A Storm Named Tiffany This is going to be sick; brace your self. I root for natural disasters. In partic ular, I'm a fan of bad weather. Hie worse the better. I like nothing mote than watching a hurricane track across the Atlantic from Africa until it demonstrates that Florida is in fact water-soluble. Most nights, I’m glued to the set enjoying the mudslides and the floods, the tornadoes and the tsunamis: the pain, degradation, homelessness, and death visited upon us by our abusive mother, nature. Td like to see our region scraped so clean by the next noreaster that we are forced to abandon North America and move en masse to central Asia Before you condemn me as a nasty sociopathic monster who gets his jollies by immersing himself in the stomach churning spectacle of other people's pain, let me, as the politicians say, be clear. I am a nasty sociopathic monster who gets his jollies by immersing him self in the stomach-churning spectacle of other people's pain. And pardon me while I observe that you too are a nasty sociopathic etc. Or at least, lam not the only one who is tuned Co the Weather Channel watching some engoiged, raging river devour Sacramento or whatever. Most of us, in the sweet little secret heart of us, are paying for an earth From Our Readers This week’s issue (Sept 22) contains two profile - one of a long-time staff assistant one of a new faculty member - - which make veiy different impressions. The writer of the profile on Professor Jessica Daman describes her repeatedly as a “leprechaun or elf,” “a sprite,” with “burnished copper-brown hair.” Can this be serious journalism? Presumably these references are well meant Nonetheless, they focus on per sonal appearance rather than on sub stance. They unintentionally demean Professor Dorman. In 1999 is it really too much to ask a journalist to write about a woman’s accomplishments, interests, and opinions, rather than her physical qualities? Journalistic writing 101: don’t write about women in a style that wouldn’t be used about men. Please. New faculty members have quite enough to 4), withh out worrying about being trivialized in public. The writer of the other profile, on Gloria Lebo, seems to have learned this lesson well. She focuses attention on her By Crispin Sartwell Capital Times Advisor quake to destroy Lima, as long as there is good videotape. But the hip thing about natural disas ters is that they cut us puffed up, paltry people down to size. Even with our amazing technology, even with our obsessive control over every part of the environment, even with our climate-controlled vehicles and mega-malls, we can still get our pathet ic little butts smacked by the wold. What I want to see tonight on CNN is, like, the Mall of America slowly cob lapsing under the weight of seventy seven fed of snow that fell in a single hour, pureeing hapless consumers into a kind of human soup. That would show that even while we're shopping at Bloomies we're still mammals running around on the sur face of a planet. . Essentially, we’re overgrown, ego maniacal squirrels. We're smarter than squirrels, maybe, but not as much smarter as we think we are. We are vulnerable to reality; we exist at the world's whim; we are not in chaige, thank God. Get used to if So next time you're watching luxury homes lapse into file Pacific or a storm named Tiffany beating the fecal matter out of Cape Hatteras, get real and admit that you're actually rooting for the weather. It's a lesson in humility. And it's dam good television. subject’s work, attitude, and interests without feeling compelled to tell us Lebo’s height, age, and hair color or characterize her in puiple prose. Let’s have more of the second approach, and none at all of the first Louise E. Hoffman Associate Professor of Humanities and History Sept 24,1999 Just a quick note to say how great the first edition of the newspaper lodes. As Chief of Police, I especially liked the "Campus Police News" section. Please let me know if there's is any thing I can do to enhance the Cap Times success this year. Keep up the good woric! Most sincerely, Kevin J. Stoehr Director, Safety and Police Services Sept. 20,1999 By Ann-Marie Newman Capital Times Staff Writer She had coal black, natural curly Hair that bounced every time she took a step one inch too excitedly. Her eyes were deep pacific ocean blue with long full tendrils attached to the eye lids that blew a gust of wind whenev er she blinked. The figure picture perfect with a well exercised rump and great genes inherited from her ancestors. Physically, flawless by nature she was, from my viewpoint. Every high school had one. She was the one who never went without a date to occupy her Saturday nights, nor did she ever have to worry about saying “no” to these Saturday dates, for working is not in her vocabulary. She was named homecoming queen and prom queen and picked “most attractive” for the senior year book and had her own desired lunch table clique and chewed gum con stantly in fear of spouting off bad breath vibes. She was named cheerleading cap tain and always wore the nice Express clothes and never had hair number 287 out of place. Teachers adored her and so.did the boys. Girls envied and hated Her even her closest friends. Every high school had one. She was the one that made the average girl feel ugly and inferior and made us get up an extra hour early out of bed hoping that the extra 60 minutes of pamper ing would magically make the aver age beautiful. • She was the one that every girl