Commentary
Tuesday, January 10,1995 Page 5
New label to nurture male ego
Our own Gov. Nelson has
proclaimed that this was to be
called the year of No. 1 Nebraska,
which is nice, but it lacks a good
cause. So what I have done is taken
it upon myself to be the first to
stamp 1995 with the label of the
Year of “No More Whipped Males
in Relationships.”
OK. So this may seem a little
long and not quite as catchy as the
names of past years, but it fits, this
sure-to-be-stealing-national
headlines idea.
Now I know all of you are asking
yourself, “Robb, why do you spell
your name with two b’s?” Wait a
second. Wrong question.
What you’re really asking is how
I concluded the all-too-obvious fact
that 1995 should be the Year of
“No More Whipped Males in
Relationships.” The answer came to
me through tireless hours of
conclusive studies and intensive
field research that probed deep into
this subject.
To show you exactly what I
mean, let me introduce you to one
of the men whom I have observed.
Just for the sake of anonymity, let
me call him Aaron. Now this poor
individual is mercilessly under the
power of his domineering girlfriend
and, almost like a robot, willingly
does whatever she says.
It’s so pitiful that his girlfriend,
a good and decent young lady, can
be in her dorm room fully clothed
and craving popcorn. But instead of
going down the flight of stairs to
get it herself, she’ll call her Aaron
and ask him to pick some up and
bring it to her. It means nothing to '
the girl that he’s getting ready for
bdd, thatifs minus-42 degrees r r~
outside, that he has an Edsel for a
Robb Goff
car and that he lives all the way
across Lincoln. Then when Aaron
shows up, she has the audacity to
send him back if there's not enough
butter.
Another male — I’ll call this
one Alan — was about as bad as
the one previously mentioned until
he came to his senses and dumped
the girl last summer. I mean, this
guy was a bigger sap then Warren.
(I just had to get one Miami slam
in.) I’ve never seen a guy say “Yes,
dear” or “OK, dear” more in my
life.
I would swear on my most holy
collegiate sanity-saver, my Sega
Genesis, that he would have
mooned the entire Memorial
Stadium if she would have asked
him to. Wait a minute. I think he
would do that without having her
ask. I’ll see what he says and get
back to you on that one.
The point that I’m trying to
make is that we men can’t be
letting ourselves fall into these
vicious traps anymore.
This is the reason why I have
proclaimed this year the Year of
“No More Whipped Males in
Relationships.” I’m sick of every
body saying that we neqito save
mWales, the trees, the ozone
layer and Graham Spanief’s hair.
We need to save the most important
thing of all, the delicate male ego.
I’m not really chastising females
that much — OK, maybe a little —
but actually giving a wake-up call
to all the males who fit into this
category.
With this in mind, I have
devised a comprehensive game plan
that we, as the males of this planet,
can use to help-stop this insanity
before another poor soul ends up
like Aaron or Alan.
My idea is that we should lock
ourselves in a room and play John
Wayne and Clint Eastwood movies
all night long and then, just before
the crack of dawn, guzzle a Bud
and finish up with a good round of
Tim Alien-style grunts to get us in
the mood.
Can’t you just feel the testoster
one building? After that there could
be a good romp down to Memorial
Stadium for a no-rules football
game, followed by a bonfire made
of all those trendy female maga
zines like Cosmo and Elle. To top it
off, a nice brisk walk in the cold
January air to your girlfriend’s
place of residence (in short sleeves,
of course) to state your case.
So, for all of you poor whipped
guys out there, don’t worry. There
are others who are looking out for
you. And for all of you women out
there who have knowingly pushed
your boyfriends around for so long,
just beware, because the call is out,
the title is set, the writing is on the
wall and the fat lady is singing your
song. Let the Year of “No More
Whipped Males in Relationships”
begin.
Are you scared yet, ladies?
CtofTia a senior secondary education ma
jor and a Dally Nebraskan columnist
Swami Doug boldly predicts all
Dear readers, the time has come
once again.
