Columnist savors frozen treat
One of the best parts about
winter, with the possible exception
of witnessing a moose sing “Here
Comes Santa Claus,” is getting to
eat snow.
I’d wager that since my intro
duction to snow in the fall of 1992,
I have consumed 28 inches off the
yearly average of snowfall for the
state of Nebraska.
And I have more than one
reason for enjoying snow and
Nebraska winters (the most
convincing is that my chances of
running into nude fraternity
“brothers” canoeing down a river
, are greatly reduced.)
Before I came to Nebraska 1 had
never seen snow. We had “snow”
cones in Mississippi, but my father
insisted they were imported from
Canada.
And we never questioned my
father. Southern fathers, when
confronted, tend to hit first and
then drink whiskey until they’ve
completely forgotten what ques
tions they intended to ask later.
I’ll never forget the day of my
first snow. It was a Sunday evening
in the dorms, and as usual, students
were urinating on each other’s door
knobs.
When I saw.the flakes fall, I was
hooked. I sprinted outside and
instinctively began to shovel snow
into every bodily orifice that was
receptive.
My SA at the time described me
as “looking remarkably like a
grazing elk, only fatter and with
more lice.”
Many others stopped to inquire
about what the hell I was doing. One
man even stopped to chat with me.
“Your first snow?” he chuckled.
“It sure is,” I gulped. “Ain’t it
great?”
This kind man went on to
explain all the do’s and don’ts of
proper snow etiquette — things I
was completely unaware of.
For example, did you know that
the “Lemon Snow” found around
certain trees is considered a
delicacy in most of the North?
Steve Willey
“Snow in the South is
given the respect it
rightly deserves. When a
flake falls in the South,
most people crowd
around and poke it
repeatedly with a stick. ”
He said if I ever encountered
some, to devour it immediately and
point out to strangers what I’m
doing and why.
“Laughter,” he said, “is how
Northerners express jealousy.”
I never got a chance to thank him.
Snow shouldn’t be taken for
granted, and I’m deeply offended
when my Nebraska friends refer to
it as “white dooky.”
Snow in the South is given the
respect it rightly deserves. When a
flake falls in the South, most
people crowd around and poke it
repeatedly with a stick.
When it melts, they simulta
neously jump backwards and in
unison exclaim the following
phrase: “SHEE-YET, Jew see at?”
Although,I have yet to conquer
all of the winter sports ice and
snow have to offer, I have at
tempted ice-skating.
There are a few people in this
world that should never be allowed
near ice: Oprah Winfrey and
Southerners.
These people are easy to mark at
ice arenas. Oprah is usually at the
bottom of the large hole with
police taping around it, and
Southerners are generally found in
the comers eating ice-shavings off
the plexiglass.
The friends I went skating with
my first time out attempted to
encourage me by offering constant
reassurance.
“You’re doin’ great Steve,”
they’d compassionately shout.
“Doin’ great” when you’re ice
skating apparently consists of
making the majority of your laps
while spinning happily on your
buttocks.
As a result of this practice,
however, my prowess with walking
on ice and snow has increased
dramatically.
As a freshman, I would slip on
ice an average of 72 times on my
way from my dorm to my first
class.
If you’re a freshman, falling in
front of a large group of unfamiliar
people can be extremely traumatic.
The best methods I have found
to curb the haunting laughter is
either to:
A) Pretend you are an avocado
(People generally leave you alone
when they see you are attempting
to portray a vegetable.) or
B) Get up, brush off the snow
and laugh hysterically with them.
On some of the more vicious
falls, however, they may continue
to laugh for months, in which case,
suicide is your only feasible option.
Just like my passion for failing
chemistry, my love for snow
refuses to diminish over time.
It won’t be long before
Nebraska’s autumn succumbs to the
snow and ice of winter, and
personally I couldn’t be more
happy.
I have always preferred the taste
of “Lemon Snow” over plain old
leaves.
Willey Is an ag-journalism major and a
Daily Nebraskan columnist
Romantics revel in frivolity
He gave me a single, red rose.
Last week, we went to see
“While You Were Sleeping.”
Awhile back we discussed
getting tickets to sec a symphony at
the Lied Center.
And no, he’s not my boyfriend.
Not even a potential one.
What he is, though, is a fellow
romantic.
We understand each other; our
motivations in life, love and
friendship.
It’s very difficult to be a
romantic in an unromantic society.
We self-identified Romeos and
Juliets cling to one another, feeding
our unending wants.
Romance is to the soul what lust
is to the body.
It’s a hunger that sometimes lies
dormant — and othertimes bums, a
painful craving of mind and body.
It’s not unlike a chemical depen
dency; it can control and dictate an
individual’s behavior.
The romantic lifestyle can, I
believe, be learned. The hard part
is that it requires a totality of self
— anything less makes you a
romantic of convenience.
When a romantic of conve
nience goes to work, sappiness is
almost always the result. And there
is a difference between romance
and sappiness.
Awkward attempts at chivalry is
one example of sappiness. The
behavior is obviously not familiar
to the person and therefore fails in
its attempt to be romantic, leaving
sappiness.
True romance is incorporated
into almost every fiber of a
romantic’s being. It is behavior and
attitude. It dictates how men and
women interact with each other.
The romantic is probably most
likely to initiate a date, but is
overwhelmingly flattered if the
other person asks first.
A romantic has a presence that
others do not possess, a way of
carrying oneself.
