This week's stories:
In Our Opinion New group has infinite potential Educate. Provide a support structure for students, staff and faculty. Raise awareness of human rights and social justice, homophobia and heterosexism. Thus states the mission of St. Bonaventure University's newest group, the Gay/Straight Alliance, likely to be renamed. The group's goals are more than commendable. They set a precedent, one of openness, higher tolerance and understanding at St. Bonaventure. No matter how good the intentions, however, the group must remain mindful of its mission. With more than 60 members of the university community in attendance at the first meeting on Wednesday night, students, faculty and staff alike should feel optimistic this group will make a strong and much-needed impact on the university. But with more than 60 members come more than 60 passionate opinions, personalities and understandings of what a unifying gay/straight group should be. Group members, don't fall off track. Nitpicking over particular wording in the mission statement or what exactly University President Robert J. Wickenheiser truly said about the group diverts from the organization's goal: to educate and promote understanding, diversity, sharing and a sense of belonging for all students regardless of sexual orientation. Stick to the mission. Decide to seek chartering by the Student Government Association or not. Get the ball rolling on organizing proposed film series, educational endeavors, dialogue groups, speakers and social events. Establish a presence on campus now. A group such as this has the power and drive to move minds and change long-held views. Don't let little details cloud the big picture.
In Our Opinion Cold days kill flowers, students' sanity It's cold out. Not even halfway through November, the Allegany fall gives us its gauntlet of wind and freezing rain to walk through everyday between classes. Less than five weeks ago, students played Frisbee. Residence hall lawns bustled with students taking joy in recreational sports, from lacrosse to baseball. SBU looked like the all-American campus. The lawns are empty now. The previous warm days of fun in the sun could have graced the cover of any promotional literature or course-selection catalogue. Not now. The dark sky looks depressing. The students clad in thermal ski gear look goofy. The red noses and watery eyes look disturbing. Freshman face the wrath of St. Bonaventure's Mother Nature for the first time this season. New students who used to spend their days frolicking to and fro across campus only frolic back and forth in their 10 feet by 10 feet Shay/Loughlen residence-hall rooms now. Freshmen realize they can't escape the new, unfamiliar roommate. The roommates fight. In addition to the melancholy, the absence of the sun rains down upon students, resident assistants say this time of year brings more disagreements between roommates and physical fights. Health Services says the most important part of balancing the hectic student world involves healthy eating habits and exercise. Who wants to walk to the Hickey Dining Hall for a salad when ordering a pizza is so warm and easy? Who wants to go for a run when the soft bed offers refuge from the fierce cold? East-side students without cars now find the pretty walk along Clare Road to class a little less charming. Professors might find a few more empty chairs where Francis Hall residents usually sit on snowy, freezing days. Even the squirrels who run out in front of speeding cars aren't crazy enough to graze Clare Road anymore. The weather kills more than just flowers this time of year. It kills ambition, drive, mood, attitude and sanity. Our friend, Mr. Cold, has come to the party a little early this year, and won't be leaving anytime soon. In the meantime, laugh at his jokes, smile and nod, and don't forget to wear layers. You can always take them off when Plassmann Hall gets too hot.
By Kevin Okun
Carl McCall has nobody to blame for losing the gubernatorial election except those who didn't vote for him. On Sunday, Independence party candidate Thomas Golisano decided against Democrats' advice to drop out of the race and endorse McCall. This could have given McCall a jump in the percentage of votes against incumbent George Pataki, whom McCall and Golisano mutually oppose. Instead, Golisano said he'd stay in the race during his commercial which aired at 6:28 p.m. on Sunday. "Opportunity is knocking," he said in a two-minute television ad that that cost nearly $1 million to air statewide. "A vote for me won't be wasted." Pataki won the election with 50 percent of the votes and will remain governor until at least 2006. This disappointed the Democrats, even though it's impossible to know if enough Golisano votes would have swung to McCall to win him the election. In Monday's Buffalo News, Allen Cappelli, McCall's campaign manager, called Golisano's decision a "cynical and shameless publicity stunt that was insulting to voters and the media." He accused Golisano of being on "a self-indulgent É ego trip." Instead, Cappelli and others in McCall's campaign should be angry with themselves for failing to capture the votes of 71 percent of the voters who didn't vote for him and the thousands of New Yorkers who didn't bother to vote Tuesday. The weakness of all three of these politicians lies in their inability to articulate their ideas. How many of people can tell a roommate Pataki's stance on education? Or McCall's views on revitalizing the economy in Western New York? Or Golisano's opinion on the death penalty? By the way, five other candidates ran for governor Tuesday, including Andrew Cuomo, McCall's opponent before he dropped off the Democratic party line a few days before the primary. The others were Gerald J. Cronin, on the Right to Life party ticket; Stanley Aronowitz on the Green party ticket; Thomas Leighton on the Marijuana Reform party ticket; and Scott Jeffery on the Libertarian party ticket. The seven who won't call themselves New York's governor have only voters to blame. That's the beauty of democracy. What the people choose, or choose not to do, reflects how the government will function.
