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(04/22/08 1:34am)
There’s been a lot of squawking lately about the recent IU Student Association election. Take, for example, the following conversation:\nScott: Wow, the student body election sure was interesting.\nLarge bird: Squawk, squawk, squawk!\nScott: Yeah, tell me about it. It’s been quite a heated debacle.\nIt’s been nearly three weeks since the election, and controversy still abounds regarding the rightful winner. The Student Body Supreme Court just took up the issue again on Sunday.\nOf course, everyone is well aware of the drama involving this year’s election, since this newspaper’s crackerjack reporting on the topic has kept the controversy in the public eye.\nHowever, everywhere I go on campus, which is all of one building and a desolate wooded area, people still wonder exactly what IUSA does and how its officers represent students. \nThe answer, unfortunately, is that no one is entirely sure what IUSA does, not even IUSA. Despite this, it’s at least comforting to see that there is an interest in the organization this year. For example, last year’s election yielded an exciting one ticket vying for the IUSA executive offices. This, in some electoral circles, is called “running unopposed” and generally means that no one (or hardly anyone) cares to vote. Although this year has been wrought with Florida-style electoral politics, the three tickets that ran for the executive offices of IUSA indicate that there is at least a revived interest in student government. \nOne of the recurring criticisms against IUSA is that it is full of resume-boosting, fraternity-centric preppies. This, of course, is an unfair assessment of the candidates’ intentions. Indeed, there are other reasons to seek positions of influence in student government.\nUntil recently, such reasons were limited to notions of helping students and improving the relationship between students and University administrators. However, a recent discovery indicates that there are many other perks to holding a position in IUSA. These were discovered in a “chamber of secrets” that was unearthed after the recent earthquake. Also, I might or might not have been digging in random places around campus while intoxicated, as per my normal Friday night routine. Here are a few secret perks I found:\n1) IUSA officers get free nacho cheese at Taco Bell.\n2) Loan officials from Sallie Mae send five fewer e-mails per day to IUSA officers than to regular students.\n3) All IUSA executives get free \nback massages on Friday. Happy endings cost extra.\n4) The president of IUSA gets permanent, free admission to Sports. The bar provides women (or men) to dance with who must compliment the president’s mad dancing skills.\nThese are just a few of the perks available to IUSA executives. Perhaps they indicate why there is such a heated judicial battle between candidates to settle the recent election. Of course, maybe the candidates aren’t in it for the minor perks of the office and really are fighting because their intentions are purely benevolent. \nYes, that’s probably the case.
(04/14/08 1:30am)
Little 500 weekend is described as the greatest weekend in college athletics, or some derivation of the sentiment. For the thousands of you reading this who aren’t in Bloomington (ok, not thousands – really it’s just my mom), Little 500 is some sort of athletic event that involves spectators and participants. Beyond that, the details are fuzzy. \nAt least that’s what we can surmise from the many anecdotes involving intoxicated students that come about from the parties that precipitate from Little 500 weekend. This past weekend, and actually the entire week leading up to the event, was more about social gatherings than celebrating the art of riding bicycles in a circle. \nFor example, one of the party houses across the street from me on I’m-Not-Telling-You-Where-I-Live Avenue essentially held a nonstop kegger for seven days. One of the party’s attendees was nice enough to remind me that my porch and mailbox double as toilets. Take, for example, the following interaction:\nToilet Guy (with pants around ankles): ‘Sup, dude?\nMe: Would you perhaps mind doing that in the bushes?\nToilet Guy: What bushes?\nMe: Shouldn’t you be at the stadium? The race is starting soon.\nToilet Guy (hiccupping): Who goes to the race? I just want to drink.\nMe: Hey, if you shake it more than once, you’re playing with it.\nMy new friend’s attitude seems about par for the course. Sure, the actual Little 500 race is attractive and exciting, and the riders put in countless hours training in tight, sexy bicycle shorts. But the attraction of Little 500 week is not a bike race. \nMost people don’t attend the race, although it’s a safe bet that a good portion of the student body partakes in pre- and post-race festivities, which apparently include public urination. And much like ignoring the race, these festival-goers also ignore the news during their seven-day binges. Here’s a sampling of the news the partiers may have missed last week:\n• Rapper Vanilla Ice was arrested on charges that he pushed his wife in an altercation over the purchase of a new bedroom set. While this may be a legitimate reason for couples to argue, in reality, the reason Vanilla was angry at his “Ice Ice Baby” was her mockery of him. Indeed, Vanilla’s wife recently discovered his real name: Robert Van Winkle. \n• President Bush’s approval rating hit a term low at 28 percent. This marks an incredibly drastic swing from his former approval rating of 90 percent, which occurred in the weeks after Sept. 11. To be fair, however, any president would have received high approval ratings after Sept. 11, even someone named Robert Van Winkle. \nThose were just a couple of the stories missed by the celebrants of Little 500 week. Of course, there’s also the fact that “the greatest weekend in college athletics” has little to do with an actual sporting event and more to do with pissing on someone’s porch. That’s a story in itself.\nI can’t wait until next year.
