October 3, 2005 - Dolphin Student Group Web Accounts

The Undergraduate Magazine
Vol. VI, No. 4 | October 3, 2005
On Top of Spaghetti!
Shira deifies spaghetti, lambasts intelligent design and thoroughly entertains.
Page 3
Handbags 101
Pauline tells us what is worth holding
onto and what you should just drop.
Page 5
Rake Those Ladies
Adreyo contemplates the men who manage to get every British lady character.
Page 6
LOST IN THE CENTER
Is Flipper Our Next Soldier?
Isaac investigates Katrina’s role in the
escape of armed dolphins.
Page 8
KRYSTAL GODINES
OP-ED OUTRAGE GAYER THAN THOU
The Cost of the Times
L A U R E N S A U L | W E E K LY S A U L U T A T I O N S
THOSE OF YOU
who like to receive weekly reminders that the
world is flat, the
few who peruse
Paul Krugman’s
polemics, and
the handful who
enjoy Maureen
Dowd’s
wisecracks, were probably disappointed in the past
week, when the New York Times Select finally
reared its ugly, orange-lettered head. If you
happened to share Lauren Saul habits, you
woke up in the morning and stifled a yawn
as you clicked on Friedman’s latest repetition
of a globalization column, only to see this giant Times Select icon jump out at your bleary,
myopic eyes. Then you realized that it was
indeed the end of September, and the Times
had completed its profit-hungry plan. Alas,
reading these overrated columnists will now
cost a whopping $49.95 per year. Charging
people for a formerly free service is never an
action easy to undertake, but the Times takes
its nonsense one step further by placing a little icon in the corner that says, “Times Select.
FREE 14 DAY TRIAL!” Wow. I should go do
a little dance around my room, since I can get
a free 14 day trial of a service that I had until
last week! Get the champagne glasses out,
roommates! Light the aromatherapy candles
and break out the rubber duckies!
Let’s face it. The New York Times is
known for having a little problem with arrogance. After all, it comes from a city with
quite a few residents who believe that people
living anywhere else, “must, in some sense,
be kidding.” Or maybe that’s just Sex and the
City propaganda. Well, it is, but that quotation has definitely become a little too prominent on the facebook/AIM scene. In fact, I
daresay it’s a cliché. The whole Times has
tried to cultivate this Upper Class image. The
wedding announcements are always impeccably diverse, Ivy League, and/or attractive.
Girls, I would start doing community service
in Kenya while reading ancient Greek literature and meditating inside a dirt-lined hut, so
that you’ll be doing at least one of these activities (or at least talking about one or more at a
cocktail party) when you meet your husband.
Preferably, break up a few times and separate
for years, only to realize that you’ll never meet
anyone else who can remember the color of
the particular dirt that you saw during your
spiritual re-re-re awakening while the locals
were playing the drums. All of this, of course,
has to happen in your early to mid 20’s, because working is not necessarily a consideration. Ah, how I digress.
Does anyone ever notice how, every once
in awhile, the Times writes a poignant piece,
decrying the new social fabric developing
across the country? Pesky possessions, like
Continued on PAGE 6
BY BING LI
RECENTLY, TWO HIGH SCHOOL buddies
and I decided to jump on the blogging bandwagon. Ian, who attends Berkeley, is a fine
arts major who plays the guitar and the bass.
Roy, at UC San Diego, is a fine arts major who
likes D&G and erudite vocabularies. I, Bing,
am a creative writing student who likes his
beer hot and his women extra cold. A rag-tag
trinity out to convince our fellow Asian males
to major in the humanities. To persuade
people Muse cannot compare to Radiohead.
Or to rid the world of imprecise diction. We
fully admit our attempts at blogging are so
vainglorious, and that it’s a pretentious-ness
competition cubed. But in the midst of all this
online posturing, some real conversation has
taken fruit.
One of our favorite topics seems to be
homosexuality. We are all straight men. But
somehow people think we are gay. I respect
the idea of privileged access, and so I will not
paint Roy’s red or Ian’s indigo. I can only mix
the hue of Bing’s prussian blue. And what a
blue moon it ‘tis!
In my mind there are three incidences:
As a freshman living in Butcher, some of
the girls on my basement floor thought I was
gay. I didn’t know what to make of it really. I
had never thought I fit into any of the supposed gay stereotypes. I was far from fashionable. Not particularly artsy. I didn’t flap my
wrists or talk with a lisp. And most importantly I couldn’t recite lyrics from “Oklahoma.” Jesting aside, I was genuinely hurt that
they thought I was “gay.”
Freshman year, 2002-2003, was an incredibly difficult year for me. First, I was at
a great distance from my home in Los Angeles. No laundry runs home, no mother’s home
cooking. And no high school friends to launch
into college with. Secondly, I was unprepared
both academically and socially. But especially
socially. I was your typical spoiled organization kid. I never did a chore around the house.
My mother drove me to and from school. All
I was asked was to study and practice the piano. And that I did. Thus I was unprepared in
basically doing all the practicals of college life.
Laundry, going to the ATM, waking yourself
up etc ... I really floundered in this often intimidating Penn atmosphere and ended up
growing discontent, anti-social, depressed ...
and yes ultimately gay!
Anyways, my depression continued. And
half-way through Fall of 2003, I decided to
take a year off from school. I went back home
to sweet Los Angeles and decided to work as
a dishwasher at a senior home. All I wanted
was to clear my mind of all the unpleasantries
of Penn and the college life. Perhaps subconsciously, I thought my ascribed gayness would
disappear 30,000 feet over Denver, Colorado.
But, for shame, no!
During my stint as a working-class hero,
the head chef thought I was gay. At first my
co-workers asked me if I was married. I replied no. Then they asked me if I had a girlfriend. I said I did not. Then one of the waitresses recommended I go to church to meet
all the hot babes. About a week later, during
the mid-afternoon down time, my bossed
cornered me. He asked me weirdly, “Bing, do
Continued on PAGE 5
S EP TEMBER 26, 2005 | FIRST CALL | V OL . VI N O . 3
P AGE 2
FirstCall
Vol. VI, No. 4| October 3, 2005
The Undergraduate Magazine
Editor-in-Chief
Robert Forman
Editors
Andrew Pederson
Lauren Saul
Assistant Editors
Shira Bender
Anna Stetsovskaya
Columnists
Shira Bender
Christine Chen
Robert Forman
Adam Goldstein
Mickey Jou
Andrew Pederson
Lauren Saul
Thuy Tran
Writers
Isaac Katz
Brian Levy
Bing Li
Pauline Park
Timothy Potens
Adreyo Sen
Ashley Steinberg
Liz Thomas
Joanne Yuan
Artists
Shira Bender
Stephanie Craven
Shelby Prindaville
Photographers
Shira Bender
Krystal Godines
Shelby Prindaville
Layout Editor
Krystal Godines
Layout Assistants
Isaac Katz
Amanda Tay
Marketing Manager
Leah Karasik
Editorial
ALL’S WELL THAT ENDS WELL
Last week, one of First Call’s artists drew a cartoon about the Button, and our editorial
contemplated future use of the Postal Lands. Any Penn student knows the Button is a conversation
piece heavily overused when people walk out of the library. “Ew, I can’t believe those parents are
letting their kids play on it! Don’t they know how filthy that is?” If we walked down Locust and
it weren’t there, the campus would not quite be the same. Yet, upon placement of the Button, Penn
received quite a few unhappy letters.
As Paul Fahn, an ’84 graduate of the College wrote to The Penn Gazette, “This button does not in
the least fit with its surroundings. It is too large; it is too white; it is too devoid of meaning. Its color
does not match nor its style complement any of the buildings around it, not does it balance the statue
of Benjamin Franklin, which it faces. It does not (I hope) symbolize any of the values for which Penn
stands. In its current location, this folded button symbolizes nothing, except perhaps bad taste; it is
simply an obtrusive eyesore.”
David Sherman, Supervisor of the Mail Service, had this to say: “If a piece causes a person to
ask, as someone asked me on Thursday, Is this supposed to be sculpture? then perhaps we should ask
ourselves whether it is in fact Art. Depressed by what I had seen and not seen, I departed to ponder
the meaning of nonsense, the value of worthlessness, the essence of soullessness.”
It’s hard to imagine that people were so incensed about the Button’s placement on this campus.
