[onday • September 12, 1994
The Battalion • Page I3 m
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en ‘domestic’ is cool youVe got a full-grown home;
Assistant
Opinion Editor
, irthdays don’t accurately
.capture the essence of
'the aging process. It is in JENNY
I the mundane moments of ordi- MAGEE
I n; y living when we actually
fed the cold hands of Father
■me on our shoulders.
I My college aging process
has been realized in a couple
ol random shopping trips.
The' flowers, cards and gifts I received on my
|t)th birthday, did not savagely rip me away
from my 18th year. But, the first time I paid for
Hy own groceries, I felt old. For the first time in
Hy life, I had to use my money to buy something
that I actually needed to live. My money was
■apposed to finance my social outings, not to pay
for oatmeal and vegetable soup.
■ A recent back-to-school shopping trip single-
iandedly whisked me three or four years ahead
of my current, tender age of 20. I went to Target
Bith the intention picking up a few things for the
house that I was moving into with three other
girls. An innocent idea to build shelves for my
Boom sent me headlong into a whole new realm
qii life - hardware.
I I wanted shelves: a mere couple of pieces of
4'ood stuck to my wall to house my pictures.
What I didn’t realize was that this seemingly
simple desire involved toggle bolts. But, my fa
ther assured me as we made are way into foreign
territory, that my wall, because it lacked a 2x4,
required toggle bolts to hold shelves.
Those who spend time in the hardware sphere,
might affectionately refer to toggle bolts as “Mol
ly bolts.” A nickname which probably originated
back in the 1800s, when “Molly” wanted to build
shelves, but found she lacked 2x4s.
We finally located the toggle boats, but then
things began to snowball. Suddenly my basket was
filling with items like light switch covers, door stops
and wooden towel racks - and I was paying for it all.
After a couple of days I realized that the Tar
get trip had only been the tip of the iceberg.
When I moved out of my dorm at the end of the
spring semester last year, I had dreams of home
made meals, bubble baths and privacy in my new
home off-campus. Never in my clearest moments
of imagination, did I fathom that I was going to
become a victim of domesticity.
I am prepared for my birthdays; they happen at
the same time every year. But, how was I supposed
to prepare myself for the moment in life when I
would become totally fascinated by a culinary acces
sory? My roommate and I visited a friend’s new
apartment and were actually awed by a spice rack.
Beyond the fact that my new house has sent
me down store aisles where I had never dared to
venture before, it also became the vehicle for
many other lessons in reality as well. From 1980
to 1992, I emptied my dishwasher - one of my
daily chores - approximately 4,380 times. But
only on extremely rare occasions during those
years did I actually start the dishwasher. That
always happened after I went to bed and my par
ents locked up the house. And, never once did I
How was I supposed to prepare myself for
the moment in life when I would be fascinat
ed by a culinary accessory? My roommate
and I were awed by a friend's new spice rack.
purchase the dishwasher soap.
Alas, my shopping list now includes things like
dishwasher soap and countless other cleaning sup
plies every week. I’m also writing more checks for
hot water, gas and electricity than anything else.
My roommates and I pamper our house like it
is a newborn child. We voluntarily mow the
grass, paint the baseboards, vacuum the rugs,
wash the dishes and countless other chores that
took our parents weeks to convince us to do as >3
children. Well, most of the time, anyway.
Whenever I would grumble about my chores as a ;5
child, my mother would tell me that I should care -3
about how our house looked and should want to keep^
it nice. I never really felt that way. But, something
happens when you invest time and money into the / qj
place where you live. When your home and the
things in it are no longer provided for you, they take“>
on a whole new significance.
Up until the ’60s, the whole concept v
of domesticity was associated with the *
enslavement of women to a sphere tha^ 'j!
was unappreciated and unrewarding.
So, being a career-orientated woman, I
felt intimidated to find pleasure in fix-Tj
ing up a home. But, I realized that thi&>
experience was not about spice racks.VNi
cleaning agents or even toggle bolts.
was about learning to care about the place where;*
I live enough to sacrifice for it. And most of all, it*
was about learning the give and take of living :.*3j
with others in order to build a home.
I wonder if Hallmark makes card for the firij^J
time you do housework and like it.
Jenny Magee is a junltjjfr
English and journalism maj<jy>.
