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For a few, harrowing minutes, we thought that perhaps our most infamous fugitive had struck again. It seemed as though someone had pulled the Kimball fire alarm.
BROCKLESBY
THE FROSH
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14 April ’00
It’s called trickle-down economics, or, ‘a darn fine way to make a point without using too much logic.’
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COMMENTS ON THE PASSING PARADE
False Alarms
By Michael J. Ballway
CRUSADER STAFF WRITER
L
ooking out on the huddled mass of humanity that is Kimball at peak hours, we faced a grim reminder that there was a career criminal among us, a ne'er-do-well scofflaw for whom the rules of ordered society were nothing more than tragic joke to laugh at. A lifetime hard case who felt no remorse for the thousands of individual lives he'd disrupted in his umpteen-year reign of terror. For those few, harrowing minutes -- minutes that seemed like hours -- we thought that perhaps our most infamous fugitive had struck again. For those few moments, it seemed as though someone had pulled the Kimball fire alarm. Mulledyans and other Hill (supposedly, Lower Campus also) residents live with almost weekly reminders of the thin line between eight hours' uninterrupted sleep and some fool's half-drunken revelry. Wheelerites, Lehyans, and even those lovable Hanselmaniacs have come to expect the weekend "woop-woops" that shatter their nights like so many trophy case covers. Yet notwithstanding the great Campus Blackout of last December, we Crusaders are not used to interruptions outside of our residence halls. But the unthinkable did happen. Less than a quarter-hour past six o'clock last Tuesday, the emergency lights began blinking and somehow we all knew that dinner would never be the same. From then on, we thought, we would be dining in fear -- the fear that the False Alarm Bandit would strike again. To our tastes, Kimball pork wouldn't be pork anymore; Kimball lasagna wouldn't be lasagna; Kimball hot dogs -- yes, even Kimball hot dogs -- just wouldn't be hot dogs. It's been pointed out many times that Kimball pork really doesn't taste like pork anyway, and there's some truth to that statement. But bear with me here, gentle reader, I'm making an overblown melodramatic point. For that brief time, the innocence had gone out of campus dining. What innocence, you ask? Why, the very innocence that typifies this college. The sort of innocence that conforms to J. Crew and DMB. The sort of innocence that expresses shock when its own home, that seat of preppyness and suburban yuppiehood, is revealed to be a wretched hive of scum and villainy, and when its own friend and confidant -- its community's favorite son, the paragon of virtue -- is shown in his true light as the evil madman that he is. My pal and lunchtime companion Joey Brocklesby '03 may admit to being a poor mathematician and a subpar third-baseman. But as Hanselman's top trend-follower and supposed heir to his sister's impressive "boy bands" CD collection (now with 45% more Donny!), Joey's got to keep up-to-date on new music. And sometimes "TRL," which conflicts with his afternoon nap, is just not enough. Especially when they're overplaying "S Club 7" or whatever that horrid noise is. So Joey turns to the dark, criminal underworld of the Internet. With the skill and flair of the (as-yet-uncaught) False Alarm Bandit, Joey surfs through the seedy dregs of Al Gore's invention. There he trades "MP3s" with anonymous fellow-travelers on this information superhighway. Using the ubiquitous collegiate favorite "Napster," he has an impressive selection of popular music. Pirated popular music. For a university kid who protests sweat-shops, the difference between words and actions is striking, and it raises the age-old question -- is it less immoral to steal from the Wal-Mart than the corner store? Or, more to the point, is it less immoral to steal from some fatcat record company than from a lowly wage-earner? These are the ethical questions of the day, and we are performing a skillful sidestep. "It's a victimless crime," he protests, echoing the sentiments of thousands. Victimless -- there's a misstatement. That $16 that Joey didn't spend for the latest, most overpriced crossover-hit album could have been the difference between some label executive's selection of a foreign yacht versus a third residence in Florida. And that summer home not being constructed might have meant less revenues for a South Florida contractor. Perhaps that contractor can't afford to subscribe to the daily newspaper anymore. And now the newspaper has to fire one of its cub reporters. And now, since the reporter doesn't drive to work anymore, that's fifty more cents each day that the squeegee guys don't get for washing his window. And those squeegee guys, my friends, are now unable to get three square meals per diem -- all because Joey had to have his free MP3. It's called trickle-down economics, or, "a darn fine way to make a point without using too much logic." This entire issue -- copyrights on the Internet, the relative ethical merits of pirated audio files -- is so confusing that it's twisting your loyal correspondent's mind into contortions. It's such a complex question that we haven't even had time yet in this column to mention that the Kimball fire alarm was due to a small flameup in the basement -- and completely unrelated to extracurricular activities of our False Alarm Bandit. Or maybe it's the evacuation of Kimball that has cast such a shadow over this page that this reporter is unable to reason his way out of the current argument. Fire alarms at dinnertime really do tend to startle and disjoint the mind, you know. Or perhaps it's none of the above, and it's actually the new SGA Constitution and its attendant controversies that are causing the problem. Gosh, that wasn't even mentioned. Any way you slice it, this column is a victim. A non-issue was elevated to melodramatic status; a real issue was treated very shabbily; and a second real issue wasn't even addressed at all. The False Alarm Bandit has struck again. This article ran in the 7 April 2000 edition of The Crusader, on page 9 (second page of Opinions section). |