Brent
POPE
The ‘March’attan Project
> i
Hints on how to make spring cleaning bearable
Last night, in a dream, a stranger
named Mr. Calendar smacked me in
the back of the head and said “Wake
up, fat boy, it’s spring!”
As you can imagine, that really
freaked me out. I mean, who the hell
is this Mr. Calendar and what’s he
doing in my apartment? Then I
realized that he must be some
metaphorical figure sent to remind
me of something important.
So then I woke up and looked at
my calendar (man, Miss March has
some big...) and I found that today
really is the first day of spring. That
must mean that it’s time for me and
every other slob in the world to do
our dreaded spring-cleaning.
But hold on there, Captain
Cleanaroo, don’t start hosing down
all your stuff until you’ve taken a
gander at my spring-cleaning
checklist:
LIVING ROOM/BEDROOM
First, get rid of all newspapers
that are more than a decade old. A
.quick way to tell is by looking at the
photos in the paper. If someone like
Boy George or Evil Knievel is on the
cover, it’s probably old enough to
throw away (or you could just check
the date at the top of the page, but I
like my way better). Also, get rid of
any newspaper with more than a
dozen rat turds on it. It’s disgusting,
and besides, rats need a clean place
to live, too.
Second, vacuum the floor. But
first, do a pre-sucking search for
objects too large to be vacuumed (for
example: dictionaries, remote
controls that you haven’t seen since
LAST spring, chunks of provolone
cheese larger than your head). Oh,
and that big black thing behind the
couch that makes a strange noise
when you poke it, don’t vacuum it.
It’s probably just your cat, or a big
hunk of mold; either way, you don’t
want to get rid of it.
BATHROOM
Thinking about cleaning the old
ring in the bathtub? Forget about it!
The tub ring is nothing more than a
collection of soap and shampoo
(some people think it’s dirt and old
skin, but they’re lull of crap!). I
have a ring around my tub so thick
that I can use it as both a pillow and
a footrest when I take a bath.
The ring in the toilet is a whole
different beast and should be
scrubbed away immediately. I’ve
found die most productive way to do
this is to glue on some of those press
on nails and scrape that nasty
residue right off. I have yet to find a
heavy duty cleaner that can even
make a dent in those nasty toilet
rings.
Now let’s look at the litter box. If
you peek in there and it appears to
be a graveyard fen* a bunch of dead
Baby Ruth bars, you need to change
the kitty litter. Thke the old contents
out to the back yard and dump them
over the neighbor’s fence, Sure, it’s
smelly, but the guy next door will
appreciate it when his tulips bloom
extra bright this year.
THE FRIDGE
SANDWICHES — Throw out all
sandwiches so old that they appear
to have grown mustard on the bread
that wasn’t there when you made the
sandwich. It may lode like mustard
and smell like mustard — but
brother — it ain’t mustard!
FRUITS & VEGGIES — Peaches
are supposed to be fuzzy. Most other
fruits aren’t. Toss out all produce
that looks like it needs a good shave.
DAIRY — Just a quick tip here:
Get rid of all milk and cheese
products that you can see through or
ones that you can smell without
opening the fridge. (You can try to
sell them at a garage sale as science
projects, but they are no longer fit
for human consumption.)
Oh, one last thing. Don’t forget
to dig deep into those closets and
take out those dead pets that passed
away during the winter. In Decern
ber, the ground was too frozen to dig
a grave and the toilet was just way
too small to flush an adult koala.
But now that spring’s here, let’s
start burying those dead smelly
family friends (and that meddling
Tupperware salesman that knew too
much). Can you dig it?
Pope is a senior broadcasting
major and a Daily Nebraskan
columnist.
-:
Matt Haney/DN
Steve
WILLEY ; '
Home, sweet, what the...
Antics make one wonder what’s in the water
As I’ve mentioned (too many
times) before in my columns, I grew
up in Natchez, Miss., a small,
rambunctious town perched high on
the bluffs overlooking the Missis
sippi River.
Like so many small towns across
the South, Natchez takes great pride
in its heritage. It flaunts its many
gorgeous antebellum homes and
revels in the fact that at one time
before the Civil War it was home to
more millionaires than any other
city in America.
Wealthy plantation owners from
across die South built hones there
while farming the mineral-rich
lowlands of Louisiana, lb this day,
some of the homes remain unfin
ished. The tools lie exacdy where
the carpenters dropped them upon
learning of the outbreak of the Civil
War.
Natchez avoided heavy destruc
tion during the war by surrendering
early during bombardment from the
Union’s navy.
On his way to lay siege on
Vicksburg, Gen. Ulysses S. Grant
called the nearby town of Port
Gibson a “town too beautiful to
bum.” I can only imagine he felt the
same way about Natchez.