would try to befriend in hopes that some of her popular beauty would rub off. She was photographed on almost every page of the yearbook, never blinking or caught with droopy eyes. She either ate salad or a cracker or a piece of plain lettuce at lunch at lunch just to exemplify and advertise how disciplined she really was. The worst high school had the beauty queen who could eat cupcakes for lunch everyday and never gain a pound or an ounce. I was glad to graduate from high school thinking that the pressure from the every day “fitting” in was over. I thought I was entering the mature world now and people would appreci ate me for my personality. That whole summer I felt good about myself, getting ready to enter college and start a new social and peer life, never worrying or stressing about what beautiful girl is going to make me feel ugly because after you gradu ate such superficiality doesn’t exist I was wrong. Every college has a group, a clique, a pack of pretty per fect young adults that parade around in one huge herd that blow anyone Everybody Has One over when they walk. I was crashed. My world was crashed. I was tired of feeling unpretty and I was tired of everyone being so pretty. I went through shit jobs, and possi ble career jobs that turned out to be more shit jobs. I indulged in spending most of my time alone in my room creating my next masterpiece poem — so I thought. Then I escalated into clubs and bars • hoping fo find anything that would make me feel special and pretty and special and unique. I wore the cool club clothes and did all the cool dance moves. I would drink beer while I smoked my cigarettes and I would put on my unapproachable face and be tough because only wusses drank coolers and fruity mixed drinks and flirted at clubs. That didn’t seem to work. I would report any high grade I earned in college to my father just to hear that “Good job” only later to real ize that getting an A wasn’t so unique or special. It’s just the same ambition that many students make for them selves —or for their parents. I resorted to flipping through my yearbook and pointing out all the petty immature girls who backstabbed me, picked on me or belittled me and rea soned to myself that Betty Lou is fat now because the girls who had the rumps and boobs always grew to be larger than life—maybe not in college but they’ll be big after their first child. I went to the gym and still go to the gym and see all the others who are hoping to shed some inch of unpretli ness off their bodies. I remember pon dering about the girl in front of me on Policies of The Capital Times The Capital Times is published by the students of Penn State Harrisburg. Viewpoints are solely those of the authors and are not representative of the college administration, faculty or student body. Concerns regarding the content of any issue should be directed to the editors. Advertisers are not sanctioned by The Capital Times. The Capital Times welcomes signed letters from readers. No unsigned submis sion will be reprinted. However, a writer's name may be withheld upon request and by approval of the editors. You may reach The Capital Times at Penn State Harrisburg Campus, W 341 Olmsted Building, 777 W. Harrisburg Pike, Middletown, Pa., 17057. Phone us at: (717) 948-6440, or email: captimes@psu.edu. All materials - articles, photographs and artwork - are property of The Capital Times. No parts of this paper may be reproduced without the expressed written per- mission of the editors. Advisor: Crispin Sartwell • Editor: Matthew McKeown Business Manager: Serena Silverman • Sports: Barry J. Hicks Design& Layout: Alice Potteiger Wilkes, Matthew McKeown Tabitha Goodling • Jesse Gutierrez • Deb Hoff • Bryan Kapschull Jill Karwoski • Ken Lopez • Paula Marinak • Daniel McClure Brad Moist • Cathie McCormick Musser • Ann-Marie Newman Kristy Pipher • Barb Roy • Tina Sickler • Amanda Weaver COMMENTARY Writers & Contributors: Nicole Burkholder • Brad Clements • Judson C. Davis the tread mill and couldn’t understand why she came here everyday with a perfect body like hers. Then another woman at the gym made the same comment about the girl to me. I was' beginning to understand. Now I’m a little bit older. I’ve expe rienced a little more freedom and dove into life’s little hell called “deci sion making”. I’ve met more people and made friends and lost friends and dated guys and dumped boys. I met a girl named Rachel my first year of college who without even knowing it, showed me what it meant to have fun. I know that every high school has one, every college has one, every gym has one and every bar has one. That “one” that made me feel ugly and unpretty and unleashed all the nega tive vibes within my veins most likely was not the “one” to many other girls. In fact, who knows if the pretty popu lar prom queen in high school didn’t envy me: bold and daring with my loud and sometimes obnoxious per sonality. Maybe the artistic guru in art class made her envious or the brainiac who sat next to her in math class annoyed the shit out of her because she always got the answer right. What I understand now is that every person on this planet has one. Some are different and every now and then we bump into people who share die same common “one” and it becomes a link. Maybe this commonality will bring them together to help each other or love each other or despise each other. All I know is that everyone has one . Everyone has an insecurity.
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