The issues in 2005 are quite different, but students are as passionate about them as they were twenty
years ago. Right now the Postal Lands happen to be the object of our dismay. Honestly, all that extra
space is a little bit worrisome, and concerns about diluting the quality of Penn’s campus along with
many others seem completely valid, in the present day. However, when we think about the Postal
Lands, letters to the editor about J.Ro or Amy, or whichever issues become controversial, we should
remember that once upon a time, people were furious about the Button. With the passage of time, it’s
become an integral part of Penn’s identity. Without it, tour guides would not end up bringing groups
of wide-eyed parents with their sixteen year olds in tow to this piece of “art”, only to dissolve into
hopeless giggles.
We may have good reason to worry about the effects of dramatically increasing Penn’s size.
Increasing the size of the student body would be a major mistake, as Penn is already one of the largest
Ivy League schools. However, if it ends up being a mere matter of artful question, the class of ’27
will have their own jokes about what ends up being built on these currently empty lands. It will not
matter if this decision made sense or not, just as the faux-medieval seals of each College House mean
absolutely nothing to us. Yeah, why are those big posters in Commons? No one knows.
By 2027, all of us will be real adults, with real jobs and real lives. When we come back to Penn,
the campus will look completely different to us. Penn is an institution stronger than the students
who walk down Locust, the administrative and faculty leaders, and even the physical plant in West
Philly. No matter how much we disagree with a president’s decision, we should keep this reality in
mind. Each person has the ability to temporarily shape the campus, but ultimately it stands strong
by itself.
Advertising Staff
Ruchi Desai
Webmaster
Rachit Shukla
Contact Information
330 Jon M. Huntsman Hall
3730 Walnut Street
Philadelphia, PA 19104
(215) 898-3200
[email protected]
Web Site
clubs.wharton.upenn.edu/fcpaper
Submissions
Email letters to the editors and
guest submissions to
[email protected].
Students, please include your
school and class.
Editorial Policy
FFirst Call is the undergraduate magazine of The University of Pennsylvania.
First Call is published every Monday.
Our mission is to provide members of
the community an open forum for expressing ideas and opinions. We are
committed to a policy of non-censorship. Articles are provided by regular
columnists and writers and are chosen
for publication based on the quality of
writing. Outside of the weekly editorial,
no article represents the opinion of First
Call, its editorial board, or individual
members. No content in First Call unless
otherwise stated represents the official
position of the administration, faculty,
or student body at large of the Wharton
School or the University of Pennsylvania.
Shelby Prindaville is a sophomore in the College. You can write to her at shelbyp@sas.
P AGE 3
S EP TEMBER 26, 2005 | FIRST CALL | V OL . VI N O . 3
HOLY MOTHER OF SPAGHETTI!
SHIRA BENDER | IN ALL SHIRIOUSNESS
SO, IT TURNS OUT THAT a
Flying Spaghetti Monster actually created the universe. In
fact, he still has an active hand
today in our lives, altering evidence and “scientific” data so
as to hide his true identity from
lay people and non-believers.
No, really, it’s true. You want
proof? I’ll give you proof. How
‘bout the fact that there’s like, a
1 in 50 billion trillion bazillion
jillion chance that DNA formed by chance? Or, better yet, the
fact that evolution is entirely un-provable, cuz, no so-called
“scientist” has ever actually seen a monkey turn into a human
being? I mean, these are cold, hard facts. Clearly, there must
have been some sort of force behind it all that designed the
world to be as it is.
Now, you may ask, how do I know that it was the Flying
Spaghetti Monster? Well, basically, because of all the bogus
“evidence” for evolution. I mean, someone had to plant that
“information,” such as carbon-dating results and the complete
absence of marinara sauce in rock sediments so that men of
science would be misled. Now, who would do such a thing, unless they didn’t want to be discovered? Our creator must have
wanted his true identity to be kept a secret. Ah, but therein lies
the rub. Why would he want to be anonymous, and thereby
not receive any of the credit for His massive and awesome cre-
ations? This must mean that He has something to fear from
humanity. Now, what is one thing all of humanity has in common? That’s right, we all eat — and most of us eat spaghetti.
So, clearly, the only reason why our Creator would have to
BY TIM POTENS
fear the revelation of His true nature would be the fear that
humanity would then gang up on him with forks and tomato
sauce, in an attempt to eat Him. See?? Proof! Oh, and He always dons full pirate attire. We know this because it says so in
all our literature about him. Which he wrote. In sauce.
Not enough for ya? How about the fact that human brains
just so happen to look like a massive ball of spaghetti? If that’s
not creating man in His image, I don’t know what is!
Now, there are a few people here and there who believe
the universe was intelligently designed by God, rather than
the Flying Spaghetti Monster. But really, where’s their proof?
I mean, yea, they’ve got a few more books and believers and
wars fought in His name. But the only good explanation for
all the evidence pointing toward evolution must be that someone planted it. Like I already explained. And God seems to
be pretty big on people hallowing His name, so He would really have no reason to hide the true nature of His creation,
now would He? (Can I just say real quick, I want everyone to
capitalize all pronouns pertaining to my name from now on. I
just think that’d make me feel special. Thank you.) I think this
pretty much conclusively proves that the universe was in fact
created by a monster that had a fear of being eaten, and since
most people eat pasta, it stands to reason that out of all the
monsters currently known to mankind, the Flying Spaghetti
Monster is the most likely candidate.
Bobby Henderson, a true believer in His Noodleness,
wrote to the Kansas City School Board during the recent debates over the teaching of Intelligent Design in science classes.
He explained the need
for science classrooms to
be unbiased, objective,
and thorough in their
teachings about the origins of the universe, and
that if they are to include
the theories of evolution
and intelligent design
then they most certainly
have to include FSM in
the curriculum, since
there is just as much, if
not more proof. A couple
of members of the board
did respond to him, and
said that they would
bring FSM to the table
for discussion.
Last Tuesday, a trial
began in a federal court
in Pennsylvania to decide whether intelligent
design should be taught
in science classes here.
The argument for it is that science should be open to all theories and possibilities, rather than only allowing for evolution.
Supporters of ID say that science teachers should be required
to read the following statement to their students: “Because
Darwin’s theory is a theory, it continues to be tested as new
evidence is discovered. The theory is not a fact. Gaps in the
theory exist for which there is no evidence...Intelligent design
is an explanation of the origin of life that differs from Darwin’s
view.” Their explanation of the origin of life is that someone
(cough)God(cough)butwe’renotgoingtospecifywhothatsomeo
ne(cough)God(cough)is, designed the universe intelligently,
or if not intelligently, at least with some sort of cockamamie
plan in mind. (Woah. Cockamamie is in the MSWord dictionary, but Googling isn’t. Now there’s an issue worth creating
pasta monsters over.) FSM supporters actually wholeheartedly support the ID cause, however we would like to add in
a shout-out to our dude in the classroom too. Also, we hope
to change the teaching of global warming to include the hypothesis that rising temperatures in the Earth’s atmosphere
are directly caused by shrinking numbers of Pirates since the
1800s. It’s true — we have one of those funky line-graphs to
prove it. Oooh, line graphs.
I only recently came across the websites and teachings
of Pastafarianism, and I must say, they’ve got me convinced.
That could just be my stomach talking, but somehow, when
I find myself in times of trouble, I now find myself asking,
WWFSMD?
We also have some major political figures on our side, like
Senator John McCain. He said, “All points of view should be
available to students studying the origins of mankind.” All.
Points of view. Should be available. Origins. Mankind. Flying
Spaghetti. Pirates. Line graphs.
Even Dubya agrees! “I think that part of education is to
expose people to different schools of thought. You’re asking
me whether or not people ought to be exposed to different
ideas, the answer is yes.” See?!? He totally digs the Spaghetti.
Well, there you have it. Conclusive proof of His existence,
and thorough arguments and endorsements from really important people who wear American flag pins a lot for His inclusion in the science classroom, along with God, Darwin, and
anyone else who feels like jumping on the origin bandwagon.
Shira Bender is a sophomore in the College. You can write to her at
shiratb@sas.
LEFTIST LISTENING
THESE DAYS PARTISAN POLITICS has pretty much saturated our entire culture, and now its effects on music are coming
to light. Two weeks ago, during the first telethon to raise money for the victims of Hurricane Katrina, Kanye West felt the
need to state, on national TV, his opinion that “George Bush
doesn’t care about black people.” Now, undoubtedly Kanye’s
entitled to his opinion, but his is just one example in a string
of musicians taking a more active role in politics.
