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About The Battalion. (College Station, Tex.) 1893-current | View Entire Issue (May 24, 1988)
Page 2AThe Battalion/Wednesday, May 25, 1988 Opinion Students, take heed: Shop using the Royko An old friend stopped by re cently and went to the refrigerator to get himself a beer. He took the beer but stood looking inside the refrigerator for several seconds. Then he opened the freezer section and looked at that for a while. Of course I eat. I eat to much. “Ah, then you eat all your meals in .tanrants ” restaurants. No, only lunch. And dinner out maybe once a week. The rest of my meals I have at home. “But there’s nothing here to eat. I don’t understand.” Mike Royko And he began opening kitchen cab inets and looking inside. Finally he shook his head and said: “Are you moving or something?” “No. Why do you ask?” He looked in a couple of more cab inets, then said: “You don’t have any food in this place. I mean, absolutely no thing.” I nodded. He was right. There wasn’t a thing to eat in the entire kitchen. Not a morsel. Not a crust of stale bread. Not one can of tomato soup or a spoonful of peanut butter to be scraped out of the bottom of ajar. Nothing. He shook his head. “You don’t even have a can of stewed tomatoes or things like that. Everybody’s got an old can of something or other in his kitchen, but you don’t have a single thing. Don’t you ever eat?” Most people don’t. So I explained the Royko System of Food Shopping for the Single Man. It works on a very simple principle: I buy groceries once in a while. And in large quantities, too. But then I don’t buy another thing until everything is gone. My friend happened to come along the day after I had eaten the last food in the kitchen — a can of tuna and a frozen waffle. “What is the advantage of your sys tem?” he asked. There are several advantages, and they go this way: First, you don’t have to go shopping very often. At most, I make one shop ping trip a month. I’ve gone as long as two months between trips. Second, you don’t accumulate things that begin piling up in most kitchens — those extra cans of stewed tomatoes and soup gathering dust in a cabinet; the smoked Korean oysters; the packages of frozen chicken in the back of the freezer; the half-filled jars of Welch’s grape jelly, side by side in the refrigera tor door. Under my system, you cannot accu mulate cans of stewed tomatoes because you have to eat them before you can shop again. “You must have some peculiar meals,” he said. There have been a few unusual meals, yes. One evening, I found that the last edible items in the kitchen were three eggs, a half-stick of margarine, an onion and some flour. I could have taken the easy way out and had three fried eggs. But I was more creative than that. It seemed to me that if I mixed a cup of flour with an egg, some margarine and water and chopped onion, I would have a form of dough. So I did. I spread the dough on a pan and put it in the oven, hoping it would become some kind of bread. As it turned out, my creation became something that resembled onion pan cakes. Then I fried the other two eggs and put them on top of the sort-of pan cakes. “It sounds awful,” my friend said. Well, Julia Child wouldn’t recom mend it for a dinner party, but it did get me through the night. The advantages to this system are ob vious. It’s economical, because you Pity the poor columnist: Grizzard doesn’t have Carson’s eight writers It was big news that Johnny Car- son returned to “The Tonight Show.” Know why? Be cause he had to do the show without benefit of his eight writers, who are on strike. reer out of telling jokes that aren’t very funny. It’s his delivery that makes you laugh. But some poor newspaper columnist sits over a typewriter (or computer screen) half a day at The Daily Planet trying to think of a thousand words that make at least some sense and/or evoke a chuckle. Eight writers? Johnny Carson Lewis Grizzard has eight writers for the short mono logue he does at the beginning of each of his shows. The column runs the next day and the managing editor doesn’t like it, and just like that, the columnist is back on the copy desk. It only took a few more than that to write the Bible. What I’d like to see Johnny Carson do — or anybody else used to having a sta ble of writers — is write a newspaper column for a while. But Carson said he couldn’t stand be ing off the show any longer and would come back even if it did, indeed, mean he had to write his own stuff. Not every day. Let’s just say three or four times a week. Here’s the way that works: I think Johnny Carson is funny, and I’ve been a fan of his for years, but whafs all the fuss about a guy who makes 20 million a year having to write his own material for a change? You’re sitting there. Alone. There’s nobody to turn to. There are no eight writers to help. Why don’t I have eight writers to help me with this thing? You glance through the paper looking for an idea. There’s Jimmy Swaggart, but you wrote about him two weeks ago. Reagan? You’ve worn him out, too. Why don’t I have just one writer? “Gildenham,” I could say, “I’m off to the golf course. Finish my Friday col umn and leave it on my desk before you go home.” Think of all the material newspaper columnists have to come up with all by themselves day after day, week after week and month after month. I don’t know a one of them who makes in a year what Carson pays in al imony each month. And let’s say Carson’s eight writers have a bad day. Nobody could think of anything funny for him to say. No problem. Carson has made a ca- The Battalion (USPS 045 360) Member of Texas Press Association Southwest Journalism Conference The Battalion Editorial Board Richard Williams, Editor Sue Krenek, Managing Editor Mark Nair, Opinion Page Editor Curtis Culberson, City Editor Becky Weisenfels and Cindy Milton, News Editors Anthony Wilson, Sports Editor Jay Janner, Art Director never buy anything you don’t eventually eat. And it forces you to be innovative. I remember