, Baylor will never leave me after all we’ve been through.
After all, I am Baylor.

ALEX BIELER
bieler001@gannon.edu

Alex "Q" Bieler, assistant sports editor

Despite my inability to pump out some stories in quick fashion, I’ve still been able to churn out columns at a relatively acceptable rate.
However, I fear that may change soon.
On Wednesday, I’ll be heading out west without ever having to leave my house. Or chair, for that matter.
Darius Kazemi, lead analyst at Blue Fang Games, announced Jan. 26 that classic educational games “The Oregon Trail” and “Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego?” will be released on Facebook.
Of the two games, I’m much more excited about the former – a game that, like many others, I first encountered way back in my education. I fondly remember traveling across the virtual frontier, with your caravan of people named after friends in class, just so that you could inform little Jimmy of his dysentery-fueled end.
Some expeditions stayed serious, ensuring that the caravan made it safely to its destination. Others, well…sometimes all you need is a hat and 12 grandfather clocks to make the journey worthwhile.
So, in fairness to anyone who reads Catch 20-Q, the combination of this announcement and the already extensive list of stuff that I waste time doing will likely render me useless.
Sure, I may still be able to pump out columns in a timely fashion most of the time, but if, on a fateful Monday, I have the sudden urge to watch Blur’s “Coffee & TV” music video featuring an anthropomorphized milk carton named Milky finding missing guitarist Graham Coxon approximately 37 times, then some sacrifices have to be made.
There are only so many hours in a day that can be wasted, and each distraction must be allocated proper amounts of time. The mere delegation of diversions is a job in itself. From StumbleUpon to Top 50 lists for 2010, each waste of time needs its own schedule.
So, I must warn everyone that when my 12 grandfather clocks and I ford that upcoming river, I may not be able to afford enough time to be your distraction.
Of course, there is still the possibility that after a couple days, the rekindled fascination with the game will burn out, leaving me with nothing better to do than write Catch 20-Q.
When that happens, I’ll just have to focus on finding a new way to be distracted.

ALEX BIELER
bieler001@gannon.edu

Alex "Q" Bieler, assistant sports editor

Dave’s Insanity Sauce and I have known each other for years. Kaleb Kaschalk, a friend of mine from high school, introduced me to the spitfire when I was on break my freshman year. It wasn’t long before we became inseparable.
We didn’t make for the traditional couple, Dave’s Insanity Sauce being a fiery (about 750,000 Scoville units) Texan and I, the bearded, blue-collar giant. Despite our differences, Dave’s Insanity Sauce never failed to warm me up.
I knew that our future would likely consist of just us (the label warns against use by children and pets). It didn’t matter to me – Dave’s Insanity Sauce was special. Private Reserve, in fact.
I wasn’t worried that Dave’s Insanity Sauce had a family history of capsaicin (the active ingredient in pepper spray) – we had a bond that could withstand more than just one drop at a time.
For years, Dave’s Insanity Sauce and I lived in bliss. Unfortunately, I was ignorant of how our relationship could end up in flames.
On Friday, I was making some lunch. I turned on the burner and moved to wash dishes while I waited for the water to boil. Soon, I knew something was wrong.
My eyes began to water. I started coughing uncontrollably. Jake, my roommate, was across the room, confused by my sudden predicament. Soon, however, he was in the same boat as me.
Jake eventually realized that when Dave’s Insanity Sauce, a friend of Jake’s through me, helped him fix up a bowl of chili, some of the fiery fluid had landed in the burner. By turning on the stove, I had effectively created a pepper spray mist.
The effects lasted for nearly an hour, as Jake and I struggled to breathe while tears rolled down our cheeks. We even opened up our windows, letting in the wintry wind to alleviate our predicament.
It was then that I realized how ignorant I was of my relationship with Dave’s Insanity Sauce. I knew of the dangers, but I constantly made excuses so that I wouldn’t have to face the truth. Eventually, Dave’s Insanity Sauce burned me.
We’re still friends, but the relationship is strained. Perhaps we’ll be able to look back on this and laugh it off. For now, though, I just need to let things cool down.

ALEX BIELER
bieler001@gannon.edu

Alex "Q" Bieler, assistant sports editor

I got off fairly easily, but my one roommate didn’t get so lucky. Whoever absconded with our belongings ended up taking his 42-inch TV as well as a couple of gaming consoles and his considerable game collection.
A pair of my roommate’s DVD players, as well as the entirety of our movie collection in the living room (the majority of which was mine) was taken – with the exception of Fargo, oddly enough.
On the bright side, this narrows our search for the criminals to people who aren’t big fans of earlier Coen Brothers movies.
All joking aside, the event seemed to be the exclamation point on what seemed like a very long year. Like many others out there, I had to deal with a multitude of valleys that the landscape of life brings. Ultimately, however, I did come to a conclusion.
Stuff happens.
Does it suck that my house got broken into? Yes. Does it seem unfair that three students attempting to pay for college and housing had their possessions taken from them? Most certainly. Can you prevent every bad thing from happening? Not a chance.
No matter how much you can try to safeguard your life, something will happen. It may sound depressing, but everyone goes through it. It’s a part of life.
Not everything is going to be good and it can be easy to become cynical. I’m at the age where I’m walking my own path. There may be times that I’m going to fall, but that doesn’t mean I should stop moving forward.
Every so often, though, I need a reminder. Last year, Conan O’Brien, even as he hosted his last episode of “The Tonight Show,” provided just that:
“I hate cynicism; for the record it’s my least favorite quality, it doesn’t lead anywhere. Nobody in life gets exactly what they thought they were going to get. But if you work really hard and you’re kind, amazing things will happen.”
I must blame my mom for my optimism. She always saw the good in people. We tell her that she’s way too nice for her own good (what a fault), but because of that, I truly believe that there is goodness out there. All cynicism does is blindfold you from seeing the bright spots in life.
Somebody may have broken into my house, but I won’t let them steal my spirit.

ALEX BIELER
bieler001@gannon.edu