Chris banks
Springtime no time for studying
As i was wanting 10 Love Li
brary on Sunday, I found
myself wishing I were a dog
and could cool off by wagging my
tongue. Ah, the dog’s life—no messy
sweat and all the girls love you. Of
course, I also realized it doesn’t do a
dog any good if beautiful human
women like him. That’s when I
reached my other conclusion—school
gets out too late.
The semester should have ended
several weeks ago, like in mid-March,
when the weather still really sucked. 1
have so much to do before my finals,
but what did I do last weekend? I
barbecued and watched the Cubs lose
again.
All this while I should have beciy
hanging out in a computer lab with
the keyboard-jockeys who al waysTi nd
my hunt-and-pcck method so amus
ing. 1 have a 20-30 page paper on
U n i ted S ta tes-Ch i nese-J apanese rcl a
tions ... you know, the boring stuff I
wrote about this year that nobody read.
(Well, I guess you probably don’t know
then.)
While I’m on Japan, I just wanted
to throw out a theory. Shonen Knife,
the Japanese grunge-girls, are proof
of the decay of Japanese society. I
firmly believe Japan is going down
into the cul tural gutter right here with
us.
Anyway, i ve occn iikc everyone
else around here, wasting my time
and putting off the inevitable: finals.
Maybe the Association of Students of
the University of Nebraska should do
something about the situation. If they
lobby hard enough, maybe they could
get the second semester to finish
sooner,
Yeah, right. Even after kissing up
to the Athletic Department all year by
passing resolutions condemning the
evil AP voters, ASUN got slapped in
the face when ticket prices skyrock
eted to $73.1 want to formally endorse
Matt Stefan’s candidacy next year for
ASUN president. He wants todisband
the resume-padding, ego-inflating,
whinc-enough-to- trick-thc-sludcnts
We’re just Generation X, and
nobody cares about us, ,
including ourselves. We’re so
apathetic; we let a bunch of
journalists name us after Billy
Idol’s old band.
into-bclicving-yoiTre- worth while,
bozo organization. I’m not criticizing
the officers I’ve helped elect every
year (Yes. I do vote), but I hope y’all
don’t really believe you’re important.
Speakingoflhc Huskers, theend of
the year docs ofTcr the annual Red
White game. If only the Orange Bowl
were set up on the same premise:
either way, the Huskers win! I predict
right now: Nebraska over Notre Dame
on January 1. Back to the point at
hand, the Spring Game is yet another
example of abounding distractions in
April.
The best (or worst, if you’re trying
to study) part about the spring is grill
ing outside. Friday night, we had a
veritable smorgasbord ofburgers, hot
dogs and baked beans. Even cooler
were the black-bagged Jack Daniel’s
charcoal briquettes. Topping it all off,
we watched the boxing match that
night where the “bad guy” Michael
Moorer won. After listening to hours
of the “Holyficld rules/Holyfield
sucks” debate, I was just glad to get rid
of him.
On a sadder note, just as the fight
was to begin, a moment of silence was
observed to remember the passing
away of Richard Nixon. As a Demo
crat writing his last column, I had to
make mention of this event. I kind of
I iked N ixon. Though not a completely
honest man and one with a bit loo
much ego (he would have been great
in ASUN), Nixon did a good job as
president and ex-president, especially
with foreign relations. A lot better
than Reagan and Ford, at least. Nixon
Ci\m l ric k
typifies our nation’s dilemma: The
only people who run for president are
the ones that actually want the lousy
job.
During that moment of silence, I
had my next brilliant flash. Old Bill
(President Clinton) claims" to really
feel for our generation, enough so that
he even makes appearances on MTV.
Perhaps as part of the national service
bill, where kids pay for college by
doing volunteer work. Bill could end
the year a little sooner. Grades would
go up, and there would be more time
to pick up trash or whatever “service”
means.
Again, I don l think my plan will
work. We’re just Generation X, and
nobody cares about us, including our
selves. We’re so apathetic; we‘let a
bunch of journalists name us after
Billy Idol’s old band. That’s why the
nice weather distracts us so much —
we don’t care enough to make our
selves study. Instead, we’d rather lie
around in the sun and give ourselves
skin cancer.
Well, I guess I’d better admit to
myself that the semester’s not going
to just magically end, and that finals
will be held as planned. Maybe I just
should have started everything ear
lier, when the weather was miserable.
Of course, then I wouldn’t have had
time to watch TV or throw snowballs.
I guess it’s just always easy to blame
things on the weather.
Banks is a junior political science major
and a Daily Nebraskan columnist.
