VIEWPOINTS

Staff Editorial: Safety a priority for Holiday Season

In broad daylight last week, a grown man was jumped in Wichita Falls. The man had just taken $800 out of his ATM and walked a few blocks before he was struck in the back, beaten and robbed.
According to Wichita Falls police, this time of year is when crime is on the rise.
To keep yourself and your belongings safe this holiday season there are several precautions one should take.
1. When shopping, always keep your car doors locked. Put your bags in the trunk so thieves cannot see them. Be wary when walking in dark parking lots. Keep your belongings close and secure.
Carry your money in your pocket instead of your purse. Pay attention in crowded shopping areas though. Pickpockets can strike unsuspectedly.
2. Try not to be alone when taking money out of the ATM. If the area is dark try going to a different machine. Have your card ready so you won’t be looking through your wallet or purse. Don’t count your cash until you are in a safe place. Be sure to take your receipt to prevent identity theft.
3. If you will be leaving town for the holidays, make sure your house is secure. Lock all the windows and doors. If you leave a light on keep it on a timer. Have a neighbor pick up your mail and to check on your house.


Four Score and Seven Years ago, it began
Jason Palmer | Final Column

Unlike the cliché, I CAN tell you exactly how long I’ve waited for this.
Seven-and-a-half years.
I started college in Fall ’97 at the University of Texas in Arlington. Now, I realize that many of you reading this were still wearing diapers. And if you didn’t know this, I’m 25-years old. Not your typical college-age student.
As it turns out, going to UTA was the biggest mistake I have probably ever made. I didn’t really want to go there in the first place, but I did. And when I got there, I found every bit of trouble that I could. And couldn’t tell you why.
The only place I ever really wanted to go was to Oklahoma. But after I actually registered for classes in May, I got the bill for $13,864. For the Fall semester.
Just a bit out of my price range and my parents were not in favor of me getting a student load. For that I am thankful. I’ll only owe $5,000 in loans for my entire college career.
One thing that I did have going for me exiting high school was I was a pretty good musician.
Back then, I was an all-state trumpet player in band, and UTA has a great music program, so there I went. I never really intended to be a band director or professional musician, but it was the best fit for me at the time. And I didn’t have a whole lot of options at the time.
A few to many fraternity parties and not enough class time later, and I dropped out in April 1999. I always knew that I would go back though, and reach the day I would walk across the stage, I just didn’t know where, when or how.
So I took a year off and worked my butt off, making a couple thousand of dollars and beating myself up physically doing it.
I spent two years toiling away at Tarrant County College, just steam-rolling through classes, plotting the next step along the way.
I’m still not completely sure what made my mind up to come here. I know that a big part of it was my little sister, April. She was already here, and loved this place.
I’m sure that a big part of me trusted her judgment to come here. I honestly don’t think that she’s has made a bad decision her entire life.
MSU was (and still is) good enough for her to come here. I couldn’t ask for more.
We haven’t been able to spend as much time hanging out as I thought we would. But our lives are heading in different directions, and that’s to be expected.
Come to think of it, I haven’t spent a whole lot of time hanging out with anyone. I’ve managed to keep myself busy doing the things that I needed to and getting myself in position to graduate.
A lot of people get senioritis their last semester. I’ve had it for five years. I’ve been totally obsessed and consumed with this one thing. Kinda like Gollum in “Lord of the Rings.” I’ve somehow managed to push away many of the people who have been most important to me.
It is impossible to relate to them how sorry I am for that, but it is also impossible for me to actually put into words how important graduating college is to me.
Well, after my five semesters here, it’s time to move into a new phase of my life.
Hopefully it will be a lot less stressful than the last seven years. I know one thing for certain, I will have more time on my hands than I have had since I was a freshman in high school. I’m still not sure what I’m going to do, but I know that it’s going to be fun.
It has to be. I’ve waited way too long for the next 25 years to get here.

