Vol. XVII No.

4 The University's Most Libelous Feature Paper ctober 16, 1995

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By Anne Ruggiero
V'o u Wa nna Cftan
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Have you ever felt cheated by the system? Ever
hear about an injustice that you would like to see
crhancrepd? Fver want to chanrc {-hp wwrld? VYeah
well, join the club. Reality bites, so you might
as well crawl back into your dark little hole,
content with your video games and MTV. Go
on and grumble about how the American insti-
tution is being FedExed to hell, but, hey, there's
nothing that you can do about it anyway, so just
kick back with a beer and channel surf. Yep, the
world sucks, so get used to it. Besides, why
would a young, Long Island suburbanite living
in his materialistic world of cars, fast food, and
computer games give two shits about the polit-
ical world that is crumbling around him?
C'mon folks. Get real. The sixties are dead.
Revolution is over.
Unfortunately, there will be a pathetic few
who agree with what I just wrote. If you're
one of them, then pay attention--I'll try to
use small words. Close the paper, make sure
that your make-up is perfect and that your
one hundred-and-fifty dollar sneakers are
looking all spiffy, and go back to the mall,
you clueless little idiots! For everybody else
who still believes that we live in a democracy,
stick around-we're not dead yet! Believe it
or not, SUNY and CUNY were rated the most
politically active universities in the country
by Mother Jones magazine, and you can still
get involved!
For starters, trot yourself down to Room 079 in
the basement of the Student Union, the Stony
Brook headquarters of NYPIRG, New York
Public Interest Research Group. NYPIRG, as the
state's largest government, consumer, and envi-
ronmental reform organization, has a long and
productive history of political activity. A non-par-
tisan, not-for-profit group, they have 19 college
chapters and have influences public policy since
1973. Their legislative victories include the
Freedom of Information law, the Lemon law, and
By John Giuffo
"Sometimes you wanna go where everybody
knows your name."
-The tl1eme song from Cheers
Most of us have a special place we like to go to,
where we feel comfortable, at home, with friends.
For some it's a bar, for others, a club. For still oth-
ers, it's Borders.
Borders is a nationwide chain of stores that sells
books and music in a relaxed, coffee-shop type set-
ting. It is not unusual to go into a Borders book-
store and find all manner of patrons relaxing and
reading in every conceivable corner of the store.
They provide an array of comfy chairs and stools
for just that purpose. The sales associates are
knowledgeable, visible, and helpful. The decor is
tasteful, and the shelves are well stocked. They
have a selection of over 150,000 book titles in
stock, many of which are obscure and/or hard to
find. They cater to a wide variety of tastes, and if
they don't have what you are looking for, they will
gladly order it for you. Sounds great, doesn't it?
Well, not exactly. You see, Borders is a nation-
wide chain, and like the other nationwide chains,
Waldenbooks and Barnes and Noble's, things at
their stores operate at a very organized and mar-
The Stony Brook Press page 2
mKME
the Clean Air Compliance Act along with many
others to improve public welfare. Currently,
NYPIRG is working on several projects such as
voter registration for the homeless, increased stu-
lpn't vftp~r rpcristra-tiron f-th.- MORT
(MOvement to Reinvest in Education),
and the Straphangers Campaign to fight for better,
safer mass transit.
At the NYPIRG general interest meeting which
was held on October 5, student representatives
spoke out about their respective causes.
Historically, young people have been the media-
ket-tested manner. Most Borders bo okstores look
very much the same, although they do differ in
many ways, such as live acts and stock choice.
They are the product of a society in love with
F,
ev UM
A
tors of political change. They have the least to
lose and the most to gain. The problem of today's
lack of political mobility lies with us-with our
generation. (Yeah, you. Put down the Sega and
rirririf nal iqt-fnfinr)n jthatW Pe havoe nrot- bern
The fact is
as involved as we should be. But it's not too
late to change that, as Martin Brennan, the
NYPIRG campaign director and the organiz-
er of the original Earth Day said. It's not too
late to change the way the world works, but
it depends on what we do now. According to
Brennan, the winners are the ones who are
organized, the ones who are mobilized. In the
real world, morality counts for nothing;
power and mobility are everything. Three
rules of action apply to campaigning:
1) Educate. Never take anything at face
value. Investigate for yourself.
2) Organize. Educate others, use your
power.
3) Do it. Put your all into your cause. These
are the principles of reform. It doesn't mat-
ter what you say you believe in, or what you
think you believe in, or what you want to
believe in. Your actions are paramount.
That's all, and nothing else.
Do you want to pay 750 dollars more a year
in tuition? Do you want to send the message to
Albany that we are only simple, stupid kids
who can easily have the proverbial wool
pulled over our eyes? Do you believe in paying
more money for less qualified instructors and
fewer classes? Do you think that Pataki would
be screwing us if we were united and active?
Put your beliefs to work! Get moving! Check
out NYPIRG, see what they're up to. If you
don't like what they're doing, then at least
attend the rallies and debates on campus. Become
involved. Our freedom to speak out should be a
treasured thing. Use it. Go on, put down the comic
book or the Game Boy, or the trashy novel. Stop
simply hanging around. You're an intelligent per-
son. Get involved. Get a life. Get a cause.
photo-copied mass-produced commodities, and
the corporate desire to eradicate all competition.
And that is precisely what they have been doing.
Smaller bookstores all over the country are feel-
ing the effect of a large nationwide chain catering
to the clientele that was once exclusively that of the
more personal, user-friendly stores. Borders has
discovered that there is a large segment of the
book-buying public that shops at these smaller
stores, for a number of reasons ranging from selec-
tion to atmosphere. Borders has incorporated these
elements into its business, recognizing that chains
such as Waldenbooks ignores a large portion of the
population with their saccharinated, tastefully lim-
ited selection. Borders carries it all.
The Stony Brook Borders Community Relations
Coordinator, Laurel Garbarini, said "About the
only books we wouldn't carry are those of say, an
explicitly racist nature. Aside from that, we have
no restrictions on what we carry." Borders learns
marketing from its corporate cousins, creating an
environment where someone could hold a position
entitled "Community Relations Coordinator" for a
single bookstore. The position enables the manage-
ment to be more in touch with the needs and
desires of the community it caters to, in order to
1more effectively provide for that community, in