Last summer in the run up to the election, artists such as
Bruce Springsteen and John Fogerty, among many, many others, organized the “Vote for Change” tour to convince voters
that John Kerry was the answer to this nation’s problems. The
Rolling Stones just came out with a new song “Sweet NeoCon” that is definitely not an expression of their admiration
for Dick Cheney. And of course, back in July we saw Live 8
organized by Bob Geldof and Bono to advocate for change in
foreign policy. I know many people who were upset by these
events and said that they would never listen to some of the
more extreme artists again.
For me, none of these political opinions matter. I’ll be honest: I roll to the right for most issues. But when it comes to
music, politics ceases to be a concern for me. Simply, if the
music is good, I don’t care what the musician has to say. No
amount of campaigning for liberal politicians is going to make
me stop listening to Bruce play “Rosalita” and “Blinded by the
Light”. A musician would pretty much have to advocate assassination before I thought twice about listening to one of their
songs.
Granted, I probably wouldn’t go to a concert and pay
money to put up with political crap like this, but there’s no
reason to boycott an artist just because you don’t agree with
them. The fact is almost all music that has a political message
falls to left side of the spectrum. Most musicians are liberal,
and if you’re going to make a point of avoiding artists you disagree with, there’s not going to be much music left to listen to.
How many conservative musicians are there, really? A hand-
ful of people in country music, maybe? If I limited myself to
listening to only Toby Keith because I wanted to agree with
the music I listened to, I’d probably throw my radio out the
window.
And it’s not like every liberal musician “pulls a Kanye”
on every song; in fact most of the time, the statements being
made are very subtle. Springsteen’s anti-war anthem “Born
in the USA” was
picked up by the
Republicans and
Who could disrespect
in the 1984
Jimi Hendrix’s blazing used
presidential camrendition of the Star
paign
because,
after
all,
it’s
about
Spangled Banner? That
America. Needincredible guitar work
less to say, Bruce
wasn’t too happy
is far more significant
that. Even
than any disagreement about
though anti-war
you may have with the songs like that
tend to be fairly
vials of acid Jimi had
liberal, it’s still rein his afro while hamally great music.
mering out those riffs.
“Fortunate Son”
by CCR (Fogerty’s
first band) and
“Ohio” (referencing the Kent State massacre) by Neil Young are two of the
fiercest anti-war songs ever written; but they’re also two of my
favorite songs, simply because the music is so incredible.
Even songs like “Imagine” by John Lennon and “Share the
Land” by The Guess Who are awesome songs in spite of the
fact that they profess communist ideals, which, shockingly, I
don’t agree with. In fact, the entire leftist counterculture of
the 1960s produced easily the greatest music in the last century. The Beatles and the Rolling Stones became the epitome
of this counterculture in Britain; The Who spoke to the disillusioned youth with songs like “My Generation”. These are
some of the greatest bands of all time, but I doubt I agree with
much of anything they believe. Of course, nothing comes close
to Woodstock as an example of the politics of the 60s, but really, who could disrespect Jimi Hendrix’s blazing rendition of
the Star Spangled Banner there? That incredible guitar work
is far more significant than any disagreement you may have
with the vials of acid Jimi had in his afro while hammering
out those riffs.
The thing is, regardless of what’s being said, the quality of
the music trumps everything. I’ve even listened to some punk
and ska and found it to be great music, even though most of
it is filled with some of the most liberal —no— pure anarchic
political messages out there. Listen to some older punk bands
like The Clash; every other song is a call for the violent overthrow of the government, and yet, these are great songs. Of
course, there is always line where you have to stop. When it
comes to newer, more political punk bands like Anti-Flag or
Propaghandi, I just can’t bring myself to listen to it. Now this
music is not bad because I disagree with the radical statements
made by the bands; they’re just not very good songs. When
the singer screams to the point of being unintelligible, and the
guitar chords are indistinguishable from the feedback off the
amps, there’s usually nothing worthwhile about that music.
The political statements a band makes shouldn’t be the
deciding factor for what music you like; that decision should
be based on the quality of the music itself. I don’t care how far
to the right I may be politically; I actually enjoy hearing liberal
opinions now and then, especially when they’re accompanied
by some great music. Either that or my ears are further to the
left than Lenin (or Lennon) could ever have dreamed of being.
Tim Potens is a freshman in Engineering. You can write to him at
potens@seas.
P AGE 4
O CTOBER 3, 2005 | FIRST CALL | V OL . VI N O . 4
INSPIRATION FROM CELEBRITIES
BY ELIZABETH THOMAS
Don’t you wish your girlfriend was HOT
like ME? Friends, it’s easy to bask in the profoundness of such beautifully-wrought rhetorical questions, isn’t it? Do you wish it? And
who is me anyway? Perhaps some generic stereotype of the human existence? Maybe there
isn’t just one me. Maybe it applies to all of us
— our struggles, our collective humanity, the
shared joy and suffering that holds us all together and yet at times threatens the very ties
that bind us.
Don’t you wish your girlfriend was a
FREAK like me? Friends, comrades, fellow
human beings, I remind you — throughout
history, society has tried to outcast certain
individuals because they are “freaks” — different — because they refuse to conform to the
so-called majority. At times we even forget
that each of us is special in our own, unique
way. Sometimes we need Maury or Sally to
remind us of that crucial fact by showing us
people who are much more unfit for society
than we are. But it’s about more than just
watching obese children try to play with hula
hoops. It’s about inspiration. That’s why I’ve
compiled a list of seven things that have inspired me and have stretched my intellectual
borders more than Anna Nicole’s skin.
1.
Stacie Orrico: ‘There’s got to be
more to life than chasin’ down every temporary high to satisfy me.’ Oh Stacie, those are
wise words indeed! So many of us waste butt
loads of time pursuing various activities that
aren’t going to help us on the path to enlight-
enment: crack, English degrees, crack, Slurpees. And just look at Stacie. She really knows
her stuff. I mean, she has dangly earrings,
and those haven’t been popular since like
1997. And if that doesn’t mean something,
well God damn, I don’t have any hope for the
human race.
2.
Mariah: Man, sometimes, when
I just feel like throwing myself off the 30th
Street and Market Bridge, I think… Wait,
hold up, isn’t that bitch crazier than me? Did
you see her on Cribs? And the towel in the hot
tub? I know. That was just weird. *Someone*
had a big plate of crazy for lunch. Why does
she think she’s hot? “I can make it through the
rain…” And by rain does she mean the movie
Glitter? Because not even James Bond in full
body armor with a rocket launcher and three
extra lives and on that easy Facility level could
make it through that shit.
3.
Seventh Heaven: I know what
you’re thinking: it’s a bunch of right-wing
Christian, mysogynistic, terribly written-andeven-worse-acted piece of shit — not so inspirational at all! But no! The real lesson that we
can learn from this epic little series is that no
matter how troll-doll like you are in real life,
if you have a famous — or even B-list famous
sibling, don’t give up. Keep on keepin’ on because you can be on TV. So remember that if
your older/younger and more famous sister is
a coked up airhead/horse-like blonde with a
fake marriage/weird new veneers and is commonly referred to as Jessica/Hillary, there is
hope. Because there is always hope.
4.
Dr. Phil: Did you know that ‘no
matter how flat a pancake is, it always has two
sides?’ Dr. Phil taught me that. Or maybe I
read it in Family First. But think about it. It
IS true, isn’t it? I like pancakes. I also like flat
things. Except flat chests. Pancakes are great
with syrup, aren’t they? My sister doesn’t like
syrup on pancakes. I know. I know! Tell me
about it. Sugar and cinnamon. Gross, huh? I
know! Damn, I want a McGriddle.
5.
“Someday” by Britney Spears: Y’all,
this is some DEEP SHIT. For serious. Like,
I was thinkin’ about havin’ the baby when
I wrote this song, ya know? And then I got
preg-nant. It was like one of them sign things.
And check this out, y’all, check it out: “Why
don’t you stop?/Stop and listen to your tears/
They’re all you got/It’s in you.” Get it, y’all?
Haha! Probably not. That means it’s DEEP
and shit. And like, for the video, I’m making it
black and white because that means it’s classy.
With leaves blowing in the wind. Because
leaves mean something important.
6.
Strawberry Pop Tarts: When Shakespeare wrote, “From fairest creatures we desire increase/That thereby beauty’s rose might
never die” (Sonnet 1), I think he was talking
about strawberry pop tarts. We might even
compare the image of the rose to the tart itself. Tarts, like roses, are of a pleasing, blushed
hue; they are also delicate things of beauty.
