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About The daily Nebraskan. ([Lincoln, Neb.) 1901-current | View Entire Issue (Sept. 7, 1999)
EDITOR Josh Funk OPINION EDITOR Mark Baldridge EDITORIAL BOARD Lindsay Young Jessica Fargen Samuel McKewon Cliff Hicks Our VIEW A walk in the park Outlaw freshman permits for parking perfection You are correct in thinking the parking situation on campus is a crock. You are right to complain the university is not exploring possible solutions to the problem. But you’re wrong if you think the solu tion has anything to do with paving over mure ur me campus. The Daily Nebraskan humbly sub mits the nasty medicine that can cure your parking woes; , hold your nose: Refuse freshmen parking per mits. Freshmen, who are required to u And here s the best part, the spoon full of mgar to help the medicine go down: It won *t affect you J __A._J _ • • iivw vu uaiiipua, uu iiui uccu taid. i ii> demonstrable by the fact that they don’t move the cars they park. A Daily Nebraskan staffer performed an independent experiment in March, chalk ing the tires of 20 cars in the Harper Schramm-Smith Complex lot. Two weeks later, 18 of them had not moved. Nine out of 10 cars, parked more or less permanently in residence hall lots, is not the most efficient use of space, to say noth ing of the cars themselves. If freshmen newly arrived from the boondocks knew they had a year of care lessness ahead of them, they could plan for it, making travel arrangements for vacation on specially designed, ride-share Web sites supported by UNL. The shuttle bus system would have to be expanded, of course, both in routes covered and hours of operation, but this should be done in any case. And students who, as freshmen, learned to ride the bus, catch the shuttles and lock their bikes up will be less likely to require parking when they become sophomores. Other universities have had success with such measures. The University of Texas at Austin has not offered freshmen parking permits for some time, and seems to have no shortage of incoming students. And here’s the best part, the spoon full of sugar to help the medicine go down: It won’t affect you. The earliest such a radical program could go into effect would be next year, when the current crop of cocky freshmen should be cocky sophomores. All the more cocky for having a place to park. Editorial Pallcy Unsigned editorials are the opinions of the FaU 1999 Daily Nebraskan. They do not necessarily reflect the views of the University of Nebraska-Lincoln, its employees, its student body or the University of Nebraska Board of Regents. A column is solely the opinion of its author. The Board of Regents serves as publisher of the Daily Nebraskan; policy is set by the Daily Nebraskan Editorial Board. Tne UNL Publications Board, established by the regents, supervises the production of the paper. According to policy set by the regents, responsibility for the editorial content of the newspaper lies solely in the hands of its student employees. * Lenar Policy The Daily Nebraskan welcomes brief letters to the editor and guest columns, but does not guarantee their publication. The Daily Nebraskan retains the right to edit or reject any materia) submitted. Submitted material becomes property of the Daily Nebraskan and cannot be returned. Anonymous submissions will not be published. Those who submit letters must identify themselves by name, year in school, major and/or group affiliation, if any. Submit material to: Daily Nebraskan, 20 Nebraska Union, 1400 R St. Lincoln, NE. 68588-0448. E-mail: letters@unlinfo.unl.edu. Obermeyer’s VIEW aVAKMOW, UL 'HUgg S£ HUSKER fAlJS WpP fEVER WE CHARGE- m ft TICKETS...THEy —s HELPeUT^^^^^ JpiPH , Qpf YOUR | 'hW ^ ^W'X/^Oa^^aT^ ^rMo^Cffi? Ik* W P[_E A J ON Li FOUR | ggffltf.jja) SffiBm, 1 PAYS UNTIL j g^cPUSE - /f P®fi?gg?«I§ 1 THE f U?5T \ V)£U...gf 7/ POX>T You i i^cii TiT^Ygy Roommate wanted Only the emotionally stable need apply Life has become bleak and bleary. I can no longer eat my Fruity Pebbles as I choke back tears of utter sorrow and despair. There is nothing I can do except get over the loss of one of my roommates and find a new one! There’s no crying in baseball, so why should there be crying over one of my best friends leaving me alone to have pure, unadulterated fun with the remaining two “roommates o’ radicalness”? By the way, it’s not like Melissa died or anything, but she is an audi tor now, which is pretty darn close. Let me give you a little taste of the situation I christened “The deci sion I made when I was thinking none too clearly.” This decision, folks, enabled me to live for the past two years in mad ness, danger and, best of all, nudity. This decision was to dwell with kind, simple folk that would change my life, (and occasionally my under wear), forever. unce tne quartet or Kara