thursday, march 15, 1979
daily nebruskan
006
Rumors of politician cloud success of Carter s top
An atmosphere of euphoria sur
rounds the White House following
President Jimmy Carter's apparently
successful trip to the Mideast. Only
24 hours earlier the atmosphere had
been a lot heavier. The scant reports
of progress in Carter's talks with
President Sadat. of Egypt and Prime
Minister Begin of Israel were guarded
and negative.
The same kind of euphoria which
followed the signing of the Camp
David accords has administration
spokesmen, as well as some Israelis
and Egyptians, making predictions of
peace within the month. We remem
ber well the similar predictions made
after Camp David.
Perhaps the most interesting thing
that has come out of Carter's recent
peace-making mission is the charge
that the negative progress reports
were staged by the administration to
make the resultant success a bit more
dramatic. Carter's image as decisive
leader has been fading lately and a
well-designed bit of political theatre
with a grana ciimatww uium6
enhance that image.
If the charges are true and the ad
ministration is attempting to manip
ulate public sentiment, that action in
itself is an interesting statement. For,
in fact, it says that, in the admini
stration's collective mind, actions do
not always speak louder than words.
One would think that success would
sufficiently enhance the president's
image. In this case, however, it
would seem that the president and
his counselors don t agree.
Peace is a noble and honorable
motive. Hopefully the president had
peace as his prime motive for travel
ing to the Middle East. If, on the
other hand, his main purpose in
going was to enhance his image, his
success in securing agreement
between Israel and Egypt seems
somehow cheapened. It is a rather
" sad commentary when priorities are
juggled such that politickin' comes
before peace.
Take the house,
wife, kids, Spot,
for tank o
f gas
It was a cool spring evening in the year 1984. "I know
what lei s do," said Father. "Let's go to the drive-in
movie."
"But, dear," protested Mother, "we can't afford to go
to the movies."
Oh, I -know that," said Father. MI just thought it
would be a nice drive out there. You know, get behind the
old wheel, step on the gas and zip through the countryside."
DODtJDiDG ipSandlG
"Well, if you think so, dear," said Mother dubiously.
"Speaking of gas, though, you'd better get some first."
"You're right, Mother," said Father, checking the
gauge. "Darn, I just filled it yesterday.'
"I hear Sherman's Super Save is having a gigantic sale,"
said Mother. "Regular is only two cents more a gallon
than it was yesterdav."
"I can't believe it," said Father. "That's the lowest
increase in months."
Special sale
But, sure enough, there was a big sign on the curb in
front of Sherman's. "TODAY ONLY," it said, "Regular,
$76,98agailon!"
"I suppose it is a bargain," said Mother with a sigh.
"But it still seems an awful lot to pay for a gallon of gas."
"Now, Mother," said Father sternly. "You know very
well the government's policy is to increase the price of
gasoline in order to teduce consumption. And it certainly
does make sense. You push the cost up high enough and
Americans are simply going to stop driving their cars."
"Well, I;guess you're right,jiear," said Mother. "But I
do miss the girls sometimes."
"Now, Mother, we've been through all that," said
Father. Tm sure they're very happy lolling about in the
Saudi harem. Besides, it was getting awfully cramped
with four of us living in- the car."
Miss house and kids
"Yes," said-Mother. "I miss the house, too. And Spot.
He was such a wonderful dog."
"A little on the tough side, if you ask me,"
said Father. "Look, I miss the house and the children as
much as you. But what could we do? 1 couldn't very well
walk to work."
"I know, dear said Mother. "It's too bad you
couldn't take a bus."
"I thought about it, said Father. "But with all that
expensive gas they have in their tanks, the drivers are just
too heavily armed these days. If would be easier to hijack
a tanker truck.
. "WhatU it be, folks? said Sherman, leaning in the
window. "A gill, a pint, ofa magnum?"
Private talks
"I'mia little short of cash today, Sherman," said
Father, getting out of the car. "I wonder if we could talk?
Privately."
Father was back in ten minutes with a five -gallon can
of gas in each hand. "Get but. Mother,' he said.
Mother blanched. -Oh, Father, she cried, "tell me
you didnt sen Sherman my-forgive the expression
favors?" - "-i--:'w .
"I certainly did not!H said Father indignantly. -'Not
after he offered me only naif t pint and refused to dean
your glasses. But I'm not sure I swapped him the right
thing ; -'" - . '"- -
"Of course you did, dear," said Mother, beaming.
What en this earth could be more precious than ten
pI!ons of gas?" -'-""
Father locked urrrry. "Its car,. ht said. . .
Depression blues foiled by silliness
We're improvising blues in the basement, and the kid
steps out from under a blistering solo to wring the last
bit of life out of his last three notes. The first slides sen
suously into the second. The third cuts through the air
like a stiletto and just hangs there daring anyone to step
on it. He flashes a self-conscious "where did that come
from?" smile and ad-libs the last verse. It ends:
"Seems like this must be the path
But don't mind me
It's just terminal vagrancy
Ain't nothing you can catch ."
It's no use. We've been playing the blues all night, and
the only mood that seems to be getting through is abject
silliness. Already we've written three tunes. "I was lookine
in (which I should have been looking out)," seems to win
the big prize tonight, if for no other than I managed a
very soulful yell when I grabbed an ungrounded micro
phone in the middle of it.
Catharsis
"If I don't have a catharsis right now, I'm taking my
guitar and oging home!" the kid screams.
I check my guitar case. Several broken picks, half a
baloney sandwich, two copies of a proposed documentary
on coffee as a contraceptive and sundry charts-but no
catharsis.
"You're out of luck," I say. He begins to pack up.
"I feel too good to play the blues tonight," he says,
"but I feel too bad to feel good. ..."
He plugs the guitar back in and plays around with
another loose riff.
"Maybe we can work something out ."
We piddle around for a half an hour; playing
"American Bandstand," -"remember this hit from the
sixties....?" After three different disco versions of
"Hang ea Sloopy," I begin to pack up.
"Cane on! I know if I could just get a grip on these
bad feelings I could play some killer blues. . .tell me some
thing sad."
"You're out of tune."
Attempted depression
In the spirit of getting depressed we decide to go for
coffee. We jam the guitars into the booth and sit in the
aisle. Everybody else has a date.
The waitress makes a long approach. She circles the
table several times, and finally decides to land.
"What will your guitars have?" she asks.
I grimace and ask for separate checks. .
Now it starts.
"You know, I really respect my mother."
We're here five minutes and he's already at his mother.
"Do you know in her entire life she never had to go for
a cup of coffee?"
"She would have played lousy guitar."
Several more attempts at getting depressed fail totally.
It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas around here.
"I really would like to play some blues tonight,'' he
says.
But it's just no good. We're obviously just feeling too
good to do much of anything.
This letter is in reply to several disparaging letters I
have read in the editorial column as of late. I shall not
elaborate with statistical information, but rather give a
personal view.
Evidently, those who have so freely condemned the
Arabian and Iranian students have had no direct contact
with these people nor are they'educated as to the struggles
.Df these people. Not only am I defending my foreign
friends; t am also defending myself (an American), for I
was one of those "animalistic" American demonstrators
last Thursday evening. t
