Opinion
Kansan
Published daily since 1912
Jodie Chester, Editor
Gerry Doyle, Managing editor
Ryan Koerner, Managing editor
Tom Eblen, General manager, news adviser
4A
Marc Harrell, Business manager
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Justin Knupp, Technology coordinator
Monday, November 23,1998
MEANWHILE, FAR FROM THE TOBACCO SETTLEMENT...
Editorials
Turkey bowlers need to donate food
For every year that the event has been in existence, there has been controversy surrounding turkey bowling. Yet Ellsworth Hall residents continue to hurl the frozen carcasses at the waiting pins in the spirit of Thanksgiving fun, and the animal rights activists continue to use the activity as an example of how insensitive people are to the treatment of animals.
However, there is also another point to be made about the insensitivity of turkey bowling; food wastefulness. Ellsworth does reuse the same turkies every year, so at least only four are sacrificed to the sport. This year, though, the bowling is accompanied by mashed potato sculpting and cranberry sauce wrestling, items that cannot be reused.
Such events would be fun, whether one is participating or simply watching. However, these activities, when shown in a different light, become more
Ellsworth Hall residents should donate as much food as they waste for their activities.
appalling than entertaining. Statistics reveal that Americans throw away 25 percent of their food. These events exemplify that Americans have more food than they can eat, and therefore use it for sport. Would a survivor of Hurricane Mitch think it was funny to watch well-fed students wrestling in cranberry sauce? Would a homeless person think that the most prudent way to use a turkey would be to bowl it and then store it in a freezer for next year?
Ellsworth Hall certainly did not intend for such activities to be a slap in the face of those who are less fortunate. The activity is a way for students in residence balls to interact in a fun and harmless way, while poking a little fun at the definition of "thanksgiving tradition."
However, the event also could be used as a way for students to help those who don't have any food to eat. Ellsworth Hall residents should match the amount of food they use in their Thanksgiving activities with a donation to a charitable organization. For every turkey bowled, one should also be given to a shelter that sponsors a free Thanksgiving dinner. For every potato mashed into a sculpture, one should be supplied to a charity.
Turkey bowling becomes more than mindless fun. It combines the traditional foods of Thanksgiving while keeping with the spirit of the holiday: giving. Ellsworth Hall residents should use their enthusiasm for bowling turkes to help everyone to have a happy Thanksgiving.
Kathryn Jensen for the editorial board
All Kennedy records should be opened
Among the most notable and moving events of the 20th Century is the assassination of our 35th president, John F. Kennedy. Yesterday marked the 35th anniversary of his assassination, yet many Americans still question whether Lee Harvey Oswald was the one who fired the three bullets that extinguished Kennedy's life.
As Kennedy's memory grows more distant, however, America is in danger of acquiescing rather than lobbying for the release of all information pertinent to the shady circumstances surrounding his death.
This is simply unacceptable.
This is simply unacceptable. A witful, charismatic, popular and idealistic figure, Kennedy served as a beacon of hope in a decade increasingly wrought with tension at home and abroad. His murder made the future seem profoundly uncertain.
Yesterday was the 35th anniversary of John F. Kennedy's assassination.
But most bothersome is the investigation of his murder. Long after the Warren Commission concluded Lee Harvey Oswald was the sole assassin, people still suspect the United States government is hiding something
Congress commissioned another investigation in 1975 based on concerns that there may have been multiple assassins and that the government may have been involved; this investigation was cut short for lack of funding and the scientific validity of its findings were questioned. Oliver Stone aroused more public outcry with his controversial film JFK $ ^{13} $
1992. Not long after the film's release, Congress commissioned the Assassination Records Review Board to work for the release of the millions of withheld documents. The board submitted its final report in September. About four million pages of information were released and made accessible through the National Archives. Still, about five million individual documents are withheld from the public, many of which will not be publicly available until 2017.
It is both frustrating and unfair for our elected officials to drag its heels on an issue of such importance. It seems illogical for the government to deny our access to information regarding Kennedy's death. While 35 years have passed since this sad event in our history took place, we must not tolerate the continual, unnecessary roadblocks to the truth.
Chris Borniger for the editorial board
Kansan staff
Ann Premer ... Editorial
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Parallel parking a feat that mystifies many
Nearly 100 years of driving experience, and people still have not learned to parallel park.
Perspective
This is most evident when glancing down
any block within a one-mile radius of the main campus at the University of Kansas. Pitiful displays of incompetence line the streets — automobile abandoned by tardy students and faculty.
Mike
Perryman
Guest Columnist
A white Chevrolet Cavalier is parallel parked at such an angle that the rear extends halfway into the street. The right front tire of a black Toyota Celica actually rests at least two feet into the
Despite these auto atrocities, a good number of motorists have learned somewhere along the line, undeniably at the expense of several $20,000 to $40,000 automobiles, to crudely crunch their way into a tight spot. These amateurs, which compose the greater portion of the driving population, are content with mediocrity.
However, above these individuals exist a more refined breed of parallel parkers — an elite few who rarely fail under harsh scrutiny and who demand a certain level of regard. Those of us who lack the skill, observe as seasoned parallel-parkers defy perpendicularity and park without defacing the surrounding vehicles.
We gape in awe and admiration as a freak of nature, who truly has perfected the art of parallel parking, almost mockingly slides into an unreasonably small space — often, a space so unreasonably small that one could not slip a fallen leaf between the bumpers on either side of the car.
When it is our turn to attempt the park, our first priority is to make sure no one else is watching. Then, after we hit the car parked behind us, we look to make sure no one saw the more-than-subtle contact.
Most individuals, although they are reluctant to admit it, are incapable of such a tight park, and are categorized as parallelparking challenged. Although it is difficult to swallow, I may qualify as one of these individuals.
