Opinion
ZM/jtJebraskan
Since 1901
Editor Sarah Baker
Opinion Page Editor Jake Glazeski
Managing Editor Bradley Davis
Screwed over
Sadistic decision lacks
imperative and sense
Punishment for the sake of punishment
has never been the most desirable answer to
the question of principle.
And yet, it would seem that is exactly what
has happened to NU Force second vice presi
dent Rowena Pacquette after a decision by the
ASUN Electoral Commission Tuesday.
The decision concerned Pacquette’s eligi
bility to be in the race at all, as she apparently
missed last Wednesday’s 4 p.m. deadline to
collect 200 student signatures and turn it in to
the ASUN office. She got them in the next
morning.
Tuesday, instead of allowing or disallowing
Pacquette to run based on the bylaw rule, the
commission fined her $30 and found a wishy
washy middle ground that all but guarantees
she has no chance of winning her election,
which is conducted separate of the president
and first vice president on March 1.
They allowed her to run. They did not allow
her to participate in the debates. Thus, what
ever student that may attend these debates
will never hear what Pacquette has to say, and
never know, outside of a personal meeting
with Pacquette herself, what she stands for.
What s the meaning of such a ruling?
Originally, as we assumed the Electoral
Commission would rule in a thumbs up or
thumbs down manner, the Editorial Board
concluded Pacquette should not be able to
run, regardless of whatever hiccups she may
have encountered in getting her signatures in.
It looks bad for a student official to miss
deadlines. After all, many of our teachers
never give us the type of leeway that
Pacquette wanted. Deadlines are the way of
things.
But the current decision (including the $30
fine, which is for what, exactly? Reparations to
the other parties?) is an uneasy compromise.
What’s the purpose in Pacquette’s running if
her voice is squelched? Maybe it would mat
ter, maybe it wouldn't.
But it’s as if she's a half-candidate, eligible
but with only so many rights, and it’s not
much of a precedent to set.
Furthermore...
With the UNL Academic Senate’s passing of
the plus-minus grading system, we’ll finally
have an accurate and fair way of distributing
grades on campus. No longer will a student
who gets a 91 percent receive an advantage of
an entire letter grade over a student who man
ages an 86, a difference of five percentage
points, when that 91 earns you the same grade
a 99 could pull.
Quite frankly, the current system, as happy
as it may have made students, could never
make up for that discrepancy and thus
allowed a slack-off into the lower 90s. The sys
tem makes us a better school with higher
standards for earning an A.
That said, maybe some consideration
should be put toward actually rewarding
those students who turn an A+, above and
beyond what it looks like on a transcript. If a
student is perfect in a class, shouldn’t the
grade point average reflect it?
And for several classes that aren’t statisti
cally based, the A+ should be reintroduced as
an option for a final grade.
Under the plus-minus system, every
minus, and every plus, ought to count. In
every class.
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 guenr
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Submit material to: Daly Nebraskan, 20 Nebraska Union, 1400 R St Lincoln, NE 68588-0448.
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Editorial Poficy
Unsigned edtortals are the opinions of the Spring 2001 Daiy 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 a cartoon is
solely the opinion of its artist The Board of Regents acts as pubisher of the Daily Nebraskan; poi
cy is set by the Daiy Nebraskan Editorial Board. The UNL Publications Board, established by the
regents, supervises the production of the paper. Accorting to policy set by the regents, reeponsi
btty tor the edftorlel content of the newspaper ies solely in the hands of its employees.
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Neal Obermeyer/DN
Staying for the long haul
Iam a 33-year-old mar
ried female. Iam looking for
a man to get together with
sexually several times a
month to explore fantasies
and desires. I’m not looking
for a one-night stand, I’m
looking for somebody on an
ongoing basis. I’m not look
ing for someone to jump in
the sack the first night we
Mark
Zmarzty
meet. Im looking for some- N
one to be a friend, someone to explore. Someone
who is not going to call me up whenever they just
want sex. Iam looking to explore, though. Someone
who is fairly open. Iam not looking to leave my hus
band, so definitely no strings, just a friendship that
includes intimacy and sexual exploration. Iam 5’4",
have brown hair, shoulder length and wavy, hazel
eyes, and I’m attractive.