One might even call them symbols of undying
devotion. They serve to inspire us, to make us
happy. Yet, like the rose, though seemingly
fragile, they can prick you. Have you ever eaten more than four in a sitting? (Insert disapproving facial expression).
7.
Gwen & her Harajuku girls: Isn’t it
like, totally cool and inspirational how Gwen
Stefani is, like, totally multicultural now? She,
like, went to Tokyo and now she’s all in with
that crowd. It’s so cultural and awesome. And
she’s so nice about it too; she doesn’t drug
them or anything. Or turn them into clichéd
representations of their country’s pop culture.
And they DEFINITELY aren’t robot drones
who she’s secretly multiplying in order to take
over the world with in a giant TRL/absolute
conquest of the planet episode. Although,
I hear the after party for that will be off the
hook.
I chose the number seven to complete this
list because it’s a very spiritual number and
has been throughout the ages, not because I
got tired of typing or I went on a crazy threeday coke-and-pop tart bender or I… The best
inspiration comes from within, not without,
so no matter how many episodes of Dr. Phil
or Chaotic you Tivo, the desire for change, to
grow and become a real adult, has got to come
from YOU. Sometimes, if you’re lucky, spandex and harnesses can play a role too! Love,
peace, and serenity, friends.
Liz Thomas is a senior in the College. You can write
to her at ecthomas@sas.
SPORTSMEN DON’T KNOW JACK
ADAM GOLDSTEIN
| NO JOY IN MUDVILLE
ON WEDNESDAY night,
I had the distinct honor of
joining hundreds of my classmates and other Philadelphia
residents as we sat down in
the Anthropology Museum
to listen to a talk given by David Lynch. For those of you
who are not movie buffs, Mr.
Lynch is considered to be one
of the finest American film
directors of the last 30 years,
having given life to such acclaimed movies as Mulholland
Dr., Blue Velvet, and The Elephant Man. A three-time Oscar
nominee for best director, an Emmy nominee for the cult-classic television series “Twin Peaks”, and the winner of Cannes
Film Festival’s Golden Palm for best director, Mr. Lynch has
undoubtedly reached the pinnacle of his profession and has
excited and inspired legions of fans.
Aware of his cinematic achievements, I was eager to hear
the insight and humor which David Lynch would bestow upon
me and his audience. Two hours later, as I filed out of the auditorium, I had come to the realization that cinematic genius
David Lynch is, without question, a stark raving lunatic.
Like some bizarre amalgamation of Tom Cruise, Gary
Busey, and Ghandi, Mr. Lynch spent the preponderance of his
time onstage waving his hands wildly, trying desperately to
convince the crowd that through transcendental meditation
one can bring about peace on Earth, the eradication of famine,
and a winning season for the Kansas City Royals. Flanked by
several brain researchers from the esteemed Maharishi University of Management, the director was unwavering in his
opinion that “college was bad for the brain”, and that students
from violent urban public schools could only find peace after
“getting wet” within the “ocean of their self consciousness.”
As I sat there listening to Mr. Lynch discuss his theories on
education, politics, and international relations, I began to ask
myself a few questions. For one, why would such an esteemed
director borrow Kid’s hairstyle from the movie House Party?
Secondly, who convinced David Lynch that he had any business discussing meditative solutions to the world’s problems?
Was it the eerie and sycophantic researchers, followers of the
noted Vedic Sage and part-time neurologist Maharishi Mahesh Yogi, who were sickening in their constant praise of Mr.
Lynch, and who seemed only intent on basking in the glow of
the director’s fame and prestige? Or was it Mr. Lynch himself,
who somehow deduced that his considerable filmmaking ability qualified him to harangue aimlessly on the woes of society?
Most importantly, however, I couldn’t stop thinking why I, or
anyone else, should care about anything this demented fellow
had to say that was not directly related to cinema? The only
real reason I came was to ask the man what is was like to film
a lesbian scene that featured Naomi Watts. So, what, if anything, does David Lynch and his theories on transcending the
brain have to do with professional athletes and their relationship with the media and their fans? A heck of a lot. Everyday on television, in magazines, and online, I find mention of
an athlete speaking preposterously on some subject that has
nothing to do with the technical aspect of his sport. Whether
it’s Latrell Sprewell claiming that his $12 million a year salary
is not adequate to feed his family, John Rocker spewing racist
and homophobic epithets, or Terrell Owen’s general egomaniacal outbursts, the media reacts to these statements as though
they carry genuine worth. This media coverage in turn derives
from the public’s fascination with what star athletes have to
say. We believe that simply because of their athletic prowess,
these men deserve our attention both on and off the field.
This phenomenon is hardly inexplicable. Like Mr. Lynch,
these athletes’ egos have been inflated through money, power,
fame, the ceaseless praise of yes-men, and their professional
exploits. This unparalleled confidence, a belief that he is
above ridicule or critique, explains how, with a straight face,
Warren Sapp can claim that the NFL is a form of slavery, Rafael Palmeiro can unflinchingly lie to a congressional hearing,
and David Lynch can claim that humanity is one big group
hug away from finding everlasting peace.
Does this mean that no athlete or artist has the capability of speaking thoughtfully and coherently about a subject
that does not pertain to their athletic and artistic pursuits? Of
course not. But what it does mean is that as fans, we have the
responsibility to filter out the detritus which these celebrities
often spew. If we stop taking so seriously what these egomaniacs say, perhaps the media will discontinue its reporting of
their inane babble, and these stars can regain and retain their
fame in the manner in which they originally achieved it.
I conclude then with a simple plea. Allen Iverson, you are
an artist on the basketball court and your play is an inspiration
to every sports fan under 6 feet tall. Yet I have absolutely zero
interest in your thoughts on practice, the Olympics, or rap
music. Curt Schilling, your performance in last year’s ALCS,
ketchup or no ketchup, was the most moving athletic display I
have ever witnessed. But I could care less about your opinion
of God, George Bush, or Warcraft. And David Lynch, you are
a genius who has created films which have inspired and enlightened me. Nevertheless, the next time you go swimming
in the ocean of the self, I hope you forget your life jacket. Quit
yakking, trade in the microphone and the dais for a video camera and a director’s chair, and in the immortal words of John
Lennon, “Get back to where you once belonged”. The world
will be a better place for it, believe me.
Adam Goldstein is a senior in the College. You can write to him at
adamsg@sas.
SEMESTER AT SEA. PART 1
MICKEY JOU | SITES AND SOUND
“DO ONE THING everyday that scares you.” This was the motto that got me to apply to SEA Semester almost two years ago,
and how I found myself aboard a two-mast schooner, upchucking my dinner along the lee rail around 7 p.m. (or, I should say,
1900), one lovely April evening. What on God’s green earth
compelled me — an English lit major, a lethargic bookworm,
a girl who has never sailed, never studied biology, never even
swam in the ocean — to spend a semester on a sea-going research vessel? If you asked me this question at the beginning
of the program, or even towards the middle, I would have no
answer for you. I asked myself that same question the entire
semester. I did get an answer at the end of my journey, but to get to it, we’ll have to go way back
to the beginning of the story.
Back to February then. I started the program in the middle of winter, moving to the seaside
town of Woods Hole, one of the most famous oceanographic research “hubs” in the world. It
snowed there almost every week. They tell me that the town is quite busy and lively during
the summer season (we were a half-hour ferry ride away from Martha’s Vineyard), but for the
two months I was there, I saw six inches of snow, the consequent ice, and a gray sea with sharp
winds. On the weekends, the students (all 38 of us in the program) liked to take hour-long
walks into the Woods Hole town proper to get a decent cup of coffee and sandwich from the
local bakery. What was the first six weeks of the program like? My roommate, Alice, described
it best: “This is an academic boot camp.” (Maybe Alice and I are biased — we were two of
three students on campus who did not major in the sciences.) The daily nine-to-five schedule
of classes — oceanography, nautical science, and maritime studies — were rigorous, but not
pointless: they were meant to give us a sense of purpose. Learning to read a chart and use a
sextant taught us how to sail. Writing proposals and finding research topics gave us a reason
for sailing in the middle of nowhere. My favorite (again, a humanities major bias), however, is
debating the issues of modern piracy and taking a stance on the issues of whaling and carbon
sequestration — it made us think about what it meant to be sailors.
