Newspapers / Chowan University Student Newspaper / Oct. 1, 1992, edition 1 / Page 2
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Page 2 —SMOKE SIGNALS, October, 1993 Smoke Signals The Saidem Stw^x^mr of Chottcn College STAFF Editor Marty News Writers Alfied Biddlecomb, Jessica Kiser Sports Write Jim Marriott Staff Writers — Todd Lucado, Lisa Lewellen, Jim Mariott Feature Writer.™ Lilly Dixon Photographers Marc Demaijer, Robert McMahan Typesetting/Printing ....Jonathan Davis, J. Michael Martin, Todd Lucado Artists Ed Home, Bionca Villamar Smclce Signals ii pufaliAed nxithly during the ichool year. Sqjiember through April, by the GiapMc CcnvnunicMiGni Depaitment cf Chowvi CoQege. b is wrioen and odiied by Chowan ttuderts and enifihaiizei infonnttion for tfie students of Qiowan CrJlgyL All Leom lo the Edik)r muA be signed and addressed to: IHe Editor, Smoke Sgnals. Campus Mafl Room, Qiowan CoQege, Murfiee^x>n>, N.C 278S5. A Letter from the Editor Editor Whew! Finally got the first issue together. I can’t say I’m suiprised it took a while. It ^ways tak» a while the first time, light? Well, this year’s staff looks pretty dam good, and there’s a lot of us, too, which makes things even more pleasart However, we ooukl still use me ot two more peopte in a certain depaitmem so give it a thougttt (check out the back page for more oti this). Also, dcxi’t miss the ads on ttie back page - I’ve noticed a few of you coukl use a trim. Or a sub. So... What is h^q^pening at the Oiowan homestead? I’d like to welcome all the re- tuming students (especially the Juniors!) to another actiai-packed, fiin-fiUed semester of higher leam- ing. And, of couise, the Fieshman class, whidi should apdy be called the Fieshwoman class, as most of them are female — whkh is good. We need to continue to wotk on the man to wcxnan ratio around here. What’s it now, 2 to 1? 3 to 1? That’s a vast improvement over the past few yeais when it’s been, what, 256 to 1? 257? Regardless of the stats. I’m persmally very happy to see the new, bri^ and shitiing faces that have been sent heie to die; not just any death, but a gut-wrenching, fiery, chamsd- flesh, squirming and screaming death that win never be remem bered. And if it was, it wouldn’t matter anyway. ... I’m Sony. You’ll have to excuse me. I’ve just finished watch ing The Wall and Faces of Death Part IV bade to back. I’m not in the proper state of mind to be writing to ^ pubdic. Then again, who’s to say? Upon returning I noticed some juggling of the faculty. That’s good. It’s like the salad b^ at Pizza Hut — they have to flip all of the ingre dients eveiy so often to keep them fiom spoiling. The once and previous Mrs. Fneshour is now Dean Fneshour (Pat, in high school, did you dieam of being the husband to a Dean? Wow!). And the recently wed John Olson is now, um, I don’t know if he got a nifty new title, but he has more woik to do. And Mr. Eubank! Now you’re chaimian of the Fine Arts Depaitment Groovy! I guess that means your prices are going up, huh? What is it now, two, thiec-hundied for an A? Whew! I remember back in ttie good old days when we could make the B honor roll for about $50 and some bingo tickets. I guess the higher you go, the harder you arc to buy. Gee, imagine how much money one could make if he became Presi dent (gasp!). America. What a concept. Here we are agaia I don't have anything political to say (well, aside from what’s already been said), nothing eaith-shaking, nothing that the mainstream pop audience woukl be interested in, nothing of interest to the drab and dreary crowds of the here and now. But, then again, I don’t have to - I’m the editor! (Wow! Power does make a difference!) To all of you who reflue to let old issues die, I do have one Mig and one thing only to say: be original. Oh. and creative. And don’t be a slave to the grind. And leam how to count, because if you ever become editor of a college newspaper and you say you have one th^ to talk about but you continue ramding forever, people will talk. Boy, the police sure are unfair. Golly, the food here is awfiiL And how about that fast food? They never serve ttie hambut^gers the way they show them on tv! And isn’t it great that everybody looks so good after a few beers? Gee, that’s funny. And what about bowling? Gosh, it’s stupid. And what about golf? Isn’t that the most boring spoit in the woild to watch on tv? And how about those gas prices? Geewfiiz, they sure are hig}i And what about the post office - aren’t they slow? Do you hear I’m saying? Don’t be a nimrod. Using an old cliche simply means you can’t think of anything on your own Don’t keep mulling over the same old sayings because one, your intellea (or lack of) will shine bristly throu^, and two. I’ll personally hunt you down like the dog you are, staple Andrew Dice Oay posters to your body and throw you to a frothing padc of PMSing femenists. And you don’t want that Unless, of course, you’re an extreme masochist and you thor oughly enjoy pain, in which case you should seriously consider becoming the head of a naiL Or Dan Quayle. As much as I hate eveiyttiing a clidie stands for. I’ll use one right r»w. Remember tlie old sj^g, “Don’t q)eak unless spoken to.”