v The Battalion • Page 9 ■ Monday • October 10, 1994 IJ 10,19941 at the Ari- linals paid an found ard scoring is shoulder aplaced by Beuerlein, by Brown e game his s “wasn’t ing facts." er in town moon rises Full between classes f Embarrassing moments show the world our 'human' sides eer, be- against a fairly passing “ Pullig row the ject the he run- he most ;e I was was led er Ryan d in six icluding i in the tally got *d, after d A&M inutes. ;hdown turday Chris lies for urming is, who ervers s for 83 5-yard t gave *31-0 ier. turned against to im- l, using lity to receiv- d on a he UH .nders :’s eyes llig to start to get "I’m 6 erback ad two ly had 1 ‘LBJ’ anders out by n the ■s, the [ with fense. >dney auted [ained fense lie of- >98. couple md so 11-pre- "They t, and sm on e Ag- ?d to ng of ;hree n the g at- :nt of e. I suc- fense roach al at- itthe ier to L. rows it we :ht, “ ught me®, and s. A some II he ERIN HILL I looked in the mirror and thought that it was a bit too short. A bit on the short side. Definitely a miniskirt. Erin Hill is a senior English major UNEMPLOYMENT offrce O h sure, they happen to everyone. I am not the only one who has I experienced embarrassing moments. Just the other | night a roommate and I j entertained ourselves remembering all of the embarrassing things that had happened to our friends over the years. “Once this guy fell asleep in class and woke up drooling on the desk.” “Oh, ha ha, my teacher lectured with an open fly.” “Hee hee, someone walked out of the bathroom with toilet paper stuck to his shoe.” (The banter continues.) “Oh get this — I know a guy who tripped while accepting his diploma, and took the superintendent down with him.” “No,” I interrupt. “I can top them all. Once my best friend tucked her skirt into her tights on accident and walked through the cafeteria during the lunch hour, and everyone could see her backside. Some of our friends actually stopped her in the hall and told her she might want to check her skirt.” I am chuckling hard now. “‘Check her skirt’ — cam you believe that? She probably wanted to do more than check her skirt. She probably wanted to duck into the nearest locker for a couple of days. I mean,someone besides her mother got to see her behind. Oh, the insult of it all.” I laughed and laughed and laughed at my poor friend’s plight. Here it is, five years after the event and I am still telling the story. It was the epitome of embarrassment. Until last week that is. Oh, I knew my dress was too short. I had a premonition about it even before I wore it. I remarked to several friends that I ought to buy some leggings to wear under my new purchase. But did I wait? Nooo, I insisted on wearing it with just a T-shirt. Even after I put it on, I knew. I looked in the mirror and thought that it was a bit too short. A bit on the short side. Definitely a miniskirt. I knew it. Yeah, no excuses. A reeaaly short dress is what I had on. But I had no idea of the powerful deja vu I was about to experience. Let’s back up a moment, shall we? I exited the Reed McDonald Building at approximately noon and stopped at the Bus Stop Snack Bar on the comer of Ireland and Ross to chat with my friend. I remarked to him that my dress was too short. He said he hadn’t noticed. I stepped onto the mall in front of the Chemistry building and headed toward the MSC. I passed I' the Harrington Building and the Academic Building and had almost cleared Nagle when my world went into slow motion. I saw her out of the comer of my eye. What does she want, I wondered? Why is that girl chasing me down the sidewalk? She is mouthing something at me. Oops, I took my Walkman out of my ears. “What did you say?”I asked her. “You might want to check your skirt.” Might want to check my skirt? I exited slow motion into an accelerated mode. My hands reached back to touch the hem of my dress and instead felt only part of the T-shirt I was wearing under my jumper. Where cloth should have been, there was nothing. My backpack was off in a matter of seconds and I located the back of the dress. It was tucked under my heavy backpack and had been inching its way toward my neck since I stepped across Ross Street. “I feel like such a loser, but thanks. Yeah, thanks a million!” I said to her. “Sure, no problem,” she remarked and ran in the opposite direction. She wasn’t even going my way. She had spotted me from across campus and decided she must halt my absurd trek toward my class. I have got to stop that girl — she is making a total fool of herself, she thought. Stop me she did, thankfully before I entered the MSC, where lunchtime crowds make the New York Stock Exchange’s throng of people seem like a couple of guys shopping for a pig at a farm auction. Too bad she didn’t reach me before those gawkers did. I wondered why three normal looking guys were staring at me and laughing. At the time, I figured they thought my dress was too short. Now I realize that they were wondering if I was even wearing a dress. Or wearing anything at all. My friend will surely find poetic justice in this. Something along the lines of “She who laughs hardest will someday expose herself to people too.” We trip and learn. v v.