The daily Tar Heel. (Chapel Hill, N.C.) 1946-current, January 30, 1989, Page 11, Image 11
T The Daily Tar HeelMonday, January 30, 198911 Opimiom . t n 1 1 1 - " The D mm n i m 1111.11111 , - 1 1 ' Wmhiiii"""'""""." " ' 1 X 5tr : x. fans. 1 V : '' J I : : ::.:::::-:y.:-:v X SSS f I . ;; ::::: : :: : : sjexxo J...;:.'...-....... I- . X .aw.wwa'-w : J ...... ... . 1 i :i?)ywawMwiMMat t lew I B WQ ... 1 ;- - i I v v ft A ' :U-Jpi . I srsr --.''" -wsSSSSsi - - , - s-jr - - i if liiiiiiMiMiiniifiBnw-n-,ivr'r-rinnirinni'rin,-,lvnfTtii--iiiiiiri Annette Roche takes a study oyr cameos candidates' guide to cam ne reeling overwhelms all others when I think about the urjcomine camnus election: imglad rmnot m it. It seems like just last month it was my face smiling serenely from posters stapled, taped, stuck and tacked all over campus; like just a few weeks ago was knocking on doors, wand ering from dorm to dorm wearing my most sincere "trust me" expression. As I type away on the computer terminals in the DTH office, isolated from all but the most irate readers, Earn blissfully aware that I no longer must struggle to convince or coerce VaiemtD Die's Day Aim amnmoal pain Sandy Dimsdale Editorial Writer Ah, spring, when a young woman's thoughts turn to love. . . IVe never understood the adage that insists young people only fall in love during one season of the year. With the first sign of spring, we're all supposed to swoon and fall in love. But the weather indeed has been warm lately, just in time for every body's favorite holiday, St. Valen tine's Day. Yuck. v No sooner did we get the Christmas wrapping paper off the floor in the dens of America did stores start putting out Valentines and paper hearts. Red and pink paper hearts haunt us from every storefront in town and from every shop in the mall. They stick to the windows, decorate teddy bears and even hang from the ceiling, lying in wait for tall people to wave their icky-sweetness in their face. This society has a strange fixation that everyone should have a date on this one peculiar, usually snowy day in February named for a Christian martyr in Rome. It's a safe assump tion St. Valentine never dreamed, as he was being persecuted, that some day hundreds of thousands of people would remember his suffering by sending each other red paper hearts glued onto white doilies or worse yet, with some card that plays sappy love songs when you open it. We instill these asinine traditions in our children by encouraging them to exchange Valentines (usually of the Walt Disney character, Snoopy or Garfield persuasion at that age) in their classes in elementary school. And always, some poor ugly kid doesn't get a single Valentine. My mother used to find out from the teacher at PTA meetings how many kids were in my class so I wouldn't skip anyone when I made put my Valentines. "I won't have a child of mine snubbing another on a holiday!" she used to say. '; Mom still practices what she preaches, and she remembers to send Valentines (and cards for every other possible occasion) to lonely old people, nephews, grandparents and me every year. And I still read them, because it's different when it's from your mom. The other people in my life aren't quite so constant in celebrating the big-hearted holiday. The last time I was "dating" a guy officially on avis scuiptyre deseirv break last spring under Jim Miller's Jean Lutes Editor anyone into voting for me. And as I enter the last four weeks of my term as editor, I find myself feeling more compassion for student candidates than ever before. Inspired by this unexpected benevolence, I'm offering some unsolicited advice to candidates. B Dont slide flyers under dorm room doors. People walk into their O o Valentine's Day was my freshman year. He was going to come up and see me that weekend (Valentine's fell on Friday) and take me out for a romantic dinner. He couldn't get here, however, because it snowed that day. He lived in the western part of the state and woke up to find 10 inches of snow in his driveway. What made matters worse was that he sent my roommate a Valentine, but he didn't send me one. We finally decided to just celebrate the next weekend, but I was in a car accident on the way home and broke my hand and but that's a different story. Anyway, my roommate has hated Valentine's Day since we first met. When we were freshmen, I liked it pretty well (because I had a boy friend), but she was a longtime Valentine-hater. So I flowers, and she just bought her said, "Quit feeling sorry for me. I hate this stupid holiday and always will." The next year I tried chocolates and got the same response. Four years later, my earlier enthu siasm for inane holidays has finally rubbed off on her; my own enthu siasm has since waned. She says she's simply mellowed at the old age of 21 and that maybe she was wrong about the whole thing. "It's kind of sweet, don't ya think?" she said last week in the mall when we were being hounded by Valentine displays. I think she's lost it. Finally, I dread Valentine's Day this year because half of my friends got diamond rings for Christmas, and I am quite sure the other half will get the stupid things for Valentine's Day. "Are you seeing anyone seriously at school, Sandy?" all my relatives and high-school buddies said over the break. "You