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About The daily Nebraskan. ([Lincoln, Neb.) 1901-current | View Entire Issue (Feb. 18, 1997)
_Sonia_ HOLLIMONrSTOVALL Testing courage HIV home kit offers means to responsible privacy There aren’t many instances whore television advertisers actually hawk a product that really can change your life for $29.95 (plus that irritating non-refundable shipping and handling charge). Lately, however, I’ve seen ads for something you might want to pull out your credit card for—you know —that Discover card you applied for as a newly independent college student. Consider it a St. Valentine’s gift to yourself. It’s an HIV home-test kit. If your fingers suddenly clutched the paper in terror or your breathing just got rapid, hold on. The people next to you reading this just did the same thing. Taking an HIV test during the month *de amor* may not sound like the most romantic way to spend 30 bucks, but it is one of the most responsible. Next time you happen to be in a room with a group of people and one of those cheesy HIV home-test commercials come on, try to observe how the other people are reacting. It’s kind of like being in a roomful of men when Kim Alexis and her favorite yeast infection treatment commercial comes on. 1 can never tell who is antsier—the guys or the lone female. Personally, when it’s me — I just laugh. After all, maybe “yeast infection” is a secret code word fen* “Women rise up and give wedgies!” Men have no idea. If you were smart enough not to get sucked into applying for a * Discover card, local pharmacies also carry home tests. Unfortunately, most people are still too embarrassed to buy condoms and tampons — how they plan to get out the store with a Confide box would be one of the ultimate tests of courage. Since you don’t get the results right away on a stick, taking a home test gives you plenty of opportunity to obsess, which is one reason why a health center or agency might be preferable. They’ll offer pre- and post-teat counseling and are usually anonymous or confidential. Of course, if you feel more comfortable, there is a sneaky way out of all of the above. Under the good Samaritan guise of giving blood, you’ll be screened—and if a positive result occurs—they’ll let you know about it. Drawback: an indefinite time of terror. I think it’s time that we do a little bit more to bring stuff like this out into the open. The fewer skeletons in our closet, the more room we’ll have to put in the things that belong in there — like Celine Dion and Michael Jackson. Perhaps if we weren’t raised to be embarrassed about tampons and jock strap sizes, we’d feel less prohibited about having to replenish our supply of Trojans at Walgreens. I hope we won’t feel too embarrassed to replenish our supply of compassion when it comes to HIV. Hollimo n-Sto vail is a senior broadcasting major and a Daily Nebraskan columnist Kasey KERBER Mariboro Man ‘Absohitf-ly loves ya, rian Drinking, smoking because of ad is just sad You know, after seeing three frogs croak “Bud-wei-ser,” only one thing goes through my mind: I must buy beer. Yes, the image of those cute frogs stays in my mind until I drop that 24-pack in my shopping cart, get carded by the cashier and am forced to put the Bud back. I also get the strange urge to buy cigarettes after seeing the Marlboro Man rope up a horse that was probably drugged to make it easier to catch. A thought just enters my mind that says: “Kasey, buy those ciga rettes. You too can rope cattle and sleep in the back of a pick-up truck. Buy the cigarettes, I tell you!” And then sometimes, I see an Absolut vodka ad gracing the back of a Playboy in a convenience store and declare aloud: “Damn it, I don’t really need to read that interview with Conan O’Brien! Where is the vodka aisle?!!” But seriously, none ot those three ads has ever urged me to go out and buy something illegal or in the case of cigarettes, unquestionably unhealthy. Yet about 20 percent of the 534 teens surveyed by USA Today for a Jan. 31 article disagreed with me. They said the ads made them want to chink the product or smoke the cigarette. This is sad. But it's also funny. I mean, come on, you can’t tell me that it’s not the slightest bit funny how humorous beer commer cials can have such a profound influence on beer consumers too young to make it through the check out aisle. I mean, what are they hoping for — child-influence shopping? 14-YEAR-OLD: “Dad, I love you man.” FATHER: “No.” 14-YEAR-OLD: “But I love you man!” FATHER: “That’s it! I’m putting back the cheese puffs!” 14-YEAR-OLD: “But — “ FATHER: “And so help me Billy, if you mention another Red Dog commercial, you’re going to be drinking Thng until graduation!” All jokes aside, however, there has been concern that the advertise ments for beer, liquor and cigarette companies are targeting younger audiences. The cigarette industry has been the prime industry receiving criticism because of the comical Joe Camel and rough-shaven Marlboro Man. Yet i Tina it tunny mat any teen would be lured to smoking by a cartoon camel whose head is strangely shaped like a penis. But sure enough, 17 percent of those teens who saw Joe Camel said they wanted to join him and smoke a few Camels. Just think — nearly a fifth of a sample teen population getting sucked into smoking by a cartoon. Maybe other “criticized” mem bo’s of society should start using cartoons. You know — lawyers, politicians, the Clinton administra tion. Imagine that: a magazine ad with a cartoon Bill Clinton shooting pool in a smoky bar — cue stick in one hand, Big Mac in the other. The capiion below