I
/M/y Nebraskan
Since 1901
Editor Sarah Baker
Opinion Page Editor Jake Glazeski
Managing Editor Bradley Davis
Quotes of the Week
“There were a lot of rumors going around
that weren't true and that nobody really
knew what Studio 14 was all about.”
Lance Brown, owner of Studio 14, on the
mythical aura surrounding his club’s repu
tation
“The government never intended a per
son’s Social Security number to be used as a
student identification number, which is the
way we are using it now.”
State Senator Pam Redfield of Omaha, on
LB330, which would prohibit schools from
using a student’s Social Security numbers
for identification purposes
“People with souls are very, very few - and
they know it. 1, of course, am one of them.”
Columnist Mark Baldridge, on the pauci
ty of gods walking among us
“I don’t want fifth at all this year. I don’t
want anything less than first.”
Nebraska wrestler Todd Beckerman, on
his goal of winning a national title
“I liked the program and the people, espe
cially since there aren't any other Chinese in
Wayne."
Taixi Xu, Wayne State graduate student,
on the 10th annual Chinese New Year cele
bration last Saturday in the Nebraska
Union
“I doq't even want to know how people
use drugs. What good could come of educa
tion on the issue? Drugs are bad, end of
story."
Columnist Tony Bock, on his support of
Susie Dugan's anti-drug education cam
paign
“Coach said a little bit about having heart.
... Who had the most heart? If we were going
to have heart, we weren't going to lie down.
We showed we had heart by battling back.”
Senior guard Cookie Belcher, on
Nebraska's rally to win over Kansas State
Tuesday
“The one thing we firmly believe as
Americans is that we have the right to oper
ate in a free market economy."
Mark Lutz, spokesman for the Nebraska
Restaurant Association, on the organiza
tion's opposition to LB227, which would
ban smoking in most restaurants
“It’s a sad thing, to be born an alien. You
don’t know the language, you don’t under
stand the culture. You spend your life catch
ing up; all the while the background music is
something by Simon and Garfunkel.”
Columnist Jake Glazeski, on the isolation
implicit in living as a human
“What we’ve tried to do is bring a big city
club to a smaller town.”
Alan Thompson, co-owner of the Q, on
his desire to bring an under-represented
entertainment choice to Lincoln
“The solution fs to become an active, not
activist, student government.”
Andy Mixan, presidential candidate for
No Bull, on the problem of ASUN’s repre
sentation of the students in political mat
ters
Editorial Board
Sarah Baker, Jeff Bloom, Bradley Davis, Jake Glazeski,
Matthew Hansen, Samuel McKewon, Kimberly Sweet
Letters Policy
The Daly Nebraskan welcomes brief letters to the editor and guest columns, but does not guaran
tee their publication. The Daily Nebraskan retains the right to edit or reject any material submitted.
Submitted material becomes property of the Daily Nebraskan and cannot be returned. Anonymous
> submissions wl not be piMshed. Tboee who submit letters must identify themselves by name,
year hi school, major and/or group affiliation, If any.
Submt material to: Daly Nebraskan, 20 Nebraska Union, 1400 R St Lincoln. N£ 68588-0448.
C mwi-loileraOrlwlynnb.com.
Editorial Policy
Unsigned edftortals are the opinions of the Spring 2001 Daily Nebraskan. They do not necessarly
reflect the views of the University of Nebraska-Uncoin, its employees, its student body or the
University of Nebraska Board of Regents. A column is aoleiy the opinion of Its author a cartoon is
solely the opMon of its artist The Board of Regents acts as publsher of the Daly Nebraskan; pd
cy is set by the Daly Nebraskan Edtortal Board. The UNL Pubications Board, established by the
regents, s^Mrvises the production of the paper. Aooott|ng to policy set by the regents, responsi
bly for the edtorial contort of the newspaper iee solely tithe hands of its employees.
I
Megan Cody/DN
One more resource
“It’s that time again” (DN, Feb. 1st) was a very
helpful article, giving students a wide selection of
resources which can provide them with tax advice.
However, the article missed one very important
resource.
The College of Law and the Internal Revenue
Service sponsor Volunteer Income Tax Assistance
(VITA) sites on both City and East Campuses. VITA
provides free tax advice and form preparation for
students, staff and low-income taxpayers. The sites
are staffed by trained law students.
