Commentary
Friday, January 20, 1995 Page 5
Being hip isn’t always dope
Recently while skimming the
classifieds of our esteemed Daily
Nebraskan to look for deals on 20
year old, beer-stained sofas, I came
upon a most amusing ad.
Even more amusing than the
normal perverse personals, this
advertisement solicited calls for tips
on what’s hot in California.
“Know what Californians know
now. Never be six months behind
again,” the advertisement read.
“All the popular movies before you
see them, music before you hear it,
fads, fashion, food, slang, fun facts
and more.” And guess what, folks?
Only two dollars per minute.
Yes, slap me upside the head
and take away my calling card — I
called, but only long enough to
gather information for the public.
It was a little civic duty for my
fellow man.
And I feel the call is well worth
the money. Being on the opposite
side of hipness could leave one in
hysterics. Imagine looking into the
mirror and having no idea of the
latest, hippest, West-Coast way to
style your hair. Imagine running to
your closet just to find that you’re a
fashion misfit who belongs on the
pages of a Kmart sales flier.
Imagine being at the breakfast table
and having no idea of the proper
slang with which to address your
friends.
“Gee, Kelly, you’re looking
freshly dopey today.”
“No, Heather, either say ‘fresh’
or say ‘dope,’” she’d reply.
“Oh, I’m sorry. Forgive me, you
look like a fly in honey.”
“No, Heather. You say ‘Honey,
you look fly.’ You really need to
call that fabulous California hot
line. Really Heather, you’re so
behind.”
Am I behind? Are we all
behind? Is this really what the rest
of the country thinks of the Mid
west? Are we really a bunch of
followers who wait anxiously to be
Heather Lampe
told what to wear, what to eat and
what to say? Apparently some
money-hungry telemarketer thinks
we are.
I don’t know about the rest of
you, but I don’t go to the store
looking for clothes that the “more
hip, more fashionable” people on
the coast are wearing. Like most
women, I shop for clothing that
won’t make my butt look huge. And
men, if you’re anything like my
boyfriend, you’ll wear whatever
your girlfriend likes or whatever
passes the dirty-laundry smell test.
I wear what flatters my body,
and if it happens to be in fashion, '
then fine. But I have this sinking
feeling that the fashionably hip
people of California are playing
some sick joke on us. Can’t you just
hear them scheming against us?
“Think hard, guys,” they’re
saying. “What can we do to them
this year? Last year, we had them
walking around in bell-bottoms and
platforms. This year, let’s tell them
that it’s hip to wear your underwear
on the outside of your clothes.
Those stupid hicks will never
know.”
I am positive that it’s a con
spiracy. I went to California two
years ago when ’70s clothing and
bell-bottoms were supposedly the
hot clothes to be wearing.
And did I see one native Califor
nian with polyester hip-huggers on?
No!
The conspiracy is probably
larger than I first may have
believed. California is probably
fighting with New York over who
gets control over the Midwest this
year. While we sit hypnotized by
Comhusker football and our
illustrious national championship,
New York and California plot our
fashionable demise:
“Listen, New York, you had
Nebraska, Iowa, Kansas and the
Dakotas last year. This year they’re
ours. We’ll give you the southern
states and, as an extra bonus, we’ll
throw in Oklahoma.”
“Okay, California, but since you
failed at making them eat sushi a
couple of years ago, you have to
promise to make those cowpokes
believe that chocolate-covered bird
droppings have become a delicacy.”
“You’ve got yourself a deal.”
Wake up, fellow Midwesterners!
We must put a stop to this evil plot "
as soon as possible.
Why do we need to know the
latest surf lingo when we live
hundreds of miles from the ocean?
Do we really want to take advice
from people who continue to
rebuild their homes on cliffs during
mudslide season? Should we
actually listen to people who are
stupid enough to live on a moving
fault line? If you ask me, their
noggins have been shaken a few too
many times for their own good.
