■£. &, k •’’t ‘■•‘4*- .M ‘ ' Ip '% 4' :&-•*& -V &*& r- &•
?*:$•»* A I 1,^1 'Wf %2f j: '
•» ■••
A- . _ ., •
’ ’s happiness
JESSICA FARGEN is a
senior news-editorial
major and a Daily
Nebraskan staff writer.
Over fall break I said goodbye.
I said goodbye to the bedroom
where my friends and 1 used to sit and
listen to New Kids on the Block
songs and gossip all night long.
My mom replaced the brown car
pet that could hide a spill from a bowl
of Lucky Charms like nothing else.
And she sold the green couch
with the puke stain, which my brother
insists is not a puke stain, in die cor
ner.
I said goodbye to my house as my
mom sold it along with most of the
couches, beds and tables that have sat
in it for the past 12 years. She even
tried to sell our 12-year-old dog that
isn't housebroken, but no one would
have him. Imagine that
My house, my back yard, even
that brown carpet where my brother
and I used to watch Saturday morning
cartoons, were part of my childhood.
That house was the last place where I
was really a kid.
But the sadness of moving is can-.
celedoutby the freedom it is giving
my mom.
My mom, a widow for four years,
waited patiently in McCook for my
brother and me to finish high school.
She watched us move more than 200
miles away from her, but she stayed in
McCook so we would have the same
house to come home to.
Now it is her turn to take care of
herself.
My mom is moving on and mov
ing up (north) to Sioux Falls, S.D.
She is moving back to the state
where she and my father lived for IS
years. She is moving to a bug city
(well, kind of a big city) where she *
can stake out a new identity, a new
home and a new life.
But as I started to get nostalgic
when I was in McCook for the last
time, I told myself: Itfc just a town -
just a bunch of people and houses and
cornfields.
At the same time, I couldn’t
understand why I got teary-eyed as I
looked out into my back yard. It was
just a back yard.
Then I realized something.
Although I am at a point in my
life when the place I call home
depends on when a school break is,
losing my home seems like a really
big (teal.
It is one of die few places that can
make me remember what it was like
to be 11 years old.
When I looked out into my back
yard, I could remember a time when I
actually played in the summer and
didn’t take classes. I remembered
walking to the city pool and buying
candy from “Mr. Bill, the candy guy.”
And playing Super Mario Bros, all
afternoon in my basement
When I go to my new home in
Sioux Falls over Thanksgiving, my
friend Angel won’t show up on my
doorstep with a Gas ‘N Shop pop
ready to go cruise B Street like she
has done for the past seven years.
Fall break was more for me than
saying goodbye to a house. It was
saying goodbye to memories and a
huge chunk of my childhood.
Sure, when I go to Sioux Falls, I
will feel at home a little bit
My mom didn’t sell my bedroom
furniture, and Battleship and Sorry
will still be in the hall closet but I
won’t be able to drive past the place
in front of my friend’s house where I
had my first kiss; or visit the high
school football field, where I received
my diploma; or drive by that one real
ly weird high school teacher^ house
and make up stories about him.
I realized that, at a point where I
didn’t have a reason to come back to
McCook, it seemed so much better
than it ever had.
Even the tedious 3*>4-hoiir drive
home, which I have loathed for the
last three years, was actually pretty
this time.
Maybe it was because it was the
start of autumn, or it wasn’t blizzard
ing, or I wasn’t following a combine.
I don’t know.
I don’t know why I actually
obeyed die 50-mph speed limit when
I drove through the half-dozen small
towns on the way home. I don’t know
why, as I drove past the hill with
“Jesus Saves” carved into the side, I
actually wondered why someone
would do that.
But the thing about McCook I
will miss the most is not the drive
home or the football field. It’s the
memories of my father, who died four
years ago. The house is one of the last
places I saw him.
I remembered how, when I could
not find my da41 always knew to
look out on the deck. He would be
there, smoking a cigarette.
I would walk out there on a realty
dark night and see just die cherry of
die cigarette and go over and talk to
him.
He hasn’t been out there for five
years, and he never will be again. I
know that, but like a lot of the emo
tions I feel about moving, I don’t real
ly know how to accept it
But losing all those memories
seems insignificant, when I consider
what my mom is getting in return.
She is getting a new life.
Who knows where she’ll work,
who she’ll meet or if she’ll even like
it
But she deserves the chance to
find out ^
She stuck it out in a town where
she wasn’t as happy as she could have
been somewhere else. She did it for
my brother and me. She stayed in a
town my dad brought her to and then
left her in.
Now it’s her turn to go do some
thing for herself-to make her own
home.
Go East, young man
Trip across tracks proves grass is sometimes greener on the other side
5>
TODD MUNSON is a senior
broadcasting major and a
Daily Nebraskan colum
nist
When the cosmos aligns itself like
it has today, it’s either the messianic
second coming, or “CHiPs” must be
back on the air.