(04/06/08 11:22pm)
Do you remember the first concert you ever attended? Mine was John Denver’s. I’m not afraid to admit that, mostly because he died less than a year after the performance. When I tell people that story, they hold back from obvious jeering and laughter solely out of respect for the deceased.\nIt’s a little harder, though, to justify the first CD I remember listening to on a constant basis: “Step by Step” from the iconic boy band New Kids on the Block. That one is a little harder to admit, because its former members are indeed alive and well.\nActually, it’s no longer necessary to speak in the past tense about New Kids, the group that paved the way for such heartthrobs as Boyz II Men, Backstreet Boys and ‘N Sync. That’s right, 14 agonizing and barely livable years after the group dissolved, they’re coming back with a vengeance. In May, the group will kick off a reunion tour in Boston, its old stomping grounds.\nFor those of you whose first reaction is that this is clearly mundane and unnecessary, consider the positive effects that this tour will have on the slumping, almost derelict U.S. economy. \nFor example, the fan base of such boy bands usually includes young teenage girls (and apparently me, but we’ll forget about that for the moment). These girls, who are wealthy with dump truck-loads of babysitting money, need to have a mechanism for spending their hard-earned cash while mommy and daddy go out on the town. Boy bands have more or less fallen out of popular culture in the last several years, and as such, babysitting funds are not being spent. Rather, young girls are making the unwise decision to put money away for college in low-interest savings accounts. Remember, Britney Spears and Lindsey Lohan have also fallen out of the public eye as of late, giving even fewer mediums in which teens can engage in necessary commerce.\nObviously, anyone who has heard anything coming out of the White House, Department of Treasury or Federal Reserve in the last several months knows that bank-held savings are the last thing our economy needs. Rather, the way to stimulate the economy in times of emergencies is to spend money. \nTherefore, the reintroduction of New Kids on the Block will force millions of teen admirers (and nostalgic people in their 20s and 30s) to attend the concerts and engage in the inevitable merchandising to follow. As we all know, such consumerism will save us from a crippling recession because of a term on my recent economics exam called the “trickle down effect” (a phrase I’m happy to have used without reference to Ronald Reagan).\nThis truly will be a reunion for the history books, not only for the melodious beats of one of the greatest bands of the 20th century, but also because of its dramatic and long-term impact on our country’s economic crisis. \nToo bad ol’ John Denver won’t be around to see it.
(04/02/08 5:19pm)
____simple_html_dom__voku__html_wrapper____>We were driving south on Highway 37 approaching Bedford, when the caffeine really started to grab hold of me. I’m normally jittery, but the super dose of energy drinks flowing through my system made me feel like a speed freak in the Indy 500. I leaned over to my driver and screamed something like, “Can’t you take this piece of crap any faster?” She glanced at me, then looked down at the copy of Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas sitting on my lap and made a disapproving facial gesture. “What is that book about, anyway?” she asked, obviously having been deprived of the great American classics in a sheltered upbringing.“It’s about finding the American dream,” I replied, cracking a bottle of NoDoz caffeine pills. She nodded, but her glazed look showed no signs of recognition.We were on our way to find our own version of the American dream, albeit slightly removed from the way Hunter S. Thompson’s epic book described. Thompson’s journey to Las Vegas involved a trunk full of mind-altering drugs. Our trip to French Lick – Indiana’s burgeoning attempt at its own Las Vegas – used only legal stimulants and depressants. The caffeine was the stimulant. I was the depressant, as were the three people in the car with me – my driver, editor and photographer. I was the writer. I’d been propositioned by a respected magazine to write a story on French Lick Resort Casino, which had recently opened its renovated luxury hotels and brought legal riverboat gambling to Orange County.This is why the caffeine was necessary. Two days prior, I had received a call that woke me from my sleep.“We want you to do the French Lick feature story for us,” said the voice on the other end. It was the voice of the editor-in-chief, but it might as well have been the voice of God.“What do you want me to write about?” I asked.“Whatever you want. Go see what’s happening down there and write about it.”It was a done deal as soon as I’d convinced him to allow me to bring my driver and my personal editor for guidance and advice.We arrived at the resort well ahead of schedule, a testament to my driver’s cunning abilities. The resort and casino, controlled by billionaire Bill Cook of Cook Group, operates two formerly competing luxury hotels less than a mile apart. Our first order of business was the West Baden Springs Hotel, whose obtrusive glass dome was once pitched as the largest freestanding dome in the world. Its recent restoration has attracted tourists from all over the globe to see the magnificent piece of architecture that was once touted as “The Eighth Wonder of the World.”Inside the domed atrium were dozens of guests, milling about like vermin in a dirty apartment. Old men and women who have long since given up on romance sat silently in comfy lounge chairs, staring blankly into the distance. A lounge singer serenaded the patrons with “Sentimental Journey.” I wanted to give him a tip, but feared he would spend it on nothing worthwhile – more music equipment – when what he needed was a bracing shot of absinthe to spice up his existence.We also toured the gardens at the hotel, but the not-too-far-gone winter and remnants of recent flooding left much to be desired. From this vantage point one could look across the flooded field and see the sad reality of a derelict town framed by the luxurious hotels. Indeed, most residents of the town – heck, the entire county – would never be able to afford a night’s stay at either hotel.We promptly left West Baden for the French Lick Springs Hotel, also the site of the revered riverboat casino. (It is not a boat, nor does it rest in a river, but the false pretense of such allows the casino’s legal operation under state law.) Inside the hotel we were met with the “Mexican Hat Dance” playing on the loudspeaker, as well as constant reminders that KC and the Sunshine Band were getting ready to perform. This is the kind of venue people like KC and his poor band are now reserved to play. Gone are the days of Madison Square Garden, and the likes of French Lick Casino will forever sustain the careers of groups like KC, who make their livings playing to casino patrons in fanny packs.We toured the hotel as if we were meant to be there; all the while my photographer snapped pictures of gold-gilded framing and elaborate ceiling frescos. Suddenly we were confronted by an employee who accosted us for no good reason.“What are you looking for?” she snipped. “I am a journalist, and these are my associates,” I jeered. “I have been dispatched to write a very important story.”She glared at me in a spiteful way. My photographer and editor physically restrained me from resorting to violence. The caffeine was wearing off, and I was grouchy.We found the bowling alley and video arcade where parents leave their children while they spend time in the casino. The baby-sitting duties are seemingly left to wide-eyed employees with many children of their own. A bar is just off the bowling alley, where a comely bartender named Bet made small talk with me. She complimented me on my shirt and sunglasses and got a hefty tip because of it.KC and the band were starting to play in the performance venue, and we seized the opportunity to run to the casino for the mass exodus of concertgoers. Even with the concert draining the casino of loyalists, the floor was still packed with old women on Social Security who chain-smoked with no end in sight. Those not at the big show were entertained in the casino by a meatloaf-faced Elvis impersonator. His profuse sweat and sagging features indicated that he hated his meager performance as much as those resigned to watch it.My photographer was not allowed to take his camera into the casino and nearly broke the arm of a twiggy security guard as a result. I assured my photographer that nothing worthy of pictures would take place in the casino, although this was merely a gesture to pacify him.“That guy tried to touch my camera!” he sneered through gritted teeth.“It’s OK,” I consoled. “I’ll have my editor make some calls. We’ll get that guy fired. Journalists are very powerful people, you know.”An hour in the casino next to ghostly, sullen, plastic people was all we needed. My driver had the car warmed up and brought it around to the entrance in no time. As we drove away, the bright lights of the casino soon dropped off in the distance as we looked around at meth-producing trailers in the countryside, a depressing reality next to two massive human ambitions of luxury that loom over one of the poorest counties in the state.