It doesn’t take six months for
“what’s hot” to get here. The states
around here may be flat and
covered with com and the occa
sional cow, but for God’s sake, we
do have cable television. Hey, some
of us even own radios, attend
movies, read newspapers and use
telephones. You probably won’t
believe it, but just last year I sold
my horse and covered wagon and
bought me one of ‘dem ‘der new
fangled automobiles.
Aren’t I dopey? I mean, dope.
Lampe Is a Junior news-editorial and
English major and a Dally Nebraskan col
umnist
Stickers can be troublesome
I have quite a tew bumper
stickers. But they’re not on the tail
end of my Toyota — I have them
on my refrigerator instead. Don’t
ask me why, I guess my social
conscience is in the closet, or the deep
freeze, as the case may be.
After all, a bumper sticker
proclaiming something as radical
as “Support Organic Farmers”
could get me pelted with some
pesticide-laden tomatoes at a
stoplight. (You know, there are a
lot of crazy herbicide fans out
there.)
And driving around town with a
Clinton-Gore sticker next to the
exhaust pipe might cause a fender
bender or two. I’m sure I’d be safer
with “Don’t Blame Me — I Didn’t
Vote For Her” on my bumper. After
all, aren’t we all “Rushing to the
Right?”
I don’t go in for those “I Heart
My Doghead” bumper stickers, or
cutesy stuff like “I Brake For
Shopping Malls.”
My daughter, Anna, has become
quite concerned about a few of the
more far-out sentiments that some
of my bumper stickers herald. (Of
course, to a 10-year-old, anything
not sanctioned by the public school
system or advertised on a major
television network is suspect.)
Initially she simply appeared
concerned with the resale value of a
major appliance that had a dozen
impossible-to-remove-adhesive
backed slogans on it.
“Who would buy this refrigerator
with all these bumper stickers on
it?” she asked.
But soon she honed in on
content.
“What if we go to war with
someplace like China, and Dad gets
a job making guns?” she said,
Cindy Lange-Kubick
pointing to the “Visualize World
Peace” sticker above the door
handle. (As if the gun police, I
mean the Republicans, were going
to break into the house and confis
cate the fridge and all its moldy
contents.)
“We’ll just cover it with an
National Rifle Association decal,
honey,” I murmured. Failing to add
that if for some odd reason die
United States went to war with
someone its own size, like China,
the last thing I’d be fretting about
would be my liberal-leaning
refrigerator.
“Well, what if you decide to start
eating meat?” she continued
doggedly, staring accusingly at the
large green, “Go Vegetarian!”
banner on the freezer. “Then
what?”
“I guess we could paste a ‘Pork,
The Other White Meat,’ bumper
sticker over it, or maybe just a piece
of paper proclaiming, ‘I Like My
Arteries Clogged,”’ I replied with a
tinge of sarcasm.
I tell you, it’s hard to have a
social conscience, even in the
confines of your own kitchen.
“And what if welfare reform
passes?” she gloated, jabbing the
faded “Every Mother Is A Working
Mother” sticker with her index
finger.
I was at a momentary loss.
Maybe she had me there.
Finally I rebounded, “We could
change it to read ‘Every Middle
Class Mother Is A Working
Mother,’ or ‘Every Middle-Class
Mother Supported By A Husband Is
A Working Mother. The Rest Are
Lazy, Good-For-Nothing, Choco
late-Eating, Crack-Addicted Soap
Opera Addicts Who Only Have
Kids In The First Place To Get An
Easy $200 A Month.’”
Then we debated the bumper
sticker with the Native American
slogan “The Earth Does Not Belong
To Us, We Belong To The Earth.”
She decided it was a totally heathen
and unchristian-like concept —
children can be so conservative. So
we agreed to cover it with some
appropriate unecological scripture:
“Be Fruitful And Multiply, And Fill
The Earth And Subdue It And Have
Dominion Over ... Every Living
Thing.”