order to boost profits. None of next page ---->
 Freedom of Press?
By Raoul Duke
"Journalists do not live by words alone, although
sometimes they have to eat them."
-Matthew Arnold
In the last issue of The Press, we printed a story
entitled "The Statesman Thieves Guild," in which
we questioned the legality and morality of the
Statesman's in-house fax service,
As it turns out, The Statesman isn't doing anything
wrong by running this service. The fax service is
administered by a paid employee. She is not an edi-
tor and not a student, and she's paid by the school
to take care of these things. All the money from the
fax service is carefully counted and recorded. In
addition, Polity has no rules against this service. The
Statesman didn't do anything wrong; they're not
thieves, not embezzlers, and your fax money is
being handled by a trustworthy employee,
Of course, our article was only partly motivated by
desire to know if this business was strictly on the level,
For the most part our motivation was less journalisti-
cally sound; we wanted to stick it to the Statesman.
The Press and the Statesman have a long and sordid
history. The Press started as a paper when a few
Statesman editors decided their paper sucked and
broke off to do their own thing. In the sixteen years
since "the great schism," the Press has endeavored to
skewer The Statesman whenever possible. With the
advent of Rich Cole as editor and the ensuing scandal,
this pastime became more and more of an obsession.
So when we published "The Statesman Thieves
Guild," it was intended as just another slam at the
Statesman. We meant it as a satirical piece, not an
actual news story; frankly, we really didn't give a rat's
ass about whether or not they were actually breaking
the rules. Sure, the article ended with a threat to inves-
tigate, but come the Thursday after we went to print -
four days after the article was written- we hadn't even
given the 'investigation' a second thought.
community, in order to boost profits. None of this
is inherently bad, however. Profit is, after all, the
basic goal of almost all businesses, and you can't
fault Borders for meeting its goals in an exemplary
fashion.
It's all very plastic,
though. The clean, well-lit
cafe, the matching chair
upholsteries, the Friday
night Jazz bands. It's all a
little too well-planned. It
seems as if they are trying
too hard. They want to be
everything to everybody,
and as we all know, when
you try to pick up too
much at one time, you risk
dropping the entire load.
There are 95 Borders locat-
ed all over the country,
each trying, at the same
time, to be the little neigh-
borhood cafe/bookstore
where people can meet,
talk, laugh and live. 95
locations with dozens of
little niches for customers I
customers in their niche. I
coffee flavors fill the air, ir
read, to forget our troubl
thankful that such a place e
_ L________ll_______^_Y
~1~ ______·__·_1________1___11___1___~__1___
We were shocked, then, to read that Thursday's
edition of The Statesman. In an editorial entitled
"Stony Brook Press Errs On the Side of Stupidity,"
the Statesman editors screamed foul and shouted
threats of war. Our article, they said, was offensive
and libelous... and they were going to sue. "Look
out, Press people," they said, "We're coming."
This editorial hit us like a ton of bricks. We had
frankly forgotten about the article... and we had
certainly not intended to wound the Statesman
editors so deeply. More shocking than the com-
plaint, though, was the implied course of action.
The Statesman was going to sue ?
From a journalistic standpoint, a lawsuit between
two papers is a tremendously serious matter.
When one paper sues another, it hurts both the
papers involved, and in turn damages the entire
industry. A contact of ours at the Student Media
Law Center called the suit "a mockery." What did
they think a suit would solve, anyway? What dam-
ages were they going to seek? Money? We've got
none. Did they want to shut us down? Should that
be their goal, it would be an uphill battle... we have
lots of allies in the media community, none of
whom take censorship lightly. Libel or not, a little
thing called the first amendment would have stood
in their way. Did they want an apology?
Apparently not; "We don't want a retraction or an
apology," the editorial said.
So the next Wednesday we met with the editors
of The Statesman to try and clear things up.
Despite their assertions in the editorial, we began
the meeting with an apology; we were sorry if they
took our story the wrong way and got, offended. It
wasn't intended to impugn anyone's reputation or
damage any egos. It was, as far as we had been
concerned, another small shot in a long campaign
of harmlessly teasing them.
But the Statesman thought otherwise. They were
concerned that people would take our article seri-
ously, and that their reputation would be tar-
our little secret, our little place, where only a select
few other people can appreciate us, where we feel
special. 95 stores full of contentment.
To be fair, Borders is a much better bookstore
than Waldenbooks, although, Barnes and Noble
3 ~---
nished. They had a point, and we admitted it... and
apologized again. Couldn't they see, though, that a
lawsuit would harm their reputation far worse
than our measly article ever could? Should it ever
go that far, we'd be sure to make a huge issue out
of it... and people would listen. A story as strange
as two student newspapers not only at the same
school but with offices in the same hallway suing
each other would surely be picked up by the
national press. We pointed that out, and also
informed the editors that we'd already contacted
the Student Media Law Center, The ACLU, The
Freedom Forum... and that if necessary we would
make even more noise.
To their credit, the editorial board of the Statesman
are masters of the poker face. We couldn't tell if our
arguments were making any difference or not... and
we left that meeting dejected and tired.
As it turns out, threats of a lawsuit may have
been premature. The editors were angry when
they wrote that editorial, and now that they've
had time to think it out they seem to be mellow-
ing. Chances are they'll drop the issue and accept
our apology. The Press will be more careful in the
future to clearly define what's satire and what's
not, and we won't unnecessarily malign the repu-
tation of our sister paper. Hopefully, the
Statesman will in turn be more careful not to be so
threatening in their editorials.
So we apologize to the Statesman, and we want
everyone to understand that they didn't do any-
thing wrong. Remember, dear reader, the Press is a
feature paper... we're not to be taken seriously.
In closing, we want to issue a warning to all once
and future critics. Don't mistake honesty and a
willingness to apologize for weakness. We've still
got twenty pages to fill every two weeks, and we're
more than happy to skewer those who offend us.
As the wise poet "Anonymous" once said:
"Never argue with people who buy ink by the barrel."
attempt to be personal. But it's better than nothing,
and they have agreed to carry The Press, so they
can't be all bad.
~ I ~~m. ·- CI
October 16, 1995 page 3
Editorial . 1