Six weeks later, we’ve mastered the art of presenting a research proposal, the proper way of
using a compass rose, and how to cook for a house full of hungry college students (restaurants
were more or less inaccessible at Woods Hole; your housemates were your best bet). That was
when the 38 of us packed up and got ready to meet our destiny. Half of the class headed out to
meet the Atlantic in Florida. My 17 shipmates and I arrived in Honolulu to spend a few idyllic
days in paradise before lugging ourselves and our overstuffed duffle bags aboard the Robert
C. Seamans. I was relieved to reacquaint myself with familiar faces — our captain, Elliott,
was the one who made us memorize all the sails on a boat for the nautical science exam, and
our research proposals were approved by Chuck, our chief scientist onboard who was also our
oceanography instructor back at Woods Hole. We stayed in port the first night, as I popped
Dramamine like candy (little help they were; but that’s a later story). Right after lunch the next
day, we set the sails and said goodbye to dry land, to the United States, and to any semblance
of life as I (or any of the 18 of us) knew it.
We started our journey down to the Equator.
(to be continued…)
Mickey Jou is a senior in the College. You can write to her at myjou@sas.
P AGE 5
O CTOBER 3, 2005 | FIRST CALL | V OL . VI N O . 4
INSIDE THE DESIGNER HANDBAG
BY PAULINE PARK
Pauline’s Take on What’s On Your Shoulders
IF YOU THINK BY CARRYING an LV bag
you know a thing or two about designers, you
are so wrong. The monogrammed leather
canvas printed with an endless slew of interlocked LV initials looks like you’re advertising
some creepy love affair for a boy who just happens to be named Louis Vuitton. There is also
the recent line of white rainbow LV bags designed by Murakami, which are horrendous
at best. They are impossible to match, and
those who have tried have failed miserably.
Even if you went D.I.Y with your wardrobe,
there would be no hope for you. In the wise
words of someone, the bags look like they
were “fucked in the ass by Sanrio.” Here are
some caveats on designer bags from a fellow
fashion observer who has spent many a day
scouring tabloid and fashion publications trying to get her handbag fetish down pat.
1. Don’t let the bag speak for you. Don’t
go to class dressed in dregs and expect your
hot new Balenciaga to do the talking for you.
Clueless spectators will assume you picked
up the thing from a street fair, along with the
rest of your outfit. Sloppy get-togethers (as in
clothing combinations) are never, never okay.
2. Don’t be victim to designer baggage.
Bulky bags suck no matter where you are on
campus. The designer bag is not worth the
effort if you come home at the end of the day
with a dull, sore aching in your shoulders and
you develop a permanent slouch as a result
of it. Also a note about the size of your bag:
Whatever you do, don’t carry a bag twice the
size of your frame. You may look smaller in
comparison, but you also look like you’ll get
eaten up by your tote in any given minute.
Relativity in this case is so not a plus.
3. Don’t do the
hyperexpensive designer thing just
yet… unless you’re
Lindsay Lohan, in
which case it’s okay
because it’s your
God-given right in
this world to shop
and coke, and maybe
star in a crappy teen
flick every now and
down. What qualifies as “hyperexpensive”? Gucci. Fendi.
Dior. Need I go on?
For one, hyperexpensive brands are
enormously tacky,
and unless you have
some sort of runway mix-and-match
style, and the bags
will stick out like a
sore thumb. Two, do
you seriously want
to go to the mall
and have ten fortysomething-year-old
women carrying the exact same “classic” bag
as you?
4. Whatever you do, don’t be caught dead
in a fake. It’s vulgar. Not to mention a major faux pas. If you can’t afford the real thing,
then keep it simple, don’t wear it.
Okay, so now
you know what not
to do, what designer
handbags should you
look out for? In case
you don’t have any
fashion magazines
or friends to consult
for advice, I’ve done
the hard work for
you and compiled a
list of styles that are
here to stay or leave
for good.
The “It” Handbag – Made famous
by celebrities and
now seen in the
hands of just about
every third girl on the
streets of Manhattan,
the Balenciaga bag
is the “it” handbag
– if only it weren’t
about three seasons
old. Ask yourself:
do you really want
to be carrying a motorcycle bag around?
Let alone take your Facebook picture with it?
(True story). Healthier trendy alternatives:
Botkier – the leather, envelope style shape
gives it great versatility, not to mention it
comes in three sizes and all different of colors.
It is a bit heavier on the shoulders, but unless
you’re a runway waif, this shouldn’t be a problem. The Chloe Paddington bag also stands
out for its compressed rectangular shape and
also features a large padlock in the center for
your super secret needs.
The Diaper Handbag – It comes in all
shapes and sizes and colors, and yet they are
all still ugly. Yet I still see about five girls every
day on Locust carrying one.
The Celebrity Handbag – Remember the
time when US Weekly featured a celebrity
with a designer handbag and then it suddenly
got famous? The Bulga handbag line was
made famous by Jessica Simpson, who has
been seen carrying it out around in numerous
outings. It’s a Western-chic, soft, slouchy bag
dotted with metal rivets in the shape of a paisley. The Kooba Sienna is a definitively chic
piece with a whip-stitched trim. It’s backordered from most retailers, and named after
Sienna Miller who exceeds all levels of coolness on the fashion meter. Who doesn’t want
a bag that has the celebrity seal of approval?
The Penn Handbag – We didn’t even have
to see you during pre-frosh Preview Weekend
to know that you received one of those free
Penn totes with our school name and logo on
it. Do the fashion world a favor and don’t.
Pauline Park is a senior in the College. You can
write to her at paulinep@sas.
GAYER
Continued from PAGE 1
you like girls?” I was a little stunned by his candor. And I
said, nonplussed, that yes I did like girls. And then he replied,
“Okay, I just wasn’t sure. Now I know what I talk to you about
and not.”
Anyways, these two situations were weird, but not exactly
life-altering. I’ll never see my boss again, and will most likely
lose touch with my freshman floor, (if I haven’t already). But
this past summer, my own mother thought I was gay.
I still remember carelessly eating some filberts at the dinnette set. She asks, weirdly ... “I was listening to Chinese radio
today. They said guys who write poetry are gay. You’re not gay
are you?” I was a bit breathless to say the least. But perhaps I
shouldn’t have been so surprised.
After all, I had confirmed all the gay stereotypes to my
mother. I was intense in my devotion to the piano. I liked writing poetry in my spare time. I expressed an interest in fashion
constructions. (I asked my mother to teach me how to sew
once, and she politely declined, saying it was women’s work.)
And over the summer I watched a ton of Food TV.
In her mind I had become “gayer” than Liberace or Elton
John or Steven Cojucaru. But no, I am not gay. And I won’t
even label myself as metrosexual. I find that term disrespectful. Metrosexualism requires there to be a safe divide between
heterosexuality and homosexuality. It says, it’s okay for men
to care about their appearance, as long as they are not GAY.
The same applies to shows like “Queer Eye for the Straight
Guy” and “Will & Grace”. Some pop culture gurus will say their
popularity evidences a new acceptance for gays in mainstream
media. If so, why are these shows showing gays to be a mutant
army of Carsons and Jacks ... flapping wrists, talking about
Manolos, and singing in the choir.
We need a rational discourse about homosexuality braced
on diasporas not colonies. “Fag”, “queer”, and “homo” will not
be words bracketed into submission. Ultimately people have
to realize that despite their religious, political, or social values,
homosexual America is an integral fiber of the whole America.
These are ultimately people like us. Good and bad, democrat
and republican, teaching in the universities, and baking our
morning loaves of pumpernickel.
To be ignorant and derisive of homosexual America would
be as disastrous as forsaking black America or female America
or musical America. I’m not saying we need to be moral supermen and superwomen and join every interest group out
there. All I ask is that we see the sparkle in each’s iris as a sign
of good will.
Ultimately, such terminology degrades rather than flatters gay
culture.
Bing Li is a junior in the College. You can write to him at bing@sas.
JUDGING JUDGMENT AND BENCHMARKS
FOR BENCHES
BY BRIAN LEVY
AS JOHN ROBERTS APPLIES for a job on
the bench, it becomes increasingly clear that
we are a society troubled by benchmarks. Just
as English majors have explored language as
an intermediary for ideas, political observers
have complained about “the media” as an intermediary for politics since Gutenberg printed a Bible with spin by King James. A major
factor in American politics is the effect of distortions created in the attempt to objectively
judge subjective, complex, or fluid matters.