Fuberty emphasizes perfection
Remember the “fourth grade
film?” That mysterious and
slightly silly institutional in
troduction to puberty? I’d forgotten
until last week when a notice came
home inviting me to share in this
important “event” with my child.
I was not ready. But yet, I sec my
sweet Anna, rushing headlong into
that fascinating, frightening world of
adolescence. I want to hold her hand
through it all — that same small,
damp palm I reached for in a darkened
room of giggling girls last Friday —
and held as we watched an animated
egg make its way into an animated
uterus.
Unfortunately, mothers can’t tag
along after their daughters through
the emotional abyss of growing up—
a place where nothing is animated.
We’re not invited to junior high
parties where physically developed,
but emotionally immature, children
drink, smoke and sneak off to dark
ened rooms for unprotected sex.
We can’t tag along through a world
where 80 percent of 10-ycar-old girls
arc dieting — and 8 million develop
life-threatening eating disorders.
We can’t share the headphones as
our daughters listen to the local radio
station blaring, “Girl, l want to make
you sweat,” and “All that she wants is
another baby.”
And we can’t hurl our bodies in
front of every television set, movie
screen and magazine ad that scream
out to her lobe thin! Be sexy! Be coy!
Just don’t be yourself.
Local author and psychologist Dr.
Mary Piphcr, in her book “Reviving
Ophelia,” said our daughters were
surrounded by“junk values” in a “girl
poisoned culture” that transforms
young girls, who until puberty were
the subjects of their own lives, into
“theobjcclsofothers lives.” She quotes
feminist essayist and novelist Simone
Dc Beauvoir, who said that at a cer
tain age, “girls stop being and start
seeming.”
Our daugh ters are caugh t in a world
that won’t let them “be,” so they emu
late what they sec, hoping that who
We can’t hurl our bodies in
front of every television set,
movie screen and magazine ad
that scream out to her to be
thin! Be sexy! Be coy! Just
don’t be yourself.
they “seem to be will afford them a
place in our culture.”
During these turbulent years, some
parents try to lock their children into
physical and emotional strailjackcts.
Others give up and close their eyes for
the duration, hoping that somehow
t he ir chi Id m akes i 11 hrough u nsca thed.
I lived through adolescence—just
barely.
In elementary school, I left home
in the morning with my skirt a demure
2 inches above the knee. By the time
I sighted the flag pole, the waistband
rested somewhere in the vicinity of
my armpits, with just enough skirt in
view to keep my skivvies out of sight.
In sixth grade, I singed off my
eyelashes trying to I ight cigarette butts
I’d found on the street. _
In junior high, my parents “hired”
my friends and I to serve drinks at
their annual Big Red pre-game party;
afterwards, we served ourselves.
By high school. I’d developed an
eating disorder, becoming first
anorexic and then bulimic.
Oh my no, I’m not worried about
my daughter. A middle child, just like
her mother. Long-legged, stubborn,
sassy and smart, just I ike mom. Rebel
lious, yet conforming, individualistic
but a pcoplc-plcaser—yep, that’s me.
My daughter, myself.
I can see us in five years sitting on
the “Sally Jessy Raphael” set—me in
polyester and pumps, Anna with
punked hair and pierced body parts,
wondering where we’d gone wrong.
Dr. Pipher would look at this up
tight mother and loose-hanging
daughter and place the blame on our
“lookist” individualist society.
Young girls arc under enormous
pressure from a pervasive media and
mass culture to conform to a rigid
ideal ofbeauty. Why aren’t there pub
lic service announcements telling our
daughters that only one of 29,000
women has the physical attributes it
takes to become a fashion model?
Why arc so many of their role models
thin, fair and busty?
Anna is still at that in-between
place. She skips when she’s happy.
She reads and writes and draws pic
tures of flowers. She works hard on
science projects and at perfecting her
sports skills. She laughs with aban
don and takes baths with her little
brother. Herbodyishcrown—strong
and beautiful. -•_ _
But she’s growing up. Time once
spent jumping rope has been replaced
by loo many telephone calls. “Raffi”
has been ousted for “Salt and Pcpa.”
The mirror seems to be both her best
friend and her worst enemy. And some
times, when she makes a mistake, she
hits herself and says, “I’m stupid.”
She’s a young girl in a woman
hating world, full of strippers and
slasher mov ics, wai f model s and sw im
suil issues, violent pornography and
domestic violence.
We can’t slop biology. But maybe
with a lot ofcffort, we can change our
culture. For our daughters, for all of
us.
I.ange-Kuhick ii a senior newt-editorial
and sociology major and a Daily Nebraskan
columnist.
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