"What A Bunch Of Pricks"

that they would've been blacklisted from the
"I had to tell him that I was that Scumbag" field. Too bad they didn't sue. Now they will
- The Statesman Advertising Manager, have to settle with being denied jobs
explaining to the Press staff, what she said because of their lack of talent.
to a friend of her son who read the article The Press editorial staff had a meeting
in question and referred to The Statesman .with The Statesman's editorial staff to try
staff as a bunch of scumbags. and dissuade The Statesman from pursu-
ing a lawsuit. What a Fellini-esque little
Last issue, we ran a short 1/8 page piece pow-wow this was. As if it weren't diffi-
entitled "The Statesman Thieves Guild?". It cult enough to keep a straight face with
made light of an ad that appeared in The Dave Shashoua hunt-and-pecking his
Statesman's classified section that offered a article into a Mac behind us, we had to
fax service for 50 cents a page. We raised listen to such gems as the above quote
questions of embezzlement, of fraud, of between a panoply of faces from them
cheesy cartoonists getting their rocks off ranging from the "I smell fish" expres-
with whores bought with misdirected stu- sions from the ad lady to the "What satire
dent funds. Wouldn't you know it, The mean?" looks of bewilderment from that
Statesman editorial staff got pissed off. Cubie guy. It's amazing that it took so
They threatened us with lawsuits. To quote long to explain so little.-
their editorial from Thursday, October 5, We only bothered setting up the meeting
"We don't want a retractionor an apology At to avoid being dragged into court unneces-
this point, it doesn't matter. We don't care if sarily. We left feeling exasperated,
your organizationfalls off the face of planet annoyed, and needing a beer. Statesman
Earth tomorrow Look out, Press people. Associate Editor, John Lowther told us that
We're coming." they would probably forget about the law-
Ooooooooooh! suit, indicating at least a spark of intelli-
We contacted Mike Hiestand at the gence on their part. Perhaps relations
Student Media Law Center, e-mailed him the between our two papers have worsened as a
article in question and asked if we were at result of this incident, but so what: we have
all liable. He said that within the context of our own scanner now, and we have enough
our paper, a feature newspaper in which friends, so we don't need them.
satire plays a large part, it probably wasn't. I think a quote from one of our editors sums
The way we see it, if The Statesman had up our feelings most accurately; "What a
sued us, they would've lost, wasted loads of bunch of pricks." So Nanny-Nanny Poo-Poo!
money and time, and ensured that none of
their staff would ever get a job in the field of (Note: Editorials are opinions. If you don't like
journalism. The act of one paper suing it, tough. Go ahead and sue us.. we'll plead
another paper is so taboo, so unheard of, insanity, and we aren't afraid to prove it.)
Letters E@6~g·~46iPF~BWL~3E1~3S'~i~~
To the Editor: bended knees because I was horribly Holocaust Museum? Megatons more
wrong about several things: apropos.
I am a senior at Stony Brook and just
First, my humblest of apologies to Yours most obsequiously,
wanted to let all of you working on
both John Giuffo and Doug Vescuso. I Efraim Csuwoj
The Press what an excellent job I
seem to have gotten them confused.
think you are all doing. There is a lot
Them Eyetalian names sure are hard To The Editor:
I don't like about Stony Brook, in fact
to keep straight. I'm grateful to you SUNY TO BE RESTRUCTURED,
I hate almost everything about the
for not exposing my egregious faux DOWNSIZED, PRIVATIZED AND
school, but I truly look forward to the
pas to the reading public. REORGANIZED?
release of your paper every other
Secondly, I wrote in my last letter- Last Spring after the Governor
week. On top of the paper being
bomb that the former Yugoslavia introduced a budget cut of 31% for
incredibly funny, I can honestly say I
lacks oil. I've since learned differently, SUNY, a coalition of students, faculty
learn more about politics and the
as the enclosed Nation article attests. and staff mobilized to define the
school from your paper than I do Third, an update on nos amis, the terms of the debate on funding for
from reading Newsday. This fact
French nuclear enthusiasts: it higher education. As a result of our
either demonstrates how well written
appears that Slick Willie, while combined efforts, we succeeded in
your paper is or how big an idiot I YOU ARE MORE LIKELY TO BE ON
sounding the positive note of calling capturing the support of a majority of
am. A few of my favorite articles that CAMPUS ON ELECTION AND PRI-
for a ban on further nuke tests, has New Yorkers.
I still have are Louis M. Moran's MARY DAYS.
once again demonstrated his duplici- Our work begins again! The private
"Generation X...", Lowell Yaeger's 2- IF YOU ARE NOT CURRENTLY
ty by allowing the French govern- interests that would do away with a
"Homunculus Dementia", and the REGISTERED TO VOTE, YOU MUST
ment to fly their plutonium-laden public
beer tasting article from last year. The FILE A VOTER REGISTRATION
garbage over US airspace on the way university are well represented and
fact that I have saved some issues FORM BY OCTOBER 13 (BY MAIL)
to the continued radiating of well funded. We will not match them
either demonstrates the impact these OR OCTOBER 28 (IN PERSON AT
Paradise (our glorious leaders began dollar for dollar but we can match
articles have or it reveals my lack of a THE BOARD OF ELECTIONS) IF
it with the Bikini tests in 1946.) them in numbers, willpower and,
real life. Sorry if I'm taking up your YOU WANT TO VOTE IN THIS
Along the same lines, Chris public support.
time with my rambling, I just wanted NOVEMBER'S ELECTIONS.
Sorochin's "Letter to the German Our FIRST and BEST weapon is the
to let you all know what a great job I 3- IF YOU CAN'T OR WON'T
Chancellor" was just what Dr. ballot box. At present, a campus voter
think you are all doing. Keep it up, CHANGE YOUR ADDRESS, MAKE
Strangelove ordered. I'm mailing registration drive is under way. DID
you guys rule!!! SURE THAT YOU APPLY FOR AN
copies to the American Legion and all YOU KNOW THAT:
Sincerely, ABSENTEE BALLOT OR GO HOME
the requisite Congressional weenies. 1- RESIDENT STUDENTS CAN
Dave Favilla TO VOTE ON ELECTION DAY.
Here's an idea, not originally mine, AND SHOULD FILE A NEW VOTER
I'm grieved to say: why not stage the REGISTRATION FORM LISTING IN THE COMING WEEKS YOU
To the Editor:
first, precensorship exhibit at the YOUR CAMPUS ADDRESS SINCE WILL BE CALLED ON TO DO
Oh, the shame of it all! I grovel on

The Stony Brook Press page 4.