(04/01/08 1:33am)
We’re told from a young age that if we work hard enough and care for our fellow human beings, then our brief presence on this planet can truly make a difference. Take, for example, my first grade teacher.\nTeacher: You can make a difference if you care for others.\nStudent: This glue is yummy. \nAnd so goes the majority of our first 25 years of existence. Teachers, pastors and Oprah constantly relate how we can use our skills to make an impact, despite our reduced brain capacity brought on by glue consumption. (Why do they make it so tasty if you shouldn’t eat it?)\nApparently this “caring for others” nonsense actually took root in my Elmer’s-ravaged head, which is why I recently tried to make a great impact on the lives of 40,000 IU students.\nThe IU Student Association elections took place last week and necessitated endorsements from revered IDS columnists like me. The only group of candidates that did not receive an endorsement was the Kirkwood ticket. In the end, our endorsements made a huge impact. The student body loathes my fellow columnists and me so much that they voted the Kirkwood ticket into office just to spite our endorsements. Therefore, we had a major impact on the election, albeit in some contrived, backward sort of way.\nKnowing that the student body follows the exact opposite advice I give, allow me to make an early endorsement for next year’s student government elections: Vote for any ticket, any candidate, as long as it doesn’t involve me.\nRemembering that students vote in the opposite manner that I prescribe, the above endorsement will actually lead to me being elected student body president.\nFirst, let me take this opportunity to give a preemptive thank you to students for despising me so much that you’d care enough to elect me as your chosen leader.\nHere’s a sample of the speech I plan to give upon taking office next year:\nStudents, you are the bedrock of this university, and it is upon such limestone foundations that we build trust. I’m here as your slightly pompous, resume-boosting student association president. Thank you for having so much confidence in me and for being members of a fraternity or sorority – your votes made the difference!\nMy administration will accomplish very few things, which I know is what you want and expect. However, some of the things we actually plan on doing are (1) installing playground equipment in Dunn Meadow; (2) turning the student association offices into a study area for business school exams; (3) attending board of trustees meetings from time to time, perhaps even wearing nice business attire, the kind that is required for our business school classes.\nUntil I take office next year, you’ll find yourselves blessed by a slate of student government officers who supposedly want to make an impact on IU students. Let’s hope they aren’t too distracted by eating glue and actually take their positions seriously.
(03/25/08 5:14pm)
Don’t know much about history. Don’t know much biology.” – Sam Cooke.\nIt was recently suggested to me that I, like Sam Cooke’s song lyrics indicate, am lacking in my knowledge of history. This is slightly disturbing, considering the people who made the accusations against me are adamant proponents that “the South shall rise again” (read: followers of the Dukes of Hazzard). \nBut my Confederate fans do have a point. After all, I did insinuate in a recent column that the Civil War was partially fought over slavery, which isn’t telling the full story. Indeed, there are many other reasons why the Civil War was waged, including the strong Hollywood lobby that wanted to use the war as a springboard for epic movies such as “Gettysburg” and “Glory.” \nThank goodness for the war! Martin Sheen, Jeff Daniels, Denzel Washington, Matthew Broderick and Morgan Freeman are forever grateful.\nAnother little known reason for the “War of Northern aggression,” as it’s called in some circles, was a particularly embarrassing incident for Southerners in which Abraham Lincoln gave Jefferson Davis an atomic wedgie. This is an important historical footnote of which I was unaware until my NASCAR-loving friends from the South brought it to my attention. And it’s an important fact to know. Having one’s underwear stretched over the head by a tyrannical president is a great reason for a war.\nFinding out that my knowledge of history is lacking was certainly a shock. It made me wonder what caused such a circumstance. \nThen I remembered my U.S. history class in high school. Here’s a sample of what I endured:\nHistory Teacher: Write a 500-word essay on the Confederacy.\nScott: Could you give us a little background first?\nHistory Teacher: Don’t bother me. Can’t you see I’m reviewing game footage?\nScott: But you haven’t told us anything substantive.\nHistory Teacher: Look, I’m a coach. I live for basketball. Why do you think I became a teacher in the first place?\nScott: To teach the youth of America?\nHistory Teacher: Your knowledge of U.S. history doesn’t matter. Study for the standardized test and master reading and math so you can graduate. That’s all that matters.\nClearly learning history does matter, for without it people like me are prone to make sweeping generalizations that incite Southerners to foam at the mouth. I can’t help but wonder, however, how much other historical information I missed because of my teacher’s preoccupation with coaching. \nThank goodness for Wikipedia. Here’s a sampling of what I recently found:\n•Thomas Jefferson didn’t write the Declaration of Independence, but rather outsourced it to one of his slaves.\n•The Cold War was actually fought over ice cream.\n•The phrase “the South shall rise again” was made up in 1987 by drunk guys at a monster truck rally.
