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About The daily Nebraskan. ([Lincoln, Neb.) 1901-current | View Entire Issue (Nov. 27, 2000)
Opinion ZM/yNebraskan Since 1901 Editor Sarah Baker Opinion Page Editor Samuel McKewon Managing Editor Bradley Davis Say it’s not over Election2000fiascos create appreciation for Clinton On the eve of the day that we were supposed to finally have a president, we admit, we were getting a bit weary. We read the Associated Press wire, clicked around the Web and flipped through television news channels looking for the latest updates, probably much like the rest of America was doing. A few of us, though, found solace from the election that has now become humdrum. A break from the constant Gore-Bush banter. We found it through Bill Clinton. We found it in the December issue of Esquire magazine. The magazine carries a lengthy story- a story that could even be called a tribute - to President Clinton. The article is wonderfully written. The words slide through the reader’s mind like soft butter, drowning out the monotone voices of the televi sion and blinding them from the slick magazine page. Clinton was But the article brings forth 7 is- more than just a carefully painted impressive, portrait of the leader of die free Gore and world. It makes a point, one that Bush are we think many Americans may not. We have forgotten in the wake of didn't really controversy that is Bush-Gore. want to It reminds us that, whether we vote for love him or hate him, we don’t either of doubt whether President Clinton these two is qualified to be president men. We never have. Most hate him for his personal life, not his economic policy. We never thought he couldn’t do his job. And, demonstrated by the state of the country, he’s done his job and done it well One Clinton political enemy says it best in the article: “I hate the son of a bitch, but (his) words go right into you.” In the wake of Clinton, this election is hardly exciting. There is no personality. There is no clear policy. There are no men; there are just parties, partisan and pundits. Don’t forget the chads. It’s no wonder we’ve been bored since August. Clinton was - is - impressive. A1 Gore and George W. Bush are not We didn’t really want to vote for either of these two men. So what came to matter was our party. And that is what has come to matter in this end of the road we have reached. Statesmanship is out the window. Our high impression of political clout has been lambasted by newspaper reports of babyish cell phone con versations wherein one candidate accuses another of being “snippy.” It’s been lambasted by one candidate proclaiming the health of his run ning mate as the would-be second in command lies in the hospital. What has become important, as we wait for another lawsuit, another public statement, another CNN report, is victory of one party over another. It’s a result of the general lack of ability of either candidate to distinguish himself. Both men have become anchors for their parties. They represent victory, not themselves. Neither man can rise above that. Neither man has been able to manipulate the public into their favor. Neither is skilled at being presidential. They give us doubts we don’t know if we like. We think of our politicians in the God-like aura that Esquire reaffirms for Clinton. We don’t think of them as human, and that, in the wake of this drama, is exactly what Gore and Bush have become. Editorial Board Sarah Baker, Bradley Davis, Josh Funk, Matthew Hansen, Samuel McKewon, Dane Stickney, Kimberly Sweet Letters Policy The Daly Nebraskan welcomes briefs, letters to the editor and guest columns, but does not guar antee their pubScabon. The Defy Nebraskan retains the ri^it to edft or reject »iy material submitted. Submitted material becomes property of the Daily Nebraskan and cannot be returned. Anonymous submissions wfll not be pubfished. Those who submit letters must identify themselves by name, year in school, major andfor group affttation, if any. Submit material to: Daily Nebraskan, 20 Nebraska Union, 1400 R St Uncoin, NE 68588-0448. E mafc letteraOunlnlb.unl.edu. Editorial Policy Unsigned editorials are the opinions of the Fall 2000 Daily Nebraskan. They do not necessarily reflect the views of the University of Nebraska-Uncoln, its employees, its student body or the University of Nebraska Board of Regents. A column is solely the opinion of its author a catoon is aoMy the opinion of HsartisL The Board of Regents acts as pubfsher of the Daily Nebraskan; poii cy is sat by toe Daly Nebraskan Editorial Board. The UNL Publications Bored, established by the regents, supervise the prediction of the paper. Accordng to polcy set by the regents, reaponst tflty for the edtorW content of the newspaper lea solely in the hands of Its employeee. * f(S PART of A NftJ IWtoriON, NEBRASKA FANS MB £U&i8l£ To MH A A , FM s/u* eturHOM ibruz caw e»£Ki w r//£ v^sri#l‘ WwskeRS ffUKJ rwe <?P7ioijf AAA v.. . _ . Art AA t\N^/y\ K/VvN"^ » £ u'm, .