~s~ea ~ -I- --
~ ~-~---~~ 4L-~1T--~ --·IB~-BC:
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I~i~:
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Do you have any prescription pain-killers?

We need them... not that we approve of illicit drug use
and deliberate misuse of prescription drugs. Thai
would be wrong. Of course, if you just happened tc
have, say, some codeine, and some of it just happened
to fall into the mouths of our editors, that might be nice

So join the Press. We all have colds and bronchitis and

god knows what else. We caught it from Heather, the
"Typhoid Mary" of the Student Media Wing. In addi-
tion, Ted, our editor, pulled his back out getting out of
bed yesterday and the big wuss won't stop whining
about it. "Awwwwwgggggg!" he keeps screaming,
whenever he moves or stands up or even just uses the
damn keyboard. Frankly, we wish he'd just shut the
hell up about it.

Our meetings are held Wednesdays at 1:00 in room 060

of the student union. That's in the basement, way in
the back of the media hall. It's pretty damn far from
everything else on campus, and you should hear Ted
whine about how far he has to walk to his car.

We also need copy editors because our last one is get-

ting married. The rest of us are sitting down here typ-
ing the damn paper up until four in the morning,
sneezing and coughing and just generally hurling
phlegm all over the place.

JOIN THE PRESS...

...BECAUSE WE REALLY NEED HELP.

Letters Continued WE'RE NUMBER ONE!

MORE THAN CAST A BALLOT. THE VERY FUTURE OF By Efraim Csuwoj
STONY BROOK AND PUBLIC HIGHER EDUCATION IS AT
STAKE. DON'T BELIEVE FOR A MINUTE THAT YOUR VOTE All SUNY and CUNY students, faculty
IS NOT IMPORTANT. and employees should give themselves a
VOTER REGISTRATION FORMS HAVE BEEN DISTRIB- brief round of applause. The progressive
UTED TO RESIDENT STUDENTS. VOTER REGISTRATION magazine Mother Jones has just come out
FORMS FOR COMMUTER STUDENTS WILL BE DISTRIB- with its "Top Ten Activist Colleges" and
UTED THROUGH THE CAMPUS BUS SERVICE. VOTER REG- the SUNY/CUNY system tops the list for
ISTRATION FORMS FOR FACULTY AND STAFF WILL BE the massive resistance offered last semes-
DISTRIBUTED THROUGH THE PAYROLL/PAYCHECK DIS- ter to George Pataki's evil plans to gut
TRIBUTION. VOTER REGISTRATION FORMS ARE ALSO New York State's public higher education
AVAILABLE THROUGH THE UUP CHAPTER OFFICE (OLD system, considered to be one of the best
CHEM BLDG RM. 106) in the country.
POLITY WILL HAVE TABLES SET UP IN THE STUDENT The short article describes the teargassing
UNION ON WEDNESDAYS DURING CAMPUS LIFETIME TO of demonstrators in the City and Mayor
HELP WITH VOTER REGISTRATION. Giuliani's clever recommendation that
TOGETHER WE CAN MAKE A DIFFERENCE! protesting students find a job for the day. I
guess Rudy was trying to tell them to get
John P. Schmidt used to the low-wage temp jobs that would
Chapter Legislative Liaison seem to be the future of the majority of the
on behalf of the UUP West Campus Executive Board US labor force, even those with educations.
Aaron Godfrey, President Those who remember the police riot of a
Dale Deutsch, Vice President, Academics few years ago, which Giuliani led, will
Jose Feliciano, Vice President, Professionals recall that he didn't offer such advice to the
Charles Wrigley, Treasurer throngs of openly intoxicated off duty
Judy Wishnia, Grievance Chair, Academics police officers who were making their
Bev Rivera, Grievance Chair, Professionals point against then-Mayor Dinkins ('the
washroom attendant") by harassing
passersby who they felt to be of the wrong
pigmentation.
On the down side, the largest increase in
the institution's history was imposed on
students, making higher education less
accessible. I'm sure Pataki & Co. aren't
willing to leave it at that. The appropriate
cliches are "Forewarned is forearmed" and
"The best defense is a good offense".
1. Register to vote, if you haven't already.
NYPIRG usually runs a registration drive
before Election Day, Nov. 7, and they can
answer any questions you might have. Or
you can contact your local League of
Women Voters or Board of Elections.
They're in the phone book.
2. In civilized countries, elections are held
on Sunday, when the greatest number of
people are free from work, school and
other obligations. In our little time warp,
however, those in power want as few peo-
ple voting as possible participating.
Witness the opposition to raised by the
Republicans to the motor-voter bill,
designed to expedite and expand voter
registration by making it part of renewing
one's driver's license. Therefore, teachers
should excuse students who have to travel
home to vote.
3. (And most challenging) Start educating
yourself (what a concept!) on the issues and
find out who represents you and what
they're really doing and let them know
how you feel. Don't rely on the mainstream
media The Village Voice gives away free
samples on campuses and libraries stock
The Nation, The Progressiveand others.
Hopefully, keeping our record won't be
easy-maybe the next trend in intra-colle-
giate competition will not be about having
the best sports teams or the most partying
campus, but about doing the most about
things that really count.

