ZM/vNebraskan
Since 1901
Editor Sarah Baker
Opinion Page EcStor Jake Giazeski
Managing Editor Bradley Davis
Missed boat
Chinese program's end
will hurt opportunities
The University of Nebraska Lincolns aca
demic prioritization process was bound to
ruffle some feathers.
After all, when there’s talk of cutting certain
programs, department heads are ultra-pro
tective of their own comers of the university,
which they no doubt deem invaluable.
It makes sense, then, for administrators to
take a dispassionate look at all of the universi
ty's programs to determine which ones are
best fulfilling UNL’s mission of teaching,
research and service.
It was an error in judgment, though, when
administrators decided to gut the Chinese
program.
As detailed in a March 9 Daily Nebraskan
story, the academic prioritization report
sounds the death knell for introductory
.__ Chinese courses-in effect, per
Other
languages
offered,
such as
Czechoslov
akian and
Hebrew,
are
certainly
less
valuable -
solely on
their
economic
benefits
than
Chinese.
naps me nrsi siep 10 eliminat
ing the entire program.
Radha Balasubramanian,
interim chairwoman of the
Department of Modern
Languages and Literatures, said
nixing die Chinese classes was
a decision based on a limited
budget and the lack of student
interest.
Few people enrolled in intro
ductory Chinese courses, she
said.
A graduate student, Coral Su,
teaches Chinese courses in the
absence of a professor.
With a university trying to
focus its economic and faculty
resources on its best programs,
certainly some classes will have
to oe cut
But it's unfortunate that Chinese - a lan
guage spoken by more than 1 billion people -
is one of the first programs to surface from the
prioritization process to face the ax.
U.S. lawmakers have increasingly lobbied
to make China a more regular trading partner
- granting it several years ago its coveted sta
tus as a “most-favored” trading nation.
Though the university doesn’t exist only to
fuel the state’s economic engine, it just makes
sense for it to be actively engaged in a culture
- teaching its language and customs and
attracting its students - that could prove to be
extremely economically significant, to say the
least.
Other languages offered, such as
Czechoslovakian and Hebrew, are certainly
less valuable - solely on their economic bene
fits - than Chinese.
That’s not to say those languages aren’t
valuable for the cultural and educational ele
ments they bring to campus, but administra
tors should take a serious look at whether
they’re being pressured politically to keep cer
tain languages to please certain elements of
the state population. *
It seems a bit easy, politically, to eliminate
Chinese from the curriculum.
The Chinese aren’t known for having a big
voice in this state.
But to eliminate a language that has the
potential - despite the apparent lack of inter
est right now - to be significant in Nebraska’s
participation in the global economy seems
short-sighted.
Edttorial Board
Sarah Baker, Jeff Bloom, Bradley Davis, Jake Glazeski,
Matthew Hansen, Samuel McKewon, Kimberly Sweet
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Neal Obemwyer/DN
The infamous one-stall rule
You know what I hate
the most?
Guys who break the
Golden Rule of public rest
rooms.
Regardless of what
most health inspectors
think and what those little
signs by the sinks tell you, I
am not talking about for
Dan
Leamen
gctiiiig iu wawi jruui iicuiuo.
Although this is an impor
tant bathroom rule, there is one just above it in
the hierarchy of bathroom regulations: the one
stall rule.
All men - all guys - all humans with as much
body hair as your average golden retriever
(French women excluded) know of and practice
the rule.
I mean, at least that is what I thought (not
about the French women, but the one-stall
rule).
Anymore, when I enter a men’s bathroom, I
am questioning the once proud and strong
essence of what it is to be a guy (if it has an
essence).
The one-stall rule is sacred.
Let’s say that I start a secret order of guy
hood. Then let’s say that we meet at Hooter’s
every weekend (for the wings (No, not those
wings)).
And while there, we write a guyhood bible.
If this theoretical bible had a list of ten com
mandments - the one-stall rule would be the
first, second and seventh commandment.
Guys are made of 30 percent grunting, 25
percent scratching, 10 percent mushy stuff and
35 percent one-stall rule.
Breaking this rule is like stepping on a crack
and breaking your mothers back - she ain’t
going to be happy the next time you come home.
The one-stall rule is all about personal space.
It’s kinda like those space-bubble things that
psychologists talk about, but modified for bath
room use.
Basically, if I enter a bathroom all by myself
and there are six urinals in the bathroom, I have
a lot of open options. Let’s pretend that I take
urinal one because I just drank a Big Gulp, and I
can’t make it much longer.
Shortly after I enter, Ghandi strolls into the
bathroom.
Ghandi really has to go, and being a guy, he is
aware of the rule: He chooses urinal three.
A third man enters, and to conceal his iden
tity, call him Pope John Paul II.
The Pope is well-versed in the logistics of the
rule and chooses urinal numero five.
Unfortunately, trouble arises when former
TV star Gary Coleman enters.
The short urinal is number six - but Gary
knows he cannot break the one-stall rule. Gary
is faced with a critical decision of men’s rest
room etiquette.
Will Gary take urinal number six and possi
bly freeze up the Pope?
Or will he take stall number one and leave
undisturbed the delicate balance of the men’s
bathroom comfort zone?
If Gary bolts for the sixth urinal like grandpa
bolts for the spiked eggnog at Christmas, the
atmosphere is going
I down the crapper
- no pun intended.
The Pope freezes up and the rest of us turn
heads, panic and break into a cold sweat at the
horrific action we have just seen.
If Gary makes a break for the first stall like a
group of large women in flower pants and fish
erman sunglasses jump on a dollar-store sale, a
little sigh of relief is let out in the back of every
guy’s mind.
Situations like this are very tense and some
times overwhelming.
What is a brother to do?