The New Year is in full swing
(even though I’m still writing 1994
on all my checks), and with it
comes the fearless predictions.
Forget the Weekly World News,
The Star and the National
Enquirer. I, Swami Doug, prognos
ticator of prognosticators, have
taken it upon myself to make 15
bold predictions for the New Year.
If you are a pregnant woman, or
if you have any heart ailments, you
may want to turn back now.
Otherwise, strap yourself in. It’s
going to be a bumpy ride.
• Newt Gingrich will become
president after surprise resignations
from both Bill Clinton and A1 Gore,
who will resign to join the press
corps. “I just wanted to blame
everything on the president,”
Clinton will say.
Gingrich himself will resign
after one month in office, citing
intense teasing by White House
staffers, who insist on calling him
“President Doughboy.”
• The line of presidential
succession will move on, with
cabinet members, members of *
Congress and senators all taking
the job and then promptly resign
ing. Finally, freshman congressman
Jon Christensen will become the
540th President of the United States
in the fall of 1995. Shortly after
taking office, Christensen will issue
his first executive order, banning
all curricula except creationism and
“racial awareness” in public
schools.
• ASUN elections will go on as
scheduled, with a record 57
students casting votes. The new
administration pledges “sweeping
changes.”
• Regent Robert Allen of
Hastings will challenge University
of Nebraska-Lincoln Chancellor
Graham Spanier to a high-stakes
match of thumb wrestling for
control of the UNL administration.
Doug Peters
e The Nebraska Unicameral will
be dissolved; Tom Osborne will be
named King of Nebraska. Tommie
Frazier will then be installed as
crown prince, and Ernie Chambers
will be chosen to be the court jester.
e A killer earthquake will strike
Southern California, and the lower
half of the state will be swallowed
by the Pacific Ocean. The day is
declared a national holiday.
• Elvis Presley, who turned 60
just last Sunday, will re-emerge,
surprised at the worldwide uproar.
“Ah wasn’t dead,” the King will
announce. “It was just a long nap.”
Just hours after his re-appear
ance, Presley will die of heart
failure after learning of his
daughter’s marriage to Michael
Jackson. Son-in-law Jackson will
then make a bid to purchase
Presley’s remains for his collection
at his Neverland estate.
• A 7-year-old boy in Goehner
will become a millionaire by
drawing crayon stick figures of
football players. After labeling the
drawings “Nebraska Comhuskers,
1994 National Champions,” the
boy sells 500,000 copies at five
dollars each. The windfall
provides a healthy nest egg for the
boy and his family, even after
medical expenses for an acute
case of writer’s cramp.
• O.J. Simpson will win the
Pulitzer Prize for fiction for his
book “I Want to Tell You.”
• Former President Clinton will
buy a McDonald’s franchise in
Little Rock, Ark., but is forced to
plead bankruptcy after a late-night
“Big Mac Attack” eating binge
forces him out of business.
• The United States Postal
Service will issue an Oliver North
commemorative stamp, which will
be promptly scrapped after patrons
complain of difficulty in licking
and aligning all 100 strips.
• In Chicago, a 4-month-old boy
will break into a hospital maternity
ward and shoot a newborn to death.
The next day, the 4-month-old will
be found dead in his playpen, shot
twice in the back of the head
“execution style.” Police will take a
6-month-old playmate into custody,
calling the events “a tragic example
of gang violence.”
• Greedy major-league baseball
players and owners will fail.to
reach an agreement. The 1995
baseball season is cancelled.
Nobody cares.
• Ted Turner will cash in as
CNN broadcasts live coverage of
the U.S. invasion of Aruba more
than six hours before it even takes
place.
In related news, Turner an
nounces plans to buy the rights to
all major motion pictures made in
the last 30 years and de-colorize
them.
• A major textbook manufac
turer will bail out the U.S. govern
ment, paying off all of the nation’s
$5 trillion debt. The company’s
president will be quoted as saying,
“Hell, it’s the least we could do. It’s
not like this’ll break us or anything
— look at our prices.”