M oorKAGf!. 1 1
-sHowiMts 4Nl r.vj. rr
Guardian angel curses risky exploits
Girl just wants to have fun —
jand not get caught by the cops
ELIZABETH
PRESTON
M y experi
ments as a
wild woman
fare always short
lived and humiliat-
II ing. My mother is
| convinced that I have
la guardian angel on
Imy shoulder that has
I a direct line to the
jpolice station. Every
Isingle time I try to rebel, break out or even STEP on the wild
[side, a policeman is there, waiting.
My youthful rebellions began innocently in 8th grade. I ar-
I rived at school only to realize that I had left my semester-long
[project, due that day, at home. My mother was unreachable,
[and I did not feel that I could explain it to my teacher. Cleverly
[realizing that I had two hours until the class when I had to
[turn it in, I decided to take the Metro
[home. A painful mistake.
Hours of incorrect bus routes, a pen-
Iniless cab ride with a sympathetic cab
1 driver and a 2-mile hike later, we were
picked up by the police. Because we
were roughly 10 miles from anywhere
| we needed to be, we were almost thank-
|ful at that point. Then they asked us
[repeatedly if we were “truant.” Having
NO idea what that word meant, I naively guessed it meant
something about drugs. I emphatically told them we weren’t,
thus making myself a liar and a punk. To this day, I can not
skip school without fearing horrible retribution.
Infused with the resilience of youth, a year later I began to
feel confident again. When my short-lived boyfriend, Kevin,
asked me to sneak out of my house with him, I quickly agreed.
What I did not know was that we were taking Kevin’s mom’s
car, while she slept - we were both 15 - and that in the backseat
of the car he had 1) a bottle of liquor, 2) firecrackers and 3) a
stop sign he had stolen.
Of course, because I was in the car, we were pulled over
within 10 minutes of our “little” rebellion. The policemen
took us to the station and called my mother. She came to get
me at two in the morning, bringing with her my boyfriend’s
mother - whom she had not met before that night - because
we had her car.
Needless to say, I have since never done anything in the
middle of the night without telling my mom. She tries to tell me
that I don’t need to call her long-distance at midnight to tell her
I’ll be out late, but the mental block against late nights without
her knowledge was permanently set by that experience. I was
n’t even tempted to drive a car before I turned 16,1 still do not
drink alcohol, and every Fourth of July I am extremely happy
to watch other people’s fireworks displays.
My next run-ins involved everybody’s favorite: the traffic po
lice. One weekend I borrowed my stepfather’s truck to bring
some furniture up to school. He is the type of guy who gets on
me if my gas tank is below a quarter full. When MY inspection
sticker expired he haggled me about it until I fixed it. Who
would have imagined that HIS inspection sticker was five
months expired? Of course as soon as I sat down in it, the po
lice were on my tail. With a sinking feeling, I pulled over. Not
only was the sticker expired, my license had the incorrect ad
dress and I had not put my new proof of insurance in the car. I
escaped from that encounter $200 poorer, though my stepfather
felt guilty enough to pay me back for part of it. Thinking I had
been punished for
every possible infrac
tion, I cockily re
sumed driving.
In the final blow,
two days ago my car
was towed from in
front of a fire hydrant
that I never even saw,
for the exorbitant rate
of $148.74.1 went back to see if the hydrant was covered in
weeds or otherwise obstructed from view, and quite to the con
trary it looked almost as obvious as the Empire State Building.
Today, I drove my car off the nearest cliff and retrieved my bi
cycle from the garage. Okay, there is no cliff near here, but if
there was one, my car would be there. Until I find one, it’s
parked: I threw my keys away last night.
So to all of you students who drink, speed, skip and park
illegally without repercussions, I envy you. Until my annoy
ing guardian angel leaves me alone, I’ll be riding my bike,
drinking soda pop and taking notes for all of my friends ab
sent from classes.
Elizabeth Preston is a junior English major
—IBSl
The Battalion
Editorial Board
Belinda Blancarte, Editor in chief
Mark Evans, Managing editor
Jay Robbins, Opinion editor
Jenny Magee, Assistant opinion editor
:3t
Editorials appearing in The Battalion reflect '
the views of the editorial board. They do not ^
necessarily reflect the opinions of other
Battalion staff members, the Texas A&M '
student body, regents, administration, faculty*:•»;
or staff.
Columns, guest columns, cartoons and-*;
letters express the opinions of the authors. -1 * <
Contact the opinion editor for information ;
on submitting guest columns. 7
Names for sale
Sale of personal information lists invades privacy
Most people are unaware that per
sonal information like their names
and addresses could be worth $150.