Jessica Kennedy
“Romance is not
practical, and anyone
who dares make it
anything but frivolous
should be shot. On
sight. No questions
asked. ”
From my observations, the male
romantic holds himself upright. He
is attentive to what women say —
as well as to what remains unsaid
— to what they do or don’t do.
Romantic men understand what
is it to “court” a woman.
A romantic woman subscribes to
the classic “flirt” role — batting
eyelashes, tactical hair flips, coy
smiles, warm laughter and attentive
eyes. The way she walks is so
important: occasionally brushing
against her escort or even linking
arms with him — little moments of
contact.
Webster’s New World Dictio
nary defines “romantic” as “... not
practical; full of or dominated by
thoughts, feelings, and attitudes,
characteristics of or suitable for
romance; passionate, adventurous,
idealistic, etc...”
Yep. That’d be it. Romance is
not practical, and anyone who
dares make it anything but frivo
lous should be shot. On sight. No
questions asked.
But our society just simply
doesn’t accept the non-practical
romantic. Everything must be
regulated by wristwatches, planners
and appointment books.
Very rarely do people let go of
reality or the hub-bub around them
and do something for the spirit.
Idealists are shot down in
society — but who wants to think
only of day-to-day life, where
jumping into bed is considered
courting? No thanks!
If society managed to suppress
romance, I’d miss the tingly feeling
of blushing that occurs as a fellow
romantic compliments me when
I’m dressed up. And as the anti
romantic demands to know why I
always dress up, I suppose I’ll only
be left with general annoyance.
If society had its way, the
gentleman who gave me a rose and
I would have to be involved in
something more than friendship —
just because we share a craving for
the rush that comes with the
romantic gesture. *
The irony for me as a romantic
is that I don’t date romantics. My
best friends, also bitten by the
romance bug, have the same
problem.
Why do romantics end up with
non-romantics nine-out-of-10 times?
I don’t, but if anyone’s enlight
ened and does, please, let me know.
Until then, my gentleman friend
and I can commiserate together.
We’ll spoil each other while we’re
without anybody else to spoil.
We’ll plan adventures we may
never take just to keep our hopes
alive.
But in the meantime. I’ll plan
and I’ll plot to keep my romantic
tendencies alive.
Kennedy is a juior broadcasting,
advertising and pabUc relations major and
a Dally Nebraskan coiamalst
From the
INTERNET
Life queries prompt
furrowed eyebrows
“Shouldn’t there be a shorter word for
‘monosyllabic
The following was uncovered
at <http://www.traveller.com/
~rudy/why. htmt>
Here are some facts of life
that make you just have to ask—
WHY?
Some people call them
Gallagherisms (the comedian
commonly uses them in his stand
up).
Most of this list was attained
via e-mail from people all over
the world.
Why isn’t phonetic spelled the
way it sounds?
Why are there interstate high
ways in Hawaii?
Have you ever imagined a world
with no hypothetical situations?
How does the guy who drives
the snowplow get to work in the
mornings?
Why are there flotation devices
under plane seats instead of para
chutes?
Why are cigarettes sold in gas
stations when smoking is prohib
ited there?
Why do fat chance and slim
chance mean the same thing?
If you can’t drink and drive,
why do you need a driver’s license
to buy liquor, and why do bars
have parking lots?
If 7-11 is open 24 hours a day,
365 days a year, why are there
locks on the doors?
If nothing ever sticks to
TEFLON, how do they make
TEFLON stick to the pan?
If you’re in a vehicle going the
speed of light, what happens when
you turn on the headlights?
Why do they put Braille dots on
the keypad of the drive-up ATM?
Why do we drive on parkways
and park on driveways?
Why isn’t “palindrome” spelled
the same way backwards?
Why is it that when you trans
port something by car, it’s called a
shipment, but when you transport
something by ship, it’s called
cargo?
You know that little indestruc
tible black box that is used on
planes, why can’t they make the
whole plane out of the same sub
stance?
Why is it that when you’re driv
ing and looking for an address, you
tum down the volume on the ra
dio?
Why is it so hard to remember
how to spell MNEMONIC?
If someone invented instant
water, what would they mix it with?
Why is it called a TV “set”
when you only get one?
How come your nose runs and
your feet smell?
Why does an alarm clock “go
off’ when it begins ringing?
If pro is the opposite of con, is
progress the opposite of congress?
Why does “cleave” mean both
split apart and stick together?
Why is it, whether you sit up or
sit down, the result is the same?
Why is it called a “building” when
it is already built?
Why do they call them “apart
ments” when they are all stuck
together?
Why is there an expiration date
on SOUR cream?
Why do flammable and inflam
mable mean the same thing?
How can someone “draw a
blank”?
Shouldn’t there be a shorter
word for “monosyllabic”?
Why is the word “abbreviate”
so long?
Why did kamikaze pilots wear
helmets?
What is another word for “the
saurus”?
When they ship styrofoam, what
do they pack it in?
If 75 percent of all accidents
happen within five miles of home,
why not move 10 miles away?
Why doesn’t “onomatopoeia”
sound like what it is?
Why do “tug” boats push their
barges?
Why do we sing “Take me out
to the ball game ” when we are
already there?
Why are they called “stands”
when they’re made for sitting?
Why is there only ONE Mo
nopolies Commission?
Why does one get in trouble for
WRECKless driving?
BE OUR GUEST
The Daily Nebraskan will present a guest columnist each Monday.
Writers from the university and community are welcome.
Must have strong writing skills and something to say.
Contact Mark Baldridge c/o the Daily Nebraskan, 34 Nebraska
Union, 1400 R St., Lincoln, NE 68588.
Or by phone at (402V472-1782.
