4
Wednesday, September 20, 1989 / University Daily Kansan
Opinion
THE UNIVERSITY DAILY KANSAN
Although Exxon is tired oil spill cleanup isn't over
Browse through the periodicals of Watson Library and you'll find the Sept. 18, 1989, issue of U.S. News and World Report interesting. The cover stands out.
The cover story of the issue is "Alaska's Oil Spill — The
Disaster that Wasn't." Fumy how things change.
Bet the otters don't think so.
The story starts out with a description of a popular T-shirt in Valdez, Ala., "Cleanup '89. It's not just a job. It's a —ing waste of time."
What was billed as a tragedy this spring is now being downplayed as Exxon tires of the cleanup.
When the Exxon Valdez ran aground March 24, it spilled 11 million gallons of crude oil into the Alaskan marine environment. U.S. News and World Report reported that Exxon has recovered 60,000 barrels of oil, and that 1,087 miles of beach have been deemed "environmentally stable." The state doesn't seem to think so and has filed a multibillion-dollar lawsuit against Exxon.
The magazine reported that "Prince William Sound is no longer an ecological disaster zone. Initially, there was heavy mortality among sea birds and otters . . . but the long-term injury to most wildlife and marine organisms is expected to be minimal."
The magazine said that Exxon spent $30 million to save the Alaskan wildlife. Eight million was spent on rescuing about 200 otters, about $40,000 per otter. Now, some on-site biologists are saying that Exxon should have halted cleanup when the oil encased on the shoreline.
Exxon is hoping and claiming that the environment will take care of itself, but many experts disagree.
Exxon doesn't appear to be setting a good example in Alaska. It doesn't seem likely that the environmental disaster will go away just because Exxon is a little tired.
Deb Gruver for the editorial board
Holes in grievance process allow complaints to slide
Hector Clark, associate professor of mechanical engineering may sound like a troublemaker. But he's only trying to get something done.
On Thursday, Clark called for the resignation of Jan Sheldon the co-chairman of the University task force on grievance procedure reform. He said that she had a grievance filed against her and that no action was taken.
He filed that grievance.
Friday, Clark wrote to the Kansan to say that he also had filed five grievances against Del Brinkman, vice chancellor for academic affairs. Again, no action was taken.
Brinkman, when called and told about what Clark had said, shot back with a flat "no comment."
In an interview, Clark refused to disclose the nature of the grievances; however, in his letter, he says, "Two of these grievances concerned Brinkman's own behavior."
Of course, the public has no right to know what the grievances were about. What the public does have a right to know is why no noticeable action has been taken.
As Clark says, "No one wants to look like they're rocking the boat." But if no one asked the hard questions, administrations in general would get away with a lot more than they already do.
Not to say that a person should automatically be kicked out of the grievance process solely because that person is the subject of a complaint. If that were the case, anyone could file a grievance against the entire board and grind the system to a halt. Board members who have grievances filed against them simply should step down during their particular hearings and await the verdicts.
However, as Clark says, the process doesn't even get that far.
Not that he's being radical. He thinks that the rules we have in place for grievance procedures are fine. But, he says, "My view would be, rather simplistically, that they (the grievance procedures) are workable, if people want to make them work."
And to quote Clark's letter again, "Amen to that."
David Stewart for the editorial board
News staff
David Stewart ... Editor
Ric Brack ... Managing editor
Daniel Nieman ... News editor
Candy Niemann ... Planning editor
Stan Diedel ... Editorial editor
Jennifer Corseur ... Campus editor
Elaine Sung ... Sports editor
Lara Nemen ... Photo editor
Christine Winner ... Arts/Features editor
Tom Eblen ... Graphics
Business staff
Linda Prokop...Business manager
Debra Martin...Local advertising sales director
Jerro Medford...National/regional sales director
Jill Lowe...Marketing director
Tami Rank...Production manager
Carrie Stainka...Assistant production manager
Margaret Townsend...Co-op manager
Eric Hughes...Creative director
Christi Dool...Classification manager
Jeff Meesey...Tearsheet manager
Jeanne Hines...Sales and marketing adviser
Letters should be typed, double-spaced and less than 200 words and must include the writer's signature, name, address and telephone number. If the writer is affiliated with the University of Kansas, please include class and hometown, or faculty or staff position.