But many companies, from highbrow
advertisers to scam artists, buy and
sell lists of telephone numbers and
mailing addresses with no regard for
the individuals’ privacy.
College stu
dents are among
the groups
which are most
vulnerable to
the negative im
pacts of this sale
of information.
Whether they
have little mon
ey and are look
ing for a “free
deal” or they
have plenty of
money to spend,
students often
become victims
of mail or tele
phone fraud be
cause of the sheer number of attempts
to take advantage of them. No one can
catch every piece of “fine print.”
If more students, or anyone else,
were aware of their right to secure
personal information from sale to the
highest bidder, then they could better
protect themselves from such risks.
A more disturbing factor of this
problem is the fact that many lists
include wide-ranging demographiVt*
information/ Any individual could^
find that their gender, age, occupq-.Nl
tion, buying habits and other statisfy*”
tics, as well as address, are avail
able to whomever pays the price.
A recent ruling by the Texas Pul 5:S
he Utilities Commission requirefc-v
telephone cont^
panies to inforrti^
customers
their right to r@v*-j
strict the use
this inform a tiorf.-y
Such require';-**,
ments preserve;?
individual rightC 1 **!
and hopefully^
will help prevent
exploit atio ft-F
made througH'^
that information’,;*.
The impor^S
tance of privacjrt?
becomes more ob>.t-
vious every day/-.’
No one should
automatically lose control of who re
ceives information about them. Unfor- *
tunately, the only way to exercise tharv;
control over privacy often is through
making a specific request that a com
pany not include a person’s informa
tion on the customer list it sells.
Everyone affected by this practice
needs to shut the door on scams by
demanding respect for their privacy.
Having NO idea what "truant" meant, I
naively guessed it meant something about
drugs. I emphatically told the policemen we
weren't, making myself a liar and a punk.
U.S. NEGOTIATORS
arriving* for
talks witk
CUBA
CUBAN
NEGOTIATORS
arriving for ^ i
talks with the U.S,
A&M, students must
adapt to human faults
Although A&M has many fine tradi
tions, it is not utopia. Students are
not automatically cleansed of their
personal shortcomings when they en
roll and attend classes at A&M. In
short, being a student at A&M is an
introduction to the real world. Al
though I believe that this campus con
tains some of the brightest, motivated,
intelligent people of the many college
students, staff and faculty in the state,
they are certainly still human, and,
therefore, exhibit human faults.
I do agree that many of the younger
generation could use a few lessons in
common courtesy, manners and con
sideration for fellow Aggies. I think
students should think before they act
... “What are the consequences of ig
noring this handicap sign,” or more
importantly, “How would I feel if
someone did this to me?”
With regard to the “Howdy” issue:
Yes, I agree that as time goes by, few
er people participate in this tradition.
My older brother, who graduated in
1985, noticed this trend during his se
nior year. I have been both a member
of staff and a part-time undergraduate
for several years. Although I may
dress and look like any other student,
when you work on campus and attend
classes here for several years the thrill
of saying “Howdy” to every passerby
sort of wears off. (I’m sure many grad
uate students can identify with this.) I
may appear to be snubbing people, but
this is not the case. I personally don’t
think with our large (and growing)
student body that this quaint histori
cal tradition is realistic. If I said
“Howdy” to everyone I passed from 7
a.m. to 8 p.m. daily, I wouldn’t have a
voice left at the end of the day. My
point is, don’t make snap judgments
about people that don’t gleefully and
enthusiastically greet you with a
“Howdy.” You shouldn’t take it per
sonally - that person you just passed
that didn’t shout “Howdy” may have
been working on campus all day, fac
ing the prospect of going to class at
night. They are just trudging along
trying to stay awake and motivated
and get through another day.
Before I get bombarded with nega
tive responses in the next Mail Call
please read on - I did not say that all
A&M students need manners, just a
few certain individuals I have encoun
tered. I am guilty of not greeting peo
ple with “Howdy,” but I usually re
spond when someone says “Howdy” to
me. Don’t try to tell me I don’t Ipyje
A&M or its traditions, I’ve worked
very hard and made a great deal
sacrifices to get here, stay here afrd
hopefully one day graduate (proudly)
from here. 'V
Debby Hal-l
Class of ’Qy
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