Letters to the editor
We are absolutely free and 100 percent accu
rate. We can save students the cost of visiting H&R
Block or purchasing tax software that they only use
once.
We are in the lobby of the East Campus Union
on Wednesdays 11:00 a.m. to 1:00 p.m. and inside
the north entrance of the Nebraska Union on
Thursdays from 11:00 a.m. to 1:00 p.m.
Michael Suberly
UNL alumnus, ’00
VITA Site Coordinator
Just give me another dollar
I am Fate.
I am not Robin Hood, I am
his antithesis. I steal from the
poor, the needy, the unshel
tered and give to the masses.
The rich.
I give to those who have
aiiu iu uiudc wiiu nave nut. 1 ---
am subtle communism at _ Simon
work every day in your life. Ringsmuth
I am scratch-off games,
Powerball, Pick 5 and
Rolldown. I come to families, individuals, your
friends, you when you are at the bar, the store or the
gas station. “Yeah, I've got $10 on pump number five
and throw in a scratch-off too.”
You idiot You wonderful piece of shit You walked
into my waiting arms and let me take your money.
And still you come back for more. Do you honestly
think I’m going to let you win money off that scratch
off ticket?
You fool. I am not good. I am evil, and I know it
You do not because you are an idiot You continue to
embrace me and the wares I peddle with my neon
signs and eager smile.
***
I am the child of a single mother. I watch as she
cashes her child support check to buy a money order
for the cable bill and a few scratch cards. “Can I have a
candy bar?” I ask, my eyes wide with anticipation. I’ve
been good, I think.
“No, and don’t touch!” she snaps, grabbing my
wrist She takes a penny from the tray, scratches and
chuckles to the employee behind the counter. “I never
win at these damn things.” I know we’ll go through
this again next month. I wish she would buy me a
candy bat
***
I am retired, and my grandchildren come to visit
me sometimes. I have enjoyed a fruitful life and it’s my
money, and I have enough and a few dollars won’t
really hurt
I spend $50 on Powerball every week, and I usual
ly win a few dollars. Well, one time last year I won
$450, but that sure didn't last long, if you know what I
mean.
Sometimes I don't win anything, but I don't mind.
I’ve played the same numbers every week for three
years, but never hit the big one. I might win someday.
I could have paid for my granddaughter's college
education by now. I could have bought myself a boat
I could have added a deck to my house. I also could
win the Powerball, but only if I play. I can't win if I don’t
play, you see. If I stop now, my numbers will come up
next week.
"What’s that?” I ask, and the clerk repeats herself:
“You get a free Powerball ticket if you buy two
Rolldown tickets.”
“What the hell, why not,” I reply. “You only live
once.”
I am the Nebraska Legislature spending pot your
tax dollars, but your pocket change and grocery
money.
I am the need for a state park, a refurnished
school, a paved road. 1 am impatience and incivility. I
cannot raise taxes, but I need to raise money. I will
offer cheap hope to everyone.
“What’s under there?” I ask, perched atop many
billboards. My shirt blade. My jeans: faded. My head:
balding.
I am just like you, and you know you might win if
you play. What I don't tell you is you probably won’t,
but I don’t care. You will spend more, more, more until
my presence becomes a need. You cannot sleep at
night knowing you might have won the Powerball if
only you’d have bought one earlier. I build your paries,
refurnish your schools and pave your roads at your
expense.
You fools. You won’t let me tax you, but I will have
my vengeance. I rape your state again and again, one
dollar at a time until you don’t notice me anymore.
You will let me take your money, and to show my
appreciation, I will let one in four of you have your
dollar back. The other three I will not ’
One in 30 of you who buy Powerball will “win”
your dollar back. All of you will continue to play. It
feels so good.
***
I am a phone book. I am many phone books. I am
400 Lincoln phone books, and I have chosen from
myself one phone number.
“Go on,” I prod, my beady eyes staring at you, the
vision of $30 million burning your retinas and filling
your mind with temptation. I have chosen just one
phone number from all those phone books, and if you
can find the same number I *ve chosen, you win.
You will live a fairy tale. Drink from me and live
forever - only one filthy little dollar. I laugh as you
hand over one, two, five, 50,500 dollars in a lifetime.
You never win. Ihi still laughing.