the cartoon could read, “Hey kids, don’t worry about that $5-trillion debt thing — Uncle Bill’s got it knocked down like the side pocket... ” Then again, maybe cartoons wouldn’t be such a great idea. After all, how would you turn Bob Dole or Newt Gingrich into believable “cool” cartoon characters? The cartoonists would stab themselves to death with the paintbrush first. But there is at least one positive aspect to teens being influenced by alcohol or cigarette ads: most aren’t. I’m still concerned about the ones who are. Somewhere between morals, Hollywood and Profitsville, you have to wonder where a line is drawn. For me, it’s a hard line to see. A few croaking frogs, a penguin saying “dooby, dooby, doo... ” or a man whose only catch phrase is “I love you man,” is funny. I’m not taken in and it’s hard to imagine how someone could be. But for others, it’s the association with a brand name that’s making the difference. If it sticks, it doesn’t matter what age you are. As a corporation, if you can keep your image “cool” until the teens come of age to drink or smoke — you’ll be first on their list. Yet in the end, if you’re aiming for underage teens, you’re not only pathetic, you’re shady. And if you’re a teen who gets * taken in by them, you’re not only gullible, you’re stupid. After all, no animatronic frog riding in a hydroplane is going to make me want to down a cold one. Bob Dole in a hydroplane might make me consider it however. Throw Newt in there too and you might just have a deal... Kerber is a sophomore news editorial major and a Daily » Nebraskan columnist Ann STACK Grandpa and Johnny Illness heightens awareness, love When I was a little kid, I had an imaginary friend named Johnny. Johnny was cool — he could be whatever I wanted him to be. Mostly, he was a boy who used to ride around in my grandpa’s shirt pocket. See, my grandpa was in on the secret — we were the only two who could see Johnny. Johnny woulc hang out with Grandpa for a while, then come back to me, usually by mail. Sometimes, if Grandpa concentrated hard enough, he could send Johnny back through the little holes in the telephone receiver. For that, Grandpa was better than Superman in my eyes. But my Superman’s powers must have failed him, because he died Saturday. We knew it was coming. He made it to my high school graduation, but his health declined from there. It was some kind of brain sickness. That’s the only way I can describe it. It was similar to Alzheimer’s in the fact that he didn’t recognize us. He hadn’t been himself for more than three years now. He’d have violent spells, where he’d call us every name in the book and even take swings at us. He had to be institutionalized a couple of times, but mostly he stayed in a nursing home. It was so hard on my grandma to see him there — they would’ve been married 65 years this May 19. it was realty nara to see a man so strong reduced to the way he was existing. I wouldn’t wish it on anyone. He used to beg us to kill him when he was lucid. When he wasn’t, he’d tell us that he was _ " already dead. He’d say other things, some of it pretty amusing in a twisted kind of way. He once said that JFK was God. My grandfather was once police chief of Sutton ■— the town he spent his whole life in. He used to bring home GIs during WWII who had nowhere else to go while they were on leave. He did this in the name of the military that turned him away from serving his country because of his flat feet. My grandfather taught me a lot, whether he knew it or not. He taught me how to burp, swear, open pop bottles without an opener and make gravy. I didn’t have much in common with him — though I can wiggle my ears like a bunny rabbit the way he could. I don’t think anyone else in my family can do that. If they can, they won’t admit to it. I’m stubborn and strong-willed, the way he was, but I think I’m more independent. When we were growing up, my cousins and I would beg to wear his white, cotton T-shirts to bed when we stayed over. I’m not sure what the attraction was — they were just !plain, cotton undershirts that hit us around our knees and threatened to swallow us — but back then, those pseudo-nightgowns were the bomb. .Maybe they just made us feel closer to him. I loved my grandfather, but we weren’t close in the later years. Johnny must’ve fallen out of his pocket somewhere along the way, because we never saw eye-to-eye again. Sometimes I thought I disappointed him because I was so different froip ipy cousins. I know I frustrated him, especially when I hit my teen-age years and was full of righteous, neo-ferainistic indigna tion over how he treated my grand mother. He used to order her around like a drill sergeant, but I understand now that’s how he was raised to treat women. Women’s rights took a few years to get to central Nebraska. It wasn’t until I realized how close to losing him I was that I made an effort to get to know him again. And I found out I was wrong — he’d never stopped loving me. And he was fiercely proud of his young est grandchild. The last time I saw him, one month ago, he focused his glazed eyes on me and smiled through cracked lips. “I love you, Goldilocks,” he whispered, squeezing my hand. “I love you too, Grandpa,” I said, smiling sadly. I wish I would’ve known then that it was the last time I was going to see him. I would’ve slipped Johnny back in his pocket for one last ride. Stack is a senior news-editorial major and a Daily Nebraskan 1 senior reporter. « My grandfather taught me a lot, whether he knew it or not. He taught me how to burp, swear, open pop bottles without an opener and make , gravy.”