the night I had nothing left but two pouches of frozen creamed spinach, three small potatoes, and a fro zen chicken leg. I made a stew. I don’t remember how it turned out, but it was surely high in some kind of vitamin. “But what about your children?” my friend asked. “Isn’t this rough on them?” of the memory of the evenins youngest son came home and fourj in front of the TV set with a bowl lap. "What are you having lor siij he asked, looking hungry. “Raisin Bran,” I said. “There’ll some left in the kitchen.” r By T Deadline is getting closer. You sweat. You put another handful of Maalox tab lets in your mouth. You wonder why you didn’t go to law school like your parents wanted you to. Actually, my sons were partly respon sible for my approach to food shopping. I discovered a law of eating, which I call Royko’s Law. It goes this way: Young people will always eat anything that is convenient, then wait until you buy some more convenient foods, and they will eat them, too. In other words, if I went out every week and bought five pounds of chicken pieces, five packages of spaghetti, five jars of Ragu sauce and 10 frozen pizzas, they would eat the 10 frozen pizzas and leave the rest. And the next week, they would do the same. Eventually 1 would have stacks of chicken pieces, bales of spaghetti and cases of Ragu sauce, and they’d still be eating the frozen pizza. So under my system, when the frozen pizzas are gone, they either eat what is left or they don’t eat. “That’s kind of sadistic, isn’t it?” my friend asked. Yes, but then, what else are young people good for? I am particularly fond he gems on million co He looked in my bowl and said. 0 f a ne\ there’s no milk. It’s just dry building. Bran.” Pphe ha “It’s not bad,” I said, scooping of it into my mouth with myiir.|Lj[|j ()n . “But some does tend to fall ot cosl | jul v shirt.” increased My friend shook his head ant Tht Boai “Your sons must be getting skirJB^.dOO hell." ,0 f 0 ™P'' vt l rest ol th< No, that s not so. My systemji finally courages them to make theacquair| a icr date of young ladies who have moresnl tial qualities than mere prettv i When they meet girls, they questions like, “What’s your sip, “Say. do you come here often?” more likely to say: “Hi, you doni pen to know how to make a goal roast and dumplings, do you?" My friend went back to therefi tor and said: “I notice there’s no age of l>eer, so you must do some shopping for that.” "As an ancient wise man oncesa told him, “man does not livebyli Bran alone.” Copyright 1988, Tribune Media Senicah groi I’m a rookie in the column business — 11 years. But many others are still going strong after much longer than that, and they’re still responsible for all their material, even what they steal. A colleague once said, “Writing a newspaper column is like being married to a nymphomaniac. The first two weeks, it’s fun.” Give me eight writers and I’d be on a permanent honeymoon. Copyright 1988, Cowles Syndicate Mail Call Baseless and false EDITOR: I am writing in regard to an article titled “Monkeys, Malaysia make summer memorable,” written by Wade See, published in the May 5, 1988, issue of At Ease. The statement “Moslems hold cattle and oxen sacred, so people don’t bother the animals,” given in the article is baseless and false. On behalf of all Muslims, I would like to protest the printing of such a false statement in The Battalion’s weekly magazine. Regarding the first part of the statement in question, the truth is that Muslims do not hold cattle or oxen sacred; as a matter of fact, we are allowed to eat the meat from these animals. As far as the latter half of the statement is concerned, not bothering the animals has to do with the culture and not with Islam. An observer may find cattle wandering on streets in many eastern countries of the globe, and the situation in Malaysia is not unique. Nadeem A. Chaudhary public relations, Islamic Community of Bryan-College Sta tion A fraud by any other name EDITOR: On May 5, I was selling back my old books. I neededi sell back, or get rid of, a bowling instruction book. I tool my bowling book, pages clean and all intact, to Universii' Bookstore at Northgate. I took my book there because or. T the windows of the store, in approximately two-foot letters, it reads: “We buy ALL books.” I thought this meant ALL books, including my $6 bowling text. WRONG. I was told that if I brought in “a few good books” they could possibly offer me 50tf to|2l it. When your store makes a huge — two feet huge —p® I of advertising a service, you should follow through on it ; Lisa McClain ’91 Letters to the editor should not exceed 300 words in length. The editorial JlCl serves the right to edit letters for style and length, but will make every maintain the author's intent. Each letter must be signed and must include sification, address and telephone number of the writer. Editorial Policy The Battalion is a non-profit, self-supporting newspa- g er operated as a community service to Texas A&M and ryan-College Station. Opinions expressed in The Battalion are those of the editorial board or the author, and do not necessarily rep resent the opinions of Texas A&M administrators, fac ulty or the Board of Regents. The Battalion also serves as a laboratory newspaper for students in reporting, editing and photography classes within the Department of Journalism. The Battalion is published Monday through Friday during Texas A&M regular semesters, except for holiday and examination periods. Mail subscriptions are $17.44 per semester, $34.62 per school year and $36.44 per full year. Advertising rates furnished on request. Our address: The Battalion, 230 Reed McDonald, Texas A&M University, College Station, TX 77843-1 111. Second class postage paid at College Station, TX 77843. POSTMASTER: Send address changes to i he Battal ion, 216 Reed McDonald, Texas A&M University, Col lege Station TX 77843-4 111. BLOOM COUNTY by Berke Breath* 3V THE M\Y~. PMNZdMYeK 60T MARRI3P REC6NTIY. 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