The Banner
February 24,2000
Opinions
The Banner -
Editorial
Indue time
Read my lips
Though you wouldn’t know it by looking at the American
people’s voting records, this year’s presidential election will,
like all the others, determine the course that America will
follow for the next four years. The group is pretty evenly split
— two candidates are pro-life, two are pro-choice. Two
advocate the rights of homosexuals, two oppose.
So on which side of the political tree will the majority of the
American people fall this year.^ Who’s to say? With the,dra
matic rifts between the candidates’ ideals, there’s room for
debate — you know, the tough decision of which middle-aged
white guy to put in the White House this time. Some things
never change.
One candidate in question is George W. Bush. His views on
environment and defense are particularly disturbing. De
regulating environmental laws and favoring more nuclear
weapons is extremely frightening. Should this man really be
president? We already have enough nuclear weapons to blow
up several planets, and the notion that corporations and
factories will voluntarily clean up after themselves is childish
and naive.
Although John McCain sounds okay, we have to wonder
about his theory that the war in Kosovo is fsie, as long as it
establishes U.S. power. Would this candidate be willing to
participate in other wars, simply to present America in a more
powerful light?
Bill Bradley wants to end the war on drugs that was deemed
necessary by presidential predecessors, and Al Gore seems to
have all the middle-road answers that would appeal to the
majority of voters.
The point is, voters need to be aware of what these candidates
plan to do once they get elected to office because their policies
will affect the nation as a whole.
Slather up
Spring break is fast approaching — come on, just one more
week, we can make it — and we all know that our minds are
focused more on the thought of soaking up rays on the beach
than dying of various cancers. Sure, we know that skin cancer,
lung cancer and other illnesses exist, but we’re college students,
supposedly immortal and immune to the dangers of the world.
Unfortunately, we’re just as human as those people in the
hospital beds at St. Joseph’s, and we are fooling ourselves if we
continue to live dangerously and ignore the threat of disease.
It’s easy to light up that cigarette between classes even though
you know full well that 30 years down the road you might
develop lung cancer, which could take your life. Would you be
just as carefree in your smoking habits if, say, doctors predicted
that you had a 50-percent chance of throwing up immediately
after smoking your cigarette? If you always broke into large,
blue-and-green psychedelic-shaped bumps after lying in the
sun for 2 hours, would you still be as willing to fry yourself to
a crisp? Funny how the long-term threat of cancer hardly gives
us pause, yet a simple threat of vomiting might cut the number
of smokers in half.
It’s true that you’re only young once, but being young does
not make you invincible. Enjoy your wild days of college life,
but do not let yourself lose sight of the possible consequences
of a spring break suntan or a daily cigarette break.
The song that never ends
Every semester. The Banner gets approximately a zillion
letters to the editor about the “parking problem.”
Let’s be realistic, folks. No, parking isn’t perfect. Yes, we
ourselves have repeatedly complained about it. But come on.
At many other UNC-system universities, students’ only
option is, often, to park close to a mile from their dorms. If
you’re actually lucky enough to get one of the coveted spots, it
costs you an arm and a leg to pay for it. Most universities do
not allow students to have cars on campus until their sopho
more, or even junior, year. At Appalachian State University,
for example, most students wait three years to get a parking
space at a Holiday Inn five miles away from campus. And
that’s lucky.
We enjoy FREE parking all four years, commuters and
residents alike. Yes, humanities rush hour gets really tight
sometimes. Yes, some of us have to walk up from below the caf
or behind the gym late at night.
If you’re that distressed about walking a little, call a friend at
UNC-Chapel Hill and ask them about the last time they
walked up one hill to get back to their dorm. They’ll just
laugh.
Remember also that if it is a safety issue you’re worried about,
which is always a valid claim, ypu can go to public safety and
ask them to give you a lift to or from your car. They’re always
willing to oblige.
So let’s take a minute and step back from the situation. We
really don’t have a lot of room to talk where parking is con
cerned. Buck up, UNCA — sometimes there are more impor
tant things to be concerned about.
Salvaging traditional art forms
Jason
Allen
columnist
With the advent of TV, VtRs,
video games, etc., the arts have suf
fered. People find the traditional
arts to be less flashy, and somewhat
more boring. How can classic forms
of entertainment compete with the
elaborate special effects and mind
controlling powers of movies and
the like? Here are some ideas on
how the arts can adapt to keep up
with modern technological forms
of entertainment.
Dance: Dance as an art has made
a step in the right direction. Al
though not everyone agrees with
the direction that shows like
“Riverdance” have carried the
artform as a whole, it has given
dance a solid restart in the art world.