.October 16, 1995 page 5

By Anne Ruggiero
The jurors shuffled into the courtroom. The
defendant stood, tense and anxious, as the mil-
lions of spectators tried to read his thoughts. A
loaded, eerie silence hushed the nation as the
judge beckoned the foreperson forward. The
verdict slammed down upon the people and
mercilessly sliced them in half. Black vs.
white, the oppressed vs. the conquerors, the
imprisoned vs. the free. From that unforget-
table second, we ceased to be one country, we
are no longer a united people. Most
Americans will say that we never really
were. Whatever the grisly truth of the mur-
ders is, the fact remains that the racial lines
that had been obscured have been etched
anew, deeper than ever.
Probably one of the largest causes of the rift
between the races is the misunderstanding of
purposes. Whites, for the most part, saw this
trial as straightforward case of domestic
,~~r , .1.d--,.'I.. I . 1
abuse, a most loathsome crime. The tact that
O.J. Simpson was the suspect mattered little-most
whites looked upon Simpson as a respected sports
figure and his color was scarcely noticed. In fact,
blacks themselves had resorted to calling Simpson
"white", or an "Oreo", as he lived a dominantly
white lifestyle and had married a white woman.
Yet for most African-Americans, the verdict was a
long-awaited vindication against the legal system
that had cheated them for centuries. The guilty
party for them was Det. Mark Fuhrman, an
unquestionably arrogant and bigoted man,
although he was not on trial at this time. It seems
that to blacks whether Simpson killed his ex-wife
and her friend is irrelevant and well worth ignor-
ing to send a bigger picture to the American pub-
lic. Many white Americans are peeved about their
counterparts celebratory reaction to the trial, and
at the other end, blacks wonder why whites still
don't understand.
One of the basic questions that surrounds the
outcome of the trial is that if any extraneous
prejudices influenced the jury, was it Simpson's
race or his class that decided the verdict? For
years we have passively allowed not guilty ver-
dicts in controversial trials of wealthy whites
such as William Kennedy Smith. Is it the fact that
they can afford high-priced lawyers? Would
Simpson have walked without Johnny
Cochran? Or did the fact that nine out of the
twelve jurors were black help?
One definite outcome of this legal mess had
been the degeneration of our nation's tolerance
of racial difference. "This is accelerating
America's descent into a state of psychological
apartheid" says Rev. Eugene Rivers, a black
leader from Boston. There is no disputing the
fact that we have lost much of what our parents
fought for in the Civil Rights movement. Blacks
who continue to aggressively attack whites for
events long past have alienated potential allies,
and some whites have recently questioned the
equality of the races. Whose fault is it? Johnny
Cochran? Fuhrman? No matter who it was that
started pointing fingers, the result has been the
complete polarization of our society. Racism and
reverse racism has torn apart the ties that the Civil
Rights Movement had bonded together. After
almost two centuries of racial protest, the Simpson
trial proved that we have learned nothing.

Live From Death Row

By Angelique
The wrongful conviction and subsequent death
sentencing of journalist Mumia Abu-Jamal have
recently received some much deserved media
attention (see The Press, Vol. XVII, No. 2, pg. 5).
Live From Death Row is a collection of his
essays which have been printed in the Yale
Law Journal, The Nation, and other such
respectable publications. The book is not
about Mumia Abu-Jamal's story, it's by
Mumia and in it he is true to his title 'voice of
the voiceless.' His short, intelligent, haunting
essays are broken into sections on life in
prison, crime and punishment, and musings,
memories, and prophecies. As he quotes
court case after case, you begin to wonder
why others have not come before him, crying
out against the injustices of our Justice
System. (That's right, it's our system which
means that everyone, you and me included
have some facing up to do.) The plain truth is
that they've been trying for years but no
one's listening! Mumia tells us of Supreme
Court Justices and renowned sociologists
alike whose scathing criticisms have been
overlooked, suppressed, and ignored.
Instead of a bitter tirade of finger pointing
and blame, the author simply puts forward
the facts and the facts are ugly.
Two striking examples from the book are
Fred Zain and Justice Powell. Medical examiner
Fred Zain liked putting innocent men in jail. It
seems that when the West Virginia Supreme Court
examined Zain's testing, they found he "wrote
reports on tests that were never done, reported
positive matches where negatives would have
cleared suspects, and listed as "conclusive" test
results that were inconclusive." Zain's career as the
"expert witness from Hell" affected thousands of
cases. How many served time for crimes they did-
n't commit? Next there's the Baldus study which cages to be robbed of their life.
contained "mounds of powerful statistical data Why don't these men receive media attention?
demonstrating gross racial disparity in Georgia's Why aren't their stories talked about? Part of the
death penalty tallies." It's been ignored because if problem is that many of them are uneducated
you believe the numbers then according to Justice and/or deprived of a way to speak out.
Powell it "throws into serious question the princi- Typewriters are not allowed in the prison although
pies that under- i vs are. It seems that the prison orfficials reel that
lie our entire typewriters are dangerous because you might
criminal justice make a weapon out of one...? Of course, you can't
system." No take the glass from the front of a television and use
shit, Asshole! it to slice someone's throat, oh no those typewrit-
As I read the ers are dangerous. The real danger that they pose
book I learned is they might give so many other men a voice
that Mumia against the system. Men in jail are deprived of the
Abu-Jamal is right or the means to educate themselves. Is an
not just some ignorant convict safer for the community than an
guy on death educated one? I think not. What about the fact that
row who is prisoners who write letters to their families or file
scared of get- complaints that eventually cause investigations
ting fried. He's about brutal guards are further beaten and pun-
an intelligent ished behind the concrete walls and razor wire?
man, an Mumia asks us these questions and more. What
activist, who about Manny, the epileptic prisoner who depended
has been cen- on his daily medication to hold his seizures at bay?
sored (his com- Why did he suddenly begin having more seizures?
mentaries for Why was he thrust into successively deeper comas
National Public with every seizure? Because someone in the prison
Radio's All hierarchy was slipping Loxitane, Artane, and
T h i n g s Haldol in with his meds. The combination of these
Considered were drugs "lowers the convulsive threshold," according
. ,. . TIN
.I I•.
.. /• I -" l - ,%
c a n c e Ie d to the Physician's Lesk eference. Someone knew
because they couldn't "give a monster a soapbox") what they were doing, but there is no justice for
not because he is voicing some self-centered cry for Manny. "That the culprits, those who prescribed
help, but because his words are a call for action this toxic chemical cocktail, still lay hidden is an
that cannot be ignored. indictment against a racist system of corruption,
The power of his own horrendous experiences masquerading as corrections."
becomes overshadowed by the thousands of Read this book. I don't care about your race, your
nameless faces in American prisons today who economic situation, your political beliefs. Read it.
have been raped by a system of "corrections" that Live From Death Row is put out by the Addison-
robs innocent men of their families, their dignity, Wesley Publishing Company and the price is $20.
their health, and their sanity, while they wait in