? How about changing it a little and making it say, “Don’t speak unless you have something to say.” Invitations given to join college’s Literary Club By Nod Mitchel Did you ever really get into a story? I don't mean just leading, but really getting down into it, tearing it to pieces to see how the paits wotk, then putting it back to gether to get a much stronger feel ing of what the author is trying to say. That's what we did last time at the Literary Club. We watched Maik Twain's short story, "The War Prayei'' on vkleotape and pro ceeded to take it apart. It was wild to see just how the smallest little words could mean so much to the meaning of the whole woik. With the input of Mrs. Batchelor, Dr. Davis, Dr. Elliot, Dr. Gay, Dr. Gordon, and Dr. Wolfekill, we were able to see how Twain's words and phrases woiked together as smoothly as a Porsche fuel intake system. We saw ex actly how this two-page writing tuined out an image of the sadism of war, too vivid to be overlooked and too strtsig to be soon forgot ten. If you've ever wanted to see deeper into a book, short stoiy, poem, or pAay tha you could be yourself, of just if you've ever like reading, the Literary Qub's break down might just fascinate you. We don't take dues, we don't raise funds, and we don't write anything. As a matter of fact, we dcxit do anything we drai't want to, but anyone can say anthing he or she feels. If you like to read, or would like to leam to enjoy reading, Tm sure you'd find this "breakdown" to be an intellectual blast 7^1 lock Ar' I Plaids, reds making fashion statement for Fall The trends for the M of ’92 arc seen everywhere. Some of it is new, some of it okl and scxne of it is just you. The big color this fall is defi nitely RED. The look is also (daid. If you have a kilt, now is the time to get it out and wear it Remember those dd corduroys that used to sweep when you walked around your elementary sdxx)l classroom? Well, they are back after all these years. Makes you feel old, doesn’t it? There is one improvement, tfxxigh Now you can buy them shorts. Loafers are definitely in I keep wearing mine down have to keep getting them resoled. But you can wear tiiem with anything this season so mSce the investment Arxjther troid is that boring old westem and biker look that every one swears is new but it comes back each year. I really think any- Fashlon body who wears jeans actually fits in herc so everyone is in style. I Rally like those dropped waist or jeans; the commerci^ are even better. My favorite trend is the Doc Martin shoes trend. I love these shoes, I just can’t afford them . I’ll tell you the story of how great they are: they’ve bem popular in Eng land for a long time and everyone knows how slow we are to catch oa But in the major metropolitian areas they gave been aroimd for some time. Before Doc Marten made a deal with Hofemieis’s you could (xily order tliem form the factor or ^y hip shop. Now you can get them at the mall, vvliich king of sucks because you still have to pay the fiill price and ttiey are selli^ out Men’s wear and ties are in for giiis. Don’t ask me wtiy, just wear it Fellas, just keep wearing your Polo shirts and o^r t-shirts be- couse that’s all you have anyway. That’s it for now so chedc out the newest trends and Do What ChaLikel -The Fiction Comer I Welcome to the newest edition of Smoke Signals — The Fiction Comer. This column is dedicated to printing new, creative fiction written by none other than your fellow Chowan studaits. If you have a shoit story that you fed has something to say, by all means send it ia Just address it to Smoke Signals and drop it in the campus mail box. I have included a few paragraphs fiom a short story I wrote over the summer just to stow that you don’t have to be a profession^ to get your story printed. I hope you enjoy this columa Wrath Man by Marty Gnsbing Daric wind