When I go to the bathroom, I am not looking
to make friends or to be "stall pals.”
A men’s restroom is a place of philosophy,
and all i want to do is read the swimsuit caption
of the Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue and phi
losophize.
Many great inventors have conjured up
many a technological advancements in rest
rooms.
Where do you think Edison thought up the
light bulb?
And Einstein? Where was he when he
thought up the theory of relativity?
Both in the bathroom.
Velcro shoes, sliced bread, doughnut holes,
communism, 40 different religions, Barrel 'O’
Monkeys and those cute little plastic flowers
that dance when you clap - all thought up in the
bathroom.
The bottom line is this: A men’s restroom is a
place of privacy and thought. A guy’s palace of
porcelain, toilet paper and Sports Illustrated.
When I go, I don’t want to know anything
about anyone else going and above all else I
don’t want to hear it.
It is obvious that the guy chain of communi
cation has been broken, and the way I see it,
there are only three solutions.
The first is basic: eliminate every other uri
nal and stall.
No bowl, no go.
Of course, I don't want student fees raised, so
a second solution pops up.
A day in all University Foundation classes
could be devoted to the one-stall rule.
The keynote speaker could be an Upjohn
rep. Make it like an AIDS awareness speech and
hand out flyers and fact sheets. Bumper stickers
could be passed out on the way out.
' The last resort would a be a trap door leading
to a pool frill of rabid sea turtles.
Whenever the rule is broken, the victim sim
ply tugs a cord and the offender is deposited in a
pool of unmerciful pain as the sea turtles snap
away.
This, of course, could cause some legal-type
issues that I am not prepared to address.
But until true action can be taken, I can only
encourage you to ask friends, strangers and
family (your dad was supposed to include this in
the birds and the bees speech) about the rule,
and if that doesn’t work, at least give it the ol’
courtesy flush.
Mind
Kontrol to
Major Tom
During a
commercial
break, a Burger
King pitch man
calls out, loud
and clear: “You
know you’re a
moron, don’t
you?” And I won
der, is he talking
tome?
Mark
Baldridge
11 Itn remembering correctly (televi
sion dulls die mind), I’d just been watch
ing The Lone Gunmen, Fox's spin-off
from the X-Files, the show that taught us
that paranoia can be entertaining.
So I immediately suspected "Mind
KontroL”
Beginning in the earty 1950s, the CIA
engaged in an extensive program of
human experimentation using drugs,
psychological and other means in search
of techniques to control human behavior.
CIA documents and a 1963 CIA
Inspector General (IG) report state quite
clearly thatMK ULTRA was a program
“concerned with research and develop
ment of chemical, biological and radio
logical materials capable of employment
in clandestine operations to control
human behavior.”
I got the foregoing off the Internet,
which derponstrates my idea of journal
istic integrity.
But back to die matter at hand: Do I
know I'm a moron? The King of Burgers
wants to know Well, if I say "no," then it's
apparent I do not know that I'm a moron,
which is pretty much par for the course,
moron wise.
Then there’s the issue of talking back
to die television, which makes you look
like a moron, regardless.
And if I’m not a moron, which is the
position I want to defend, why am I
watching such a freaking moronic show?
(Note to the morons who produce
The Lone Gunmen: Byers is the funny
one, you dopes! Because he doesn't make^
jokes. And you could replace Frohike
with a muppet when he inevitably keels
over. I hear ALF needs a job.)
In this particular episode, the gun
men, lead on by the mysterious Zuleikha
Robinson (who’s too sexy, apparently, to
be bothered to actually pronounce her
words), stumble across a Studebaker that
runs on water.
Which, the script tells us, must be
destroyed. Why?
Because, really, we’re told, it wouldn't
make any difference. Sure, we might not
need to make gasoline from petroleum,
but roadways would still be paved with it
and plastic turn signals made from it
Water-powered cars would mean
many more cars on the road and lead to
even more consumerism.
So these guys we re supposed to like,
after pouring in a pitcher and taking the
old jalopy for a spin, mothball foe whole
thing, preserving it for a more enlight
ened age.
Who’s the moron now?
Nope, it's still me. Because I’m foe
one watching this suckfest. Because I
actually care that besides making
absolutely no sense, it’s also badly writ
ten.
It’s me who cares that the acting
sucks. Me who butchers good grammar
so atrociously in dissing a show (and its
attendant adds) that really doesn't war
rant even thinking about, much less writ
ing about and at such length!
Do you get the whiff of impotent
rage? Or is that Burger King?
“Morons!” I feel it shrilling inside me,
“Morons, morons, moronsT
But they can’t hear me where they
are, leaning back in their NewYork offices
and at their Los Angeles poolsides. They
get to come into my home... actually I
saw this at a friend’s house.
They get to come into foe home of
my friend and call me a moron while act
ing like the worst kind of morons them
selves because they have sweet deals
with Fox and fast-food royalty. .
They are the moron elite.
And what have I got? I’ve got a mute
button, sure, an off switch. I can read a
good book or go for a walk instead of
sucking down this suck cocktail called
primetime.
And then it hits me: MK ULTRA was a
grand success; it’s a celebrated event
Every year, more hideous aspects of its
hideous plan appear, and we suck them
down.
We buy their burgers, watch their
driveling television and just generally
dumb down like they want us to.
And all the while, the secret sound
track of all sitcoms, a toilet repeatedly
flushing, brainwashes an already empty
headed populace.
You know you’re a moron, don't you?
Of course, it could be that I’m reading
too much into this.
Maybe there’s a less ambiguous
meaning to all this, something that
escapes me by being too obvious, too
out-in-foe-open.
Something simple.
Maybe what the burger man really
wants to say is simply:
"Shove more stinking meat sand
wiches in your stupid face, MORON!”