“Stomp,” “Lord of the Dance” and
all these types of shows perform
sold-out shows to crowds larger than
we have seen in decades. Maybe if
we could adapt these styles to the
classic form of ballet, we might be
able to pull ballet into the 21st
century. How about we change
ballet with dancers wearing wooden
shoes? Notonlywoulditbeeasyon
the hard of hearing, but it would
darn fiin to watch, too.
Painting: The art of painting has
been ruined by the advent of so-
called modern paintings that look
like some three-year-old threw paint
on a canvas and then ran his hands
across it. You know the kind of art
I’m talking about — that stuff that
contains no apparent talent but in
which rich people and snobs claim
to see deep psychological and spiri
tual power. At least they claim to
see it so their snob friends do not
outdo them.
“And now here is my latest work.
I call it Blue #345.”
“All I see is a canvas you painted
entirely blue.”
“No, you see the depth and suffer
ing of my soul combined the tor
ment of the knowledge of our own
moralities.”
Yeah right. True painting is the
classic stuff, the capturing of life
and imagination in an image that
that looks like one is gazing through
the window at the real world. That
is what needs to change in order to
update painting. Photography has
allowed us to .make crystal clear
images that far exceed the details of
most paintings. People do not have
the patience to look at a canvas
covered with nonsensical color and
garbage. Painting has to compete
against photography. No more of
this talentless crud, but paintings
that contain the very spark of life,
something that no photograph can
ever capture, no matter how skilled
the photographer. Now I know
what you are saying — “Not every
one that paints can paint that well. ”
Good. Let those with talent, skill,
or at least patience try to do it, and
those without can go do something
else.
Drama: Drama is one of the arts
that has always tried to adapt itself
to keep up with modern day tech
nology, like the seamless hydraulic
sets of “Phantom of the Opera” or
the moving cloud effects of “Oliver. ”
However, modern day entertain
ment has ruined the attention spans
of the average theater going audi
ence. Moments of silence will de
stroy an audience’s attention faster
than a nude running across the
stage. The power of the movie, how
ever, is the ability to cut to different
angles. Here is how to upgrade the
theater. Please note that the follow
ing idea requires an arena-style the
ater, and will not work with a tradi
tional picture frame theater. My
solution is this: movable seats that
move around the stage. Just as you
start to get bored with one angle, it
switches to another — instant
movie-like cuts. To help with the
gritty realism that movies have over
theater, hire a whole bunch of ex
tras and in plays where someone
dies, kill one of them in each show.
(And then you would not need to
pay them anyway.)
Sculpture: Sculpture suffers from
the same disease that afflicts paint
ing. Modern sculptures look like
someone either spot-welded a group
of metal rods that happened to be
leaning against each other, or let
their kid brother play with a huge
chunk of clay. Bronzing roadkil]
does not qualify as art, but turning
scrap metal into realistic-looking
forms does. It is not the material,
but the effort involved. Let’s face it,
to adapt, sculpture has to follow the
same direction of painting. We need
art that captures the force of the
universe, not wastes material that
could have been used by a compe
tent artist later on. In a waste-con-
scious world like this, how can we
afford to let fake artists waste pre
cious materials?
Music: One problem with classi
cal styles of music versus modern
day-bands is the visual component.
Classical modes of music have sta
tionary groups of musicians with
one energetic man or woman
ing a stick at them. Modern bands
have musicians that move all over
the stage, back-up dancers, special
effects and smoke, and makes for a
more visually appealing experience.
Now, here is how we can go about
making some changes. Orchestras
have lots of people in lots of chairs.
Now what does that just scream!
You guessed it — musical chairs.
What could be more entertaining
than a group of well dressed men
and women playing classical pieces
of Mozart or Brahms while s
bling around trying to get a s
Well, these are just ideas. Take
them how you will, but don’t let
true art be ruined by the influx of
false art. Don’t support those who
misuse the arts simply because they
do not want to go out and actually
put any effort into what they do.
Finding value in everyday stories
Jennifer
Ross
columnist
Have you ever found yourself miss
ing an old class, whether it was only
last semester or years ago? I miss my
old, once-a-week creative writing
class. It’s not that I miss the subjects
we covered, or the challenge ofwrit-
ing essays and stories, but what I
really miss is weekly observations.
Now to exactly describe a weekly
observation to you is impossible.
They were anything and yet every
thing.