Meth Heads and Cool Jams on his Front Porch
Richard Carter | For the Wichitan

One of my favorite things to do is to hit the porch late at night and strum on an old arch-top acoustic guitar.
Back when I lived in the little Mexico section of Dallas, I would sit in the middle of the parking lot of my decrepit complex and play. Sometimes I would even get requests from passing winos.
It was not my preferred audience, but as they say in the profession, you have to start somewhere.
Strangely enough though, it’s not so much possible to play in my Wichita Falls neighborhood, at least as much as I should like. The problem is poor people, crack and drive-bys.
Now if I were a truly aspiring angst-ridden singer songwriter, I might be able to get some songs about these setbacks. Or if I were a rap artist, these themes would be as vital a crack and peanut butter sandwich.
Confession time: I once tried to split the middle between hick and hip-hopper with a tune I wrote called “Dirty Crack Whore” but it sounded a little too much like that Foreigner song, “Dirty White Boy.”
And, we all know what happened to George Harrison after he appropriated the melody of “He’s So Fine” for his “My Sweet Lord” ditty. I just don’t know if I could say “sorry” to Mick Jones.
But at least I won’t have to answer to God. Poor George.
So between copyright attorneys, ruthless record companies, dodging bullets and watching an endless amount of crack victims traipse by with that silly look on their faces and awkward gaits, I decided that maybe being a living room guitarist was preferable to being a front porch guitarist.
But it’s not the same thing. For one thing, you don’t really get the smell of fresh air, the wind and the occasional attractive woman walking or driving by. And why else do the talent-challenged write and play songs, anyways?
Sappho knew it was all about chasing skirt. And so, we’ve been subtly refining those early artistic expressions ever since. (Plain and simple, you keep needing better songs and performances to get better looking women).
So there I was sitting on my front porch playing acoustic guitar and humming along, when a not very stirring 20-something woman came by shaking somewhat horribly.
I could tell by her tortured syntax and that wild smile/frown on her face that she was toast.
I mean, sure the battery acid oozing out of her pores was a dead give-away. But it’s not polite to make the Drano or Everready remarks about the afflicted, or is it? At least, you shouldn’t do it to their faces.
Anywho, I could tell I was in trouble when she sat down and started listening to my playing. (I’m not that good. Ask anyone at the Iron Horse Pub or my former band members.)
Soon, she asked me for money, or if I knew any southern rock. (The real sin of drug abuse is that the afflicted have no real subtlety or refinement).
I asked her to wait for a moment, and went inside and made her a Cotto salami sandwich and brought her out a can of Coke. I mean, she was my guest and my only fan that evening, so I had obligations.
I sat and watched her make wildly uneven teeth marks in the white bread and slurp down the cola. She was a little boorish (the burps gave her away), but I could tell she appreciated my gesture.
If there’s anything to be learned from this story is that everyone has their problems. I need to gain 15 pounds and some people need to quit crack. The least we can do is be there for each other.
(I mean, how long can I count on the heroin chic look remaining cool, anyway? God help the fashion industry if there’s ever a crack chic look).
So, back to my parable: when the less fortunate people of the world hit you up for money or want to hear southern rock, give them a sandwich, a Coke and a smile.
Is it possible to teach the world (a plenitude of people ranging from crack whores to advertising types) to sing in perfect harmony? In my heart of hearts, I want to believe that is possible. But, I seriously doubt it.
Still, it’s December, and anything should seem possible. Over this hallowed thirty one-day stretch, that’s what should bring us all together.
By the way, Wal-Mart has the best price on salami, if the crackies in your neighborhood become a little too addicted to your generosity.

Letter to the Editor

Dear Abigail,
 
I just happened across your article "Welcome to Campus: handicapped hell" (http://wichitan.mwsu.edu/currentissue/features.asp) and felt I needed to comment.
Normally I strongly oppose these "spend a day in a wheelchair" scenarios because it is so ridiculously ineffective.  I like to equate it to asking someone to put black shoe polish on their face so they can see what it's like to be African-American.  There's no way that someone can understand what it's like having to live with using a wheelchair by simply experiencing a day transversing campus.  Additionally have you ever known anyone to go on from one of these experiences to doing any good in the accessibility arena?
With that said let me add that I thought your article was very well written and your experiences, though limited, you described very well.  Let me know if anything changes because of it.
Sincerely,