— Personal ad from the January 24th The
Reader.
A few thoughts came to mind when I first read
this personal: When can I meet this lady and will
spanking be involved? Will I have to spank her or
will she be spanking me? Will there be others
involved? What exactly does sexual exploration
mean? Whips, whistles, chains, dildos? Am I going
to cry when it’s over?
My actual reaction to this ad is torn. On one
hand, when I was 16,1 used to dream of a woman
like this. An older woman who could teach me all
about sex. At that age, the relation of me to sex was
like a monkey to a 64-piece socket set; neither of us
had a clue what to do.
One must slowly intro
duce the socket set to
the monkey, piece
by piece. Don't go
too fast and whip jj
out the 2" socket, ^
start him off with
the 3/8" socket.
Maybe get a variety
of scantily clad
women to introduce
each piece. After a while,
the monkey will catch on.
Now that I'm older, I’m pret
ty handy with a socket set. I
couldn’t work at NASA
Jerry Morgan/DN
but I could lift up your hood and work on your
valves.
Put aside my juvenile tendencies toward casual
sex with an older woman and I’m left with a feeling
of sorrow for this woman and her husband.
Our parents’ generation was the first real time
in America that divorce came into common use. I
think that you would be hard-pressed to find an
individual our age with a grandparent that has
been divorced. Widowed in a combine accident
yes, but divorced, no.
What steps are being taken to halt society's
slide toward an increasing number of divorces?
There was an article in the Jan. 29 Lincoln
Journal-Star about the fight individual states are
engaging to discourage divorce. Arizona and
Louisiana both have passed legislative bills
designed to make divorce more difficult; it’s called
covenant marriage.
Covenant marriage requires premarital coun
seling and permits divorce only on the grounds of
abuse, abandonment, adultery, imprisonment or
lengthy separation.
Opposition for covenant marriage comes from
two sources. First, couples have not been in favor
of such a move. This is evident by the 96 percent of
Louisiana couples who have not chosen the
covenant marriage option. The ACLU is the second
entity opposed to the idea because they feel that it
creates a link between church and state.
I’m not advocating government restrictions on
your ability to wed or to divorce, although it seems
like a popular idea in this state. It could be that we
have just become a society that is willing to place a
disposable classification on the idea of marriage.
Are we becoming a society that truly believes
that marriages are as easily replaced as toilet
paper?
Here’s a cute little metaphor for you. I
have a Hewlett-Packard printer for my
computer; we'll call her Nellie. I like her;
she and I have an understanding. I click
the print button and she makes the
magic happen. Every now and then she
runs out of ink and I have to go to the
store an44>uy a new
irtk cartridge
/ ($26).
During
Christmas, I
found
myself at
the store,
I won’t
say the
name
but it
rhymes
with “West
Wuy.” While at
West Wuy, I
found a brand new
printer that, after
mail-in rebates, only
cost $20.
What was I to do?
Sure, the new printer looked nice and
shiny, but what about ‘ole Nellie? Sure,
Nellie looks at me funny when I’ve been out
drinking instead of typing. Sometimes she
even spits out a sheet of paper with "Test sheet
00004; file found” on it, but is that any reason
to just get rid of her?
Maybe this metaphor has run off track.
Back to my point.
Sustaining a satisfying relationship, espe
cially a marriage, may be the most difficult
thing we will face during our lifetime. Anything
involving people is not scientific and therefore
will be prone to misunderstandings and diffi
cult times. Is that any reason to view the rela
tionship as disposable?
One thing is for sure, I’m never marrying a 5’4"
attractive brunette. That's right folks, it will have to
be a 5’10” attractive blonde.
DN columnist seeks tall, attractive blonde
woman who will be faithful for life and won’t say
things like “Test sheet 00004; file found.” Also, no
drugs please.
Tired of writing letters?
Whether you re a conservative kook
or a liberal loon, an artsy nut or a
just-the-facts ma’am, we want you to
write for us! See your words in print.
Impress your friends. Pad your resume. And get a little
cash on die side. Pick up an application in the Daily Nebraskan office, 20
Nebraska Union, supply a column or two, and your face could be on this page.
