Star quality
Politics has turned into game where personality, celebrity reign
I used to halfway like Jesse Ventura.
Last year, when he “shocked the world” and
got himself elected governor of Minnesota, there
was a part of me that felt invigorated with a fresh
hope for the future of grassroots politics.
Granted, most of me felt that the people of
Minnesota had gone plain nutso, but there was
that little part that had to admire Ventura’s mixed
bag of straight-shooting, no B.S., don’t-like-it
kiss-my-grits populist politics.
But now I’ve got a beef with “the Body” or
“the Mind” or whatever the Sam Hill he calls
himself.
Not so much with him personally, I guess
(although I do believe he and a majority of
Minnesotans are still a bunch of crazies), but with
what he has done to accelerate America’s already
eerie fascination with celebrities and politics.
Thanks in part to Ventura, it seems now that
every two-bit celebrity in possession of a lame
brained political ideology thinks he or she can run
for elected office and win.
i lie mubi icccm burning example ib ivu.
Warren Beatty.
Most famous for “Dick Tracy,” “Bulworth”
and his dalliance with Madonna, Beatty is delib
erating a run for the Democratic nomination for
the presidency of the United States.
Now let me tell you something: If any Beatty’s
going to run for president, it dang well ought to be
Ned Beatty.
I know I’d vote for the guy. Any dude who can
survive what he went through in “Deliverance”
without going criminally insane has demonstrated
the mental toughness and security in his own mas
culinity needed to lead this great nation.
That being said, what makes Warren think he
can become president of the world’s only super
power?
It can’t be his political beliefs. Ideologically,
the guy’s a dead horse. On most issues, he’s just to
the left of Mao Tse-tung.
While that may endear him to a various
assortment of pinko campus radicals and bumt
out ex-flower children, it won’t fly with the major
ity of the American public.
So what is it then? Because he’s famous? He’s
a movie star? He hasn’t killed anyone?
Unfortunately, with the state of American
electoral politics being what it is today, that might
just qualify him.
Heck, it could win him a nomination.
Well, probably not.
Still, die simple fact that someone like Beatty
is seriously considering a run says something
about how low the standards for candidates in this
country have become.
In fact, judging by President Clinton’s strong
showing of support in national polls last year dur
ing the impeachment process, one of the biggest
things going for Beatty may be the whole fooling
around with Madonna thing.
Americans love philanderers. They don’t
much care for politicians. But they can’t get
enough of philandering politicians, as long as
they’re Democrats.
You read me? Beatty’s in a win-win-win situa
tion here.
Plus, if he should decide to run, Beatty faces
some severely charisma-deficient competition.
A1 Gore and Bill Bradley are deathly boring
candidates. All they ever want to do is talk about
taxes, Social Security, health care, yadda, yadda,
yadda.
On the other hand, Warren Beatty was Clyde
of “Bonnie and Clyde,” he was “Mugsy,” and he’s
got a famous crazy sister.
Politics in our great republic has increasingly
become more about fanfare, image, style and
sound bite.
issues, policy statements ana mat vision
thing,” as referred to by former President Geoige
Bush, appear to have taken the back seat.
We can look at the George W. Bush jugger
naut as an example of that.
The junior Bush is blowing every other candi
date, Republican and Democrat, out of the water
in current polls in spite of the fact he never tells
anybody where he stands on anything.
Don’t get me wrong, I don’t hate the guy.
I think he’s done a good job in Texas. It’s just
that currently nobody’s made iiim address any real
issues. He’s relying on his rock-star-like populari
ty because he can.
Let’s face it. Bush is all image: a combination
of charisma, looks, his famous name and those
nifty little 15-second “compassionate conser
vatism” sound bites.
I was at the Iowa Straw Poll. I saw how people
reacted to Bush.
Wherever he went, he was mobbed by adoring
fans and autograph-seekers. I saw a chick ask him
to sign her boobs. (OK, maybe not. But it really
wouldn’t have surprised me).
Bush is the guy to beat because he’s a celebri
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ty, not because of brilliant articulations on foreign
policy or the future of Social Security.
It’s not good for politics, but it’s what the
game has become. And in the process, candidates
who actually have ideas and aren’t afraid to
express them get thrown to the wayside.
An example is Steve Forbes.
The guy’s got more ideas than India’s got
Hindus. In my opinion, he has some of the best
ideas for the future of this country.
But unless about 12 people currently running
for the presidency die within the next few months.
Forbes probably won’t become President. Why
not?
It’s that celebrity thing. He doesn’t have its
cherished qualities. He’s kinda goofy-looking.
He’s rather dry. His dad was never president. He's
never played pro basketball or rassled in the
WWF.
So what’s a guy with a solid position on
Individual Retirement Accounts to do?
Ask Jesse Ventura, I guess.
JUSH MUhNNJNO is a senior advertising major and a Daily Nebraskan columnist.
Out of this world
Sandwich-making job provides frog-raising, alien-watching experiences
That’s right. I work at a deli. The
Sandwich Factory at 816 P St., to be
exact. I put in the address in case, god
forbid, my bosses actually do read this
condemning confessional that could put
me on their hit list for eternity.