Rick Frame
ADA/TAS Consultant 
AccessTX


Happy Holidays from the Iraqis
Abigail Carter | Managing Editor

Since my fellow journalists are all playing into it, here's another Christmas-y column for the soft-hearted.
Picture this: you are sitting down to dinner with your spouse and child, and just as you are about to dig in, armed men laden with heavy artillery kick down your front door and run into your house, flashing bright lights in your face as they shout, “Get down! Get down! Don‘t move!” The soldiers proceed to tear through your home, destroying carefully preserved momentos without a second thought, before leaving you scared and violated without apology, explanation, reparation, or care.
Worst case scenario: Perhaps your child, in his or her fear, bolts from under the table and one of the soldiers (it doesn’t matter which, they’re all exhausted and paranoid over there) reflexively shoots, injuring or killing your child. How would you feel about those soldiers? Thankful that they were there to “protect” you? Or pissed off? This is what the Iraqi insurgents are feeling. Insurgents are evacuated and displaced Iraqi citizens who harbor anger toward the Americans and their allies.
When soldiers do house-to-house raids, as our soldiers in Iraq are doing now, the above situation can easily become grim reality. Currently in Iraq, groups of insurgents are launching attacks which are successfully wounding and killing people.
From May to October, Abu Musab al-Zarqawi’s Jihad group has claimed responsibility for the deaths of more than 40 people by beheading, that doesn’t include those killed by gunshot, stabbing, hanging or burning.
The victims were of Turkish, Bulgarian, Egyptian, Nepalese, Kurdish, American, and Iraqi descent, and from a variety of professions. Truck drivers, contractors, intelligence officers, members of the National Guard, women and children have all been viciously slaughtered. Twenty of those murders have occurred in the past few weeks.
I understand why the insurgents, and for that matter, the extremists, are mad. I would be too, if some foreign country flew in tomorrow and took over the United States, even if they did take Bush out of power (an appealing bonus). I understand because I am willing to be open-minded enough to look at both sides of the conflict. It’s not comfortable. Nor is it reassuring. It appears as if the Iraqi “war” is just one big mess that was compounded by lack of planning and forethought.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m a loyal American. I love my country and that for which it stands, and all that jazz. All I’m saying is, there’s people who don’t like to see what’s really going on. There are those who prefer, like the ostrich, to stick their heads in the sand. These are the same censorship-happy people who cover their eyes at scary movies, never snoop for their Christmas gifts, and who will stop reading in a paragraph or two.
I feel like I owe it to my fellow man to stand witness to the gruesome murders wrought by the hands of those psychotic, so-called religious zealots. There are some who say watching the beheadings is disrespectful to the butchered dead. Others have said to watch it is to support the murderers because that is what they want. Still others believe it’s simply distasteful, unpleasant, and would rather not be subjected to it.
I believe the killers released the tape in order to claim their crime. I mean, we definitely take them seriously, don’t we? And I think that’s what they wanted. It is one thing to hear or read about something. It’s much more powerful and real when you actually see it.
 I believe people need to see these beheadings to understand the gravity of the situation. Had I been one of those victims, my ghost would be pissed off and want revenge. I would want my fellow countrymen to be outraged, to be spurned into action. The war footage they show on TV, though sanitized, is REAL. And though they went to Iraq willing to fight and die for their country, there are thousands of Americans getting seriously f’ed up over there, mentally and physically. As for the beheadings, our citizens are allowed to see are only brief, sterilized clips of the extremist kidnappers reading statements and standing around.
I’ve watched those beheadings. They saw their victims’ heads off with a short, dull, dirty blade. One man’s throat was still screaming when his head had been almost completely severed. It sounded like his soul was on fire. My desire to enlighten myself, and my fellow Americans, stems not from my journalistic tendencies but from a deep-seated outrage.
Perhaps I am more willing to face the disturbing reality of the Iraqi mess because I have been well acquainted with horrible things in my life. The fact is, the beheadings are increasing in number and frequency. Each month, there are more deaths in Iraq than the month before. When I watch the beheadings, it makes me cry. I can’t avoid it. It also makes me very, very angry, no matter how many I witness. Most of all,
it inspires me to want to do something. We have tried combat in Iraq. It doesn’t seem to be working too well. Now we are in so deep that if we left, our enemies would follow us home and that is something people do not want to see.