Guest columns should be typed, double-spaced and less than 700 words. The writer will be photographed.
The Kansan reserves the right to reject or edit letters, guest columna and cartoons. They can be mailed or brought to the Kansan newsroom, 111 Stuart-Flint Hall. Letters, columna and cartoons are the opinion of the writer or cartoonist and do not necessarily reflect the views of the University Daryan Kansan, Editorials, which appear in the left-hand column, are the opinion of the Kansan editorial board.
The University Dalyan Kansas (USPSK 650-840) is published at the University of Kansas, 118 Stairwater Flint Hall, Lawrence, Kan. 68045, daily during the regular school year, excluding Saturday, Sunday, holidays and finals periods, and Wednesday during the summer session. Second-class postage is paid in Lawrence, Kan. 68044. Annual subscriptions by mail are $50. Student subscriptions are $3 and are paid through the student activity fee.
Postmaster: Sehil address changes to the University Daily Kansan, 118 Stauffer-Flint Hall, Lawrence, Kan., 68045.
Gladiators in spandex and spangles
It was kind of like driving by a car accident and slowing down to see the carriage.
That's the best way to describe the worst television program since "Love Bout" docked at "Fantasy Island," circa 1983, for a two-hour love story. You wouldn't be able to dream up this television dog.
Anyway, I was flipping through the channels when I came across two women clad in Lycer, spangles and Spandex trying to main each other with padded sticks. The pair — one was called Lace — were dueling on a 10-foot-high bridge with padded cushions lying beneath them. To win, one of the motorcycle mamas had to knock the other one off the bridge.
The announcer introduced Lace and she bowed. This woman was mooning the children of America in her lace tights on network television. She raised her padded stick, grunted and went after a woman called Commando, or something like that. Lace dropped down by Commando, and the crowd cheered.
There were other games on the program. One game, called the human cannonball, was almost as bad as the padded-stick duel. A grown man, I think he was called The尔D, dressed it more sequins and Lyra, tried to knock another grown man, called Nitro, off a 10-foot-high tower by swinging through the air on a rope. Reminds me of my fifth-grade gym class when the boys would swing on the rope and hit the girls standing in line for kickball. For the sake of the Bible, America and baseball, I really wish I was making this stuff up. But I'm not.
Joel Zeff
Staff columnist
The only thing missing from the contest, called "American Gladiators," was a Roman emperor giving the thumbs-down signal for the losers. And then feeding them to the lions.
By this time, I was almost laughing and crying: laughing because I couldn't believe people would participate in these acts and crying because I could imagine some wasted life sitting in Paola, the light of the television glaring off his fogged-up glasses, as he watched this television fodder and ate his Chieve-balls. It's people like him that will make this show a success and entice other producer-sloths to make more sex-violence-sport programs. In fact, another show, called Roller-games, started Saturday. That show has an alligator pit that two rooler-skating teams, the T-Birds and the Violators, must skate around.
But I still haven't gotten to the good part. Most of the athletes, who had names like Lace and Thor, were actual sports figures; some were track stars and ex-football players. One was even a karate master. These people were serious about their "sport." Joe Thiesmann, ex-Washington Redskins quarterback, even asked the athletes about their
I know television shows like this are a fad. I know someday this show will become a wasted memory just like heavyweight wrestling and Hulk Hogan. Until then, we'll have to put up with Gladiator posters, mugs, tooth brushes, lunch boxes, toys, magazines and Gladiator wanna-bees. The children of America will start to dress in Lyca and spangles, grunt and spit like the Gladiators and even change their names to Violator or Terminator. Every child from Paola to New York City will have the words Lace, Thor and gladiator on their lips. God help us.
strategy in the human canniball event. What kind of strategy does it take to swing from a tree?