sweqjs through a cluttered back alley, gently float ing old newspapers off a kx^ wino who has fburid solace fiom the cmd night between two smelly, leaky dumpsters. With a tortur^ moaa he extends a filthy, ban daged hand in an attempt to grab the pedous Uankets, but is far too slow and far too intoxicated. A defeated sigh passes between his dry, diapped lips as he sunenders to the effects of a two dollar bottle of wine, now onpty, hdd firmly in his left hand. He lays down, {fac ing his weaiy head upon the partial n^ains of a discarded egg caitix) then cuils up in an attempt to con serve body heat for the Iraig ni^ ahead. A tall figure, shrouded by a flowing black trench coat enters the alley fiom a dimly lit, unevatt- flil street and c^ns an old, dented metal door revealing a short fligjit of stairs. He starts to enter the building but stops. Turning around he spots a f^iliar figurc testing betw^ the dumpsters on the odier side of the alley. He quietly ap proaches, reachre into Ws pocket, pulls out a dollar biU and (daces it under the sleq^ arm of ttie bum. The cloaked figurc walks up the flight of creaky, wooden stairs to gaze at a warp^ wooden door. He hates this dmr. The same sick feding washes over him every time he enters. With a sur;ge of courage, he swings the door open and walks through, quietly closing it behind. A slow, steady squeak meets him upon entering. “Hey mom,” TJ says in a faked [Peasant tone. “Hi, son,” a weary voice creeps through the darkness. TJ looks to find his mother sit ting in die same old, beat up rock ing chair poised next to ttie win dow, facing out He hates this chair. The persistent, subde cry of the oak legs brings back memories he has woiked most of his life to get rid of The pale moonlight, filtering through layers of tiiick smog, out lines his mother with an eerie, yellow tint; the room’s only source of illuminatioa “What happened to the lights?” “They cut off our electridty. I don’t undeistand. I toU them your father would be there with the rent bm they just didn’t listea” “Mom, dad’s gone. He’s never coming back. You know ttiat” “But I told them he’d be there with the rent I told them...” She continues repeating the phrase, staring out into the hazy moonlight, accompanied by the whine of her chair. TJ starts to leave. “Where are you going, son?” “You know where I’m going.” Teardrops, illuminated by gentle reflections of the mooa start to form in her eyes. She turns to face her soa “Come on, mom. I don’t want to go throu^ this agaia” “Damnit TJ don’t do it It’s just not right!” “And I guess living like this is?” She starts to ciy out loud. “Listen, mom, just one more fi^ Just one more and we can get out of this place! We can move to a real apartment - start over!” Ignoring her son’s desperate reasMiing, she turns back around to face the silent beams of light now fading. The door slams. TJ nins down the stairs and out into the street trying to convince himself that he doesn’t care. That he’s not affected. He’s a fighter and filters don’t feel sony for themselves. “How’s it going, T?” TJ wheels around to see a short, stout figure wearing a black daiim jacket The sleeve is decorated with the tail of a dragon drawn in white, wrapfnng around his aim. “What’s up, Shawa” “Just come by to see how things are going, you know?” “I got to go.” TJ says coldly. walking off. “Hey! You ain’t wearing your colors, man!” He keqjs walking. “You ain’t Slinking about leav ing us, are you?” “What are you talking about, man?” TJ says, turning around. “Come on, T, everybody knows.” “Shawn, what are you talking about?” ‘The fight, man! You made it'” “No. No I didn’t I got one more to go.” “So now I guess you think you’re big time, hunh? Pretty boy TJ fiom the streets going to make some money and get rich.” “Shut n).” “You can’t leave us, maa Did you forget where you came fiom? Did you forget who you are? You’re one of us, man, ‘til the end.” “You know I’d never leave you and the boys.” “Bull.” He turns once again to walk off. ‘TJ - you can’t leave, man! You’re bo^ with us!” He keeps walking, Shawn’s final words echoing through tte alley, chasing him into the street Beef up your resume If you're a business major or would just like some practical expereince selling classified ad space to the local businesses, please con tact me at extention 1166 as soon as possible. —Marty Grebing, Editor
Chowan University Student Newspaper
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Oct. 1, 1992, edition 1
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