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About The Battalion. (College Station, Tex.) 1893-current | View Entire Issue (Oct. 3, 1996)
Pag rsday • October 3, icrosse Club: from 4-6 p,m, at : ields. Everyone is od no experience,s all Todd Hendreksat information. Opin Jampus Ministry:IS bible study at 5:3111 &M Presbyterian CSj re Dixie Chicken, for Frank Yates at 84512 va: There will bear om 6 p.m.-2 a.m.iiil joms. Membership si I. For information 845-1515. Saturday &M Hillel Foundalii Torah will be helll! , at the Hillel Fbondal ■ge Bush Drive. For ^ )n, call 696-7313. fhe never-ending wait he Internet fails to be all it can be mce Organizers: a Dance with live p.m. at the Met Marcus Goodyear » Senior English major street. All dance d no experience or p .Call Ruth at 775561 (7 13) 367-9742. will be t Spence Park (be! or more information. 694-0227. ra: There will beoa om 6 p.m.-2 a.m.inl! er-after. oms. Membership is« . For informationti 845-1515. p is a Battalion seni non-profit student ii ents and activities, ltd submitted no later I $ in advance ol the date. Application den notices are not even ot be run in What's Up iny questions, pleasr oom at 845-3313, Columnist he Internet is going to crash. So what? It’s stupid anyway. Don’t take my word for it. Bob Metcalf, cyber-guru and ator of the Net, made this claim on Na nai Public Radio. The Net has risen beyond its original in tent, he says. Too many people, too many commercials and too much porn will be too much for the system’s structure. So long, Mr. Web. Good riddance. The Net wasn’t al ways an outlet for bit ter cynicism, though. Once upon a time (and a very good time it was), I, too, was se- ^ , iced by the Net. I, too, surfed the web, inex at College fai |enec j an( j c j osec j pointed and clicked, street. All dancesi rebooted, sat dazzled by the egs and wav files. ,too, found naughty pages of which I renot speak. The Net started out as a fairy tale. Manual of Industrial Engioen search would be obsolete. Magazines, oks, papers and experts would be just a :bsite away. But my modem never delivered ly-ever-after. Instead, there was a frustrated ever-after, idan infuriated ever-after, and a bored- death-waiting-for-this-site-to-respond- Like a sick narcotic, the Internet offered just substance to keep a geek pleading for ore. Why go all the way to the campus library idexpend so much physical energy when the irary of the gods is at our PC terminals? At least, in theory, lithe modem de- to work, if the ge Station lone lines aren’t itrloaded, if the W system is ever rtusy, then maybe Jftiight inforination p/appear. 'Even this column, ese very words you reading, induced NER Like a sick narcotic, the Internet offered just enough substance to keep a geek pleading for more. eio surf the Net. the Web would have a self-referring site, st-modernism couldn’t be completely dead. To summon the favor of the cyber-gods, ishumble writer began his seance. I of- edthem incense smoking next to my monitor and the aroma of burning flesh ris ing from a sacrifice of Spam. I was an ancient Greek hero, Odysseus, wan dering aimlessly but for the will of these gods. My search led me to far-off places, lands of Cy clopes and whirlpools and six-armed monsters. There, in all their glory, were the Bible and Shakespeare’s sonnets translated into Klingon. There was the Button That Does Absolutely Nothing and the home page for people named Bob. Still, the wonders came. Gang home pages and millions of whining political extremist sites appeared. There was a British couple’s wedding picture, a photo of my linguistics prof and a couple of flamenco dancers. The gods became offended, de nied my offering and refused to I”, bless me with information. Bob Metcalf’s creation has become a monster. It is monstrously slow and mon strously useless. Microsoft may be battling Netscape for market control, but even Bill Gates admits that “people are overestimating where the Internet will be in two years.” Metcalf knows. He is a modern-day Frankenstein that has seen his simple net work of scientists and scholars degenerate into a commercial mess. Millions of people bounce from site to site everyday, sorting through gigabytes of junk. Luckily, Metcalf predicts the sheer num ber of Internet exploiters will destroy the framework of cyberspace. Servers every where will become as overloaded as the Texas A&M system. One by one, cyber-hubs like UUNET, the world’s largest Internet service provider, will find that phone lines can only process so much information. A cyber jam will cause the Internet traffic to crash. And life will go on. Metcalf and others envision a better world — like the one before cybersmut, be fore movies like The Net, even before War games. Join their vision. Imagine there’s no cy berspace. It’s easy if you try. No Internet be low us. Above us only sky. Mail ibers of the Pla- ates School, Re- iership, physical ■ one at the PlC ward. te on September 2 Corps Recruit ommittee refuses justify its actions Regarding the Sept. 30 editori- “Selling short”: I completely agree with the Ed- irials Board on the issue of the W concessions policy on cam- is. Students are getting shafted the higher powers here. In ars past, on any given day, one uld find the MSG filled with ident organizations and ven ts selling all manner of goods promote their groups. Now that these new rules have en tossed around, one is lucky find two or three lone tables at- ided by organizations trying to ake a profit. And then there’s J “mission and purpose” rule — what if the old T-shirts didn’t ve the groups’ names on them? The profits still went to the he place before everything dtobe monogrammed. No le complained about the shar- 1 of profit between vendors d