Naughty or Nice? Kimbro has a list, he's checking twice
Jason Kimbro | Staff Reporter

Well, it is that time of year again. Candy canes and mistletoe, betwixt with gifts from loved ones, the epitome of Christmas cheer! 
I don’t care what everybody else thinks, but I personally believe that the true meaning of Christmas includes all those sausage and cheese collections from Hickory Farms and its knock-offs.
Seeing that we are running out of shopping days, knowing that I am everybody’s favorite columnist, therefore, leading me to believe that you are all wanting to get me a gift for this glittery season, I decided to devise a list of things I want and explain why I want them. Here it goes in no specific order:
1.  I want a puppy. A cute little puppy dog with a big red bow around its neck. Be sure not to tie the bow too tight, though, for I want my puppy alive and kicking and ready to be trained to attack the jugular whenever someone eats my cheese.
2.  I want a huge box of condoms. I wouldn’t use them, per se. I would display them prominently on my dresser so everybody that comes into my room will think I’m “da pimp.”
3.  I want a copy of the movie “Radio.” If I don’t follow through with my New Year’s resolutions this go-‘round, I can punish myself by forcing my eyes to glare upon the screen at this horrible, horrible movie.
4.  I want a membership to the cheese of the month club. Really don’t know if there is a cheese of the month club, but if there is, I would definitely want a membership.  No further explanation should be needed.
5.  I want tickets to the Maury Povich show. When there, I would take a pregnancy test and have the results fixed to show that Maury is the father of our non-existent child.
6.  I want endless access to everybody’s bank accounts. This way I could easily do my job as a human being and try to take over the world, with the help of my sidekick, Pinky.
7.  I want a T-shirt which displays either of the following:  Aeropostale, American Eagle, Abercrombie & Fitch or Old Navy. That way when I have started the process of taking over the world, I could slip the shirt on and easily get lost in the crowd of morons that actually pay these establishments to advertise for them, thus hiding from the FBI.
8.  I want a blow-up doll. I wouldn’t perform sexual acts upon it. Since I am considered to be a “nice guy,” I would, instead, just lie down and cuddle with its cold, rubbery surface. The mouth would have to be taped shut, though.  I do have my limits.
9.  I want a chance at a better life. I want to break free from the oppressions of this world and be able to live my life without someone pointing out my flat feet.
10.  I want George Bush to take skiing lessons. I figure that the man is just about on the same level as Sonny Bono and we would all be better off for it.
11. For those of you who may be insulted by this column, I want you to shut up and stop whining. This is just a bit of fun, folks. If you do like George Bush and/or Sonny Bono and found the last request a bit off-color, remember that The Wichitan’s words are printed in black & white.
12.  I want a never-ending gift certificate to Toby’s. Our choices are limited in this lovely city when it comes to alcoholic pleasures. Toby’s is my number one choice, and it should be yours too! (Augie, you owe me a drink).
13.  I want a plethora of women to choose from, each day of the week. This way I could actually put the box of condoms I requested for earlier to good use. Safe sex is swell, in more ways than one! No glove, no love! Woo hoo!
14.  I want a twelve-hour long recording of Queen’s “Fat Bottom Girls.” This is a great song, and from what I have heard, some country singer has done a bad remake of this. I want to take it into Outskirts and force them to listen to this, showing how it was meant to be. ROCK!
15.  I want the use of “xmas” in opt for “Christmas” to be put to an end. I am not a very religious person, and atheists do have a right to “not believe,” but to sit there and whine about it to the point of changing it to “xmas” is ridiculous. I mean, what would it be like if our churches forced us to watch “The Passion of the X” instead of “the Christ?”
16.  And finally, finishing up at sixteen, I would like for everybody to have a wonderful holiday season, full of joy and family and wishes come to pass. Hope you all do well on your finals, but most of all, I hope you are all stupid enough to get me what I want! 
Being the one on The Wichitan staff who most closely resembles Santa Claus, I would like to say “Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!” Night of sex and cheese! Woo hoo! ROCK!