College is a privilege, not a given right To the Editor: You know, after I read your self-effacing letter complaining about even having to walk across a small campus instead off beiong able to drive "your car" I had to laugh! When I went to college, the campus I had to walk through was about four miles from the furthest class I took to another! Also it is your car? Is the registration and insturance in your name? Did you buy it? Most likely your parents bought this car for you. I doubt you had to work for it! You thought like everything in your life you are "entiteld to it." No mind that your parents had to probably really apply themselves, save money, work, invest and most likely pay for your college education, which to me does not seem appreciated in the least bit by you. And it wasn't bad that you had to clean up a mess in your living quarters due to someone who would not fess up to their crime? After all you or your buddies don't want to take responsibility for anythign you do, as students should "come first" I am enclosing a page a page from the Olean Times Herald of October 29, 2002 with the letter entitled "Our liberal society contributes to kids' disdain for authority", by Gail Smith. You should read it. Or are you so spoiled you need someone to read it to you? By the way, maybe for Christmas you can thank your paretns for sacrificing so much to send you to a great college which you feel is your given right! Forget that all of the years back home they put food on the table, gave you shelter, guidance, and yes, gave you life!
Sincerely,
George Wilberg,
By Torre Catalano There are no rebels. Forget rebels without a cause, rebels are without an arena these days. It's getting worse. We're hitting that downward slope again and slipping pretty fast. It happened after the planets unaligned and The Beatles broke up in 1972. We started slipping and ran right into Disco — only to emerge in the land of hair bands. It didn't just happen in music. The light of literature has been dwindling and seemingly burned out at the start of our new millennium. A couple great minds in the different marketplaces of ideas have managed to jolt us with their heart-paddles of inspiration, but really, they're no match for where we are headed — flat line. It's apparent more than ever lately. There doesn't seem much hope that any great authors, playwrights, musicians or even politicians will emerge to save the day. What a lack of inspiration. No one in the spotlight has the rebel quality to break the norm of garbage being spit at the masses these days and present something new. Someone once told me that they'd love to get up and throw a bucket of cold water on the world. We need someone like that singing our songs and writing our stories. Yes, people might have to start reading again. It's a scary notion but it will save us. Not much grabs the attention of the public anymore unless it comes in the form of a flickering, bright box. The television set was once capable of delivering something with bite, something on the edge and with inspiration. Even comedy was inspiring — even reality TV. Comedy is "Friends" now. "Friends" used to be funny when they were friends. Now they're middle-aged, married whiners with bastard children and dead-end jobs. What fun is that? The original "The Real World" was real. After that things fell apart. Dating four girls at once then picking one at the end of the night to date exclusively doesn't happen in reality. "The Fifth Wheel" tries to tell us it is and embarrasses this country in the process. The people on those shows aren't worth approaching on the sidewalk, let alone devoting a half an hour of attention to. The reality is that too many people need these shows to interact and actually find a companion. Listen to a Frank Sinatra song, listen to a Temptations song, listen to a Who song, listen to a Louie Armstrong song and discover real