Much of political science is based upon an
economics understanding of rational choice.
The voter makes a cost-benefit decision with
his vote. But this cost-benefit decision works
only if people can assess costs and benefits
numerically for comparison. Like the executives at Enron, the best political actors will be
able to manipulate their performance relative
to the way people assess costs and benefits—
creating an illusion of success on the balance
sheet regardless of success in the field.
This dynamic is evident in every facet of
the political conversation. The easiest place
to see it is in education policy where the No
Child Left Behind Act mandates testing to
assess teaching performance. Teachers complain that this compels them to teach to the
test. In other words, they would ignore their
original objective of teaching to conform to
the objectives promoted by the benchmark.
The serious debate on education policy is how
close the benchmark is to the objective.
Incomplete vision also punishes numbers.
Anti-Iraq War activists can point to a specific
number of American soldiers who have been
killed or injured. But the value of a free and
stable Iraq has no clear quantification. Unlike a public housing program, where the cost
per house determines the program’s success,
there is no specific cost that anti-war activists
can point to where the war and the subsequent occupation can argue for an alternative. It is only a question of large or small.
Again with Katrina rehabilitation, the
dialogue of whether President Bush and the
federal government is doing enough is based
upon the qualitative comparison between
what Americans see on CNN on Fox News
with a hypothetical “good” reconstruction
and relief effort. Predictably, liberals were States of America proceed to advise and conhowling and conservatives were supportive sent a man who will lead the course of judgbecause the input was incomplete. Without ment on the actions of the United States of
numerical comparisons, the question of “do- America and its citizens. The President has
ing enough” becomes one based on charac- nominated someone whose major skill was
ter (“Is he the kind of person who would do to pass the benchmark the Senators set. Terenough?”).
ence Samuel in the American Prospect wrote
President Bush’s political savvy and his that “John Roberts knew exactly what he was
understanding of the character voter was doing in the hearings.” Bruce Reed in Slate
demonstrated in his defense of homeland se- noted that “Roberts’ first job was to advise
curity during the 2004 presidential debates. Sandra Day O’Connor on how to” duck quesIn the first debate, John Kerry was asked how tions in such hearings. In other words, the
he would improve homeland security. George hearings meant to prove Roberts’ fitness to
Bush replied, “There’s a lot of good people hold office “during good behavior” have only
working hard.” John Kerry rebutted and then proven his fitness at holding forth at hearings.
President Bush talked about the culture of The serious question about Roberts’ nominathe FBI adding, “I work with Director Muel- tion is whether we are getting a judge that
ler of the FBI; comes in my office when I’m plays by the rules or plays to them.
in Washington every morning, talking about
how to protect us. There’s a lot of really good
people working hard to do so [emphasis added]. It’s hard work. But, again, I want to tell
the American people, we’re doing everything
we can at home[.]”
Brian Levy is a senior in the College. You can write
And so it is that the Senators of the United to him at bnj@sas.
P AGE 6
O CTOBER 3, 2005 | FIRST CALL | V OL . VI N O . 4
BY ADREYO SEN
THE PROGRESS OF THE RAKE
THE PROGRESS OF NO other stock character is as celebrated and condemned, admired
and wept-over as the rake’s.
A rake since time immemorial has been a
man who wastes his money on women, wine
and partying. He is also generally a cad, who
seduces a woman and leaves her
broken-hearted as he moves on to
another flirtation.
Literature has been kind to the
rake. Every male graduate of Oxford or Cambridge is assumed to be
one, and if he isn’t, he is pretty insipid. Henry Fielding’s Tom Jones
is cheated by an angelic looking
man, who courts chambermaids,
lands in prison and dies an adored
bishop. Closer to our times, Agatha
Christie has Mrs Arundell’s nephew
admired for his swaggering ways
by the shrewd village crones in
Dumb Witness, while the doctor in
love with her niece, an unfashionably serious man, is condemned as
wishy-washy. Surprisingly, nearly
every single undergraduate rake in
literature is sent down for forging
checks!
Spinsters in Agatha Christie’s
crime novels assume the rake seduces a couple of village maidens
between his afternoon brandy and
dinner— and they are thrilled when
he drops into their houses.
The rake is loyal to his friends
and to the country, is a soldier or a
sportsman, gets into scrapes to defend his beloved, and, towards the
end of his career, is remorseful. On
the other hand the faithful son and
the assiduous lover, the poster-boy of spinsters, is dull and parsimonious and alters his
affections with the assets of his beloved.
In Vanity Fair, Rawdon Crawley, a dragoon with small brains and a large libido,
shoots down many gentle debutantes and
fluttery spinsters with his killing glances, but
becomes a devoted father and is always a kind
TIMES
Continued from PAGE 1
prestigious educations, seem to matter more
than ever before, laments the Times. It seems
no inner city resident or hick isn’t being left
behind. Yet at the same time, the weekly wedding announcements never seem to include
Essie Jane Bobby’s wedding to her brother
Bobby James. Okay, that joke is already far
past its first round. But some things are so
transparent that they have to be pointed out,
and if making a trite old redneck joke can
enhance the process, what kind of First Call
columnist could resist? Not this one.
Charging people to read these highly
overrated columnists is total rubbish, because
it destroys the columnists’ ability to reach
their target audience: young, impressionable
students who might end up being the leaders
of the future, or at least the future countryclubbing hobnobbers. How are we supposed
to articulate our thoughts coherently, and to
make future decisions, if we haven’t heard
about Thomas Friedman’s experience eating
chopped up mangoes in Abcdefg-istan? How
can we make new George Bush jokes if we
no longer wake up to a Dowd-inspired jolt of
American-flavored shame? Readers, I don’t
know what I’m going to do. I might have to
start reading the DP’s columns (though that
would often just be First Call material, with a
sergeant. However, his relative, Pitt Crawley
jockeys blatantly for his aunt’s fortunes and
even misleads a relative so that he is banished
from his aunt’s good books.
Women are good to the rake. Many a
good woman longs to reform him, to run her
Moncrieff, of The Importance of Being Earnest.
Writers have a fairly uniform idea of the
rake through the ages. The father of all rakes,
the rake in Peter Hogarth’s The Rake’s Progress is known for his sexual prowess and his
gentle fingers through his uncombed, tawny
hair. “I will make a man of you some day,” she
sighs. Besides, they love danger — and rakes
are splashed generously with this dubious
quality. At any rate, they will flirt outrageously with them, even if they choose to marry stability, security and fortune. “A woman never
marries the man she flirts with”, Oscar Wilde
remarks through his own pet rake, Algernon
generous endowment. The rake is also, essentially, a dandy and loose with his money
— how else could be so admired by women
and popular amongst his fellowmen? He has
a killing repartee and sports a toothbrush
mustache. He is rugged, if not necessarily
handsome. And of course, the swagger and
the cigar (I need not expound on the phallic
imagery) are essential props to this rather real
few days’ lag), or dare I say, look south instead
of north to the Washington Post! A Slate writer claimed that if the Times got a significant
number of subscriptions, it would have told
us about it already in one form or another.
Since nothing has been mentioned so far, people must not be signing up in droves for this
amazingly “select” service. I hope the Slater is
right. Because, $50 a year is way too steep to
read about three new, original ideas, at most.
Apparently the market agrees with me this
time. Let’s hope the adults don’t succumb after a few weeks of op-ed-cold-turkey. At the
end of the day, it’s not even the cost of this that
matters. It’s the principle, my friends. Paying
$50 for something that wasn’t meant to cost
anything is a travesty, and anything that isn’t
printed on physical paper should not have a
price tag, unless it’s associated with a high
enough real-life premium, such as the Economist. If you need your op-ed fix, find another
newspaper. The Times is like a spoiled child
who just got its candy taken away and wants
it back, right now. Just remember who got
the chocolate factory at the end. It wasn’t the
round-ish Augustus Plumpster. It was the
quiet Charlie, who showed some restraint.
The Times already has a mouth filled with
snobbery cavities. Why give it any more
sugar?
Lauren Saul is a junior dualing in Wharton and
the College. You can write to her at lcsaul@wharton.
m
s
i
l
l
our dose of
a
c
weekly wisdom
t
s
r
fPiENN POLICE: GIVE UP THOSE
BIKES AND START SHOOTING
SOME PESKY SQUIRRELS
character.
