thursday, november 9, 1978
daily nebraskan
page 5
oped
Tape of past brings vivid visions of
distant friends drifting, dreaming
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I have a nasty tendency to be romantic-or overly dra-matic-about
things that have happened during my ap
prenticeship as a person. Things that happened several
years ago drift between terribly important and incredibly
trivial, depending on whatever mood I've placed myself in.
michael zangari
For what ever reason, there are events during the early
part of our lives that pass into personal myth and a ver
sion of the event is indelibly etched into our conscious
ness, conversations, and art.
It usually vaguely resembles the actual event.
Leafing through the collected scraps of 10 years of
stumbling, I recently found a tape recording of an evening
some seven summers ago. One of the many evenings as I
recall, sitting in some basement somewhere conducting
counter-pressure experiments (where air in a styrofoam
cup was displaced with cheap wine) and dreaming with
.friends.
Tape dreams
I listened to the tape while sitting in my car waiting
for another friend to get off work. Because the car is a
small one and creates a very quiet space, it was easy to put
myself back in a place I haven't visited on any real terms
in a long, long time.
I see a tattered overstuffed couch-a beat-up canary
yellow upright piano, and a sense of abandon I hardly
recognize. Volume Two of Dylan's greatest hits is on the
stereo. Of the three people in the room, one is now crazy,
one is an accountant, and the third is somewhere in
between.
One line sticks out in the muddled inane conversation.
"There won't be any actors anymore, youH see-just
etters
I was somewhat surprised to note that "rock critic"
Joe Starita and I attended the same Bob Dylan concert
last Saturday evening. I say, "surprisingly," because the
individual masquerading as Dylan presented a show that
bore a striking resemblance to Tony Orlanda and Dawn.
Bob Dylan, if indeed he was the one performing,
hardly sent his "familiar voice snaking through the
cracks. . . " Instead , Dylan's songs were sty-led after "Tie a
Yellow Ribbon 'Round the Old Oak Tree," "A Heart Beat
is A love Beat" and other assorted disco treats.
Evidently, Mr. Starita, unlike the other foolish 9,600,
including me, had the good sense to stay home and fabri
cate another, in the long, albeit nauseous line of Dylan
testimonials. How else can one explain the discrepancy?
Mark Glaess
Blame should be shared
I am one of the approximately 150 people who,
because of an error on the part of UNL's Associated Stu
dents of the University of Nebraska (ASUN), was unable
to vote in Tuesday's election. (Daily Nebraskan, Nov. 2,
1978.) It is shocking to think that members of the student
government are not aware of election laws and it is deplor
able when their actions result in denying people the right
to vote.
However, after appraising the situation, I feel the
blame should not be entirely shouldered by ASUN. The
ASUN had originally asked the League of Women Voters
for assistance in registering voters. County Election
Commissioner William Davidson refused to deputize
members of the League because his office was too busy.
The fact that more than 700 people were "registered" by
ASUN clearly indicated a need for better registration pro
cedures. If the County Election Office was really overworked,
I'm surprised that Davidson hadn't previously utilized the
services of the League. According to Ann Bleed, President
of the League of Women Voters, this is not the first year
that Mr. Davidson has refused to allow them to register
voters.
Such shortsightedness in a public official is certainly
unfortunate and what is frustrating is that the office is
filled by appointment of the governor of Nebraska.
Perhaps it is time that the choice for such a critical office
be decided by the people.
Nicolas N. Tabet
Research Technologist
Agronomy Department
people. . . "
Pretty ironic stuff considering the way we've created
such a complex mystique about those late nights and
shared hours of such obvious nonsense.
Smiles and groans
The tape was a little disappointing, I'm not sure what I
expected to come away with-some missing piece to some
indistinguishable puzzle, or maybe a confirmation of
something or other.
Instead there were some smiles, some groans, some
personal sadness, and a large amount of naivety and
screaming youth. Some reality.
If we could have recorded all of the basement evenings,
all the hours at coffee or driving around, or just walking
maybe the combined experience for all of us could equal
the fantasy we all walked away with. Maybe somewhere in
it all we are the people we thought we were.
I made some late night calls to the people involved.
None of us have kept very close contact over the years,
and apparently it hasn't stopped the flow of life. We're
all alive. One is putting it all back together in Oregon, one
is expecting a baby, and one is listening to tapes in quiet
cars. All hold on to the same scraps and pieces of our
various evenings together.
Still our own
The sequence of events isn't terribly important. What
ever moments we came away with held something for us
all in various ways, and in the long run, that's all that
matters.
It's not great material for a movie-of-the-week, there
are no classic lines or major parts, just a seemingly short
series of moments that come together every now and
then.
No fantasies were shattered this week, but the card
board cut outs and actors have softened for me. We're
all . just people, fallible, entirely malleable, and not all
together blind. Whatever images we share are still our
own.
Get to know your Profs!
At the
UNL Marketing Club
and
Delta Sigma Pi
Student-Faculty Mixer
Thursday, Nov. 9
3:30-5:30
ChesterfieldVYacht Club
SAVINGS
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