But I often wonder if he would
have changed his mind about
Natchez if he’d known the type of
people the town would produce.
Don’t get me wrong; Natchezians
are good people. Knock on any
given door in town and you’ll find
out quick. The owners will invite
you inside to share a pitcher of sweel
tea and lend you any amount of
money, as long as you offer a
handshake and your word of
eventual repayment.
But there must be something in
Natchez’s drinking water because
the people there are anything but
typical. Whatever the chemical, it
causes normal folks to forget
themselves and moreover, their
minds. Their only priority is the
present and everything else is
shoveled to the back burner.
“Stupid” would be too strong a
word to use; “ever unthinking”
would be a more suitable describing
phrase for the people of Natchez.
For as long as I can remember,
people in my hometown have acted
with little or no thought when it
came to the consequences. And a
coupleofweeksago, that notion was
again affirmed.
Paul Harvey, an ABC radio
broadcaster, noted during one of his
daily programs that Natchez was
again the location of a remarkably
idiotic event. According to the
broadcast, two guests staying at a
Howard Johnson hotel complained
that a maid had stolen some of their
property.
When the complaint fell on the
ears of an unsympathetic manager,
the guests became angry and
threatened to call the police unless
immediate action was taken. When
the manager still refused to budge,
the guests dialed 911 and reported
that the maid had stolen a substan
tial amount of their... marijuana.
They were subsequently arrested and
received, compliments of the
Natchez Police department, some
“Fm* dipshit” stickers to wear on
their foreheads. But this was no
isolated case of Natchezians refusing
to think before they act.
A few years ago, because of
Natchez, popular country singer/
songwriter Joe Diffie told the nationt
to “forget about climbing water
towers.” The warning came after a
man in Natchez was seriously
injured after falling 25 feet from a
ladder placed next to a water tower.
On the tower, the man had scrawled
the words “Billy BoBob Loves
Charlene” in green paint
In Diffie’s then-top 10 song
“John Deere Green,” a boy climbs a
water tower and paints the words
“Billy Bob Loves Charlene.” I
happened to be hone after the
accident and asked one of the three
men who were there that night why
the fellow painted “Billy BoBob”
instead of “Billy Bob.”
The answer: The painter was too
liquored up to spell “Bob” correctly.
After painting “BoB,” he saw the
last “B” and spelled “BoB” again.
Something’s gotta be in the
water, but if you need more proof,
take a look at what Terri Tarbor, the
Lifestyles editor for the Natchez
Democrat, has to say. In a recent
column, the six-month resident
found more than enough oddities in
Natchez — like its four-month-long
celebration of Mardi Gras and how
it’s a “manly thing to do the ‘Gator
on the dance floor and the wife or
date will laugh in adoration.”
(The ‘Gator, by the way, is a
dance in which a male of any age
lies on the flow and begins to
convulse as if he has just learned
that Lorena Bobbit has been ap
pointed surgeon general. Then, othe
bold dancers will straddle the man
and dance across and around them.
The only stipulation, apparently, is
that the man doing die ‘Gator must
have no self-respect.)
The sad thing is, I’ve only listed
the silly or stupid things Natchez
people have done. There’s plenty of
immoral and deranged stuff as well.
For example, a few years ago,
Natchez’ famous brothel, Nellie’s,
was firebombed and later burned to
the ground. (1 say famous because I
have met a very learned man here in
Nebraska who has “heard” of it.)
A good thing for the town?
Nahhh. Numerous local politicians,
though never acknowledging that
they knew what the business really
was, wrote a lengthy letter to the
newspaper. People from all walks of
life — students, councilmen and
laborers—proudly donned their
“Follow Me to Nellie’s” shirts and
paraded throughout the town.
Hell, even I had one. Only the
drinking water could cause such a
ruckus over a brothel.
But despite all the flaws, Natchez
is still my home. Being different is
good, and if anyone ever tells you
otherwise, grab him by the throat
and inform him how misguided he
is.
And if that doesn’t scare them
straight, tell them you’ve been
drinking Natchez water, and things
are about to get stupid. Then do the
‘Gator.
(P.S. If any of you have some free
time, send me a paragraph or two
about what the water does to people
in your hometown. I haven’t been to,
many Nebraska towns, so maybe
Natchez is the normal one. Docu
ment it if you can—clips etc. —
and if I get enough, I’ll do another
column about your folks’ hometown
and the idiots they harbor. -S.W.)
Willey is a senior news-editorial
major and a Daily Nebraskan
columnist
u
‘Stupid’ would be too strong a word to use; ‘ever unthinking’
would be a more suitable describing phrase for the people of
Natchez.”