I am one dollar a week, “just for fun.” I am more
expensive than two, even three magazine subscrip
tions. I am more expensive than a night out on the
town with your wife. I am the Christmas present you
couldn't afford to buy your kid last year.
I am a nuisance, constantly picking your pocket I
entice you, then steal, steal, steal your money. And
you never stop me. I offer glory, riches, fame for the
price of one ticket and aslice of dignity. “Thousands of
winners a day!" I cry into the chill night air.
I never tell you it’s thousands of losers. Many
thousands of losers. You am a loser. You will continue
to be a loser, pathetically spending your one dollar a
week, or perhaps it’s two, or maybe you get five
scratch-offs twice a week, or maybe you only play the
Powerball.
Or maybe it’s much, much more. By the time I let
you win, I’ve already drained your wallet so, so much,
but you will be happy. I take and take and take, and
when I give a morsel back, you feed off it hungrily and
go away satisfied because I’ve made your day. You will
be back. I know you will.
I am selfishness incarnate, green and evil.
Montage of
country
memories
The familiar
sound of the har
monica and the
guitar egging
each other on,
picking up steam
and finally rolling
down the tracks
drives my blood
pressure up and
puts a sparkle in
my eye.
The energy spewing from the speak
ers this late October night takes me back
home to gravel roads, clear night skies
without a hint of hazy light pollution and
green fields as far as the eye can see.
My dried-out-from-the- weather 20
year-old hands reach out and grab those
of my friend, Steve. I pull him out on to
the dance floor and forget for the next
five minutes that I really don't like coun
try music. The train is about to pull out
from the station, and I have got to be on
it I duck behind his back and arms start
flying every which way.
“6 o’clock on Friday evening,
Momma doesn’t know she’s leaving,
’Til she hears the
screen door slam
ming,
Rubber squealin’,
gears a-jamming...’’
But in my mind, I
am flying from the
top of the yellow
stack of hay bales in
our barn to the bot
tom carpet of straw,
rope clutched
between my small
10-year-old hands.
The cat tears out of
the barn into the 4
o’clock sun as I lay
back and inhale the
dust. “My turn.
Move!” my little sis
ter yells. I get up, brush off and begin to
ascend Mt Golden again...
Steve and I must have gotten lost a
few turns ago because now our arms are
twisted in a most painful manner.
Maybe when I learned to swing dance I
forgot how to pretzel. The only thing to
do is to let go and start again.
Maybe
when I
learned to
swing
dance I
forgot how
to pretzel.
The only
thing to do
is to let go
and start
again.
“Ain’t going down ’til the sun comes
up,
Ain tgivin in til they get enough
Going ’round, the world in a pickup
truck,
Ain’t gpin’down ’til the sun comes up
Instead of the wail of the harmonica,
I faintly hear my grandma calling us in
for lunch. In my mind again, I race my
sunshine-haired little sister back to the
old white house on the hill that has
stood there for almost 100 years. We
burst through the heavy door into the
kitchen, and the smell of hot pork and
buttery mashed potatoes assaults our
noses.
But we’re picking up steam on the
dance floor, hitting every beat and then
some. There's a world of difference
between dancing with a guy and danc
ing with a guy who can lead. And that
world is spinning faster and faster until I
think I might lift off the ground and into
the starry night sky.
It's March's black night that meets
the pavement as my slender 16-year-old
hands unlatch and twist open the win
dow in our coach’s classroom, and I try
not to think about the speech that I
ought to be practicing. The promise of
spring hangs in the breeze, and I want to
go out to the parking lot and turn cart
wheels, or open the sunroof in my 1983
Volkswagen Rabbit and see how fast it
can go down the adjoining blacktop or
just run into town and get some ice
cream.
I won’t because I have to practice
and my dad would kill me - and I can't do
cartwheels. But life sits there, waiting for
me to make my move or to turn my back
and be responsible.
The dance-floor train has morphed
into a speeding ball of fire, and we are
heat radiating from it I don’t see the yel
low-peach lights or the raised speakers
or the people eating on the edge of the
dance floor anymore. The effect of the
dance is that of rowing a canoe caught in
the center of a whirlpool. I see a dim blur
of warm browns and yellows, and I feel
strong hands pulling me toward him.
As the train puts on the brakes to
approach the next station, I smell a way
of life outside of city limits that I was
much too anxious to leave behind.
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