(03/17/08 11:23pm)
GATLINBURG, TENN – Spring break is a time to relax, a chance to recharge the figurative batteries of college students. Many students on spring break find themselves in exotic locations like Jamaica, Mexico and Costa Rica, to name just a few. Others take the time to fulfill class credit on school-sponsored trips to other foreign destinations such as Japan, France and even Croatia.\nFor me, this year’s trip was domestic, and once again the passport continued to collect dust on a shelf with other unused items such as Christian literature and exercise videos. The more I think about it, however, the more it seems like Gatlinburg, Tennessee, which is a stone’s throw away from iconic American attractions such as Dollywood and Great Smoky Mountains National Park, is as foreign a place as Central America and the Balkans.\nIf nothing else, Southerners are known for their hospitality, kindness to strangers and charm. But walking around Gatlinburg, it’s difficult not to notice the alarming amount of loyalty to Confederate – not American – identity. Indeed, the town’s tourist shops, which easily outnumber the actual tourists, are proud to point out their overflowing lines of Confederate-themed apparel and bumper stickers. From an outsider’s perspective, it seems the town, or at least a few of its prominent business owners, are quicker to highlight their Confederate roots than their proud American citizenship.\nHere’s a topical, and admittedly anecdotal, view of some of Gatlinburg’s fine offerings:\n• Waiters refer to non-Southerners as “yankees.”\n• A young child, no more than 5 years old, wears a shirt that prominently displays the Confederate flag and swears loyalty to General Robert E. Lee.\n• Joke bumper stickers are sold that are made to look like hunting licenses. The “permit” laughingly gives the holder the right to hunt Hollywood liberals, media elites, Democrats and homosexuals.\n• A store touting itself as a souvenir shop sells roughly 100 different bumper stickers and window decals that incorporate the Confederate flag, usually with phrases such as “The South shall rise again.” Only eight are available that make use of the American flag.\nIndeed, the Confederate flag represents much more than a region’s resistance to abolish slavery, and it signifies more than an uprising that was quelled nearly 140 years ago. Confederate symbolism can be as much a source of regional pride and heritage as it is a flashpoint for closed-minded individuals. However, it’s difficult to view the blatant overuse of Confederate (and dare I say conservative) ideals as anything but distinctly un-American and therefore foreign. Does Gatlinburg sympathize with the U.S. or the old notion of the Confederacy? It’s hard to surmise. At times, do pockets of the South seem more foreign than domestic? Unfortunately, yes, at least to this “yankee.”\nThis doesn’t indicate a reason to shun the region or avoid it as a future spring break destination. What it does mean, however, is that if certain circumstances don’t change, it’s not too foolhardy to bring a passport for future visits. \nI’ll blow off the dust just in case.
(03/04/08 1:31am)
We’re often told that every person has a role to fulfill in this world. Certainly this is true considering that Paris Hilton is, well, alive.\nBut aside from being a waste of valuable air, Paris, just like everyone else, has an innate sense that there is a purpose for her existence. Yes, everyone was born to do something, a task that you and only you can truly accomplish well. I’m reminded of this by my mother’s weekly phone call to inquire about my post-graduation job status:\nMom: How’s the job hunt going?\nMe: I was kind of thinking of taking some time off after graduation to see the world.\nMom: Oh, well, those student-loan payments will be due soon.\nMe: What’s a couple thousand dollars? I want to roam for a while, perhaps hit the road like Jack Kerouac. \nMom: Jack Kerouac died a lonely, bitter alcoholic’s death.\nMe: Sweet.\nNeedless to say, my mom’s insistence on actually putting my education and skills to use has caused me to ponder my purpose in life. Endowed with a flair for the political process, an inborn sense of humor and a propensity to lie for my own personal gain, I recently found the job for which I was put on this earth: intern for Sen. Larry Craig.\nFor those readers who, unlike me, do not have an unhealthy fascination with CNN, Larry Craig is the senator from Idaho who was arrested last year for soliciting an undercover police officer in an airport restroom. Craig’s ability to plead guilty to the charge, retract his plea, promise to resign from Congress and then retract that promise is everything I look for in a boss: political savvy, rip-roaring humor and blatant dishonesty. It seems that Craig’s personal characteristics align closely with my own.\nYou can imagine how pleased I was to find out Craig is currently soliciting (no pun intended) paid interns to serve in his Washington D.C. office over the summer. Finally, my purpose in life will be fulfilled.\nHere’s a sneak peak at the essay I’ll be submitting with the application.
(02/26/08 3:41am)
No jokes this week. Some topics are more important than cheap laughs.\nThe tragic death and amazing life of Lawrence King is one of those topics.\nLawrence, or more appropriately, Larry, was a normal 15-year-old junior high student. He had a love of animals and built a special connection with a stray dog, showing his compassionate personality.\nThat’s normal, for youth often have a connection with animals who are otherwise marginalized.\nHe loved to sing and was even touted as a future American Idol contestant by his family. \nThat’s normal. The popularity of American Idol has led many youth to explore their talents and dream amazing dreams.\nHe was also teased from time to time by fellow classmates.\nThat’s normal, too, albeit an unfortunate reality of juvenile interactions. \nLarry also displayed an innate sense of patriotism, helping his mother knit scarves for U.S. soldiers serving overseas. He wanted the soldiers to receive a Christmas gift from someone they were protecting.\nThat’s normal, for citizens often feel strongly about supporting our troops.\nHis favorite color of eye shadow was blue, and he enjoyed the occasional lipstick to compliment his black, high-heeled boots.\nThat might not be so normal for most teenage boys, but, then again, what exactly defines “normal?”\nOn Feb. 12, two days before the shootings at Northern Illinois University, Larry was shot in the head and killed while attending school at E.O. Green Junior High School in Oxnard, Calif.\nThis was certainly not a normal occurrence for a teenage boy, though the spate of school shootings in recent memory does seem like a dependable, albeit deplorable, news item.\nWhat sets Larry’s death apart from the other school shootings of this generation is the incident’s targeted nature. The 14-year-old classmate charged with Larry’s murder has also been charged with a hate crime. Larry, you see, was gay.\nLarry’s tragic slaying at the hands of an ignorant individual seems reminiscent of Matthew Shepard’s equally tragic death 10 years ago. Shepard, as many might recall, was beaten to death in Laramie, Wyo., because of his sexual orientation.\nIt’s been a decade, but little has changed. We’ve gone from surplus to deficit in the federal budget and from tranquility to post-9/11 fear, but school shootings and hate crimes still abound. A play called “The Laramie Project” continues to tour the country, highlighting the life and loss of Shepard. And, as has always been the case, the Westboro Baptist Church and its maniacal leader, Fred Phelps, also travels the country, protesting the play and maintaining that Shepard is burning in Hell. The Web site of the “church” is Godhatesfags.com.\nAmidst all this, there are people like King, people who refuse to be merely normal. By living the challenge of being openly gay in a setting that is overwhelmingly opposed to such a lifestyle, Larry became much more than a normal teenager.\nNo, he wasn’t just normal – he was, and still is, an inspiration.