Both Alec D’Urberville in Tess of the
D’Urbervilles and Rupert Campbell in Black
in Riders petrify their girlfriends with their
wit. Both of them are brash and predatory,
and at the same time, human. It is ironical
that Alec, who seduces and disgraces Tess is far more conscious of her
welfare and far more astute in his
perceptions of her than her morally rigid and sterile husband, Angel Clare. Rupert settles ultimately
into a blissfully happy marriage
and is an unusually devoted husband and father. An over-educated
gardener, Oliver Mellors takes Lady
Chatterley out of her unloved misery in Lady Chatterley’s Lover.
The rake, who can be more easily
identified in morally straight-laced
England of today and yesteryears,
is also free from class consciousness
and color prejudices. The objects
of his foreplay are giggling chamber maids and “mahogany” West
Indies heiresses.
The lot of the female rake, if one
can use such a term, is, however, not
a happy one. In keeping with our
skewed morality, she is perceived
as a slut. Central to this is the fact
that while women are supposed to
be good mothers, Becky Sharp in
Vanity Fair and Chessie Lynch in
Polo only kiss their children in public and leave them to French maids
in private. Unlike the rake, their
flirtations continue after marriage
and they are far less willing to do
anyone a good turn. Maybe a masculine
writer derives malicious pleasure in seeing his
creation consigned to the demimonde of Paris
or a rickety lodge. And a female writer is far
more devoted to assigning happy endings to
the good women.
I think I will grow a mustache…
Adreyo Sen is a sophomore in the College. You can
write to him at [email protected].
BEST BETS
10/3 - 10/9
Rob’s TV picks for the week
Monday: Kitchen Confidential “Dinner Date With Death” (FOX, 8:30 p.m.) When the season finale of Arrested Development mentioned that “the actor John Larroquette was looking
for a meaty character piece”, I don’t think they had in mind the mentor to chef Jack Bourdain,
who challenges Jack to cook a meal so sublime he dies from eating it. Hey, I can think of
many, many worse ways to commit suicide.
Tuesday: Gilmore Girls “Always a Godmother, Never a God” (WB, 8 p.m.) Lord, even the
titles of this show are long-winded! While we mourn the continuing dearth of Lauren Graham’s deserving Emmy nominations, I’m beginning to dislike this season. The rift between
Rory and Lorelai is just depressing. Get over it, you two, and make out on the couch like the
Family Guy parody!
Wednesday: Invasion “Watershed” (ABC, 10 p.m.) The “Carlita” girl may just be the most
annoying thing this side of normalized Negotiations case grading, but at least the show is
packing on the mystery. I was honestly kind of worried the premise was gonna fall flat… I
mean, aliens invade, big whoop. But as long as I have to hold my breath once an episode, I
can see leaving the TiVo running after Lost.
Thursday: Everybody Hates Chris “Everyone Hates Sausage” (UPN, 8 p.m.) Take that, Joey.
Chris Rock beat yo’ ass in the ratings. UPN finally has a mainstream success story. And everyone at UPenn seemingly hates Chris, because we’re all watching The OC. Even Seth Cohen
isn’t funnier than this half-hour gem.
Friday: Threshold “Pulse” (CBS, 9 p.m.) This show severely needs to become The X-Files.
The whole triple-helix alien infiltration bit is okay—nay, interesting—but I think that exploring some alternate strange phenomena that have nothing to do with the Big Horn first
contact event would be a nice change of pace. Still, there’s very little more amusing than the
banter shared between the too-hilarious teammates. Banter on!
Saturday: College Football “Georgia at Tennessee” (CBS, 3:30pm) Note to self: remove Saturdays from any future best bets column.
Sunday: Rome “Pharsalus” (HBO, 9 p.m.) The halfway point of this ridiculously beautiful
show’s first season finds Pompey beating back an outnumbered Caesar. Dude, didn’t he, like,
read the history books? Then he’d know he didn’t win, and might as well just not try. Oh,
right. Sorry. Just broke the fourth wall. Anyway, this show is detailed, bloody, and brilliant.
Even if you know the eventual ending.
If You Can Only Watch One: Kitchen Confidential.
O CTOBER 3, 2005 | FIRST CALL | V OL . VI N O . 4
P AGE 7
WHEN SAYING SORRY IS
NOT GOOD ENOUGH
The Commission on Truth and Friendship does not do East Timor justice
BY ASHLEY STEINBERG
incapacity of the Commission to hold perpetrators accountable for their actions will undoubtedly cause resentment on the part of the
victims of crimes as well as the East Timorese
population at large. Moreover, that the body
consists partly of Indonesians will inevitably
invite charges of bias should some offenders
not be forced to apologize at all. When the anger resulting from either of these institutional
flaws festers over time, the consequences for
the young and fragile democracy will be dire.
Another issue is that the bilateral decision
to create the Commission as a de facto, if not
official, substitute for prosecution reflects a
larger game of geopolitics being played. The
East Timorese leaders reason that the best
way to keep their powerful neighbor happy
is through accommodation; in practice, this
means impunity for high ranking Indonesian military officials that orchestrated the
violence (some of whom have since been promoted). Though Indonesia is no longer an
occupying force, the agreement highlights
the dynamic between the two countries, and
indeed, East Timor’s subordinate position.
This is problematic not only because it allows
Indonesia to continue abusing its power in
the relationship, but also because it means
that East Timor traded its chance to try war
IT HAS BEEN FIVE YEARS since Indonesia
begrudgingly withdrew its forces from East
Timor, yet not one perpetrator of the horrific violence committed during the retreat
has been punished. In March, the leaders
of Indonesia and the country it occupied
for more than two decades signed an agreement that created the Commission of Truth
and Friendship, which is supposed to resolve
the bitterness that ensued after the Indonesian massacre of almost 1500 East Timorese.
However, the Commission grants immunity
from prosecution to those who committed
mass atrocities. Comprised of five members
from each of the two nations involved, the
body can neither recommend punishment
for offenders nor reparations for victims. In
its current state, the new Commission will do
little to help, and in the long term it will probably harm the East Timorese.
The most obvious problem with the
Commission is that it cannot actually punish people. Its list of ingredients — a dash of
discussion, a drop of contrition, and a dollop
of forgiveness, which officials say will help the
healing process — sounds less like a recipe
for effective war crimes proceedings than it
does a guide for group therapy sessions. The
Sudoku #8 Hard
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Sudoku #6
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Sudoku #9
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Ashley Steinberg is a senior in the College. You can
write to her at mashley@sas.
Puzzle 1 (Hard, difficulty rating 0.61)
Easy
7
and as these new institutions thicken to become substance, so too will the foundation of
East Timorese democracy. The first presidential election, which occurred in 2002, is certainly a step towards the advent of a vibrant
democracy, but elections do not a democracy
make: an independent and effective judicial
system, along with a host of other elements
such as transparency and a free press, is what
ultimately makes elections meaningful. There
is no better opportunity to strengthen the rule
of law for the future than providing the East
Timorese people with a mechanism to prosecute perpetrators of past atrocities. The Commission of Truth and Friendship, in addition
to giving Indonesia far too much room to
maneuver, will allow countless to escape punishment, and others to simply say “I’m sorry”
with amnesty. Yet the victims of the terrible
crimes carried out against the East Timorese
are owed more than a mere apology; they
deserve justice. They deserve a chance at a
proper democracy.
SUDOKU
Puzzle 1 (Medium, difficulty rating 0.51)
4
criminals for the hope of good relations with
its neighbor. Instead of constituting an end in
itself, justice became a political concession.
Still another objection to the Commission is that it is markedly out of sync with
international trends surrounding war crimes
prosecutions. The direction in which the
global community is moving with respect to
other conflict-ridden areas, such as Sierra
Leone and Kosovo, is toward prosecution of
the ringleaders of mass atrocities; against this
backdrop, the East Timorese search for Truth
and Friendship seems fluffy and slightly regressive. On a wider scale, it is important to
reinforce the norm of prosecution for war
crimes to signal to would-be offenders that
the world will not tolerate their acts of aggression.
Yet the biggest problem with the Commission is that it does not fulfil the aims that
democratic societies should: upholding the
rule of law as a means of legitimizing the state.
Citizens need to have faith in the judicial system in order for the government to function
properly; empowering the local population to
actually punish those who have wronged them
will augment respect for the law. Ultimately,
the procedures learned and used in real trials
will become the structure of the legal system,
1
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Hard
Unfortunately, last week’s Easy puzzle turned
out to be unsolvable. We apologize if we caused
you1 18:02:52
to pull
your
in frustration.
