Page 2 The Clarion April 20, 1988
CLAEIQN
Editor Bia'r Orrell
Assistant Editor Kim Belanger
Associate Editor Kenny Monteith
Feature Editor Jeff Turner
Editorial Editor April Woods
Advertising Director. jim Barker
Faculty Advisor Jock Lauterer
Staff Reporters....Michelle Atkinson, Sara Booker, Kim
Boyle, Joseph Brooks, Sal Cavarretta, Heather Conrad, Chris
Flaker, Kathy Harbin, Tom Heckert, Andrea Henry, Tracy
Hornbaker, Juan Kincaid, Selena Lauterer, Melissa Lowery,
Mike McGee, Pat Mellon, Mitzi Motsinger, Robert Cooler,**
Melanie Ramseur, Jay Schulthess, Elizabeth Scroggin,
Elizabeth Stewart, Carlisle Turner, and Chip York.
The Mellon Patch
The Editor’s Opinion
When it snows in April
by Biar Orrell
Prince sings with sincerity, “Sometimes it snows in April.” And it
makes me stop and ask, “What have my parents gotten me into?”
Life, as we know it, has got to be about as abstract, hitting home on
many far off planes, as any fiction writer or poet could ever hope to
carry us. And yet some of us actually walk around aimlessly crying of
unstimulating cluelessness.
It blows my mind to hear people talk of boredom. “I’m bored at
Brevard College,” she whined as she walked off regluing her lips in ‘pas
sion pink.’ Ten years later this same girl has a nervous break down
when she gets home with the groceries and realizes she left the baby on
the bus.
Everyone’s an artist, and everyone’s beautiful. The problem is not
everyone knows this. If I could add one course of study to the BC cur
riculum, it would be “Philosophies and Understanding of Breathing and
Breeding.”
We’ve got to realize that ‘life’ is going to continue whether we lend a
helping hand or not. Our influences fall on the developement of the
quality of life. We must learn to breathe life, nourish ourselves with liv
ing.^ At that time we can dismember our culprit— boredom.
It s p^h and pull, give and take. And so many of us can not get this
rhythmic pattern down. It’s yin and yang; it’s the natural flow of the
negative and positive forces of nature.
The key is appreciation and respect. If we can appreciate the wacky
funky flukes of life, and respect our parents for being brave enough to
even attempt the feat of “breathing and breeding,” then we can deal
with the snow in April.
Andy Warhol, the late godfather of Pop Art, said, “Carpet the streets
and money for everyone.” Richard Brautigan, the late psychedelic ’60s
poet, Mid, “For fear you will be alone, you do so many things that aren’t
you at all.” ^ e>
^ I’m writing, rambling, my thoughts do not end. I realize nothing
ends; the clock is progressing; time is passing; the noise outside my
window continues. ^
And when we are gone, BC will still be here, still going strong. And we
will move through our lives and do with them what we will. And when
we re gone, we’ll leave remembrances behind in the flow, our undying
souls our spoken words, maybe some old clothes. It’s actually that sim
pie; It’s actually that complex.
I hope all of you learn to “breathe and breed” in that rhythmic flow
for we are the pathways into the next generations.
Gee, time to go already?
by Pat Mellon
Well, here it is. The last Clarion of the
year. The final submission from the
Mellon Patch. Kinda brings a tear to your
eye, doesn’t it?
I’m all choked up about leaving, but I did
some checking with the registrar and
found out that I wasn’t going to graduate.
In fact, when I went to his office, he and
three other faculty members were passing
my transcript around and laughing.
I told Mr. Gash that I wanted some infor
mation about graduation, but I’d come
back when he wasn’t busy. As I left, among
his cackles of delight, I thought I heard
him say something about 1995, but he must
have been talking to the others.
I’ll be furthering my education in
Florida. I think the change will do me
good, but I’m really gonna miss Brevard. I
learned a lot here.
I learned that how you dress doesn’t
matter as much in college as it did in high
school. Driving a nice car, impressing
others...it’s all obsolete. Materialistic
values seem to fade away (for most peo
ple) in college, and I think that’s good.
I finally found out who Bocephus is, after
long, puzzling years of seeing
bumperstickers on trucks back home.