The Stony Brook Press page 6

By Louis M Moran
Until all the pieces fall togethei and you can see
them clearly as separate events that only seem like
a cataclysmic moment you aren't a 'grown up'. It's
when you realize that growing up is a bureaucratic
process very much like getting your license, regis-
tration, and inspection done, all at once, that you
get to be grown up. It never was the light switch
you thought it was when you were a kid and want-
ed to be a grown up.
The concept of being a grown up at the age of
social awareness, whatever age that came to you
when you are more aware of your surroundings
than you aren't, is not dissimilar to wanting some-
thing you can't attain under normal circum-
stances.like a Porsche; or if you're that age and you
have a Porsche, a true friend. At about nine or ten
the urge to be grown up begins to kick and squirm
inside you like a fetus in the womb. You feel some-
thing. You have odd urges and insatiable needs.
You want to go to the mall-alone. You want to stay
out late. You want to hang out with girls, or boys.
You want. Suddenly the need for things is consum-
ing and you can't get them because you're not old
enough. So naturally to overcome this obstacle you
want to be a grown up.
Of course, we, as grown ups, know that as soon as
you realize just what being a grown up means, you
want to be a kid, again, a state you will never real-
ly achieve. Save for the fact that you may again
wear diapers in your latter years, whilst drooling
and babbling incoherently to anyone in earshot. At
that time becoming grown up is the most important
thing you'll ever do and you try with great earnest
to be all grown up. Some kids smoke, looking like
kids with cigarettes. Some kids dress differently,
fathers of daughters know this to be an extremely
trying time. Still others take on perceived grown up
activities; watching the news, reading the paper
and getting a job. Of course we grown ups know
that we only read the sections of the paper that
have interest to us and those mostly have line
drawings and very small print with arcane word-
ing like 50k yr., or Only 5k on motor, or SWCFN/S
seeks DWCMN/S. The whole front of the paper
could be blank as long as The Daily Numbers are in
bold print.
As for jobs, professions, careers, none of us are ever
really happy with what we are; do we ever lose the
urge to be a baseball player or super-model? Let's
face it, grown ups don't have those jobs anyway,
kids do. People still believe that a single event pro-
pels them into adulthood, the technical term for
being grown up. You'll hear stock phrases like this
at parties, "I knew I was grown up when I yelled at
the kids in my block to stay off my lawn, just like
my father." Or, "I was cooking a meatloaf last week
when I took a pinch, just a pinch of Basil and sprin-
kled it mostly on one side of the meat...now nor-
mally I wouldn't have cared, but I took the loaf out
of the pan broke it all up and put it back together in
the pan, just like my mother would've."
I am loathe to inform you that this does not make
you a grown up...pleased, however, to inform you
that you are well on your way to becoming a grown
up. Recognition, like most Step Programs is the
first, well, step. It doesn't just happen to you.
Puberty doesn't just happen; and why should
growing up? In a worse case scenario it could take
your whole life to grow up and the final stage com-
ing only seconds before you exhale your last
breath. Think of it, you lying there, everyone look-
ing as you look up and say, "Oh, I get it...uh!"
Most of us will not be so unfortunate. Most of us
will realize before the climax of our lives and cer-
tainly before the denouement, what it means to be
grown up. It is not after the time when you gave
your last piece of candy to a younger kid. It isn't
when you realize that your body hair is really going
to keep coming back even after you shave it. Not
your first kiss, or your first time will give you the
stamp of entry to Grown Upville.
Paying your bills on time instead of figuring out
which check you'll bounce so you can party until
dawn. Laughing at a joke you don't think is funny
so you won't hurt their feelings. Meaning it when
you say, I want to be friends. Inviting everyone
over for dinner and not turning it into an all-niter.
Singing in the car with someone else and admitting
you don't sing well. Telling the truth even though
the lie is much better. Keeping it down because the
neighborhood has kids that have to get up for
school. Admitting you were wrong. Looking at kids
and thinking, I want one, or another one. Feeding
the cats, cleaning the litter box and changing the
water bowl all in the same day because it has to be
done. Calling your grandmother, for the hell of it.
Listening to a teenager tell you how it is and not
telling them they wouldn't really understand until
they were older. Not just saying something your
father said, but knowing why he said it, and what
he meant. None of those are what make you a
grown up. They all are. Piece by piece, step by step,
inch by inch and cliche after cliche, because being a
grown up is all of the things you thought it would
be an more. Being all grown up isn't about getting
into a bar, or X-rated movie. It isn't about burden
and responsibility, chaos and rigidity. Being all
grown up is so infinitely complex and personal we
all hit it at a slightly different time, and we hit it
when we're not thinking about it. When being
grown up is an ache that makes you aware of your-
self, like a sore muscle...you keep running on it, but
you are aware suddenly that you have a calf.
When you know you're grown up and can look
back on your life seeing all the times you thought to
yourself, this is it-I'm here, and see how far away
you were do you appreciate the trip. You under-
stand all the crazy things grown ups told you you'd
understand when you were a grown up. It's like
getting into an elite club and after the initiation is
over they show you a slide show and then tell you
the meaning of life. Except when the initiation is
over you know the meaning of life. You are aware
that you're in. You know things other people don't
and like a good toy you don't really want to share
it. But you're agrown up now, and you will. Those
that are in the club will nod and smile knowingly
and those that aren't won't get it until they're ready.
October 16, 1995 page 7
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The Stony Brook Press page 8