There you have it. The muse has
spoken, and the result is my 15
fearless picks. The year that lies
before us will see many other
interesting developments as well,
but due to the limitations of space,
you’re just going to have to take
them as they come.
Peters is a graduate student and a Dally
Nebraskan columnist
Fight the happies
with public radio
For most people, waking up in
a cheerful mood is a fine way to
begin the day. But not in my line
of work.
Feeling bright and chipper
could cause me to lose control
and irresponsibly write some
thing bright and chipper. And
that would turn the stomachs of
regular readers, thereby ruining
their days, too.
Fortunately, that’s seldom a
problem. I was blessed with a
naturally glum temperament that
views each bright dawn as a
potential disaster. When die
golden sunlight streams through
die window, my reaction is:
“That hurts my eyes.” Maybe I
have a Transylvanian ancestor.
But once in a while it hap
pens. I awake feeling cheerfiil.
Maybe it is the result of a
chemical imbalance. Just about
everything is. And I can only
hope that science will someday
come up with an anti-happy pill
for those of us who suffer from
this affliction. Until then, I have
to do whatever it takes to shake
the dreaded mood or it festers all
day.
And some time ago I stumbled
across an antidote that works
eveiy time. I will share it with
fellow sufferers.
In Chicago, it can be found on
the far left-hand side of the FM
radio dial, about 91-point
something or other. It’s the
public broadcasting station, and 1
guarantee that it will drive away
whatever happy thoughts might
be plaguing you.
At first I thought it was just
coincidence that every time I
turned it on, some bleak and
depressing story was being told.
If it wasn’t bloodshed or
broken promises in Bosnia, it
was rampant tooth decay and
shortage of floss in Third World
nations. If it wasn’t a new report
on famine and hunger in some
faraway jungle community, it
was obesity and heart disease in
some nearby city.
And it was never the sort of
fleeting, everyday unhappy news
heard on other newscasts — the
previous night’s teen-age
shooting or 4-11 fire. Public
radio prefers wide-scale suffering
with deep social meaning.
That’s when I became
convinced that it couldn’t be a
coincidence. The law of averages
says that once in a while they
would have to pass along
something that could prompt a
chuckle. Even O.J.’s trial Iras
had its lighthearted moments.
No, it has to be policy. I
suspect that someone in authority
at public radio shares the dread
of morning happiness and
examines every potential news
Mike Royko
item to make sure it has the
proper misery and gloom
content.
Any doubt I had vanished
when I tuned in and heard a
lengthy report on the spread of
killer tattoo needles.
Do you know about that
health problem? Probably not,
unless you, too, are a devoted
public radio listener.
It seems that prison inmates
in some of our meaner pokeys try
to bring a bit of color into their
drab lives by covering their skin
with tattoos.
But because most prisons are
overcrowded, the guards can’t
keep an eye on every convict who
is adding a fire-breathing dragon
or the slogan “Life sucks” to his
chest.
So the convicts pass around
the tattoo needles but sometimes
fail to sterilize them.
And all this swapping of used
tattoo needles is believed to be
leading to a rise in AIDS
infections among prisoners who
decorate their hides.
During this report, various
experts were interviewed about
this new crisis, expressing grave
concern that little is being done
to halt the furtive exchange of
tattoo needles in prison. And
they warned that if something
wasn’t done, more and more
prisoners would wind up brightly
decorated but dead.
With all of the problems in
this city, country and the world,
it never would have occurred to
me that I should start the day by
wringing my hands over some
convict placing himself in mortal
danger simply because he wanted
his skin to say: “I love Mom,
even though I threw her out the
window.”
When I stopped for breakfast
at Eddie’s later that morning, I
told the regulars at the counter:
“Heard on the radio that lots of
convicts are getting AIDS from
tattoo needles.”
Tony took a sip of his coffee,
snorted and said: “Yeah, sure —
that’s what they tell their wives.”
That’s another serious
problem: Some people have no
compassion in the morning.
r
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© 1995 Tribune Media Services, Inc.
Ed Gamble
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