know, you're supposed to meet the man you're going to marry in college." Well, I have 104 days left, including exams, and at the rate IVe been going I just cannot see it happening. Worse yet, I'm afraid I've already met HIM and HE was ugly and I just walked the other way. The optimistic, hopeless romantic in me wants to think 111 meet HIM on Valentine's Day. But the pragma tist knows my roommate would never , let me live it down. So if it comes to pass, I'm going to have to tell her we met on Groundhog's Day. That should be safe enough. Sandy Dimsdale is a senior jour nalism major from Conover and was last seen walking toward Franklin Street mumbling something about buying Valentines for family and friends. DTHDavid Minton untitled abstract sculpture rooms, slip on those colored paper scraps, slide into their dressers, break various bones and call their lawyers. o Avoid knocking on the doors that have death threats to all candi dates written on the memo boards. YouH lose more votes than youH gain. B Appearing in early-morning basketball ticket lines especially under bad weather conditions is good for grabbing the pity vote. But don't expect cold, tired students to be interested in your campaign spiel. They would be much more interested in a cup of hot chocolate and a Another tale about the one that T "Tow I'm no Curt Gowdy, but I'm a fairly capable A. N fisherman. I'm not real patient, but I'm pretty lucky. I'm also not squeamish about worm ing (yes, that's a verb) my hook, or about fileting my catch. What I'm trying to establish here is that I'm not a wimpy, whiny fisherman. About five years ago, my friend Pete and I were camping on the bank of Lake Saranac in upper state New York with about 10 teenagers and parents. After three days of my dad's special freeze dried Ken-L-Ration Tuna Helper, we decided to probe the lake waters in search of food. We dug up some worms, choosing only the most hardy and courageous looking, grabbed a bag of marsh mallows, lifted two bottles of Miller from Dad's cooler and loaded our tackle into the canoe. As we were getting ready to sally forth, Dad came down to see us off. He had this father look on his face. "Dad," I said, trying to avoid a boating safety lecture, "I'm going fishing, not to college." Ignoring me, Polonius of the Wilderness hitched up his belt and frowned. I knew he was about to begin a soliloquy on the dangers of horseplay while canoeing and on the importance of wearing a USCGAFD (U.S. Coast Guard Approved Flotation Device) at all id Admired by some, scorned by others and seemingly ignored by most, the untitled abstract sculpture in front of Davis Library is no more. The sculpture was designed and paid for by Jim Miller while he was a UNC studio art student in 1985. In his design, Miller attempted to create a sense of con tinuity among the various types of architecture surrounding the sculp ture. Some (including myself) believe that Miller attained his goal of creating a visually pleasing design that complemented its environment; even the work's opponents must admit that it is a serious attempt at abstract sculpture. Abstract art, if it is a serious attempt such as Miller's untitled sculpture, should not be viewed objectively; no individual's opinion should be accepted as absolute. Yet the fate of the sculpture was left to the whim of an administrative com mittee. This committee granted itself the right to determine the artwork's value and arrogantly assumed the University community's acceptance of its decision. As far as I can ascertain, Miller's sculpture was the only free-standing outdoor sculpture in the central part of campus; Silent Sam and the Caldwell obelisk in McCorkle Place doughnut. B Ticket lines may be fair game, but campaigning during basketball games is a definite no-no. Making someone miss an important play is not a good way to make friends, much less political supporters. B If you're a guy, dont try to campaign in women's dorms before 8 o'clock classes; vice versa for women. This particular bit of advice comes from Student Body President Kevin Martin, who, overzealous campaigner that he was, tried this last year. This early-morning stunt suc ceeded only in upsetting several Matt Bivens Associate Editor times. Instead, he asked, "Do you boys know what to do if you catch a pike?" We didn't. "You can't just lift him into the boat with the line, because the line will break or hell chew through it. Since you dont have a net, you're going to have to stick your fingers in his eyes to pick him up. You can't stick your fingers through his gills because hie has teeth there." I looked at Pete. He shrugged. No problem! We were fishermen, veterans of the Chesapeake Bay not womenfolk! We thanked him for the advice and pushed off. He sat on the shore as we paddled away, a look of rugged pride on his face as he watched his eldest son set out to haul dinner in by the eyeballs. The only blemish on this profound moment of male bonding was the nagging thought that Dad would kill me when he noticed the missing beer. We paddled and fished for an hour or two, and before long we had hauled in several feisty little bluegills and perch. We were about to quit when Pete caught thao the David Minton Asst. Photo Editor are the only other such works on campus that come to mind. The Caldwell obelisk is