 THE STONY BROOK PRESS
PRESENTS
THE 1995 FALL LITERARY SUPPLEMENT
-199 FAO4os- I1B

f~8~14~3a~5~8~8~~
A Train Ride Marked By A Cryin
By Eli the Bearded
I remember the train ride well. The station at Westhampton was still
closed due to the fire and I had to get on at Speonk. This did have the
advantage that the fare was slightly cheaper. I had purchased a cup of cof-
fee from a heavy guy in the little shop by the station. Soon enough the loud,
filthy diesel engine was pulling to a stop. I walked over and climbed in.
There were only two cars open and I knew from experience that the
one I was in, six inches or so taller than the other, was the one with air
conditioning. The train was very empty but the people who were on it
Baby
her bosom with its hands, the kid managed to keep her chest jiggling
by kicking. I was rubbing myself through my jeans. My erection was
very much un-ignorable.
Then she did something unnatural. She stretched her mouth open
wider than the kid's skull. I guessed she must of dislocated her jaw or
something when it fell down. The wrinkled skin of her lips was now
stretched taut. Her face looked as distorted as something in a funny mir-
ror, but it didn't look old. I opened my fly and pulled out my penis, much
turned on by the kink value of this new development. She lifted the baby
up to her mouth and it seemed to go crazy with fear. She held its arms

db~l,,
UULie liseaitu.
A
t-irW up
i f tf
had lots of luggage. I took a forward facing seat on the side with the
n111lnUiI U ltme
still and began to slip the skull in her mouth. It was a tight fit. I was
iXT171
) b-"f AnU,
ixmasturi.Ul.Uatg
t hix kiv-r hnUw UU.d
k1v:tl
noL ev entnl llnllnig
there was an oldish woman with a it must be to do it in such a public place.
young child on the triple seat side. She leaned her head back and lifted the baby
The child was sleeping and the above her so that gravity would help push it
woman was staring out the window. down her throat. The baby began to urinate
This was one of the rare cars with out of fear. The stream sprayed against the
windows free enough from scratches wall the seats in front. She was slowly push-
to actually look through. ing the child down her throat. The loose skin
The conductor came and punched of her neck was filling out with the meal. Once
my ticket. "Transfer at Jamaica." I the whole head was in her mouth she stopped
had hoped to find a newspaper on the and sealed her lip around its throat. I
train, but it was clean. I had nothing squeezed my glans and frenum together with
to do but stare out the window and my thumb and forefinger with each stroke.
sip my coffee. Rounda-bouts The waves of pleasure flowed wonderfully
Patchogue the train whistle had from the pressure. The pissing had stopped
aroused the baby and the woman was and the baby was slowing down. The urine on
trying to pacify it. the walls still dripped.
I first started looking at them about The woman was quite still for several min-
that time. The woman had a very utes and I slowed my masturbation to keep me
wrinkled mouth and loose skin hang- going for the whole thing. It was a long time
ing off her neck. I decided that she after the baby had ceased to move that she
might not be old after all, but just began to start swallowing. She held on to the
have some skin weirdness. Her arms child's feet and slowly lowered them as her
seemed perfectly fine after all and throat strained to engulf the body. I wondered
her eyes had a decidedly youthful at once how she could breathe, but then put the
shine. Maybe the kid was hers. I thought out of my mind. I was enjoying this too
hoped that the kid would have a bet- much to question it.
ter draw of looks than the mother. Her mouth and throat were grossly distort-
Tho kidr hopran ervin Iniloder aft.pr Pr ftrnm +th hlmirn nnrm inrd hcr rhec'f xrwos
someone slammed the sliding door shut returning from a cigarette Pictureby Anna Chamberlin beginning to swell with the meal and I had
between the cars. The kid had very little hair and seemed to be quite never been so turned on in all my life. My hand was rubbing hard,
young. The baby looked about nine-ten pounds. The woman was hold- squeezing,and pulling, and I didn't care that I had no lube and that I
ing it close to her chest, smoothing the scarce hair, and talking softly was chafing. Her meal was progressing so slowly that I feared I may not
to it. be able to hold my cum till she was done. Already the precum was show-
"Hush my baby, quiet my baby. ing and I was thrashing away. But either my perception of time
All is alright, silence my little one. changed or she began to work faster. I was coming and she was up to
Dry your tears, quell your fears, li' baby. the knees of baby and I had a huge amount of spunk to milk out and
Your mother is here, my small infant son." she was eating faster and faster. I was stroking my semi-hard shaft as
The woman had lovely copper-red hair in a long braid. She put the I watched the lump in her throat that was the infant's feet disappear
baby in her lap so that she would have a free hand to reach into her bag. into her bloated torso.
She pulled out a bottle to feed the child. I turned my eyes to her breasts She reached up to push her jaw back into place. I pulled out a nap-
under the purple tee-shirt. Largish and firm, decidedly not those of an kin that I had gotten with my coffee. I used it to wipe up the thick
old woman. The baby refused the bottle and continued to bawl. She semen as best I could. Then I put the coarse, sticky paper in the empty
checked the diaper, satisfied, she left it on. She put the bottle back and coffee cup. I eased my genitals back into my pants and closed my fly.
lifted the child to her chest again. Swaying gently she began to recite a The lump was settling into the woman's stomach and her face had
lyric I couldn't understand. It might have been Scots or Old English returned to normal proportions with very loose skin when I next
because I thought I could make out parts but mostly it was beyond me. glanced over.
We pulled out of Babylon, the train was now express to Jamaica; She collected her belongings into the baby bag and stood up. She
about an hour away. The conductor made one last pass through the car walked over to me and pulled out a box of Dunhills. She offered me one.
and disappeared into the closed first car. I turned around and noticed I looked at it a moment. I collected my garbage, stood and took the
There was only one other person in the car way off at the other end, offered cigarette. Together we walked silently to the far exit of the car.
apparently sleeping. I smiled to see him so peaceful in spite of the cry- She took a cigarette for herself. Between the cars she offered me a light
ing. My coffee was finished now, it seemed unlikely I could get any and then lit up herself.
sleep. I turned back to look at the woman and child. I stared at her In silence we waited in the noisy cubicle as the train slowed for the
chest. The kid was flailing his arms about as he cried and one of his approach to Jamaica station. She finished her cigarette first and
fists kept hitting her chest and causing the breasts to vibrate tempt- tossed it out on the tracks. There was one last movement in her
ingly. I noticed that I was getting hard but ignored it. stomach that I saw. I stubbed out the cigarette and put the butt in
Then the woman reached up and touched her chin in an odd way. She the coffee cup.
stopped her poetry and hummed instead. Moments later her jaw We pulled into the station. "I'm taking the E train," she told me.
dropped down several inches. She glanced over at me for the first time "I'm transferring to go into Woodside," I told her.
and I pretended to stare out the window. I examined the sight from the The doors opened. We stepped out. She leaned over and gave me a
corner of my eye. Her jaw was very odd looking. It was as if the entire brief kiss on the lips. I hugged her. She turned and walked down the
bone had descended to in front of her Adam's apple. She began to platform to the exit to the subways. I tossed out the coffee cup and
undress the child. The screams seemed louder and now unable to reach crossed the platform to board the waiting train.
Fall Literary Supplement page 2
 -- L ----il_-l ---LPI 4-~~- -- · I I - L~s 3 -·P _ _I~ _ ___~_~ _______ggCllPYI~n~ilIL~·
~-2~-Ilb - - I _ - -Ilb__~L_ -L~CI
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~.
Pain clouded tenderness,
reverberating and careening off
slick walls
breaking the fine china

Cataract confusion,
grey membrane separating
Truth from perception
and all that is left
is our dog pissing on the hydrant

Black insect dreams,

terrorize me and attempt to
latch small spiny metallic prongs
into my brain.
thru my ears
drips thick porridge
of all the breakfasts
i've slept thru.