Country music isn’t nearly as abundant in
Tampa as it is here. And red-necks are a
minority. But I’ve learned, to my shatter
ing dismay, that country music won’t go
away. For a while, I was hoping country
music would follow in Disco’s dance-steps
and vanish as a fad or a warped era. I
guess I should stop sending checks to the
SACAWM (Society for the Abolition of
Country and Western Music).
The biggest thing I learned is that the
myth about people being more mature in
college than in high school is just that: a
filthy, blatant myth. I’ve had enough of
jealous boyfriends and crazed rumor-
radiating x-girlfriends that I could throw-
up on myself. I guess the first two years of
college are the transition years, when you
discover who you really are, and decide
what you want (or don’t want) to be. It’s
just easier for some people.
I’ve seen people consume alcohol with a
passion unparalleled by anything I’d ever
seen before college. I’ve never really
understood the concept of getting so drunk
you don’t know what you’re doing, but I’ve
seen some people master this practice.
I’ve learned a lot right here on campus
as a result of trial and error. In the
McClarty-Goodson building, one door on
each side won’t open. I’ve sat inside in the
morning and watched people (sometimes
the same ones every day) tug unsuc
cessfully on one door before opening the
other.
I’ve learned to alter my eating habits to
some degree since I’ve been here. Prior to
my Brevard CoUege days, I had a strict
rule about eating things I didn’t recognize,
but no more. And I thought the cooks in
high school were creative.
I ve learned a lot about Southern accents
and the way people talk since I’ve been
_h€re^Joo. I catch myself sometimes saying
“Y’all” but there are some greatly confus
ing oddities about the dialect of North
Carolina.
For some reason people (from Brevard
especially) insist that despite the fact that
I have, say 50 pennies, it’s still singular. I
was at the gas station the other day. “Ex
cuse me, sir. Do you have a drink machine
here?”
“Yup. ’sover yonder. Fifty cent.” I
refrained from barking “cenTS” at him,
as I was floored by his rhetoric and
fragments.
Another thing I don’t understand about
the way people talk around here is the
preparatory repair that is involved before
one can achieve anything — you fix to do
something. “Excuse me. Miss. We’ve been
waiting for a long time. Is our pizza almost
ready?”
“Just hold on. I’m fixin’ to go get it
now.” “You’re FIXING to? Why? Is there
something wrong with your legs?! I don’t
get it.
People around here refuse to accept
Florida’s geographical location. I
overheard two guys, Cletis and Hank, talk
ing in a restaurant the other day.
“Dagnubbit, there ain’t nothin’ like livin’
in the South,” Cletis declared.
“I hear ya’, Clee, ol’ buddy,” Hank
answered, cramming a heap of brown
matter into his mouth, which he pulled
from a bag marked REDMAN.
“Howdy, guys,” I offered. “I’m from
Florida...” They paused for a second, and
laughed graciously. “HaU, boy,” Hank
chuckled, “That ain’t the South.” I fumbl
ed through my pockets as the hefty
farmers had a hearty laugh, and produced
a map of the United States. I pointed to the
compass first, to familiarize the boys with
the four basic directions. “Now, this is you
guys up here,” I indicated with a finger on
North Carolina. “And I live...” my finger
slid down to Tampa,’’...way down here.
And that’s (say it with me) South. Good.”
They looked at me as if my words were
foreign, and said, “Boy, This is the South.
Now, you and your map jus’ get.” I folded
my map and returned to my table, puzzled.
I guess “The South” isn’t a place, but a
frame of mind. Needless to say, I don’t
mind being sub-southern.
I learned a lot about responsibility and
living away from home while I was here.
Suddenly, I had to clean up for myself and
do all the things my mother did when I liv
ed at home. Doing my own laundry was the
biggest problem I had. Figuring out how
much soap is too much (the hard way),
learning how to fold clothes — it was
tough. Responsibility is the doorway to
maturity, whatever that means.
I must say the two years went pretty
fast. In retrospect I’d say my sophomore
year went smoother than my freshman
year, but they both had key moments.
January, 1987, was my first snow.
October, 1986, I wrote my first Mellon
Patch article for the Clarion.
Mid-term of the same year, I got my first
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