During the day, as I pull up alongside a sleek, new BMW, wrench my back, turn my head and throw my arm behind the passenger seat, I try to convince myself that I do not belong in the aforementioned category
We repeat this after we hit the car parked in front of us. Our inability, of course, is being observed by some guy lurking in the shadows who we did not see, or some girl pulled over on the side of the road, car idling. Both of them laugh uncontrollably and look around, hoping to see the owner of one of the jostled cars running out of some nearby house.
e entertainment. We laugh as we see the driver bang the hell out of the two parked cars, and we hope that maybe, just maybe, the owner of one of the cars will come running out of some nearby house, increasing the level of excitement and entertainment.
and that I am one of the gifted parallel parkers. But the truth comes out at night, when it is dark, and I realize that I cannot fool myself. I have hit everything from a 1961 Corvair to a 1998 Corvette, and when it comes right down to it, my car probably should be impounded and I should be forced to work — without pay — in a North Lawrence body shop.
Although we — the challenged — are impressed with an experienced parallel-parker, there is an even greater fascination with the failure of our fellow inadquates, people with whom we empathize, regardless of whether we know them personally. These individuals dare to attempt a parallel park with no more than the raw experience obtained during a driving test at age 16 — a test that undoubtedly was flunked at least twice solely because of the inability to pass the parallel-parking section of the exam. This humiliation is pathetic to watch; yet at the same time, it is a source of inexplicable entertainment.
Frustrated, after failing to park the car six to eight times, we curse our compact cars for not being small enough and our land yachts for not having some red button on the dashboard that electronically would shrink the car down to half of its original size.
Oh, how we would love to get our hands on the wonderful individual — even if we could speak with him or her for just one minute — who parked right in the middle of a space that easily could have fit two large vehicles.
Leaving a trail of obscenities and debris, we drive away in search of another failure.
Perryman is Prairie Village senior in journalism.
Telephone shows no mercy for sleepy college student
You know how it is. I'm just trying to sleep, enjoying my favorite dream — the one with the girl from English class, several
sandy beaches and the James Bond theme on repeat
— when the shrill ringing of the telephone interrupts my quiet slumber.
quiet slumber "Hello?"
"Yeah."
"Mr. Miller?"
"Hi, this is the Lawrence Journal-World."
"Yes, you called me yesterday."
"But, today, we have an even better offer."
H.G.
Miller
opinion @ kansan.com
Click. I roll over and try
Click. I roll over and try to find my way back to dreamland. But no, it's 10 a.m. and somebody else doesn't want me to sleep.
"Hello?"
"Hi, it's me, did I wake you?"
"Yes."
163.
Click. I'm not sure who that was, but I figure they'll call back if it's important. My only concern right now is the new set of powder-blue flannel sheets I have yet to fully break in. Ring. I turn and look at the telephone with an intense hatred that it seems to brush away without any feeling at all. It rings again.
"What?"
"Well, aren't we grumpy."
"Sorry, Mom."
Okay, this is family. I can deal with a heartfelt phone call from my mother. I'm sure she's just worried about losing touch with me as the years pass by.
"I just wanted to see if you were still coming home for 'Thanksgiving,' she tells me.
She hasn't quite figured out that free food is hard to come by, and I'll always be willing to spend a few hours on crowded highways to get it. So, I tell her of course I'm coming.
"What time do you think you'll get here?"
"Thursday."
Yes:
"Hi, is your roommate home?"
Click. Enough of that. Sleep above sentimentality, you know. I think it's just some innate thing that guys are born with. Anyway, which side was I leaving on? Ring.
"Argl!" I shout many expletives at the telephone, but the blasted thing keeps ringing anyway.
"Is he ever when you call at this time?" "Well, I just thought..."
"Think about calling in the afternoon."
Click. This is becoming absurd. Why don't I just turn off the ringer?
Meanwhile, whoever it is on the other end of the line speaks to the dead air.
That's a nice, logical solution to my problem.
Now, if I can just find the little switch. Ring. I drop the phone in fright. It did that on purpose, I just know it.
"Hello? Hello?" After a while, he gives up, and I hear the dial tone humming from the receiver as it lays on the floor. I cautiously kick it back into place and wait. Trying to turn off the ringer only upset it, what can I do now? Rina.
I decide to be aggressive. The time for hesitancy has passed and all that.
"This had better be important," I say into the phone.
"Lay it on me."
"It's your lucky day."
"Uh..."
"Come on, sit it out, I've got things to do." "To this man, Miller?"
"We're calling for donations to the policeman's fund."
"I donated $55 earlier this year "
"Really? I don't have your name on my list." "It's on the ticket."
Click. Ring. I see. It's a game now. All right, little phone, bring it on.
"Hello?"
"Are you okay?"
Are you okay.
"I'm fine. What is it?"
"Are you okay?
"I'm fine. What is it?"
"I'm fine. What is it?
"I can call back later, if it's a bad time."
"Look, I'm already up."
"No, you don't sound so good. I'll call back later. Get some rest."
Click. Okay, I don't find this funny at all. I pace my bedroom and try to think of some rational end to this episode. I'm in college, I should be able to figure this out. After a quick trip to the bathroom (I did just wake up, you know), I decide to attempt dismantling the ringer again. Maybe I can sneak on the thing. For a moment, I think I may be losing my mind.
Then, it rings again.
I pick up the receiver, while getting a firm grasp of the line coming out of the wall jack. I try to speak calmly.
"Hello?"
"Hi. It's your editor. I was just wondering if you were working on a column."
"Yeah," I tell her. "I've got an idea or two." "Great, do you think that..." Click
Click.
Miller is a Hutchinson sophomore in English.