love. "Jackass" is the closest thing to a show that pushes the envelope. What geniuses. Just like everyone wishes they came up with the idea of Barney or Beanie Babies, I wish I came up with the idea of hitting myself in the head with things and filming it. Granted, it may not be artistic, and the only thing it may inspire is a concussion, but it's new, it's different and it's trying to shake up this brain-dead world. They're rebels, in a sense. True rebels give us the art this society desperately needs. They used to exist. Sure, we may look back on them now and say they were geniuses and revolutionaries, but we knew then too. You think we didn't know John Lennon was ahead of his time when he sat in bed for a week? You think we didn't know we lived through history when we watched Elvis actually move his hips? Some may have been crude, some may have drank themselves to death, but they fed us. They nourished us with their art and inspiration. No instrument today exudes the same passion as Miles Davis' trumpet did. He put it into our ears and minds like a mother bird with inspiration worms. Rock and Roll was a rebel. He is sick now. Literature was a rebel. She rooms with Rock and Roll at the inspiration intensive-care unit. We need a better doctor, because TV, ÔNSYNC and the cookie-cutter script are quacks. They're playing Dr. Kevorkian. It's up to us to save art. Wherever I call home, bookends always hold the same four books neatly on my desk: The Holy Bible, Shakespeare's "Hamlet," Salinger's "Catcher in the Rye" and Fitzgerald's "The Great Gatsby." They sit there alive and well, waiting for their comebacks.
Lunch tables give small models for life
By Nikhil Murali Kevin Arnold from "The Wonder Years" once described his school cafeteria as a "microcosm" of the world. He came to the conclusion that one was essentially defined by the person sitting next to him. During most of my first semester here at St. Bonaventure, I sat alone, usually occupying the table next to the ice-cream bar. When one sits alone, the surroundings become interesting. I noticed patterns emerging in the Hickey. The green-haired girl sat alone in the corner of the smoking section. The basketball players took control of the long table. Each table seemed to have a group leader who would initiate most of the conversation, almost as if the cafeteria had divided itself into countries. Sometimes, people asked me if I would join their table. Depending on my mood, or my longing for company, I either politely refused or graciously accepted. But joining the table for a day was one thing, being part of the group was another. I would have to prove myself over a long period to be given permanent membership to the table. Somewhat like a league of nations, I thought. Now that I'm in my second year, things have changed. I have a group I "belong" to now, and I proudly show off my group to the Hickey. On my best days, I even take charge as group leader. On two occasions, people invited themselves to my table, something I can boast about for the rest of my life. I spoke to my friend Adam, a fellow Hickey table member, about this identity crisis that most of us seem to go through. He blamed it all on American society and its way of treating those who do not belong to social groups as outcasts. But if that's true, what about the rugged individuality that America is supposedly all about? Why this need for social status when one could express his or her individuality by not belonging? The obvious answer could be that people in groups actually are friends and genuinely enjoy each others' company. On the other hand, the answer could be that people are just afraid to be seen alone. Scared to be without someone to cling to, and scared to face the prospect of being considered an insufferable loser incapable of making friends. It's a pity the table behind the ice-cream bar has been moved. It had a good view.