}) Ji\ NealOtwmeyer/DN Pain breaks through artist my uraiiumumer uieu Thanksgiving weekend. At 2 a.m. Friday, her son, visiting from Wyoming, drove her to the hospital By 4 a.m., she had passed, her lungs filling with blood and overwhelming her utui ayaiem. one was oo. ——-—< At the beginning of the Seth semester, when I began writ- Felton mg these columns, I made a vow that I wasn't going to use this forum as a personal sob seat I wasn’t going to tell stories of old loves who kicked me while I was down or whine about the shitty grade I got on a mid-term. "Boo hoo,” I figured people would say, "deal with it" I wanted to write about politics, about social issues, human rights and current events. I wanted to make people think about these issues, even care about diem. That said, I don't want any pity or condolences. I can be a stubborn Alpha-male when I want to be, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to sit around all week and blubber At die same time, with her death, I was compelled to write. I wanted to create something profound to represent what I felt, something beautiful with words. Like my younger brother, Alex, who paints Picasso-esque landscapes and dreamlike enti ties littered with haunted eyes and fragile, . emphatic yet alien shapes. ^ S We sat for hours at the Coffee House on N* Friday, my brother and I, plunking down quar ters for that blessedly cheap refill of hot coffee. We talked about his girlfriend, who is in Spain " \ for the semester. A bomb set by Basque sepa ratists exploded in downtown Madrid last month. A bus was hit and several were killed. He misses her badly, and though he won’t let on, I think he’s terrified as well. There were periods of silence in the talk. I flicked a lighter nervously while Alex scrib bled on the day's newspaper a melting Dali man with needles in his back, each one rep resenting a particular hurt that was chewing on him. * uiuuj f u v/i ffV liUUia^V/U to talk about strong emotions such as grief, depression, bliss and what to do with them The artist, we realized, is fed by them. A week of bland contentment runs the artist dry. But a week of despair, or a week of exu berance, charges the batteries from which he draws inspiration and creativity. A couple years ago, hopelessly in love with dear Jenni, I must have written at least two or three poems a day for an entire semester. I'd gladly attribute them all to her. Now, at the other end of the scale, the poems are different, the articles subdued and taut. Now, Alex paints furiously, on canvas, posterboard, old wall paneling and Masonite. The newest one will be on linoleum tiling. *** The Buddhist knows that when you’re depressed, you are the depression. When you’re angry, you are the anger. Trying to deny or eradicate unwelcome or painful emotions is destructive of the self. Instead, they can be transformed and eventually drained out, like a hot needle through a smashed fingernail. The blood drains, and the wound heals. And one need not necessarily be an artist As Emerson said, we are all artists in our work, in seemingly , mundane tasks. The butcher is an artist, as is , the mason, as is the poet We all find our outlet, our release. And so, against my vow, I’ve used this forum for a personal outlet, and I apologize. At the same time, I’m not ashamed for having written it, andyoumay do with it what you will, whether you hang it up or bum it I have only one small offering yet to place on the altar and then you are free. / \ I Aroem In retrospect, the flames that rumbled in the backyard during dinner near the sunken plot where the coffee tree had been, under which now lies a mass of pipes and pumps that keep die foundation from crumbling and the basement from flooding were no omen. Though a gout of fire spewed out like a red geyser Friday morning and spilled over die dead winter bluegrass, we