Mihm, Krysti Worster, Melissa Hamiel and myself was formed, we couldn’t seem to get rid of one another, much like the rash on Krysti’s nether region. Melissa was the first of the litter that I met. She was wasted, and I had to fight her off at our house-warming party. As she repeatedly tried to grab my buns, I called the cops and slapped a restraining order on her the size of South Dakota, where people like this come from. We all know accounting majors are crazy, but this was nuts. Not a good way to be introduced to the ambiance of my new house. Or was it just what the doctor ordered? Krysti was a breath of smoky, cancer-filled air when I met her. She was Melissa’s friend from Nerdhart, which I took as a bad sign, but she was still grieving over the death of Kurt Cobain, and that’s all I needed to know. I instantly had someone to bum flannels, scribble lyrics on flesh, hate the world and feel lost with. Her only “downfall” is the fact that she’s a shopping whore. Shoes are her eternal weakness. They are the key to her heart, and apparently, the key to her ... we’ll just stick with heart. If shoes were water, she would have drowned a long time ago in her room. Kara is the last debutante I graced with my presence. I initially mistook her for a sorority girl who wanted nothing to do with a saucy vixen like me. I didn’t fit into her Gap glamour and glitz world ... or did I? Of course I didn’t. But I did discover that she eats sorority girls for break fast and soon a bitter, snide-com ment-filled, who’s-bitchier-than-who relationship ignited. This connection of souls was built on a plethora of hate, but under neath the hate was a little love. Of course, the love shows only when Kara has been fed and burped, but it’s there. * I can’t really remember when and how I met myself. It was probably the first time I looked in a mirror, although it could’ve been the time when I fasted for a week and tran scended into a spiritual realm more powerful than, well, a mirror I sup pose. Besides being in tune with myself, I’m also the messiest son of a bitch in the world. It’s not that I’m messy, per se, I just like to leave things where they lie. Namely, the dishes. As a unit we are strong, but when we are on our own, we weaken and catch colds like nobody’s business. Even when we stick together, the gods (of Nebraska) have played sev eral mean tricks on us four frolicking beauts, and we’ve had enough. Example: Of the two houses we’ve graced with our presence, two of those have been struck by light ning. You do the math - the odds are not in our favor. Luckily, no one’s appliances got damaged. Oh, wait! Except my stereo, my TV and I believe it was my answering machine that saw the light that night. That’s what I get for saving up my summer money and turning into a materialistic manicurist. I mean materialistic maniac. The second sequester of Satan happened a mere month ago. It was 4 in the mornin’, and there was a crack of thunder so loud I soiled myself on the spot. I got up to get a drink and, of course (?), Krysti and Melissa were sleeping on the living room flfior., They were frightened as well, and then we smelled smoke. Not from Satan’s pipe, but from Kara’s “closet of doom.” The outlet had been fried and started an electrical fire that started a Gap-clothes fire that could have killed four girls and several rats. We have also had several “harm less pranks” pulled on us by our “friends.” It’s the timeless battle of girls against boys, and, unfortunately, the boys always win. Let’s see, we’ve had our porch swing and grill stolen, much to our dismay - although we don’t know how to grill or swing. Once, in the winter, our front door was blockaded by 20 or so old Christmas trees. Forgetting about the other door to the house, we spent a long winter inside the house eating carpet and bugs, having nothing to drink but an abundant supply of water. Perhaps the most “respectable” prank happened the night Kara and I arrived home in a stupor. Not neces sarily a drunken one, but a stupor nonetheless. as i went to nip on tne ngnts, no light went on. Something wasn’t right. I figured it for a dead bulb until I tried a different source, and that too failed. This was no power outage, this was anarchy. We concluded through extensive flipping of the light switches that the boys (i.e. Chris, Rupert, Brent) had taken out every single bulb in our two-story house, including the base ment. Yes, they even lifted the refrig erator light. I guess what I’m trying to say is that if one of you lucky ladies would like to be privy to this array of sordid torture, we are accepting applica tions to fill Melissa’s position. We just need a silly, sweet, emo tionally stable roommate for once. Call any time if we haven’t been evicted yet. Karen Brown is a junior English and film studies major and a Daily Nebraskan columnist