actually a grave marker for former UNC President Joseph Caldwell and his family, while Silent Sam is a historical marker donated in 1913 by the United Daughters of the Confederacy as a tribute to UNC students who fought for the South during the Civil War. The loss of Miller's sculpture during winter recess doesn't leave much in the way of outdoor artistic expression on campus. To grant the University the benefit of the doubt, one would have expected administra tors to have some grandiose plans for the prime real estate in front of Davis Library; yet according to the chair man of the buildings and grounds committee, the University has no plans to replace the sculpture with anything. Considering the appalling lack of easily accessible art on campus, why was one of the predom inant pieces removed? If the sculpture's condition was the issue, why couldn't restorative work been done? Considering the 1986 pang mm me WBUim class young ladies who were on their way back from their showers. B Don't pander to certain voting blocks. I hate pandering. Designing your platform specifically to please key groups, without considering the ever-present Big Picture, is sleazy. B Drop at least one class now, and start preparing your parents for a distinct drop in your grade-point average. B Don't campaign during class. Passing petitions around or distribut ing flyers during class lectures is a more heinous offense than reading the DTH. You will infuriate your the pike. At first we thought it was a snag, or an old shoe. It didn't fight at all; when Pete started reeling in, it swam docilely along with him, like a poodle on a leash. It swam right up alongside the canoe and stopped, resting about a foot under the water. Pete let the line and his jaw go slack in disbelief. It was puke green, shaped like a flattened cucumber with teeth. Neither of us could take our eyes off it the pike gripped us with the morbid fascination of a gang land slaying. It stared back at us out of black beady eyes, oozing malevolence. "This is the ugliest damn fish IVe ever seen," Pete whispered in awe. "Well," I said nervously, "Pick it up." Pete tore his gaze away from the fish to stare at me in renewed disbelief. " You pick it up I like my fingers." I swallowed. I wasn't going to pick it up. "Try and lift it into the boat with your line," I said, ignoring Dad's advice. Hearing my plan, the pike roused itself just enough to spit out Pete's lure. It lay there in the water next to us, completely free, with a lazy mocking leer. Hatred filled my heart. "Why you damned insolent bage expenditure of $8,200 on restoring Silent Sam and the additional $2,300 spent on the Caldwell obelisk, it would seem that there was precedent for work to be done on Miller's sculpture. As far as the frequent complaint that the sculpture was "rusty," I can only assume that it was the artist's intention for part of the work to oxidize, so as to take on the"4 coloration of the bricks that make up Davis Library. Removing the sculp ture because it was rusty is as absurd as condemning Duke University's Gothic structures because they appear old; in both cases it was the) designer's intention for his work to' look as such. All of this is ancient history though, since the sculpture is gone, to be, replaced by a wheelbarrow of bricks. It is one thing to replace a piece of art with another form of creative expression, but to remove it and leave nothing in its place is tragic. The brick , walkways and court yards are slowly consuming the campus; why not fight the urge to brick over the former site of Jim Miller's sculpture and replace: it with something more dynamic? Even a tree would be nice .... David Minton is a senior political, science major from Staten Island, NY. professors and annoy youf' classmates. -. B CAA president and DTH editor candidates only save your pennies, because you won't be getting that nice, reimbursement check like the student body president candidates. Why? I:' have yet to hear a logical reason. I Well, good luck to all. IH be, thinking of you as I cross off each . day on my calendar. Only 19 papers . left. ; Jean Lutes is a senior journalism" and English major from Pittsburgh, Pa. got away I stood up in the boat (how many times had Dad told me about standing in the boat?), raised my . paddle over my head in a two-handed grip and swung at the pike. Unfortunately, Pete did exactly the same thing. The momentum of our battle-axe swings capsized the canoe, and with a scream of horror I fell squarely on top of the pike. For a brief instant, I felt the slimy befanged beast slither between my knees; then it was gone. But I'd seen "Jaws." I knew he'd be back. With a yell, I scampered to the top of the upside-down canoe. I surveyed the scene. Our tackle was no doubt imbedded in the muck 20 feet below. Pete was clinging morosely to a USC GAFD, ringed around by bobbing marshmallows and two of the strongest swimmers among the worms. The bluegills and perch, which we had so casually strewn about the bottom of the boat, had made good their escape. "Looks like Alpo and damp marshmallows for dinner," Pete observed glumly. "Your dad's gonna be real pleased." Just then, across the water, I heard Dad shout. "All right! Who's been in my cooler?" Matt Bivens is a junior political science major from Olney, Md. i V.