student groups — not the Udents, anyway. Though no one will own up to the only goal of this whole ess seems to be to hand a mo- ipoly over to the Barnes and t>ble bookstore. Students, get ready to empty Ur pockets. I am annoyed by e committee’s decision; our irit is being soured by all this dtape. Now everyone is forced pay — and not just the ridicu- Us prices in the bookstore. Melissa Johnston Class of ’00 Editor’s Note: The University ^cessions Committee and Dr. ntherland has yet to answer the challenge issued by The Bat talion’s Editorials Board. Smiley does not understand Bonfire Regarding Patrick Smiley’s Oct. 2 column, “Traditions traditional ly perpetuate stupidity”: Although Smiley makes a few good points in his column, the section on Bonfire is a little misguided. The tradition of Bonfire, and the yell, “Beat the hell out of t.u.,” is not an attempt to satisfy our self-righteousness, but to unite the school in spirit. I do not hate the University of Texas, nor any of the people at tending it. In fact, I have a great respect for the school as a place of higher learning. But, the idea of Bonfire is not necessarily about school rivalries, but about bringing all Aggies to gether in a way that not many other schools have. My high school had a similar tradition to A&M for our home coming game. We would have a bonfire and burn the other team’s mascot in effigy. It was not that we had any par ticular hatred for that team, but that it would bring our school to gether, students and alumni alike, and raise our spirits to beat the other school. I believe A&M’s Bonfire is about much more than a phallic symbol, as Smiley suggests. Our Bonfire is a long and proud tradition. I hope that to gether, we can keep it that way. And together we will fulfill all that Bonfire is about. Justin Harrell Class of’00 A&M’s traditions provide a choice When I enrolled at Texas A&M University, I became an Aggie. I didn’t, however, become a mem ber of a “herd.” I, like all good Ag gies, follow traditions because I want to, not because I have been brainwashed or have succumbed to peer pressure, and certainly not because of “dullwittedness.” For example, we have Bon fire. Smiley says that we build Bonfire out of an inferiority complex and that it is almost a “phallic symbol.” When my yellowpot and crew chiefs woke us up for cut at 5:30 a.m., it wasn’t because we felt inferior, nor was it because any of us saw Bonfire as an exten sion of our phallus, as Smiley would have it. It was because we’re motivated Aggies who want to do more for Texas A&M than just watch Bon fire burn, which Smiley will al most certainly do. If people don’t want to help “build the hell,” that’s their busi ness and their choice, but don’t put down those who do. As for me, when Smiley is sleeping late on Sunday morning, I’m going to be awake, motivated and ready to build the hell outta fightin’ Texas Aggie Bonfire. Carry Clinton Class of’00 Pedestrians should show understanding Regarding Erin Fitzgerald’s Sept. 30 column, “Bad bicyclists should hit the roads”: What Fitzgerald apparently overlooks in her column is the side of the bicyclist. Bicycles are non-polluting, quiet, and economical modes of travel. They increase the health of the rider through aerobic, low- impact exercise and cut the trans portation time between classes dramatically. They permit students living just off campus to make it to their classes on time, and allow those of us unlucky enough not to be English majors to make it out to our West Campus classes in 20 minutes. Although bike lanes do exist, they are more often than not blocked by large delivery trucks, people parking with their hazards on, or pedestrians walking there to avoid “the crowd.” Pedestrians, or as I like to call them, “street cows,’’are just as much a part of the problem as the bicyclists. Some walkers even get “deer in the headlights” syndrome. They stand transfixed as I ap proach and as I go to pass be hind them, they decide to jump out of my way (except they de cide the best method is to jump toward me). Please Ags, just walk normally when you see a bike approaching. The solution to our problems is a little bit of sympathy and understanding for the poor, abused bicyclist. Coincidentally, in the three years I have attended A&M, I have been in only one collision. Some guy walked blindly into me as I was getting off my bike. Mark Lawson Class of’97 The Battalion encourages letters to the editor. Letters must be 300 words or fewer and include the author’s name, class, and phone number. The opinion editor reserves the right to edit letters for length, style, and accuracy. Letters may be submitted in person at 013 Reed McDonald with a valid student ID. Let ters may also be mailed to: The Battalion - Mail Call 013 Reed McDonald Texas A&M University College Station, TX 77843-1101 Campus Mail: 1111 Fax: (409) 845-2647 E-mail: Batt@tamvml.tamu.edu For more details on letter policy, please call 845-3313 and direct your question to the opinion editor. Page 13 Thursday • October 3, 1996 The Battalion Editorials Board Established in 1893 Editorials appearing in The Battalion reflect the views of the editorials board members. They do not necessarily reflect the opinions of other Bat talion 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. Contact the opinion editor for information on submitting guest columns. Michael Landauer Editor in Chief Amy Collier Executive Editor Gretchen Perrenot Executive Editor Heather Pace Opinion Editor Competing interests University Concessions Committee turns deaf ears to students again. Adding insult to injury, the concessions committee made a token gesture to one student group yesterday while holding strongly to a policy that tramples on