-.. ' people who have never been to a football game, or played 42 at the Dixie Chicken. Mail c ATT Racist music taints spirit of Bonfire, student unity As I waiting for a parking spot in the Zachry lot on Oct. 5, I was disturbed by the loud music coming from the Bonfire site. To my displeasure, the three songs I heard were about “niggers.” These songs had lyrics like “move them niggers North,” “we don’t like niggers,” and a new defini tion of “NAACP’ reverberated off of homes, busi nesses, etc. and pierced the very soul of my be ing. The songs ended as I approached the field and saw a guy working on Bonfire. I inquired where I could find a redpot or the person in charge of the music. There was a large guy in the crowd forming a half circle in front of me who leaned past me to ask his coworker what my “problem” was. I told him I wanted to know the meaning of the songs about “niggers” played a few minutes earlier. He acted like he didn’t know what I was talking about, but he led me to a redpot who said he was sorry and pulled the tape out himself. I also wondered if this incident is part of the spirit of Aggieland. If not, where is it represent ed? Is it the redpot who tried to right a wrong he did not create, or the guy from the crowd who didn’t know what I was talking about? Or is it the crowd that was forming around me ready to react to my actions rather than respond to my question? Surely something should be done about this blatant display of racism, but what? The Corps, itself teaches that discipline is the tool that makes punishment unnecessary, but when pun ishment is necessary, what form is appropri- ate?What can we do to heal this object that is no longer a beauty mark, but a festering sore on the face of Aggieland? Steven S. Sims Class of ’92 Threats, vulgarity ruin the meaning of tradition Every single week at football games and yell practices, phrases like “Show some f— respect, this is a f— war memorial!” echo through Kyle Field. If the people who say these words be lieve that Kyle Field is a memorial, why would they dishonor it by screaming obscenities? Would these people do the same at a funeral? A&M has many fine traditions, but when they are followed only under threat of physical harm, one has to wonder about the value of those traditions. Use “uncover” to remind fellow Ags that a yell is in progress. Use it again to remind fellow Ags of the hat he forgot he was wearing. Let it end there. Please don’t make this fine tra dition appear to be a marshall law by harassing those who choose to wear head gear. Remember also that this tradition is an Aggie tradition. Instead of harassing visitors to our University, impress them with a massive show of hospitality and spirit. Finally, while I’m on my soap box, I would like to ask why the horrible death of Texas Tech’s mascot is cause for jokes by our yell lead ers. The yell leaders’ jokes and the crowds’ corre sponding whoops were crude and in poor taste. Martin Leifker Class of ’95 The Battalion encour ages letters to the editor and will prim as many as space Letters must be 300 words or less and include the author's name, class. We reserve the right to edit letters for length, style, and accuracy. Address letters to: The Battalion - Mail Call 013 Reed McDonald Texas A&M University College Station, TX 77843-11T1 Fax: 409/845-2647 8att@tamvml .tamu.edu And you don’t need a car here — buses are cheap, efficient and clean. You wakeup with a postcard for a window. And despite having about four times as many people as Texas crammed into half the space, they have still found a way to preserve vast forests. But to do that, everyone is squeezed into compact and oppressively overpopulated cities. And those buses? You , ’ u - need them because there just isn’t room for everyone to have a car. And what about all those social services they enjoy that Bill Clinton likes to point to? They also enjoy a tax rate that would make Vlad the Impaler look like a compassionate guy. But some things are just the same. When you sneeze, they all say “Gesundheit” — just like back home. Gummi * Bears are just the same. And of course, everyone here wants to be rich and buy a Mercedes-Benz or a nice BMW. ^ Oh well, as I sit here listening to a tape of the Oklahoma game, straining to hear the Aggie Band over - - Dave South, wondering why in hell Bucky Richardson was- starting for the Oilers, I can’t help but be a little homesick.”., . There are stories to write at the Batt, classes to sleep through and a bonfire to build. And all I have as a lifeline - to that world I know are these static-filled tapes and a . . $2.20 newspaper. : „r-7 Perhaps once I get to meet the other college students ; here, I will find those things that are the same across •• cultures. Because whatever language you speak and customs you have, students are still students and people are still people. Perhaps I’ll meet a nice German girl ... If I’m really lucky, I might even find one who shaves her armpits. f-j.. Adios! Auf wiedersehen! Hasta la Schnitzel! .‘7 C James A. Bemsen is a senior German and joumalisrh major studying at the University of Tubingen II ri I