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About The daily Nebraskan. ([Lincoln, Neb.) 1901-current | View Entire Issue (Oct. 31, 1997)
El Nino knock out? Recent blizzard affected columnist’s sense of rationalization STEVE WILLEY is a senior new 8-editorial major and a Daily Nebraskan colum nist. When I find out who this El Nino fellow is, I’m gonna kick his Mexican ass. Unless you were mauled by a basset hound and were fortunate enough to spend last weekend in a coma, you are undoubtedly painfully aware of the snowstorm that hit Lincoln. The storm spewed about 72 inches of solid precipitation across Lincoln lawns and disabled life as we knew it. The weather is better now, but here it is five days after the storm, and some of us - including me - are still sitting at home without heat and electricity. Thank God it’s warmer now. For a couple of days right after the blizzard, the average temperature in my home was 11 degrees below zero. During those nights, I shared my bed with a flock of penguins who constantly complained about how “freaking cold” it was in my bed room. But I wasn’t alone. Thousands of Lincoln homes were without heat and electricity. But my home was different in that it was void of one other often-used utility: sanity. That’s right. The same snowstorm that robbed Lincoln of its beauty also stole my ability to behave rationally. But it’s hard to be sane when it’s pitch-black in your house, and the only thing that isn’t frozen is the ice cream in your unable-to-work refrig erator. The fact is, when you go without heat for long periods of time, your body doesn’t allow your mind to think properly. For example, if it hadn’t been freezing Sunday night, I would have never removed the tires from my truck and set them on fire in the mid dle of the living room floor. But I did it, much to the chagrin of my land lord, who labeled the event die most “butt-stupid” action he’s ever been privy to. I just couldn’t help it. I had tried to be “rational” by bringing our propane grill inside. Why risk the lives of everyone on your city block when you don’t have to, right? I even cranked up the gas oven to 500. Together they helped a little, but as soon as the sun went down, I had to try the tire option. I’m lucky that I only chose to bum tires. I assure you that I could have burned much worse things. There were those especially frigid nights when I began to see my dog, not as the loyal family member who had brought me so much joy in life, but rather, as a possible source of kindling. And it didn’t stop there. Sometimes it was so cold that when I looked at my roommates, I was instantly reminded of how Eskimos used to slice open the bel lies of whales, crawl inside and live for weeks off of the body warmth. The cold was making me nuts. But throughout die whole ordeal, I swore to myself that I was going to tough it out. Some of my roommates had wised up and stayed with friends who had electricity, but that wasn’t going to be me. See, my Mississippi genes have instilled that backwoods-redneck logic that prohibits me from fleeing dangerous situations. You know what I’m talking about because you’ve all seen those folks on TV-news shows. During a flood, for example, most people are evacu ating by die hundreds, yet there’s always that one guy with a 12-pack of beer sitting on bis roof smoking a cigarette. I was going to be that guy. Unfortunately, there were other problems aside from heat that I didn’t anticipate. For one, I had no idea how lost I’d be without lights. The first few nights after the storm, I had no candles and no flashlights. The house was as dark as you could imagine. As a result, I was forced to “feel” my way around the house. - Oftentimes this produced mixed results. While I did bump into a lot of things by feeling my way around the room, I also got the phone numbers of several of my roommates’ fraterni ty brothers. But usually, I made tragic mis takes. For example, once I lifted the bed sheet instead of the toilet seat. And there were other times when I had fully intended on eating a sand wich only to find out after the first bite that I had merely buttered both sides of the cat. And without electricity, boredom was free to roam throughout my house. I tried to make intelligent con versation with my roommates, but the best I could come up with was, “M-M-Man, I sure hope these h-h heats b-b-be coming o-o-on soon.” After the talking was done, the only logical next step was to decide whether or not to gnaw on the coffee table or my shoe. It’s just amazing how much I use electricity, and moreover, how para lyzed I am without it. Unfortunately, the Lincoln Electric System says it may be next week before I get power. Oh well, I know those folks are working hard. I called to check in just today, and the woman said I was the nicest person she’d talked to in three days. She honestly begged me to stay on the phone with her so she wouldn’t have to get yelled at by the next customer. [ want my electricity on just as much is the next person, but I don’t see how being ugly about it is going to help. Besides, I don’t know why everyone’s so mad at LES. The ' :torm wasn’t their fault. If peo ple really wanted to help out they ought to help me look for El Nino. I’ve got no problems with LES, but when I get . , my hands on this El Nino Jude, I’m gonna maim that sum’ bitch. (Editor’s Note: While reading this :olumn, you may have found it quite apparent that Steve has absolutely no :omprehension of the concept of El Nino. It’s important to note we at the DN do not believe - as Steve obviously does-that El Nino is some actual person responsible for Lincoln’s snow storm last weekend. Please excuse his stupidity, and if you happen to see him on cam pus, please smile and encourage him to read more. Then back away. Very slowly.) ' ^ _ AmyMartin/DN DANIEL MUNKSGAARD is a