(02/19/08 1:31am)
Life is ultimately a series of poor decisions.\nTake, for example, my decision to come to IU, arguably the college basketball capital of the Midwest. Not being a fan of Hoosier basketball – more precisely being someone who has cheered for Gonzaga the last two years when the teams have met in the NCAA Tournament – I’m constantly reminded how much of an outcast I am in the land Bobby Knight built.\nMy lack of enthusiasm for IU basketball has even earned the scorn of the last person I want to nag me: my mother.\nConsider the following conversation: \nMom: Did you see that game last night?\nMe: What game? “The Amazing Race”? Yeah, I really liked it!\nMom: No, you jerk, the IU game. D.J. White was on fire in the key. And Eric Gordon is unstoppable!\nMe: Who are D.J. White and Eric Gordon?\nMom: Are you serious? Whose son are you?\nThen she hung up on me. I cried myself to sleep.\nOf course, the fact that my mom – 2,400 miles away and unable to operate a DVD player – is a bigger fan of IU basketball than me led to a recent decision to actually attend a game in Assembly Hall. My roommate even loaned me some Indiana paraphernalia to wear. I may have looked the part of a fan, but I definitely stuck out when the entire crowd sang the fight song while I mouthed the words to a classic John Denver tune.\nAlas, like Denver, my plane soon crashed, and I was faced with the reality of taking interest in the game. Good thing I brought my trusty reporter’s notebook to record every possible banal observation. Here’s a sample from the notebook:\n• It’s three minutes into the game, and already the smell of popcorn and something that can only be described as cologne mixed with butt-sweat is wafting in the air. This is surely Indiana basketball at its finest.\n• The crowd chants “bullshit” after a blocking foul is called on Gordon, although it’s possible they are merely making reference to the previously mentioned cologne smell.\n• The students seated around me flip off the opposing team, perhaps to remind those from Wisconsin that IU students are dexterous enough to extend their middle fingers without moving the rest of their phalanges. I can’t believe I just wrote the word phalanges.\n• There are 25 seconds left in the game, and the “bullshit” cheer comes once again, which is odd considering the cologne smell has long since dissipated.\n• Game over. The normally rambunctious crowd is silent after a barn-burning three pointer steals the win for Wisconsin.\nThe crowd was noticeably despondent after the loss. Also looking despondent was coach Kelvin Sampson, whose recruiting violations have tainted the integrity of IU basketball.\nPerhaps hiring Sampson was as poor a decision as a non-IU basketball fan moving to Bloomington. \nBut, then again, that’s life – a series of poor decisions.
(02/12/08 4:37am)
Warning: Cultural observations follow. Readers should realize that the author has no real basis for his arguments, and he only obtained a sociology degree after an intense one-month program from a respectable online university.
(02/05/08 1:59am)
Of all the terms sometimes used to describe opera — pretentious, haughty, high society, sophisticated, etc. — the phrase “cesspool of white-trash hookers” is usually not included. \nThat is, of course, because most people never considered “Jerry Springer: The Opera” would be two phrases they’d see joined together. \nThe show, complete with the requisite fat lady singing (and in this production, throwing a chair), recently debuted in New York City after being adopted from its home in London.\nHow typically British, stealing our cultural icons, venerating them and claiming them as their own. The U.S. would never do that; just ask John, Paul, George and Ringo.\nIt may seem odd that the man who brought television a talk show that should more appropriately be named “Trailer Park Confessions” would be deserving of a musical honor on par with “Don Giovanni” and “La Boheme,” but let’s be honest; nothing is out of the realm of reason anymore. We did, after all, re-elect both Reagan and Bush (Dubya, that is).\nAnd if anyone deserves high accolades, it’s Jerry Springer, an accomplished Emmy Award-winning political commentator, lawyer, former mayor and city councilman of Cincinnati and advocate largely involved in the effort to lower the voting age from 21 to 18.\nAll you 18-year-olds out there take note: You owe your voting privileges to Springer, the same guy who delivers gay Ku Klux Klan members, transsexual strippers and midget porn stars to our living rooms.\nGod Bless America.\nIn his other life – the life that apparently does not involve mediating disputes between star-crossed lover cousins with diaper fetishes – Springer is an accomplished political activist, recently raising funds for AIDS prevention and treatment in Africa.\nSpringer’s off-the-set accomplishments are certainly noteworthy, almost as commendable as any work done by our current generation of politicians. \nWith that in mind, shouldn’t more politicians like Springer get their own operas?\nThe answer, of course, is yes, they should. Here’s some that are in the works, at least in my own mind:\nLarry Craig – The senator from Idaho made headlines last August for his penchant for kinky men’s room debauchery. The opera adaptation of his exploits includes a dazzling array of oversized toilets, a conga line of foot-tapping dancers and the entire country singing “You lied to us” – in Italian, of course.\nBarack Obama – This opera is divided into two acts. The first is set in Illinois, the second at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. Hillary Clinton sings in a supporting role.\nMitt Romney – The role of the Republican presidential candidate in this opera is played by John Kerry, taking on the stage name “Flip Flop.” Music is provided by the entire Mormon Tabernacle Choir. No caffeinated or alcoholic beverages will be served at the snack bar. Family discounts will be provided for parents attending with more than 10 children.\nOpera no longer sounds so upper-crust with the likes of these politicos in the ranks. In fact, it sounds downright awful. Perhaps we’re better off watching midget porn.
