| Predictions
On Aug. 26, we compiled a list of some things we thought would happen on campus. Among other things, we predicted the permanent closure of the 30-minute parking lot, a fresh coat of paint for the Student Center and the removal of the Worth Hills speed bumps. OK, we might have been a little bit off the mark on a few, but we were pretty darn accurate for our first try. So let's give it the old college try to see what the over-hyped Y2K will bring. n There will be a sudden end to the "10-10-insert number here" long distance calling plans. The world will realize that CampusLink is the only answer to the dilemma of trying to remember what discounts come with what numbers because, hey, there ARE no discounts. n Boy bands will become a thing of the past. Bye-bye Backstreet Boys. Hellooo, Ricky Martin! n The Frog Shuttle will be replaced by a new, Y2K-compliant monorail system to the Student Center. n TCU will be ranked in the first tier in the U.S. News and World Report's annual college ranking. (We didn't say these things have to happen within the next year.) n Junior tailback LaDainian Tomlinson will rush for 406 yards against the University of Texas at El Paso, and the Horned Frog football team will be invited to a second consecutive bowl game. Oh wait ... that's one we meant to write at the beginning of the semester. Well, regardless of what happens when midnight strikes on the big night, we can all rest assured that the world will keep turning. Y2K will be A-OK.
Resist the urge to be 'Tex-ified,' y'all Well, y'all, it has happened. I swore it wouldn't. They warned me at Frog Camp and Orientation, but I was too cocky. No way would I get caught in the trap to which so many TCU students succumb. I was stronger - I could resist. In the end, though, this force proved too powerful to overcome. It hunted me while I was here, and against my will, IT happened. I have become Tex-ified. I didn't mean to do it, it just happened. Almost without my knowing it, I slowly shifted over to a Texan mindset. Oh sure, it was subtle. First a "y'all" here and a Dixie Chicks song there - nothing real heavy. This was local culture, I reckoned, and it was a good way to find out what a different way of life was like. Besides, I could quit at any time. But then I went to Billy Bob's, and I met the girl from Oklahoma. Girls at Billy Bob's, especially southern girls at Billy Bob's, seem to have this power over guys. This power is hypnotic, overwhelming and deadly. I see guys fall prey to them all the time. Their power lies in their innocence. A talented southern girl can appear to be completely harmless, reeling you in with a wide-eyed glance and pure smile. Once they have you, however, they suck all of the city out of you, reducing an urban warrior to a country bumpkin. Devilishly clever, they know exactly what words to speak and what phrase to use to hog-tie your brain and harness your spirit. "Oh, I love this song! Want to dance?" Any resolve you have crumbles away. It's a dance, you reason. It is harmless. One dance does not make a country boy. But before you know it, you have spent a night on the dance floor, two-stepping to music drawled by some honky-tonk band in 10-gallon hats. Sure, you have a pretty girl in your arms, but where will it end? Just like any bad habit, it soon consumed me, my innocent experimentation snowballing and sending me down a path I'm terrified of traveling. The other day, I even found myself saying, "fixin' to." As in "I'm fixin' to go to class." Or "I'm fixin' to have me some dinner." Or "I'm fixin' to put that truck up on cinder blocks in front of my trailer." That's not even the worst part. I am so afraid now that I've started down this path I won't be able to stop. Because I know where it ends. I've been to the Stockyards, and I've seen what goes on in those places. The future, now, terrifies me: I pulled my pickup down the dirt path, scattering chickens as I went and stopping in front of our brand new de-luxe double wide. I tossed my gun on the rack in the back, kicked aside the mutt lying in front of the door and entered my castle. Pausing in front of the mirror to polish my belt buckle and spit-slick my hair back, I hollered into the kitchen for the missus. She came out in her purdiest house-dress, and together we left for a full night of two-steppin'-boot-scootin'-beer-swillin'-bronco-bustin'-honky-tonkin' fun. We had reason to celebrate, after all - tomorrow we're a-goin' on Jerry Springer. I'm asking all of you, appealing to every piece of human decency you have, please don't let that happen to me. Seriously - if you see me ever wearing a belt buckle that is bigger around than my actual belt, just take it off and slap me upside the head with it. I barely made it through Thanksgiving. You don't understand. I'm from Missouri. Compared to Texas, we're practically Canadian. I had to be constantly on my guard. I was so afraid of saying something Texan because I knew everyone would just stare, then point and laugh. Christmas terrifies me - how can I survive an entire month? I will never fit in with those Missourians. But I reckon I'm fixin' to try.