sophomore English and philosophy major and a Daily Nebraskan colum nist. It’s Halloween, so it’s time for the witches to come out. This is so cliche. I’ve been wait ing for the right time to put out my “Hey, I’m a Pagan” column for quite a while, and the one thing I promised was that it wouldn’t be on Halloween. Everyone does the Paganism/Wicca thing on Halloween. It’s a major holiday in Pagan religions, and it just looks good to talk about “real witches” right about now. But the recent death of hundreds of trees has put me in a somewhat more religious state of mind, so I suppose I should talk about it now. You may have seen an article or two on Paganism (most likely on Wicca) already. If probably tried to be as objective as possible, while still managing to say, “Man, these guys are freaks.” But if you haven’t read such an Under the rug Paganism will not be swept away article, let me offer some explana tion. Pagan (or more accurately “Neo Pagan,” since we are a relatively new religious group), is a loose term that encompasses a large number of Earth-based, goddess-worshipping religions based loosely on the old, pre-Christian faiths of Europe. The natural consequence of this is that many are environmentalists (we don’t just hug trees, we worship them) and feminists (viewing Deity as a female tends to put things in a different perspective). Ethics vary, but most follow a basic credo: An it harm none, do as ye will. This says two things about Pagans. First, they have their own version of the golden rule. Second, they’re obsessed with Old English. And fantasy novels. Lots of fantasy novels. If you’ve heard of any Pagan group, then you’ve probably heard of Wicca, but there are others. Druids, Asatru, Discordians, Dianics, the list is pretty long. Myself, I’m a Unitarian Pagan, which basically means “a Wicca who would attend the Unitarian church if he had a car.” (The Unitarian-Universalists them selves are an interesting bunch: They’re a group with diverse reli gious backgrounds, including Christians, Jews, Buddhists, Pagans, agnostics, and even atheists. The idea is to promote religious unity, and they’re a pretty laid-back bunch; you never have to worry about them hijacking your plane.) But one name that a lot of Pagans like using is “witches,” which tends to freak people out. You wouldn’t believe how much fun it is to spend half an hour on dis claimers alone when you tell some one your religion. No, I don’t wor ship Satan. I don’t believe in him, so it’s kind of hard for me to worship him. No, we don’t sacrifice goats or Great Danes. Most Pagans are vege tarians. No, we don’t cast hexes on people. No, no, no. And yes, I do know where the Bible says I’m going. I’ve heard it a thousand times before; you don’t need to repeat it for me. It’s odd hav ing to spend more of your time explaining what you aren’t than say ing what you are. And what are we? I won’t be able to explain very well. First, there’s not nearly enough space. Second, I can only speak for myself; since we don’t have any core dogma, 10 dif ferent Pagans will usually have 15 different opinions on the subject. And third, it’s not the main thrust of what I’m trying to say. I’m trying to say we’d like to be left in peace. Everybody feels persecuted: Christians, atheists, Pagans, the whole lot. Not only do we feel perse cuted, but we take some sense of pride and unity in it. It’s probably the one thing we all have in common. But Pagans have a rather unique bone to pick. Many people don’t even know they exist, and those who do only need hear the word “witch,” and the game’s over. They exist in u And yes, I do know where the Bible says I’m going. I’ve heard it a thousand times before; you don’t need to repeat it for me.” surprisingly large numbers (some where around 200,000 in the United States, although actual numbers are difficult since many keep it a secret), and they pop up in unexpected places. In large cities, it’s not much of a problem. People complain if they try to gather in one of the local paries for a nice session of moon worship and tree hugging, or a few local churches will send out “prayer warriors;” but things usually stay pretty calm. It’s when solitary Pagans start popping up in rural communities when things get ugly. Pagan-oriented businesses lose their licenses, Pagan tenants lose their leases, and in at least one case, a Pagan citizen lost her life to a rock-hurling mob. I doubt Siat will happen to me or anyone else on the UNL campus, but we’re not exactly treated with open arms, or even with much tolerance. There’s little wonder many Pagans keep their religion a secret, even from family and friends. The act of telling people is only half-jokingly referred to as “coming out of the broom closet.” It’s not just about angry slurs or attacks (folks who slap “Born Again Pagan” bumper stickers on their cars have a remarkably higher percentage of slashed tires, produce-smeared windows, and fender benders). It’s about the way people see you. It’s never quite the same again, even if they know you well. You’re always “the witch,” and you sudden ly find yourself with a lot more room in the hallways. This isn’t a request for people to love us and accept us like anybody else. Heck, before you read this, you probably didn’t even know we exist ed. We’re still a pretty fringe part of society, and a lot of us even like it that way. But you have no reason to be afraid of Pagans. We won’t try to convert you; we don’t see ourselves as possessing the sole truth. We won’t try to hurt you; our beliefs tell us that in doing so, it will return to us threefold. We won’t overwhelm you; we’re a growing faith, but we’ll most likely always be in the minority. We won’t try to scare you, although some of us like a dou ble take or two. Really, we’re harm less. And if you see me hugging a tom-up tree, well, you’ll know why.