Please
by http://www.opensky.ca/~jdhildeb/software/sudokugen/
on Sat Oct
Generated by http://www.opensky.ca/~jdhildeb/software/sudokugen/ on Sat Oct
2005
GMT. hair
Enjoy! out Generated
enjoy this week’s Sudoku selections.
9
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Sudoku #7
1 18:05:47 2005 GMT. Enjoy!
THE UNDERGRADUATE MAGAZINE | OC TOBER 3, 2005 V OL . VI N O . 4
BY JOANNE YUAN
THE ROOMMATE CONTRACT
SO THEY’VE PROBABLY SEEN you in stages
of semi-naked clothes-changing. And they’ve
probably seen you staggering drunk, traipsing in at awkward hours. And they’ve probably walked in on you hooking up with So and
So McRandomFace. But, for those of us lucky
freshmen that never had a roommate before,
suddenly being trapped in a tiny 9’ by 17’
room with a stranger/potential psycho serial
killer was pretty much guaranteed to be a hit
for miss. And sure, you guys might have been
cordial and friendly to each other throughout the first few weeks, trying to be neat and
showing off your good side, but a month into
it I’m pretty sure most of us have given up trying. The Roommate Contract all of us were
forced to sign has pretty much been trashed.
Now, horrifying discoveries and truths can be
brought to light.
Apologies if you and your roommate of
four weeks are actually long-lost soul-mates
and now omg, like you’re totally going to do
everything together and get matching sweatshirts and date twins and name your babies
after one another, because this paragraph
is probably going to devastate you. Truth
is, unless you’re rooming with someone you
already knew beforehand (and even then),
having a roommate takes some getting used
to. The Penn Housing questionnaire asked
me something like three questions, two of
which I don’t remember and one of which
was whether or not I ate kosher. Yeah, thanks
for being thorough with that one. All I know
now is that my roommate isn’t Jewish. And
that’s pretty much only because she’s Asian.
Now people always ask me how things are
going with my roommate, and I can only respond with the euphemistic, “We’re different
people.” The way I see it, I’ve never woken up
in the middle of the night with her standing
over me and a maniacal glint in her eyes, and
she’s never drilled me when I come rolling
into the room at eight in the morning. That’s
good enough for me. We share the full-length
mirror and my bottles of Poland Spring water.
That’s friendly, right? Right? And we do talk
occasionally about classes, although never
about guys or anything that social. I think she
has a secret double life, but I only think this
because I have to resort to AIM profile-stalking to figure out what’s going on with her life
besides schoolwork. That’s not shady at all, I
swear.
My friends have had mixed reactions
about their roommates, too. These mostly
translate into weird but endearing anecdotes
of music tastes, bedtime rituals, fridge issues,
and study habits. But something many of
them are speaking of more and more is a subject near and dear to my heart: sexile. After
so many nights of drunken revelry, these incidents are beginning to happen with alarming
frequency. And if you can’t figure out what the
clever little juxtaposition of SEX and EXILE
means, then ask yourself what you’re doing
at Penn, go to urbandictionary.com and look
it up. I’m not too sure if my being sexiled is
coming any time soon, but my friends have
definitely been sexiling their roomies, been
sexiled, and just wholly engaging in acts of
sexilification enough for me to live vicariously through their roommate frustrations.
No matter if you and your roommate have
already worked out some “subtly cool system”
whereby you draw a squiggle on the dry erase
board to let them know to leave you alone, or
if your roommate has walked in on you fifty
thousand times and said “oops” each time, can
we just establish that even the most “pimped
out playa” or “bangin’ sex goddess” should be
considerate of his or her roommate every so
often? It’s not necessary to bring home some
drunken hookup every Thursday, Friday and
Saturday, because that’s just the makings of a
male/female slut-whore. Plus your roommate
can’t be too happy about suddenly being out
of a bed for the night, having to find his or her
displaced self some sad dorm/lounge/courtyard/box to crash in. And remember, your
roommate has access to all your personals.
That’s not someone you want to piss off.
So I’m probably not qualified to give
roommate advice. But I figure this will get a
nod from the hundreds of roommated people
in Penn, struggling to adapt not only to classes and college but also to living and sharing
and caring and all those warm, fuzzy values
kindergarten tried but failed to instill in us.
So take heart in the fact you’re not alone. Hey,
at the very least you can pretend you’re on
an extremely low-budget, non-filmed Real
World: This is the true story of two strangers
picked to live in a small-ass dorm room... And
no worries, I googled “roommate murders at
University of Pennsylvania” and nothing relevant came up.
Just wanted to reassure you.
Joanne Yuan is a freshman in Huntsman. You
can write to her at jyyuan@wharton.
INTELLIGENT DOLPHINS RELEASED
BY HURRICANE KATRINA
BY ISAAC KATZ
IT SOUNDS LIKE A HEADLINE that would
come from one of those sensational British tabloids that treat celebrities like royalty
and royalty like trash, whose photographers
helped chase Princess Diana’s car into a
deadly high speed crash and whose websites
contain ads for soft-core porn. But no — it
comes from the September 25th edition of The
Observer, the Sunday version of the respected
and prominent, if slightly left-wing, British
newspaper The Guardian. “Armed and dangerous,” the headline reads, “Flipper the firing
dolphin let loose by Katrina.”
The explanation: “Armed dolphins,
trained by the US military to shoot terrorists
and pinpoint spies underwater, may be missing in the Gulf of Mexico.” Apparently, the US
Navy has been training dolphins for its own
purposes. Dolphins are considered one of the
most intelligent species on the planet, after
us; in Douglas Adams’s satirical Hitchhiker’s
Guide to the Galaxy, dolphins are far smarter
than us and try to warn ignorant humans of
Earth’s approaching eradication.
The article reports that the Navy trained
the dolphins to use toxic dart guns to shoot
down potential swimming would-be terrorists. According to Leo Sheridan, a “respected
accident investigator” quoted in the Observer
story said, “My concern is that they have
learnt to shoot at divers in wetsuits who have
simulated terrorists in exercises. If divers or
windsurfers are mistaken for a spy or suicide
bomber and if equipped with special harnesses carrying toxic darts, they could fire. The
darts are designed to put the target to sleep so
they can be interrogated later, but what happens if the victim is not found for hours?” The
dolphins were “controlled via signals trans-
mitted through a neck harness,” but Hurricane Katrina probably swept them out of the
Navy’s control, according to Sheridan.
The Navy has been historically open
about its use of dolphins to perform such
fins could hold dart guns? Who knew that
dolphins could distinguish between terrorists
trying to blow up a ship and, say, your average
diver?
Toxic dart gun-wielding assassin dolphins
tasks as spotting underwater sea mines using
their ability of echolocation (emitting a sound
and judging the location of an object by the
sound’s echo). But who knew that dolphin
— what’s next, rogue dolphins holding people
up in dark creeks demanding all their money? Petty thief pigeons breaking into people’s
homes and stealing your mom’s jewelry? Wild
apes on the loose carrying pretty girls up to
the top of the Empire State Building? (Oh,
wait, that’s King Kong.)
We all know about the Bush administration’s bungling of Hurricane Katrina.
“Brownie, you’re doing a heck of a job,” Bush
said about thoroughly unqualified then-director of the Federal Emergency Management Agency Mike Brown, his crony and
former Judges and Stewards Commissioner
of the International Arabian Horse Administration. (Brownie?) Bush also infamously
said, “I don’t think anybody anticipated the
breach of the levees” which led to much of the
flooding in New Orleans, and was widely anticipated. So who knew that the government’s
(for lack of a better term) disastrous response
to the natural disaster of Hurricane Katrina
extended to the Navy being so negligent with
its trained dolphins?
Unfortunately, if killer dolphins trained
by the US Navy to shoot people seem utterly ludicrous, too crazy to be true, you’re
right. We know not to trust everything you
read on the Internet, but don’t trust everything you read in the newspaper either. Leo
Sheridan was the only source for the Observer
article. He said “he had received intelligence
from sources close to the US government’s
marine fisheries service,” but Snopes reveals
that Sheridan has proposed outlandish stories before — even one about the US Military
and dolphins as well — that were very likely
merely urban legends. MSNBC has run an interview debunking the story as well. Dolphins
can detect underwater mines, but they can’t
fire guns. Only people can.
Isaac Katz is a freshman in the College. You can
write to him at isaachk@sas.