John-Mark Day is a freshman religion major from St. Joseph, Mo. He can be reached at (jmday2@delta.is.tcu.edu). True beauty of Christmas lies in spirit, not in presents and decor Sales are booming. The Christmas market hasn't had this promising a start in five years with Furbies who talk out of line, dolls that can function more efficiently than the little girls who own them, anything on eBay and my personal favorite: Pokémon. The lines outside of toy stores are longer, and people's pockets and confidence are full, ready to do whatever it takes to provide a bulging pile of presents under the tree this year. What makes this Christmas different than others fraught with Cabbage Patch Kids and mutant turtles? We are shameless and blind to what these gifts might provide. Through the Internet we can shop for anything on a whim. Desire is met equally with products. We want, and we shall receive. I will not deny that there are several occasions when I desire things. Toys, clothes, a car, vacations, anything that I believe will bring me happiness for a few days. I've even tried to use the necessity argument. I'm not perfect, free of capitalistic drive, but as critical thinkers we must analyze where these desires come from. We are responsible to ourselves to consider the images propagated by advertising, music videos, books, magazines, radio and then decide if our desire is true to ourselves. Will the toys we want to unwrap make us better people, add enjoyment to our lives or do they simply satisfy our "fix?" Many times I've given gifts to people that aren't necessarily items on their lists but things I believe represent something I share with the person. Books that might be hard to drudge through, poetry, photographs and even music. There's nothing wrong with the occasional doll, but can a father play with a doll he has bought his daughter? No. A father can read to his daughter, take her to the opera and the art museum. He can expose her to sides of life that are just as interesting and dramatic as Saturday morning cartoons. The challenge is to give and receive gifts that are symbolic rather than fulfilling. People are delighted by truth and beauty when they relate to it. There are no apparent truths or beauty to Pokémon cards or dolls. Even if you don't celebrate Christmas, the holidays are a good time to relate to friends, family and partners in significant ways. Start a ritual to be practiced every year, like a dinner or an annual Monopoly game. You can pretend to be greedy, while spending time with the family all the same. Go volunteer at a shelter, call an old friend, dance to your favorite Mannheim Steamroller or Bing Crosby Christmas album. Gifts at their core represent not how much we care for someone, but the manner in which we care for them. Young couples exchanging one gift each can mean the world. A set of paints that a child cherishes because of what he or she creates makes a memory of the moment in life. We clamor and crawl to feed our appetites. We cry inside for gifts forgotten and beg to receive that which we think will make us happy. Our challenge is to get off-line, stay away from the stores as much as possible and simply sit with those we love and soak in the memories. For students, going home for Christmas begins to take on a new face. The gifts grow cold, the decorations aren't so important. It's our family we try to cherish for a few moments. We try to remember why it's a magical time, why our culture has created myths and stories to describe it, why we are filled with joy. We have the opportunity to decorate the human face with garlands in hope that this year truth and beauty will be discovered - not under the tree but in the eyes of that face and our own.
Matthew S. Colglazier is a freshman news-editorial journalism major from Fort Worth. He can be reached at (mscolglazier@delta.is.tcu.edu). Millennium advertising, promotional craze less than expected A year ago, it seemed like a sure bet. Dec. 31, 1999, would roll around and the world would be whipped up into such a millennial frenzy that anything would sell. Stores stocked up on survival supplies. Tour companies began arranging fantastically expensive tours to the Pacific for customers who want to see the first lights of the year 2000. Consumers reported widespread champagne hoarding. But surprisingly, with the big night a month away, America is calm. The millennial cults have been keeping to themselves. Maybe the warm and fuzzy Y2K reports the government has been issuing for the last few months are paying off. The epidemic of paranoia many anticipated would be breaking out about now just hasn't materialized. Of course, Y2K still might cause a lot of problems in the world's computers. Especially in third-world nations and in former communist countries, Y2K preparedness is not good. While the United States government started debugging its computer systems years ago, other nations have barely started. A serious disaster on New Year's Day is still a real possibility. But as a cultural event, the turn of the millennium is starting to look anticlimactic. NBC's much-hyped "Y2K: The Movie" was a bomb. According to the Los Angeles Times last week, "Many worry that what was initially looked at as a historic payday may end up as a bad investment covered in confetti." It's possible the millennium is fizzing because everyone just realized this isn't really the end of the millennium. As any math nerd can eagerly tell you, there was no year zero, therefore the next century doesn't technically start until Jan. 1, 2001. That doesn't seem likely. Although The New York Times newsroom is reportedly awash in hysterics over how to cover the millennium - whether or not the Gray Lady should give in to the poor math of the mob - no one else really cares. For most of us, those three zeroes are pretty convincing. But not convincing enough that we're willing to dig a fallout shelter or buy a round trip to Tahiti. Bad math notwithstanding, Americans are remarkably blasé about Y2K. "Sarah, Plain & Tall," whooped "Y2K: The Movie" before Thanksgiving. Millennium-themed advertisements are almost universally regarded as lame. And even as Y2K computer problems are beginning to surface - people in Philadelphia have been getting jury notices for service in February 1900 - there's not much excitement over the impending milestone. You can't blame Hollywood and the travel industry for banking on Y2K mania. As P.T. Barnum said, no one has lost money overestimating the stupidity of the American public (or something like that). Americans have a long and proud history of buying into such nonsense. Reaction to the end of the millennium, though, is proving Barnum wrong. Barring a last-minute rush of millennial lunacy, all the riot plans locked deep in the vaults of America's cities will be for naught. What does this say about us? Is the media suddenly pulling through with some Y2K common sense? Has the wisdom of our leaders preventing the forecasted hysteria? Or are Americans simply unable to handle two holiday buildups at once - and have opted for Christmas consumerism over New Year's millennialism? Maybe all the Y2K anxiety the nation's pundits have been expecting will be condensed into the week between Christmas and New Year's. But probably not. The way it looks now, however many real computer problems Y2K causes the social delirium isn't going to happen. Buying stock in the local gas mask company seemed like a good idea a year ago. Every once in a while, though, depending on the stupidity of strangers isn't such a safe bet after all.
Alan E. Wirzbicki is a columnist for the Harvard Crimson at Harvard University. This column was distributed by U-Wire. |
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