By Colin Lucas
My sanity is being eroded daily by vivid, hallucinogenic flashbacks of Africa that hit me at my most unsuspecting moments.
Recently, I was driving along one of Vermont’s icy mountain backroads when the snowy pines that lined my path morphed into flat-topped acacia trees. A troop of toothy baboons occupied one such tree, using it as their jungle gym while expressing senseless, carnal infuriations with low-pitched, echoing belly shrieks that resonated through the caverns of my imagination, striking a chord in the instruments of my memory. Literally speaking, I was still seeing snow and birches and blue winter skies; yet, in the past weeks, my inner eye has fallen prey to graphic reminiscences of Africa’s mystique. My mind has become inhabited with ceaselessly shifting primates.
In class, I have lately been opting for inconspicuous desks in the back corner, because I know that in short order my concentration will be savagely whipped away from politics, and I’ll once again be sitting shotgun in a Land Rover, breathing through a bandana that catches the choking dust of the Makgadikgadi Salt Pans, my arm outstretched with a ten-million candle strength spotlight as we track brown hyaenas through the crisp Botswana night, damning the hidden aardvark holes we hope we can dodge.
Hitting one would mean losing the hyaena and having to step into the boundless dark to jack up the vehicle and change a flat, not the most inviting midnight proposition in lion country.
These hallucinations aren’t drug induced. No, wait, I take that back; it’s Africa that’s the drug and it’s under my skin like a dormant parasite that recurrently emerges with the candid and ghostly invocation of my senses.
By Emily May
Bob Dylan once said that anyone who calls himself a poet probably isn’t one. The same could be said of a punk or a hippie. Labels are assigned to a subculture by the mainstream, and anyone who subscribes to these labels is effectively subscribing to the language and confines of “the man,” that nefarious puppet master that keeps us all down.
In the twenty-first century, all that remains of punks and hippies (and poets, for that matter) is a whole lot of nostalgia from the kids who believe they’re living as their idols did when they purchase all the right accessories and add the appropriate music to their Facebook pages.
By Mac Smith
Ron Paul - The House recently passed a resolution condemning China on its recent crackdown on Tibet and called for the release of Tibetan protesters recently jailed for non-violent protest. At 413-1, the resolution would have passed unanimously if it weren’t for Representative Paul.
Nobody has asked the Congressman why he chose to vote against the resolution. In fact, nobody has asked him why he’s still in the presidential race. Nobody really asks Ron Paul much of anything anymore.
Melanie Bowers - A history class assigned Melanie to make a sign in favor of or against something. She decided to make a sign that said, “If you love our nation, stop illegal immigration.” Soon after, a group of Latino students threatened her life. Not for the obvious reasons, but for her choice of style, color, and overall obvious lack of effort put into her project.
By Max C. Bookman
“Shame on her!”
-A visibly annoyed Senator Barack Obama, casting blame on his Democratic rival Senator Hillary Clinton for increasingly “bitter” tensions in the week leading to the Pennsylvania primary. The nasty rhetoric between the two candidates has reached an all-time low in a feud that promises to stupefy and embitter Democrats through the remainder of 2008. Obama: So much for those lofty changes. Clinton: Enough, already!
Sometimes The Water Tower inspires our readers to get naked and fight the power. But usually they just send us emails:
thewatertowernews@gmail.com
After reading Charles Winkleman’s article on Bhutan, I was angered and appalled. The article starts off harmlessly enough, but then proceeds to bash the Bhutanese people and their country with shocking prejudice and force.Winkleman says that the fact the Bhutanese don’t want democracy is “fucking ridiculous.” Oh really? Did you ever stop to think that maybe not every country in the world wants to think, act, feel, ooze, and breathe like the United States?
Texas authorities have taken into protective custody:
from a secretive Fundamentalist Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints compound in Eldorado, Texas after an emergency phone call was made from within the compound to police. It was made by a sixteen year-old girl who had been forced to enter a polygamous marriage with a fifty year-old man—who already had six other wives. The girl claimed to have been repeatedly raped by her “husband.” Big Love? Try Big Trouble for this Mormon sect.
By Alexander Hemmer
Waiting in line for Romeo Dallaire’s lecture in Ira Allen last Thursday, I wasn’t expecting anything extraordinary. I had seen the documentary about his time in Rwanda, Shake Hands With the Devil, and I expected the lecture to retell his story. As the field commander of the UN peacekeeping force in Rwanda during the 1994 genocide, Dallaire was forced to witness the slaughter of 800,000 men, women and children. The tiny number of troops he led was hardly enough to protect the UN compound, let alone stem the violence that was raging throughout the country. The rest of the world chose not to send more peacekeepers into the area, thus leaving the people of Rwanda helpless in their terrible plight.
I figured Dallaire would rail against the U.S. and Europe for their inaction, and explain how governments in the future should react to similar atrocities. But his testimony dug far deeper into my psyche than I was prepared for. He laid the blame not on the politicians and bureaucrats, but on you and me, the ordinary people of the developed world.
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I was in the DC to pick some stuff up and thought I’d go down to Brennan’s to see the musician that was playing. When I walked down the stairs to the first floor, I saw you sitting in the chairs doing work and thought you were really cute. When I left Brennan’s, I went back up through the atrium and saw you again. We exchanged glances a couple times but I was too shy to say anything! I hope we can run into one another again and maybe next time we can talk!!!