students’ ability to raise funds for their organizations. The University Concessions Committee, which earlier this semester limited the types of sales student organizations can sponsor, granted an extra two weeks of exemption time to the Class of ’97 Council. K.C. Allan, Class of ’97 presi dent, asked the committee for additional time to give the Council a fair chance of reaching its goal of $97,000. Class councils have traditionally been granted a blanket exemption to the rules limiting the amount of time an organization can sell mer chandise on campus. But the committee scaled back that exemption. In a fash ion that is almost comical, the committee has aggressively tried to fix something that was never broken. It has tampered with a system that worked to raise money for past class gifts to the University. If the Class of ’97 does not meet its goal, it will serve as the martyr for a battle that never should have been fought in the first place. In a challenge by The Battal ion Editorials Board on this page Monday, those responsible for the policy change were asked to write a letter to Mail Call giving one benefit the changes will have for students. As of press time yesterday evening, no such letter had been submitted. It should worry students when administrators do not an swer public accusations of car ing more about the interests of an outside entity than those of students. However, it should not be surprising. The task asked of the policy makers was impossible because there is no benefit in this action for students. Nothing proves that point more than their silence. Mary Jo Powell, a member of the committee, said in a front! page article today that the com mittee was committed to work ing for students to “give them the best deals they can have.” But what students cannot have is the opportunity to work with outside vendors as mentors in the sales process. The committee is clear on this point: The students do not have the right to compete with the bookstore. Fleeing from fright T he girl at the reg istration desk got a month’s worth of exercise trying to keep from laughing. “You wanna know more about what?” “Aerobics,” I replied sheepishly. “I want some information on aerobics classes.” She shook her head and shrugged an “OK.” Handing me a red brochure, the girl asked for two dollars for a one-class pass. “We’ll see you tomorrow morning,” she chuckled. I would’ve thought it was fun ny too: a 6-foot, 200-pound black man asking for informa tion on an aerobics class. But even we have to exercise. Unfortunately, I’ve never real ly enjoyed exercising. Lifting is no good because I always feel intimidated. After a jog up the street, I crawl through the door wheezing and begging for Primathene. I’m terrible at all sports except football, and one can’t do that everyday. Then I realized my gift for dancing hours on end at dance clubs. My landlady wouldn’t let me turn my apartment into a gay club (they play the best mu sic and fighting is rare), so an aerobics class would have to do. I stepped into the room with as much confidence as one could muster, but everyone could smell my fear. One girl noticed how much I reeked and consoled me. “Don’t worry. It won’t be too bad.” I noticed that I was one of three males and the one black in the class. I was also considerably bigger than everyone else. The instructor couldn’t keep her eyes off me or chisel the smile off her face. She came in the room smil ing, cued the music smiling; I could even feel her staring smile in the next room as she gathered her equipment. She was bubblier than perox ide on a bloody, gaping wound. Everyone around me looked in credibly thin and I began think ing to myself, “This class isn’t for beginners. I know it’s not. Lord help me.” For the first ten minutes, we didn’t use the step at all; we just danced around and stretched. I did everything wrong because I was watch ing the guy in front of me. After stretching to the right, then left, arms in the air, we had to walk right, then left, then center — a sort of square dance for wallflowers. But I went to my left first, and I kept col liding with the girl next to me. I could tell she was getting upset after the fifth time; her pink face quickly turned a com bustible shade of red. All of a sudden, we had to use the step and the instructor flashed an open-mouthed smile my way as if to say, “You are go ing to be so funny. I’m going to enjoy watching you slowly die.” One would’ve thought I never learned how to walk on my own. The directions were a jargon, so I confused “knee step” with “knee repeater,” which meant I was on the step when everyone else was off. I kept forgetting to breathe. I kept running around the step the wrong way. I wanted to take a sledgeham mer to every damn mirror in the classroom. I could feel every stare like I was the Elephant Man. The instructor kept star ing, kept smiling. Halfway into the exercise, we took a break and the instructor mumbled something about heart rate. I saw everyone put two fin- . gers to the side of their necks and walk around aimlessly like the Living Dead. I tried to do the ( same, but my fingers kept jump ing off my skin with each mad dening pump. The instructor approached me and suggested water, howev er, instead of heading for the fountain, I made a break for it. I ran down the stairs, past the desks, through the gate, hit my ankle on the sliding door, and hobbled through the parking lot screaming “Why? Why?” I thought about asking my landlady to reconsider, then about bombing the Rec Center, then considered whether or not I needed angioplasty. Then it hit me: I climb dozens of stairs every day of my life. My Stair Master class starts Monday morning. Columnist H.L Baxter Senior geography major