After debating it for a while, we
agreed to cover the “Protect Our
Planet” sticker, the two Greenpeace
logos and “Save The Dolphins”
with the same Genesis mandate.
A mutual decision was made to
leave the “Kids Need Hugs Not
Drugs” alone. And I told her if she
as much as touched the “No
Woman Ever Shot A Man While
He Was Doing The Dishes” sticker,
she was in big-time trouble.
I did end up ripping one sticker
off the Frigidaire totally of my own
accord. What parent needs a
“Question Authority?” bumper
sticker, anyway?
Lange-Kubic k is a se nlor news-editorial
and sociology major and a Dally Nebraskan
columnist.
Men dislike Hillary’s
ideas, not strength
The “strong women frighten
men and so that’s why some
people don’t like Hillary Rodham
Clinton” crowd is at it again.
New York Times columnist
Frank Rich has found proof of
this in a survey by CinemaScore
of audiences at the showing of
the film “Little Women.” Men
aren’t showing up, says the
survey, and Rich thinks this
reveals why so many men don’t
like Mrs. Clinton. “Little
Women” shows how strong
women can be, and that threatens
a male’s masculinity and self
esteem, he concludes.
But Mrs. Clinton’s problems
- are not about “strength.” A lot of
men admire Margaret Thatcher
(whose husband remained in the
background during her tenure as
British prime minister, not
because he was weak but because
he hadn’t been elected).
During the 1992 campaign
and until the health care debacle,
Mrs. Clinton was regularly
characterized by her fans as
“intelligent.” House Ways and
Means Committee Chairman
Dan Rostenkowski gushed that in
the future people would speak of
the president as her husband.
I ve met Mrs. Clinton twice;
both were social occasions. Yes,
she is intelligent and very
pleasant. I’m sure she was the
perfect hostess last week for
Newt Gingrich and his mother.
But intelligence can be overrated,
and strength is often misdefined.
It is wisdom we should look for
— and if you doubt that, consider
some definitions.
Among other definitions of
intelligence is “the ability to
apply knowledge to manipulate
one’s environment... shrewd
ness.” Now that doesn’t sound
very pleasant. A more positive
definition includes “revealing or
reflecting good judgment or
sound thought” By her own
admission, Mrs. Clinton did not
reflect good judgment in promot
ing nationalized health care. She
badly stumbled on personnel
selections, putting race, gender
and cronyism ahead of compe
tence and experience.
Had Mrs. Clinton pursued
wisdom, she would have ac
quired an “ability to discern
inner qualities and relationships;
Cal Thomas
insight; good sense; a wise
attitude or course of action.” r
Mrs. Clinton’s problem has
nothing to do with external
packaging. It has everything to'
do with a way of thinking that
has failed. Like many of her
classmates at Wellesley College
in the ’60s, she sees government
as redeemer and the state as a
substitute for initiative, sacrifice,
motivation and persistence.
The latest effort to repackage
the first lady has begun. It is said
she will write more articles,
make more speeches and focus
less on policy-making. She is
interested in appearing on as
many radio talk shows as
possible, “shows where people
are willing to talk instead of
yell.” That’s not yelling, Mrs. C.
Those are the heartfelt views of
average, hard-working citizens
on the receiving end of govern
ment that costs too much and
doesn’t produce the advertised
results.
The assertion that males fear
female strength will come as a
surprise to the new crop of
Republican women in the House
of Representatives. They had to
demonstrate considerable
strength in getting where they
are — not the muscular variety
but a potency of ideas and an
ability to reflect the views of
voters.
Men don’t fear Mrs. Clinton.
They dislike her ideas. I would
be happy to see “Little Women’
with her, but it wouldn’t change
my view of her failed and
unworkable policy objectives. I
would probably enjoy the film
more if I saw it with Margaret
Thatcher or Mother Teresa — a
woman with no political or social
power but who is stronger than
most of us.
(c) 1995, Los Angeles Times Syndicate
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Ed Gamble
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