(01/29/08 4:58am)
We all have skeletons in our closets. Some are figurative – like the fact that I voted for a Republican while working on the campaign of the opposing Democrat. Others are more literal (and morbid), such as the cadre of human skeletons in the closet of Bill Nye the Science Guy.\nRegardless, we all have, as The All-American Rejects pointed out, dirty little secrets. (Besides voting for a Republican, another secret of mine is apparently my familiarity with the music catalogue of The All-American Rejects. But perhaps we should just move along.)\nThe beauty of having your own house or apartment is not running the risk of your roommates discovering your secrets. I, however, have not had this luxury in, well, ever. Thus, it’s hard to engage in my favorite pastime of painting my nails and watching soap operas. That’s why if you’re like me and have seen every episode of “Sex and the City” and maintain that “Desperate Housewives” is actually an extremely well-written show, you need really trustworthy roommates, ones that can keep your very embarrassing television secrets.\nI, however, am not so adept at keeping the similar secrets of others.\nYou can tell a lot about people by the shows they watch, or more appropriately, by the shows people don’t want others to know they watch. With the writers striking, and thus not much reason to watch “Desperate Housewives” or paint my nails, I’ve taken to observing the secret television behavior of my roommates. Unfortunately, I’m legally prevented from printing the results of my investigative work because they know where I sleep.\nThere are plenty of other people, however, who don’t know where I sleep and are fair game to have their secret television preferences revealed. It should be noted that the following research was conducted with the help of several sociology graduate students, who weren’t doing much else of importance.\nHillary Clinton – The Discovery Channel is her favorite, particularly the show “Dirty Jobs,” in which host Mike Rowe goes to places such as sewage treatment plants and the Oval Office to highlight jobs that are really crummy, but worth it for the amount of tail. She’s also fascinated by shows about sharks. \nPresident Bush – While most would think I’m going for a cheap shot like “Barney and Friends” or “Sesame Street,” Bush’s television tastes are actually quite refined. PBS’ “Antiques Roadshow” is one of his favorites, and he is secretly contemplating going on the show to have expert appraisers estimate the worth of his presidency. In terms of comedic value, it has been, of course, priceless.\nDick Cheney – His favorites are actually not television shows, but commercials, particularly for Hardee’s and McDonald’s. On a side note, he actually plays the creepy Burger King guy.\nWith the writers’ strike still in effect, you should get off the couch and spy on your roommates or favorite political figure. I, however, need to take a break from such work. My closet is getting full and could use a cleaning.
(01/24/08 5:00am)
Steve Wiebe is not a winner. It seems like he's never good enough at anything in life he tries -- whether it's music, sports or his job at Boeing. Billy Mitchell, on the other hand, can never win enough. After setting the world-record Donkey Kong score in 1982, he secured his name as a legend. And now Steve Wiebe wants to beat the undeniable hero of the video-game world at his own game; he wants to beat Mitchell's all-time highest Donkey Kong score.\nThe new film by Seth Gordon documents Wiebe's heroic attempt to beat the unbeatable. The film fascinatingly combines real-life obsessive gamers with seemingly fictitious drama, including the classic good vs. evil showdown between Steve and Billy. Steve and Billy's obsession transfers seamlessly from screen to audience. Gordon's framework of thorough introduction into both men's lives allows us to understand their differing reasons for wanting to be the best. What may have been alien to us before entering the film quickly begins to feel familiar. \nIt also, surprisingly, has multiple moments of pure hilarity. One such line comes from Wiebe's young daughter Jillian, when she looks at him and says, "I never knew that the Guinness World Record Book was so important. Some people ruin their lives to be in there." \nThis ends up being one of the wisest statements made about Wiebe's attempt to beat Mitchell, as viewers are completely involved in this somewhat far-fetched goal, rooting for him every step of the way. \nThe intensity with which Wiebe, Mitchell, Brian Kuh and gaming company Twin Galaxies referee Walter Day immerse themselves in gaming is fascinating to all who watch. Even nongamers feel as if, for 90 minutes at least, they could be the biggest gaming geek in the world. \n"The King of Kong" isn't just a documentary about gamers; it's a moving, heroic tale about ethics that grabs hold of audiences from the opening testimony to the last shot. If you ask me, it's well worth the quarters.
(01/22/08 12:27am)
With all the hype about electing our next president, it’s easy to forget that we actually have a sitting president. His name is George W. Bush, or Dubya if you prefer, and he’s gotten lonely as of late.\nFor example, Bush recently took a break from his routine of doing Sudoku puzzles to tour several Middle East countries including Egypt, Saudi Arabia and Bahrain. I know what you’re thinking, and yes, Bahrain is a country. I looked it up on the Internet. Thanks, Al Gore. \nThe point is, hardly anyone took notice of Bush’s travels, save a few loyal and overzealous Fox News reporters. Even the would-be assassins normally stalking Bush in the Middle East seemed to overlook his trip. \nPerhaps this newfound apathy with the president has something to do with a calendar. But not just any calendar — a very special one.\nOn the wall in my room you’ll find three things: an autographed picture of Bill Clinton, an award designating me an Eagle Scout and a calendar with a daily countdown to January 20, 2009, the day Bush leaves office and 150 million Americans return from Canada. \nAs of today, the calendar reports less than a year — 364 days — until proper grammar is restored in the nation’s capital. And with every passing day the American (and world) population forgets more of the unremarkable policies that defined Bush’s presidency. \nNeedless to say, this is all very upsetting for poor George. While half of America and most of the known world used to hang on his every word merely for the opportunity to despise him for no good reason, now ol’ Dubya has trouble getting Islamic fundamentalists to take notice when he’s in the area. How sad. \nIt may be hard for some of you to believe, particularly those of you in Canada, but George actually has feelings, and they’ve been hurt lately since no one, not even Hugo “Really Sane Guy” Chavez, has taken the time to call him the devil.\nIn fact, Bush plans to address this in his upcoming annual State of the Union address, an event you’ve probably forgotten will occur. Being a member of the Communist press, I was able to obtain a copy of the speech. Here’s an excerpt:\nMy Fellow Americans,\nIt’s only a year until I leave office. Can we return to the good ol’ days? The days before a woman and a black man were the hottest news in politics. Remember No Child Left Behind? That sucked. Remember when I vetoed a health insurance bill for children for no reason? That was awful. And what about the Iraq War? You think it’s getting better? Guess again. Remember how it started? Aren’t you still mad about that? \nClearly he’s a man desperate for attention, positive or negative. Unfortunately for him, however, the next 364 days will focus not on his departure or his “legacy,” but on electing a person who can reverse all the haphazard policies his administration has enacted.