Quality theater obstructed by head, cost
By Kelly Zientek
Sold out. Standing just inside Garret Theatre, a mere 100 feet from the stage an hour before the show, I realized that I may not get to see the show. My eyebrows rose through the roof, my heart plummeted towards China as I heard those fatal words from the lady inside the ticket office. The waiting list. A spark of hope shrieked through my darkening world of depressing thought. Eight parties ahead of us, but maybe, just maybe, "The Glass Menagerie" will be mine for the viewing tonight. Ten minutes before showtime, I heard those blessed words, "Okay, start letting them in." A multitude of divinely inspired season tickets holders found some other way to enjoy their Saturday nights. I grew giddy with joy as the ticket lady crossed off each name on the waiting list until finally my party was called. We're in! I had plummeted to the depth of despair hours earlier only to be elated now. I found my way to some friends who had somehow managed to sail ahead of me and secure some seats--not as close as I would've liked to have been, but I took what I could get. Garret Theatre has done some impressive advertising this year, and much more of it. Speckled over campus, highly visible all week long, one could find "The Glass Menagerie" posters: catchy, with a touch of class, "Life on stage at SBU." Life on stage. How witty. Who wouldn't want to go see that? I knew I couldn't wait. Sitting there waiting for the lights to dim, I read and reread my program, checking my watch every few seconds. And then, it happened. The head. Out of nowhere, the head came and sat itself down in front of me. Suddenly, the clear pathway between me and center stage was horribly obstructed. The small, narrow size of Garret makes it an intimate theater, which makes the action on stage intensely more realistic for the audience. But the set-up has a few set-backs. The levels are set so that there are two rows of chairs per level. So, the unusually tall man sitting in the level behind you can see over the unusually floofy mess of hair seated in the level below you, and you (theoretically) can watch the play, uninterrupted by both. That is the purpose behind the levels, and for the most part, I'm sure it works. I'm only partially sure because I sat in the second row of a particular level. The head sat directly in front of me, in the first row. There was nothing particularly outrageous about this head, except that it completely obstructed my view of center stage. I got to see "The Glass Menagerie," except for whatever happened directly in front of the head. Like a total eclipse, I knew there was some sort of drama on the other side of the head. I don't know what it was. Director Ed. Simone described the $6 ticket price, increased one dollar from last year, as a "long overdue increase that reflects a rise in production costs, scripts, royalties and pretty much everything else associated with putting on quality theater." "The Glass Menagerie" was quality theater. Simone did a fantastic job directing it and the actors played their roles splendidly, mesmerizing me for the entire show. But higher quality theater will be wasted if the audience can't see the drama on stage. Some of that cost needs to go into making more levels, and making them higher to avoid those pesky blind spots. Still, $6 for a student ticket is just a little too pricey for a student production. Basketball games are free, for Pete's sake. Though I didn't like the price, "The Glass Menagerie" impressed me enough to want to come back for the next show, despite the price. But really, if tickets are going to cost $6 per show, I want to be able to see all $6 of it. Not a dollar's worth from each side of someone's head.
SBU follows students everywhere
By Annette Boglev
I live in two different worlds, or at least it seems that way when I leave the Bona Bubble to go home for a weekend or for a break. Maybe it's just me, but somewhere along the way from St. Bonaventure to the frozen tundra known as Buffalo, I drive through the gates of a new dimension. I leave a realm that holds my newest experiences and enter another that keeps my old ones. This may happen because I was the only one from my graduating class to go to St. Bonaventure, leaving all of my close friends at home or strewn across the U.S. And since few of my new St. Bonaventure friends live near my home, the St. Bonaventure world hasn't had the opportunity to creep its way into the Buffalo one. I can't complain. Having two worlds to live in is great. It's like having an extra storage garage to stack memories in. But it's always exciting to have a little fun with the idea. For example, sometimes I try to trick the Buffalo world into thinking it's actually the St. Bonaventure one. One of my favorite things to do when I'm at home is to shower with flip-flops on. That really shakes things up and gives me extra grip on the bathtub floor at the same time. Sometimes I'll invite a complete stranger to live with me in my room just because I feel like I have too much space. Also, I like to set my alarm for 4 a.m. on occasion and then go around to everyone's room making a loud, obnoxious noise and having them evacuate the house as quickly as possible for a fire drill. The family just loves that. Oh, yeah, and I remember one time I invited a whole bunch of my neighbors to come over and brush their teeth in my bathroom because it's always fun to have company with whom you can share good, old-fashion hygiene tips. A lot of them came back in the morning for a mass-produced breakfast, and it was just like dining with friends at the Hickey Dining Hall (although I couldn't quite match the recipes). Sometimes, just for kicks, I like to call all of my friends from home by the names of my friends at St. Bonaventure. They look really confused at first, but I know that deep down, they think it's funny. And last but not least, I'll go to random restaurants in Buffalo and run up large tabs. When the check comes, I hand over my BonaExpress card. I'm usually given a weird look to which I reply, "What? You don't accept Bona Bucks?" You can see why it's so exciting to have two worlds to live in. It's like having two sets of everything, whether they be friends or places to call home. I'm equally satisfied with both worlds. They definitely keep my life interesting. Or should I say lives?
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