The week
with the
nylon motif
This is a story,
a story about a
very strange
week.
I was outside
the other night,
kissing ray car
and talking to it
in a baby voice
(seriously, other
wise it won't start
Seth
Felton
the next morning) when a guy whistled
and jogged across the street.
It was dark, so I can’t be certain, but
I think he had a pair or at least half a
pair of pantyhose on his head.
He came up, breathless, and asked,
“Hey man, you wanna buy some tools?”
Now, in my naivetg, I assumed since
he was wearing pantyhose on his head
that this was a euphemism for drugs.
Which ones I didn't know - shrooms,
smack, coke, XTC?
I did take a DARE class in sixth
grade so I would know later what to
order from my friendly neighborhood
dealer, but perhaps I need a refresher
course.
Kind of like CPR - after so many
years you get a little rusty.
But no, he really was selling tools. A
$120 set “with wrenches and screw
drivers, man. Twenty dollars man, you
come and see ’em, you’ll know it’s a
good deal.”
I didn’t really want to see panty
hose-head man’s “tools,” nor did I want
the broken'ftipac CD he offered as well.
I finally asked why he would want to
sell a $120 tool set for one-sixth of its
value. He said he needed gas money so
he could get home.
For some reason, I gave him a few
bills (ones, mind you!), shook his hand
and watched him bound off in elation
down the block. Feeling benevolent
and generous, I walked up to my apart
ment.
Later, there was a knock at my door.
The door swung open to reveal (I swear
to you) a different man, short and
scrawny with big darting eyes, a hail
Hitler mustache, and pantyhose on his
head.
He asked for tin foil.
I might have expected my neighbor
to ask for tin foil. I mean, I think all she
has in her place is carton after carton of
Marlboros, 20 pairs of gray sweatpants
and a T-shirt with a picture of the
Washington monument on it
And don't get me wrong, I'm used to
strange happenings in my hood, which
is situated in one of the highest density
areas in Lincoln. Twenty thousand peo
ple live in a six-block radius, so there's
always plenty going on.
Still, there are certain constants.
Sweatpants girl was busy smoking, the
guy across the street who sits in his
truck revving the engine for hours at a
time was still at it and I'm sure the
Mexican guy who stands outside Klein's
food mart was engaging another unin
terested stranger in a conversation
about the Vietnam War and his dog,
Tempo. Hasta siempre, as always.
But tin-foil, pantyhose-head man
No. 2 had set things slightly askew. He
didn’t want to preserve the delicious
ness of leftovers; he wanted to contact
the mother ship.
I wanted to help but sadly had no
tin foil. Disheartened, my guest quickly
departed.
A couple days later, I was helping a
friend celebrate his birthday by, natu
rally, paying for his drinks. We were all
in the mood to blur and soften the
sharp edges of reality, and my vodka
tonic was doing a nice job of it. *
As I was standing at the bar waiting
for another sip, a man walked up to me
and said, “When you're done here,
there’s a girl who wants to talk to you.” I
smirked. Most likely she mistook me
for someone six inches taller and a lot
better looking, but that’s the magic of
alcohol and dim lighting.
At any rate, I might as well talk to
her, I thought. Let her know I’m flat
tered but most unavailable.
I walked over to the booth where
the party of six, including the mystery
girl, was sitting. A big man in a polo
sweater high-fived me, then pulled me
way too close and buddy-like and said,
“Are you ready to dedicate yourself to
45 minutes of hard-core (reader inserts
troglodyte term for various body part of
his or her choice here) licking?”
I was instantly less enchanted with
my surroundings. I made a quick scan
of the situation in which I was sudden
ly trapped.
Each face wore a grin made lurid by
drink. Each head was tinted by a thin,
nylon sheen.
With no options remaining, I
reached into my pocket. Each pair of
eyes lit up as I pulled out a treasure in
tin foil and laid it on the table like pirate
booty, like a cache of doubloons.
In the ensuing clamor, I managed to
escape the bar. I made my silent way
home, where I crept into bed to sleep
blissfully alone in a sea of human elec
trons, each frantic with energy, each
unique in its madness.