(01/15/08 12:24am)
There’s a myth abounding in our education system that goes something like this: If you work hard enough and set your goals high enough, you can achieve anything. \nLike many children, I was introduced to this myth at an early age, say, third grade. \n“That’s right, Scott, you can grow up to be the President of the United States.”\n“Oh boy! What do I need to do?”\n“Work hard. Oh, and it might help to have fifty million dollars.”\n“I’ll check my piggy bank.”\nAs it turns out, the piggy bank didn’t contain the necessary funds for a presidential campaign, but I did have enough for a comic book. \nIt was clear from that point forward that my presidential aspirations were nothing but a pie-in-the-sky dream. That’s why I was so shocked when someone recently suggested I run for president. (Let’s discount that whole Constitutional “legal” mumbo-jumbo about being at least 35 years old.) Here’s how the conversation unfolded:\nMe to reflection: “Hey, good lookin’.” \nReflection: “Hey, sexy pants.”\nMe to reflection: “You should run for president.”\nReflection: “Really? I don’t think I’m qualified.”\nMe to reflection: “Sure you are. Can you kiss a baby? Wave to a crowd? Advocate change? That’s all you need.”\nIn reality, those characteristics are the basis of what someone needs to mount a successful candidacy. Well, those and a belief in Jesus Christ as the savior of the universe. Non-Christians apparently need not apply.\nSince I’m Catholic, which I’m told has something to do with this Jesus fellow, it follows that I, like Hillary Clinton, Barack Obama and John Edwards, am a viable choice to lead this country into four (or eight) more years of mediocrity. And like our current commander in chief, I have an abundance of strategery at my disposal that will allow me to secure the most powerful office in the world.\nConsider my qualifications:\nBaby kissing – I have a young niece, who, at one time, was considered a baby. My uncle duties have in the past required me to kiss this bundle of joy on her chubby cheeks. Her reaction of promptly vomiting on me is evidence of my ability to elicit thoughtful responses from voters. It is also a reflection of how most women react to my affection.\nWaving to crowds – After a clever scheme to make the entire school sympathetic to my plight, I was elected Miss (Mr.) Grand Coulee, Washington and made to ride on a float, thus representing the town in parades. As a result, I have superior waving skills. I also have a sparkly dress that would work perfectly for my inaugural ball.\nAdvocating change – Much like Barack Obama’s campaign slogan purports, my candidacy also represents “Change we can believe in.” I, however, being the product of a “correct use of prepositions” education, advocate “Change in which we can believe.” \nBased on these qualifications, I hope that I can depend on your vote, and, of course, the use of your piggy banks.
(01/08/08 2:06am)
Christmas is more than consumerism. It is a time to remind ourselves of the idiosyncrasies of our families. My family, for example, holds the record for most screwy, a distinction that was reiterated this past season. No matter their quirkiness, however, I realize every year not only how fond I am of these Croatians, but that I’m bound to inherit some of their undesirable traits. \nOne trait I’m scared about inheriting is my mom’s use of traveler’s checks, which she instituted with annoying perfection this Christmas in Ohio. She has an idea that such checks are necessary whenever traveling outside a 100-mile radius of home. She fails to realize that traveler’s checks are as useful as Reagan’s economic policy. But that didn’t stop her from using the checks to buy cheap reading glasses, the logical first stop after a plane ride. Companies that offer the checks do so only for my mom, probably as a cruel joke toward me.\nHere’s another reason I love my family members: They are insane.\nThis year’s trip had the goal of reuniting with the extended family. As they say, the more things change, the more they remain the same. The aunts still cook too much food, and the cousins still display a subtle yet disturbing racial prejudice worthy of West Side Story. Despite the awkwardness of responding to my cousin that no, I do not think “rag head” is an appropriate description of Muslims, it was comforting to see the extended family. They may have some of their graces backward (once again, cousin, I don’t think you should say “spic,”) but I’m most tantalized by my family members’ inability to understand my eating habits. Indeed, telling them I was to marry a Hispanic person or that I was gay would have been awkward, but nothing could compare with this year’s bombshell: I don’t eat meat.\nNormally people respond to this revelation with forced interest. “Why? Is it a health thing or are you a PETA member?” Neither.\nMy family, however, has staked out darker territory. They are good Croatians who excel at devouring meat. Lamb, beef, Serbians, Bosnians and perhaps, an Albanian. If it’s fleshy, the Croats love it, usually with sauerkraut. That’s why revealing that I do not eat meat yielded the collective family response: What’s wrong with you?\nIt was at this point that I identified another family trait: irrational thought. It seems they’d be happier with me being gay just so long as the sausage still went into my mouth as well as my ... well, you get the picture.\nDespite my family’s aversion to my eating habits, insistence on traveler’s checks and inappropriate racial remarks, this was a Christmas of positive memories. My family may be irrational and in need of cultural sensitivity, but what family isn’t? It’s scary to think about, but I’ll probably end up similar to them, perhaps using traveler’s checks in the future. Old traditions die hard, after all, and I’d rather use traveler’s checks than eat some pork or a damn, dirty Serbian.\nOld traditions die hard.
(12/04/07 1:36am)
All I want for Christmas is my two front teeth,” or so goes the old holiday jingle, covered by such renowned performers as Mariah Carey, George Strait and Alvin and the Chipmunks. \nGosh, I love Christmas. \nThere are few holidays around, religious or national, that have the ability to bring together groups as eclectic as Strait, Carey and the other performers mentioned above – furry and potentially rabid woodland creatures. \nBut whether it’s melodically proclaiming one’s need for oral fixtures to aid in the chewing process or fruitlessly hinting at every adult in sight your need for a Red Rider BB Gun, (“You’ll shoot your eye out!”), the Christmas season always seems to boil down to one thing: wanting and wishing. Actually that’s two things. Crap. Well, I’m in the social sciences – we don’t care much for numbers in this ivory tower, but we do make a good profession of judging other people.\nBut I digress.\nThe point is, this time of year inevitably lends itself to focus not only on giving and charity, but some form of self-interest. Whether our wish be a new Xbox 360 or some shallow request like peace on Earth (lame), it’s safe to say the majority of us give at least some thought during the season to something we want. \nTake, for example, my recent visit to Santa Claus, who happened to be at the mall.\nSanta: HO, HO, HO. What do you want for Christmas, little boy?\nMe: I’m not a little boy. And you’re not the real Santa.\nSanta: Well, what would you like for Christmas?\nMe: I’d like for you to rinse your mouth with Listerine. I can smell the whiskey on your breath.\nSanta: (HICCUP) I don’t know what you’re talking about.\nAnd then he passed out. Talk about good tidings of great joy!\nRegardless of Santa’s penchant for a stiff drink, our interaction still required me to speak of a personal want. Fortunately, I searched through Santa’s pockets for loose change while he slept away his intoxication. Although I found no money (cheap bastard), I did find a Christmas wish list containing items requested by a few notable individuals. Here’s a sampling:\nPresident Bush – A new Congress or a time machine. He’d also like a new ball of yarn.\nHillary Clinton – Less testosterone. She’s getting tired of beating up all the males around her.\nIU President Michael McRobbie – A board of trustees that makes and enforces practical University-wide policies. He also requests a number of signs that say “No Smoking on Campus: Sorry, it wasn’t my idea.” \nThere you have it. Whether you’re the president of the University or the president of the United States, everyone has at least a primal personal wish this holiday season. Let’s hope that red-nosed, lush Santa Claus wakes up in time to deliver.
