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About The daily Nebraskan. ([Lincoln, Neb.) 1901-current | View Entire Issue (Sept. 4, 1986)
Page 12 Daily Nebraskan Thursday, September 4, 1986 THE PRAIRIE I can't gi't to sleep I rarely net to sleep the tide the wind swept corn When I do the islands the small dreams that should have their and isolated white houses own world drift into each other But this sea becomes another dream The nightmare as the passing station wagon whithers into comedy with the family inside, whithering into looks at it darkness with eyes before it lights up , conditioned to not perceive again into whatever Only the occasional killer chance the one who doesn't understand hits it the kid who illegally drives his father's car lint the day off the highway where I wake and into the corn is defined like a motorboat at full throttle with an exuberant cry to match The day where I wake has no chance sees the traffic lights are never off I want to go to sleep even the ones where I can dream about in the eyes the ocean Yet outside of these towns In the meantime it's all so open I am reminded of where I am so free as a twister of black screaming crows The sea is the sky dives then rises the waves the clouds above the wreck of a station wagon and the remains of a young man's dreams ' below Ken DiMaggio . s j Ibm) O V - I J liliniiiiiiw I - I v- S a t 0 ti AVAILABLE Friendly roommate. Quiet and smart. Able to sort through complicated issues. Got connections can help you get wired in. Supportive and dependable. Flexible. Clever. Fun. Good looking. See the PC at the IBM PC Fair September 9th 10 a.m.-4 p.m. September 10th 9 a.m.-4 p.m. Nebraska Union Regency A Students Register at the PC Fair to take one home (for FREE) 1 t ft r i w It started out as a dare, then a double dare, then as a threat from my editor, "Find an abandoned sor ority house this summer, spend the night in it, and give me a story!" My editor, what a prankster, always testing me, always throwing me curve balls, just a guy with a malig nant sense of humor. Ha, ha, ha, geez what a nut. I casually asked if he was serious. "Whadya chicken?" he asked. "Well. . ." Suddenly it hit me. I fantasized about all the fun I could have; skateboarding down those long corridors, staying up past midnight to watch TV, and all of that under wear! Endless amounts of sheer silk just waiting like hidden treasure, waiting to be uncovered by me. Let ting out a hysterical laugh, I thought to myself, "ATO's eat your hearts out!" So on the evening of Sunday the 13th, I packed a limited yet re sourceful survival kit and headed out for a destination unbeknownst to me. I always liked unbeknownst. My first stop, 7-11. I grabbed supplies that would come in handy: one case of Twinkies, a six-pack of that new Cherry Coke, some spray paint, and one case of Twinkies. I like Twinkies. The weather was starting to come in. "Oooh, thunder and lightening, this is going to be spooky!" I said to myself, but I wasn't afraid, I had my He-Man flashlight. I began to think about how many I's I would include in my story, I didn't know why, I guess I, oh. . . I don't know. The evil house mother was there to greet me. She looked normal, and smiled a lot, but deep down I knew she was hiding something from me. What was it? Just what exactly did she have to hide? It was my job to find out. Just as she said goodnight and shut the door, a cold wind blew across the room, and then I found myself in complete terror. It was then that I realized the kind of liv ing hell these girls had lived in. Yes, their house composite was missing. I chose the formal living room as my base camp for its easy escape Buenos Aires and Hello By Croig Anton possibilities. Inhaling four Twinkies, two Cherry Cokes and a wad of Hubba Bubba, I felt my blood sugar level starting to rise. I felt hyper. I felt the inclination for exploration. On the first floor I could feel that girlish energy floating in and out of the small cubicle-like rooms. I could imagine those long study sessions, discussing everything from Plato to Peter, the Alpha-Magma-Gamma guy, "oooh, what a pledge pin!" Suddenly I began hearing laugh ter in the halls from those silly little pillow fights. I began to smell a cluster of fresh cut roses for the homecoming Debutramps, and I could feel that nervous anticipatory energy found only on those intrigu ing candle passing nights. . . oooh, spooky! By now the smell of female was driving me whacko, so I began with the second floor in my quest for undies. Being fairly new at this large midwestern college, I never thought that something like this would happen to me. Y'see, it all started when I managed this tub and spa company in the Valley, and you can be assured that I was always on the ready with my soup starter or chicken boullion. But now here I was in a sorority house, alone, unprotected and not really dating anyone at the time I just knew something sex ual was bound to happen. It always does in the movies. After searching every dresser drawer in the place, I was disap pointed to find a surprising number of abandoned rosary's and empty Pill containers. The most amusing item that I came across, however, was a thin book entitled, "How to Buy Friends and Influence People at Parties," by Dale Fraternity. I must admit, though, my biggest score came out of one of the corner bedrooms. I found a large red shirt belonging to the university football team. My mind began to reel "Geez, a red shirt! A red shirt! I finally have a red shirt!" Then I stopped, and slowly thought to my self, "I wonder if I'll have to suit up this Saturday?" It was then that a surprising wave of emotion overtook me. Stepping out into the hall I sat down on the top step of the winding marble staircase and a single tear did fall and touch the marble. Damn, my nose was running. Then tears from my eyes began to swell and empty onto my cheeks. I sat, head in hands, crying a little, thinking, feel ing guilty, "Ah, these poor stupid kids! They are such simple quarry." A change of heart, one might call it kinda like the Grinch who ripped off Whoville, well kinda like that. What would I tell my editor? My readers? "Well, y'see, the door was locked, nobody home, I huffed and puffed but no little pigs, no housemother, no voluptuous play mate centerfold, no damn story." And so I'll just have to write it another time. Yeh, that's it, I'll have to wait for Peter the Alpha-Magma-Gamma guy to get caught with his pants down, so to speak. But right now I see it as a futile effort to slander and poke fun at the Greeks, it's just too easy. Plus, there are current events reshaping the very ground upon which we walk. Well, how would you like it if the NCAA came into your house and shoved an oscilloscope up your ass? Maybe I'll do that story on Death Frisbee. I think they're still alive and kickin' somewhere. Disgusted and depressed, I began to think about my ol' buddy Phil. Phil was an ex-biker, bartender, bookmaker that now worked for IBM. The corporation called Phil one day and informed him that they would soon be testing their employ ees for narcotics. They asked for a blood sample, sperm count and a urinalysis. Needless to say, Phil just gave them his underwear. Reflecting on my ol' buddy Phil reminded me of Phil's brother Hal. Hal was a man of few values, like his brother, yet he lived by a creedo spoken only in a drunken coma. The Creedo: Never kick a sleeping dog. Never sleep with a kicking dog. Don't laugh at those less fortu nate than you. And Thar ain't no such thing as "best."