I’m not on their hit list yet, but I’ve
seen it, and Keith, Tonya and their only
daughter, Stacy, had better watch out.
People come from all over the world
to praise me and tell me what a great
sandwich-maker I am. I would hate to
think all my friends are “friends” based
on the “free-food” code of ethics in
which I operate.
I like to think they adore me because
of my fun-lovin’, free-spirited aura,
which I can’t seem to get rid of these
days.
There’s nothing I cherish more than
friendships based on free stuff, not even
those formed on trust, honesty, or, god
forbid, sex. Yeah right, who really has a
relationship based on sex? Step forward,
liar. Your libido is probably as big as my
3-Meat Combo sandwich, which,
despite the name, isn’t a very big sand
wich.
I would never think of giving away
free food if:
A) I wasn’t hooked up with vari
ous other “Haymarket
Delights” (no, her name isn’t
Sarah).
B) my bosses weren’t so strange.
No, really, I think at times they
are aliens. It’s not only the
spaceship they fly around in
and the slime that oozes under
their feet (which gets a little old
to clean up), but also just what
they say sometimes. Pure alien
talk, I’m tellin’ ya.
If you don’t think words mean very
much in today’s society, read on. Or
work with me a few days.
One time, long, long ago in a galaxy
known as Earth....
They (meaning Bob and Sandy
-aka my bosses - aka Zorak and Melfy,
their alien aliases) told me the reason I
hadn’t gotten a raise in a year is the fact
that I didn’t wear a hat to work.
If I may be so bold as to quote her:
“People see that you don’t wear a
hat, and it grosses them out. We proba
bly lose a customer a day, and that adds
up to about $100 a month. That’s your
raise.”
Here’s the breakdown: Start wearing
a hat, and you’ll get a raise. Logic,
unreasonable.
Oh well. I broke down, started wear
ing the hat and got a raise. Submissive,
yes. Highly intelligent, no.
I know I have a tendency to blow
things out of proportion, unimportant
things at that, but blowing unimportant
things out of proportion is what I’m all
about. Ah yeah.
Anyway, I went to work in the recent
past and was greeted by their smiling
faces. As I wondered what antics I
would be exposed to next, they showed
me the new “hot dogs” they had
ordered.
“Oh, new hot dogs?” I replied,
thinking this was heaven in my mouth as
I tasted one of the new treats. Then
Sandy had to take this whole scene one
step further and say, “Yes, but they are
special. They are made out of ostrich
meat.”
I tried very hard not to gag at that
moment, but it was inevitable.
Oh well, just one more innocent ani
mal that has seen the insides of my
stomach.
Don’t worry, I read somewhere that
ostriches don’t have brains, or feelings
or moms. I’m kidding. I’m only trying
to feel good about my carnivorous roots.
There are several gre^t qualities
about them, however (Bob and Sandy,
not ostriches.)
Unfortunately, their love for the
1997 movie “Godzilla” and Bob’s
answering machine rendition of Jimmy
Swaggart saying, “They’re out on the
range rounding up cattle, but leave a
message, ya hear?” are not the ones that
stand out.
There are two items they have given
me over the years that will live in my
memory forever. In fact, one of them
will probably live in my house forever.
OK, I will let the cat out of the bag,
or should I say let the “frog” out of the
bag, since that’s what one of the objects
in question is.
It’s true. About a year ago, they gave
me a test-tube frog for a present. I think
they brought the thing back from their
home planet, but it is quife a unique gift,
I must say.
I mean, I don’t know anyone else
who has a pet that must live in bottled
water to stay alive. (I think he even
prefers Evian, the bastard.)
This thing, which I call “Supper,” is
so dumb and ugly that it makes me feel
good about myself every morning. I
have to drop food pellets on top of
Supper’s head right between his eyes
because he can’t eat food off the floor of
his tank. Eyes on top of the head suck!!!
Bob and Sandy (I mean Zorak and
Melfy) told me that I could flush it down
the toilet, but I just can’t do that to
another living thing. Even if it don’t do *
nothin’ but eat, poop and plan massive
deconstruction of the universe through
my living room.
It seems harmless enough, but
maybe Supper does have some sort of
mind control over me because I acciden
tally, perhaps simply out of stupidity,
ordered another one. Their trickery to
have me help them breed a new exis
tence sure didn’t take long.
The other object in question is pret
ty rad as well. It is a beer mug with the
two Budweiser lizards on top. If you
push a button on the handle, they say,
“The Budweiser lizards, we could've
been huge.”
They presented it to me on my 21st
birthday saying now that I was “old
enough” they would let me have some
thing like this. It was really a sweet ges
ture, and now I had a Budweiser mug to
replace my worn out baby bottle.
All in all, it’s a pretty great job. I
have a sandwich named after me, and
I’ve made some great friends.
Jeff, you’re my favorite. Bob and
Sandy keep me on my toes, and some
times my toes and fingers.
I hate those days, but they are few .
and far between. So if anyone wants to
come in and see me, my bosses, the
monkeys or to get free food. I’d be more
than happy to be rude to you. I mean, to
see you.
KAREN BROWN is a junior English and film studies major and a Daily Nebraskan columnist.
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