When I was a lad growing up with television, I watched "Batman" rurnes, "The Lone Ranger" and "The Cisco Kid." Sure, those shows are just as gooey and hoyke as "American Gladiators," but at least they had a purpose. Batman taught me to use the Nun's cellphone; the Batmobil; the Lone Ranger taught me that crime never pays; the Cisco Kid taught me the importance of having a friend called Pancho.
Batman didn't dress in tights to look sexy. He dressed in tights to fight crime. Where does it all end? Pretty soon there's going to be a television show where scantily clad women bowl for dollars, and men wearing G-strings stand in as the bowling pins, shooting blow-darts at the women.
Maybe next season.
> **Joel Zeff** is a Kansas City, Mo., senior majoring in journalism.
Watches keep track of timelessness
You probably know people who don't wear watches; they claim that they can get along fine without them. And you probably know people who wear weird watches — everything ranging from James Bond high-tech watches to watches made of gold coins or pieces of rock. We've discussed that here.
You probably don't know anyone like Judith Selby, though. She wears, and creates, a special type of watch. Judith Selby's watches don't tell you the time.
They're not broken. They just don't tell time.
"I consider these watches to be philosophical statements," said Selby, 38. She is an artist and lives in Novato, Calif.
Selby's watches are intended to be pieces of art. You strapt them on your wrist, and you look at them. That's about it.
She describes one of her watches as "a grid mesh that one looks through, and then there's a spiraling form underneath. It represents the veils of illusion we put between ourselves and what we consider to be reality." Needless to say, there are no numbers or hands on the watch.
"Rather than know what time it is, isn't it more important to think about the meaning of time?" Selby said.
Her idea is that on every occasion a person looks at one of her watches (she sells them at prices between $100 and $250), that person will think about the grand meaning of time. Granted, the person will have no idea what time it is. But that, seemingly, is a small price to pay for the insights provided concerning the meaning of time.
Seby's idea for watches that don't tell time came out of a personal experience, she said.
Bob Greene
Syndicated columnist
And what happens when someone on the street comes up to her and asks her if she knows what time it is?
"I was teaching an art class," she said. "I waited into the room, and there was a clock on one wall of the room, and it said that it was a certain time. But there was another clock on the other side of the room, and it said that it was a different time. I asked the students in the class what time it was. They all looked at their watches — and the watches all said that the time was slightly different. It made me think: What is this thing called time? It has nothing to do with the movement of the planets or the stars. What is time? We pretend to know, but we don't have a clue."
After this experience in her art class — which she refers to as "the original incident" — she began making her watches that don't tell time. Some of the watches feature features. Some wear indulgence. Some feature "organic material." None give you any clue as to what time it might be.
"I show that person my watch," Selby said. And?
"I hope that person will begin to think about the concept of time," she said.
Is that very likely?
"Well," Selby said, "it is something that can cause great anxiety. I hope that by showing someone my watch, I will help the person reconsider his or her feelings about time."
But if the person is in a big enough hurry to ask a stranger what time it is, the person clearly is in no mood to discuss the concept of time. The person wants to know what time it is.
"I have to say to that person, 'I don't know.'" Selby said.
"I can see where the farmer might prefer the Timex," Selby said. "I can understand where he might be coming from."
Yeah. . . but it’s a little difficult to imagine, say, a farmer in Kansas, and his old watch breaks. He goes to buy a new one, and the salesclerk says, "We have this Timex on sale, but if you really want something special, here’s a watch for $200 that won't tell you the time, but every time you look at it, you can see a feather. Plus, you can think about the true meaning of time."
Strangely, even though Selby is so ambivalent about the concept of time, she considers herself to be an extremely prompt person. Indeed, she was right on time for our conversation.
And does she really think her watches are going to catch on?
"The response to them has been very good," she said.
"I have a sundial back in my garden," she said.
Bob Greene is a syndicated columnist.
CAMP UHNEELY
BY SCOTT PATTY
-