Well, I just checked my calendar.
At 7 pjn., on TNT, 15 years of waiting
come to an aid; Ponch and Jon are
reunited tonight in “CHiPs 99.”
/ My calendar also tells me that one
year and seven days ago, some dip
stick caused quite a stir'on campus
when he wrote a column detailing why
the “Dukes ofHazzard” was an inferi
or product when compared to
“CHiPs”
T _1J_1___.1 !•
A 0UVIUU yiuuouij ilivUUvll Ulv Uip"
stick in question was myself.
Out of all the ways to gain notori
I
fvf< ....
’•> - ' i ' J ' ' '' ; •’ ' ■ ■ •
... .
X ; "X
lucky I wasn’t home. The Diamond
Cutter, DDT, Camel Clutch... I know
than all.
Along with the good oF boys,
folks had the audacity to question my
knowledge of the “Dukes” and
“CHiPs.” I’m sorry, but y’all’s argu
ments made me laugh. Not just giggle,
mind you, bid an all-out spaz fit com
plete with milk flying out my nose.
Nobody dared question Moses’
knowledge of the Ten
Commandments, so please, don’t
question my knowledge of television.
For all the young’uns who may be
a bit confused, East Campus starts at
33rd and Holdrege streets and is home
to many courses of study, most
notably those involving agriculture. To
say East Campus gets bad press is an
understatement Even the bastard
child of the Nebraska University sys
tem, University of Nebraska at
Kearney, has a better reputation.
Hoe we are one year and seven
days later, and it seems the rift
between myself and East Campus /
is as large as a double-wide trailer. /
And you know what? I’d never /
even been over there. I
Until last Thursday. 1 .
I
' * I -
■ . ■ ■ ■ .
'
nuts” T-shirt, strapped my
Biikenstocks extra tight and moseyed
over to the east side.
And what I saw wasn’t all that bad.
Quirky yes, bad no.
You’re not correctly. You read
dyslexic.The first thing I noticed was
the landscaping. I expected to see
swine pens between buildings, not a
display of yard work that puts City
Campus to shame. If you want to see
fall, go to East Campus where the
trees are plenty and the goofy sculp
tures are few.
My first stop was the Dairy Store.
Forget about the new hip Caffina
Caffc; East Campus has a dairy with
ice cream so fresh, it’s made on the
premises. Just ask the cows with the
swollen udders. Tasty doesn’t even
begin to describe
it Very
tasty
200.6
cheap is a good start.
If ice cream isn’t up your alley, try
a box of Omega Eggs. Apparently,
they’re some supercharged wonder
eggs that die Six Million Dollar Man
would have for breakfast. How super
charged? Ask the hens with the
scorched feathers.
Next, it was off to find their ver
sion of a union. On the way there, I
noticed that East Campus is library
quiet compared to City Campus. No
jackhammers, Bible beaters or mum
bling bums for diem, just the soothing
sounds of cows in die distance.
On the outside, the East Union
looks like a smaller version of the
Nebraska Union, but the inside is an
exercise in perfection, with the game
room being the crown jewel, or belt
buckle in this case. I laughe
hard when I saw it was
North 40
EXpC^UL^_
various ropin’ games, my jaw m
floor when I saw the North 40 is a cor
nucopia of old-school classics such as
Dun” and “Afterburner”
ran’t the wasted space of the
en’fc Lounge be turned into a
leo arcade for the city union?
N ^^^Afterl
_ fr blew five. |
bucks showing ■
Ivan “Ironman” Stewart who his
daddy was, I decided to live up to my
Munson heritage and roll a few frames
at the bowling alley, but no luck;
bowling class was in session.
Instead, I wait and checked out the
facilities. Contrary to popular belief,
East Campus does indeed have indoor
plumbing. The only oddity was die
pea-green tile and the George Strait
piped into the sound system, which, if
you’re curious, is actually good music
to poop to.
The final stop of the day had me
parking my getaway Schwinn outside
Burr Hall, home of die extremist
“Dukes” fans. Residence hallsgener
alfy suck, and Burr Had was no excep
tion. It didn’t suck more or less, it just
sucked right down the middle. The
highlight of Burr Hall was the big
screen in the television lounge. Who
knows? t just may show up there for
“CHiPs 99.”
I will kill one rumor once and for
all - Skoal products are not sold in the
voiding machines. I also would like to
dispel the notion all East Campus stu
dents are a bunch ofbow-legged cow
pokes. True, there are many faan
on City Campus, but the general scope
of the student body is of your aver
age college student,
Campus. I didn’t go completely
nuts. I still feel “CHiPs” in
every aspect than the “Duk
ever be. Don’t worry, East Campus
will still be jabbed at, when appropri
ate, and I can now divert my energies
into more pressing issues, such as
proving “Gumby” is racist and conh
demning the latest trend sweeping
through the greek system- sorority
girls who think they’re hippies.
See ya tonight, Burr Hall?