I’m getnng ahead of myself Let
me tell you how it all started. It
began a:s a weekly assignment for
class. At first it seemed an unusual
and simple assignment. We would
all bring in a short excerpt from our
lives to share with the classroom.
These small windows into our lives
were often fiinny, strange, tragic or
thought-provoking. The one thing
that they all had in common, from
the most bizarre to the simplest, is
that they were ?11 from our real
lives. They came from my teachers,
my fellow students and my per
sonal life. From this “simple” as
signment, I learned innumerable
things about people and myself that
otherwise I would never have
known.
One student talked about how she
had noticed that when she took her
large dog out for a walk, an elderly
neighbor of hers would either talk
amiably to her or avoid her at all
cost. She had always thought that
the behavior was odd, but one day
she discovered that her friend and
neighbor suffered from advanced
Alzheimer’s disease. As a child, a
large dog had viciously attacked the
woman, and so for most of her
adult life she had dealt with an
extreme phobia oflarge dogs. Only
as her mernory about the childhood
attack would fade due to the disease
could she chat at ease with the
student around her large shepherd.
On a more bizarre note, another
student shared with the class her
unusual run in with the mysterious
and elusive “Catboy.” Ayoung man
apparently walked up to her and a
friend one night, while they were
walking to their dorm, and me
owed at them. As they stood there
in a state of utter bewilderment, he
turned about, took off still meow
ing and tried to climb a tree.
Other students had strange obser
vations. One girl swore she saw a
two-headed baby in a stroller on
Biltmore when she was driving to
work one day. Another student in
formed us of how he had met a bag
lady downtown who said she was
Jesus. One young man told of how
he lost the trust of his pet goldfish
when he and his roommates had
accidentally swatted a very angry
live wasp into its bowl and he had
mistaken it for fish food. Another
student talked of his discovery and
exploration of the largest porn store
in the world. Everyone had an in
teresting and unique story to tell
each week, and I learned that life
for UNCA students is anything but
normal.
Now it’s a whole new semester
and I find myself oddly nostalgic
over losing weekly observations. So
in remembrance, I dedicate this
article to just a few of the odd
observations I’ve made this last
week. On Sunday I witnessed a
theft from the cafeteria. What did
these criminal masterminds, you
ask, steal secretly under the dense
cover of night from the high-secu-
rity caf? Well, actually, it was more
like 2 p.m., artd the criminal mas
terminds (a.k.a. two giggling girls)
were apparently hoisting not a price
less Rembrandt or a cache of pre
cious jewels, but an oh-so-valuable
6-foot-tall cardboard “O” that had
been lying in the lobby. Of course,
I had to give a description to the
police sketch artist, and the borders
to Mexico and Canada have been
firmly secured in the case that the
suspects attempt to flee. But until
the fugitives are brought to justice,
we can only keep the hotline num
ber to America’s Most Wanted
at our fingertips and wonder what
kind of sick person would steal a
giant cardboard O. To be perfectly
honest, the giant cardboard Os were
kind of cool and I have been want
ing to redecorate the dorm room,
wait, what am I thinking?! No, I’ve
come over to the dark side, NOOOO!
Help me, Obi-Wan!
On Saturday I discovered that not
only is Deriny’s restaurant crowded
at four in the morning, but they
even have live entertainment. While
my friends and I were sitting down
to supfast (supper-breakfast) there
was a woman (who to the best of my
knowledge was an extremely
drunken prostitute) that mooned
and was subsequently arrested by a
group of five police officers right
outside our window. Now if that’s
not entertainment, its at least a
cross between Jerry Springer and
Cops. And according to our wait
ress, much like its television coun
terparts, this is also a weekly event.
Friday was the day I have microbi
ology lab, and for all my fellow on-
campus students, I would like you
to take heed of what I’m about to
say. In micro we swabbed and cul
tured samples from all sorts of
places. One person swabbed her
dog’s tongue; another, the toilet
seats at her dad’s construction site.
One even tested her pet cow’s nose.
But my plate grew, in my opinion,
a larger quantity and variety of bac
teria, fungus and molds than any
other plate I saw. And what hor
rible, disgusting site did I culture,
you ask? Was it dog droppings, a
filthy street or a McDonald’s
employee’s hands? No, it was my
very own Southridge shower!
Which, much to my surprise, grew
way more stuff than a construction
site toilet seat! If I learned anything
from this lab it is the value of flip-
flops. ‘
So, fellow students, I leave you
with this. Go out and see all the
stories that make up our lives. Share
your stories with friends and listen
to theirs. You will discover that the
truth is stranger than fiction.