(11/27/07 2:52pm)
Once in a while something comes to light that challenges a long-standing paradigm. Upon recognition of such shattering information, many people react in the manner that neo-conservatives approach international relations: regressing into fits of adolescent temper tantrums.\nFor example, many people associate after-Thanksgiving-meal sleepiness to tryptophan, an amino-acid found in juicy, oven-roasted turkey and John Madden’s sweat.\nYummy.\nIn reality, however, our annual tradition of Thanksgiving poultry gorging and promptly going comatose has little to do with tryptophan and more to do with our general overeating and slothfulness. At least that’s what a bunch of “doctors” doing “medical research” recently reported. \nAre you upset over this information that is contrary-to-common thought? Pounding the floor while screaming? Condoleezza Rice is, but that’s her job. Cranky neo-con.\nSimilar to the tiresome-turkey conspiracy, there’s another myth out there ready for debunking. And like the tryptophan twaddle, it has everything to do with Thanksgiving gluttony. \nThe day after Thanksgiving, affectionately known as Black Friday for reasons of capitalistic quandary, has nearly become as scared as the previous day’s turkey feasting. In fact, national law mandates evening newscast dedicate 90 percent of their air time on Black Friday to wacky stories about the day’s inevitable crowded malls and huge retail sales. And every year the stores open earlier: 5 a.m., 4 a.m., some even at midnight, thus interrupting several precious hours of non-tryptophan induced sleep. \nThe perception of a Black Friday outsider such as me is that the shopping frenzy is reserved for the most desperate among us: overzealous yet well-meaning housewives.\nThis year, however, necessitated first-hand observation to test the theory. What I found shook my preconceived thought to its misguided core.\n5 a.m. – Dark and cold, the outside air gives way to the welcome site of a portly security guard unlocking the store’s large glass doors.\n5:02 a.m. – On the ground, reeling from the stampede of feet that has just given me an unwelcome back massage, I look up in time to catch a glimpse of a young child no more that 6 years old laughing and pointing. The little girl tells her mother, “Look at the funny dumb guy.” The mother responds in kind. “He’s a weakling. Go find the DVDs.”\n5:13 a.m. – Reaching for the last copy of “Dr. Quinn Medicine Woman, Season 4,” I’m blindsided with a backhand to the face. My assailant screeches, “Back off, bitch! My girlfriend loves this show.” To my surprise, there’s not a butch lesbian standing above me but rather an obviously metrosexual male of about 30.\n5:35 a.m. – Returning home, I stitch my bleeding face using frontier medicine techniques gleaned from Dr. Quinn. \nDespite notions to the contrary, the Black Friday phenomenon is not localized to a group of ravenous adult women. There are young children and well-polished men who also become caught in the ferocious consumerism of the day. They represent all of us, a country that, on the whole, becomes more obsessed with the shop-‘til-you-drop mantra with every passing year.\nShocked? Go ahead, throw a fit. The neo-cons are right there with you.
(11/13/07 12:43am)
To paraphrase comedian Dave Attell, once in a while it’s appropriate to thank those people you often make fun of, just because they’ve provided so many good laughs. In this vein, therefore, please accept the following open thank you letter to America’s favorite value-laden and traditional family-defending political party: the GOP.\nDear GOP/Republicans/Elephants/God-fearing Christians:\nI write to you today to extend my profound thanks for your continuing and unwavering ability to send me into uncontrollable fits of hysterical laughter. Indeed, just as you are the party of small government, fiscal constraint and family values, so too are you the true kings (and queens) of comedy. From the bottom of my God-less, secular, liberal heart, a profound and hearty thanks to you. In fact, if you did not realize, several of your members, both elected officials and notable personalities alike, have, in the past, provided unmatched fodder for this humble column. Allow me to single out, and therefore thank, a few such individuals:\nThank you, Mark Foley, ex-Congressman from Florida. Your solicitation of an underage male Congressional page was a laugh riot. The voters of Florida were right to elect you, such a fine model of your party’s platform. \nThank you, Larry Craig, Senator from Idaho. Because of your alleged sexual solicitation of an undercover male police officer, the bathroom in which your act occurred has become an attraction for me, a perverse Mecca, if you will. Also, thank you for your guilty plea to the charge, subsequent resignation from Congress, and then retraction of both your guilty plea and resignation. Yes, you truly are a jokester, and my smile appreciates your efforts. \nThank you, Ted Haggard, former pastor of a Colorado evangelical Christian church. Due to your commitment to male prostitutes, claiming yourself gay, then seeking treatment for and curing of your “gayness,” I feel as if I’ve been revitalized with humor. \nAlthough the aforementioned individuals have made great contributions to the topics of this column in the past, others in the Republican Party, previously unmentioned in this forum, deserve special recognition here and now:\nThank you, Jim West, ex-Washington State legislator and ex-Mayor of Spokane, Wash. Your ability to adamantly oppose gay rights legislation but then subsequently leave office after news of your gay sex scandal is truly remarkable. \nAnd last, but certainly not least, thank you most of all, Richard Curtis, recently-resigned Washington State legislator. With your ability to oppose gay rights legislation, but then dress in lingerie and solicit a male prostitute, you have upheld years of valor and honor that others in your party have previously established. On Oct. 26, as you took a prostitute to your hotel, paid him for sex and then denied everything as pure extortion, you emblazoned a new and courageous path for others in your party. You also gave me quite a chuckle. \nIn closing, GOP, keep up the good work. Your humor is appreciated – and welcomed – as we prepare for elections next year. Based on your uncanny ability to entertain, let’s hope the voters make the right decision.