When: April 12th
Where: Davis Center Atrium
I saw: A Man
I am: A Man
By Bridget Treco
Arlington, Massachusetts. It’s a large suburban town about eight miles outside of Boston. Dane Cook went to my high school, no one pronounces their “r”’s, everyone is Irish Catholic and obsessed with hockey. My hometown is an important part of who I am, and I love it.
One reason I don’t: we have a surprisingly bad history with drugs and alcohol— a characteristic that is true for many sleepy towns. There was a drunk driving accident in 2003, and the boy died. During my junior year of high school, a senior committed drug-induced suicide.
They were both terrible tragedies, but I didn’t know the kids. It was a horrible blow to the community. The only upside of which, was that it cemented the bonds among seniors. My friend used to joke. “Well, have a kid in your class die and your whole class will be close too!” A horrible sentiment, but I didn’t believe it would ever apply to my class.
”I disapprove of what you say, but I will defend to the death your right to say it.”
-Voltaire
Every now and then, The Water Tower likes to remind its readers that “free speech” is more than just two words that get thrown around just as carelessly as Lindsay Lohan on a sloppy Friday night.
By Max Bookman
Our society has still yet to come to a consensus on the boundaries of free speech. Sure, we are all for freedom of expression, but there are some conditions. We know the limits. We agree that we can’t shout “fire!” in a crowded movie theater. We cannot say things that are treasonous, or hateful, or purposefully untrue.
But the edges are fuzzy, and there is constant debate over what’s in the free speech club and what’s not. For example, some argue that they have every right to hate whomever they want, and therefore the government should not step in when a swastika is graffitied on a temple door. When the anti-gay marriage group VMAC was invited to hold a conference in our student center a few months ago, there were plenty (including The Water Tower) who spoke against their speaking here. Total free speech? Yes, but not in our backyard.
By Mac Smith
We’ve done it! Due to a consistent temperature above 35 degrees, the snow has finally melted and we can now see the ground for the first time in six months. These and other meteorological indicators point to one fact: it’s springtime once again in Burlington. Although the sun is still MIA and there aren’t any buds on the trees, UVMers embrace their spring and tailor it in their own right with activities usually deemed impossible during the harsh winter. So put your winter jackets away and hit up these hot spots! There are only three weeks left of class…
by Dayna Wyckoff
There are only five places to hide at my job when I am on my lunch break. I’ve had to resort to hiding at my job because one of the managers doesn’t seem to understand that it is not okay for him to get all up into my personal space.
I thought that I had seen my share of old pervy managers, but it seemed to me like God took no mercy on my soul. There have been three occasions when I’ve had to put my escape tactics to use and flee to one of the five hiding spots.
My escape tactic consists of putting up my fists and issuing a verbal warning for him to get away from me. If he ignores my warning (which, he usually does) I give him a nice right hook to any vulnerable open spot on his body that my father taught me when I was younger.
A day in the life of Max Power
By Maxwell Fein and Anya Brodrick, Illustration by Alexander Whitehead
This section deconstructs the styles of today. The tripartite nature of the section demonstrates the intersection of image-word-mathematics.
7:30 am: Wakes up and goes for a light jog around the dorms. Staying fit is essential if you want to compete in intramural sports. Also good opportunity to see what his competition is.
8:15 am: Pounds his box of wheaties-but makes sure to leave perfect post lunch snack amount (eaten dry with protein powder on top). Good thing his mom got a costco card so he can get the big boxes.
11:07 am: Receives a hot tip from a secret source that a softball player is interested in playing water polo. Cuts class to try and recruit her. An athletic, tall, female with a great arm will be a perfect forward to his already [almost] flawless team.
By Alex Townsend
Those of you who ignore the many posters that pepper our walls may not have noticed, but the month of April has been reserved for a whole fun assortment of events sponsored by the LGBTQA community. All of them sound intriguing, such as the Queer People of Color Movie Night (4/18) and the Parfait Partay (4/24), but the event that has me the most excited is the Queer and Ally Prom on the 19th. Now, for you straight readers out there, this is certainly not your cue to browse back to the Shit List, because this is something you should know about too. The word ally is stuck in the title for a reason. Everyone and their breeder-buddy are invited too.
So what’s so exciting about a queer prom? Well, there are two sides to that. First of all it’s a night of fun. There will be music and dancing in Billings from nine until the wee AMs, and it comes with the rebellious thrill of throwing aside tradition and gender roles. Who wouldn’t get a kick out of that?
By Peter Casasa-Blouin
As a student I have often been intimidated by how many books there are in the world. I am not alone, and many of us will never read all the books we want to, nor should we. Even those of us who aren’t bound by language and can explore different worlds through different words are at an impasse when contemplating literature’s vastness.
Even in our search for knowledge, we stumble on books that we hate. As I approach post-graduate life, I often dream of some faceless figure to guide me to books I will definitely like. While it seems my guide for books will never appear, I have found my guide through the world of music,
Pandora.com. This site showed me the multiplicity of music and possibility to access that unimaginable number.
Water Tower T-Shirts!
The Water Tower Street Team will be outside
the library in late April selling fresh Water T’s.
Make sure to get yours before they run out.
Quantities limited. Details to follow.
Fight the man and look great doing it.
Water T’s.
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