managed not to mention die event until the funeral. Grandmother had just passed - a silent embolism had flooded her thin lungs and cut out our tongues. Speechless, we waited for the wake. Out back, the geyser hissed and roared until at last we made mention of the past of old times and old wounds, after which the geyser guttered and spat out its last and we all took our first breath in days. \ ^ Michael Semrad,Jr./DN An exclusive chat with an obsessed fan Today I will be interviewing my alter-ego; she claims to have some sort of a love affair going on with a rock star. I am certain _ she is lying or Yssmin making this up. McEwen Either way, I thought it was important to delve into this area of psychosis so that we “sane" people could have a better understand ing. Me: So, welcome Alter-ego, thank you for agreeing to do the interview. Me2: You’re welcome. Me: Can you tell us who he is and why you are in love with him? Me2: Can’t you tell, I’m only wearing this shirt with his picture and name on it. God, you are so slow sometimes. My true love's name is Sean Kelly, lead singer for the Samples. I guess you could say it all started the first time I ever heaid his voice. I was driving into Boulder, Colo., where the Samples were playing a live acoustic show. Seany Boy sang to me that night, and I know God put me on that highway at that particular time to finally meet the man of my dreams. Me: But you didn't meet him then. Me2:1 know, but figuratively I did. It doesn’t matter, I went out and A11 , , • bought all of his A" 1 COUld CDs and became get OUt WCIS, an official fan. uypnu j When they came to l the Ranch Bowl in lOV€, IOVC, Omaha, I went to ]nvp will see him. I was sure lUV* ” mii to wear my most YOU Sign revealing of short my t-shirt?” summer dresses. 7 Me: Weren’t you ————— on a date that night with a really hot guy named Jon? Me2: Oh yeah, but he wasn't as cute as Seany boy. Me: Just hurry up and finish my story. Me2: All right already. Well, don't you remember? Sean winked at me when he sang, “Weight of the World," then when they took a break he walked right by me and smiled at me. Me: So? Me2: Well, obviously he wanted me bad. me: un nun. Me2: Well I guess I did have a date, or I would have been invited back stage to be sure since he did want me so bad. I wrote him a letter telling him just how great of a songwriter I thought he was. I left out the part about wanting to be die mother of his children. Well, he wrote back and said, “Thanks for Writing, Peace, Sean.” I showed that letter to all of my friends who said, “How do you know that is really his handwriting?" "Because I analyzed his signature from an album cover and compared it to the other band members.” Then I just had to write back and thank him for the nice letter. I even sent him a picture of me in my little black bikini. Me: You did NOT! Me2: Okay, I didn't, but I wanted to. Me: So, did you ever actually meet him? Me2: Finally, I went to see him in Lawrence, Kan., at The Granada. After the show, I waited with my friend Phil for my true love of all time, Seany Boy Kelly, to come out. He came walking down the alley with four girls all around him. I was so pissed! Me: Did you kick their asses? Me2: No, luckily I didn’t have to. Seany boy left that mass of girls and walked right up to me and Phil. He stuck his hand out to me and said, “Hi, I’m Sean, did you enjoy the show?” I almost started hyperventilating but Phil kicked me in the leg to calm me down. All I could get out was, “Yeah, I love, love, love... will you sign my t-shirt?” “Oh sure,” he said, which was really Sean speak for, “I love you too, baby.” Me: As if! Me2: Don’t interrupt me. Me: Well your time is up anyway. So why aren’t you like camping out on his front lawn somewhere, or on Hard Copy with Tonya Harding? Me2: Because I’m still making my plans. Just wait. Me: Any final words? Me2: Yeah. Sean Kelly, I know you’re out there somewhere. Baby, I know about your drug habit and that you’re a major boozer, and that you smell really bad because you smoke so much and that you may have slept with hundreds of girls and been infected with who knows what kinds of STDs. And that vou have terrible hair, but it’s okay, I still love you. Come back to me baby, Seany Boy, I’ll be your groupie girl for ever. Me: Okay, you're done. Well, audi ence, join us next time when we delve into the depths of people who can’t seem to find their car keys. Another w *