Dark covers,
inescapable volume
draws me close into its tender
arms, whispering sweet songs to me,
offering assurances that the harsh reality
of daylight existence is finally
behind me.

Jacob Naim

Sorry

I always regret not saying what I mean,

and I know what you need, it's my honesty.
But sometimes I get nervous and fill the spaces,
with ridiculous thoughts and empty traces.
If there's only some way to make it much easier,
To shine right through and not as a teaser.
I sleep at night by looking back,
of what's been said, a lost chance I had..
Please understand me for what I did,
I think I'm mature, but act as a kid.
I really like you, as a matter of fact,
You're adored and I'm fascinated,
I'm
trapped in your cast.
I miss all those days and nights that we shared,
I want to tell you this, but at times, I'm scared...
I always wonder what you might think,
that if I said these things, will you believe...? Self Portrait,1995 hy John Giuffo
Today I shivered from the blistering cold,
but when I'm near you, I burn by your hold... Sand
You held me so close and I wanted to say,
how much I missed you, in everyway... a sickly turn w/ a loose elbow
You'll again be away, and I'll still be here, leads to a series of searing stares
no matter how far, I know you'll be near... over a lost salad & water lunch
Please don't lose touch by what I don't say, apology accepted
those feelings exist, and in me they'll stay... but it'll cost a surf & turf dinner
No matter how long, no matter how short,
You'll always remain, well in my heart. this one time pay back meal turns into a
five senses four course
Pisces02 fine dining experience

a dance by the car

Shmegmativa: A Haiku w/ windows wide & swinging stereo
leads to
You fucking cunt rag. walk on the beach & roll in the sand
Choke on my fucking penis.
You're a waste of flesh. at sometime the sun rises
behind one of us &
-the imp burns our shadows into the sand

for some child to ask his mommy

'what made this shape in the sand?'

-ted swedalla

October 16, 1995 page 3

 RUE DE LA CHANCE
By Boyd McCamish
I lie alone, a strand of saliva connects my body to the pillow, allowing me
the security of an embryonic state. Content, I cut the strand of mother and
lift my head to examine a hairline fracture that runs up the wall.
The glass sliding doors are frozen shut. Like Carlo's pizzeria Italian Ice
freezer in mid August in New York. Except there is no diesel exhaust to
coat them, nor any Italian profanities to shoo the children away. It is cold
enough not to permit liquid condensation.
The city appears to be struggling as stratus clouds gargle out of chim-
neys wanting desperately to go home. The wind shakes them like cotton
balls into nothing. They persist.
In the corner of my room a man speaks in French, Quebec French, QUE-
BECOIS. That CHOP-P, CHOP-P French that only they understand.
"CHOP,CHOP,CHOP, Nabisco!!!"
The hot water struggles and I can't blame it. It has come a long way just
for this. Thanks.
Aqua green shower tiles scoured and worn, like the entrance to a Las
Vegas casino unkempt. Just like the grand fountains in those massive casi-
nos and I'm terribly underdressed.
In the hall I hear the ripple of laughter descending before me. As the door
opens the smell of curry comes over me. As if I were standing in front of an
exhaust fan in a dark wet alley behind a restaurant. Cats yelping and the
head chef wondering what the next days delicacies would be. In the front
the sound of hearty laughter and wine glasses clashing together reverber-
ate off the moon.
OLD CURRYUSED CURRY,CURRY GONE BAD!!!
In every stitch of cloth in this building. I am made of curry.
The lobby is clean and without the stench. Madame Levesque stands
ready, its the twenty-ninth only a few more days and she will be riding
that elevator every morning all morning.
"A Louer Monsieur?"
"Non Madame,mais demain matin oui!!! Pardon." Her brutally repulsive
face was proportional to her persistency, she was good.
At first I thought it was a car. A car piled deep under the wrath of a snow
plows fury. Instead it was, unmistakingly a hot dog cart. Complete with
silver chrome siding and steaming trays. The cartman pushed with
remarkable ease. Aluminum utensils rang out like oildrums at a
Caribbean festival. The cartman stared straight with little concern for
oncoming traffic, slowly weaving a predetermined course.
Fall Literary Supplement page 4
"My god what's that cart doing out in weather like this?" I exclaimed.
"Rue De La Chance." A short stocky man who I hadn't noticed was stand-
ing next to me. He wore dark boots, and a black coat with strands of pearls
down each lapel. His lips were blue.
'You follow that cart and you'll find it, Rue De La Chance."
"You better go inside, you'll freeze." I said
"Don't you see? just think for one minute you narrow minded idiot. Rue
De La Chance it's out there. Please help me find it I'll give you half I
swear...everything just help me." The short man grabbed my coat and slid
on the ice. He fell in front of me and broke into uncontrollable sobbing he
rubbed snow feverishly on his face.
"No please I don't want to go inside" he crawled inside the door, panting
and yelling. "Don't go out there!!!!!"
I tried to run down the street but it was futile. The best way to travel on
ice is to take long quick steps. By this time the cartman had turned the
corner onto Rue Sherbrooke, the buildings were all bent over pointing
towards the sun like spring flowers. The warmth from the sun could not
be felt. The farther I was from the building the colder it got. Around the
corner the cartman was about a block away. The cart was weaving and bel-
lowing more steam then it had before. As I increased my speed a woman
came running out from a group of doors.
"Isn't it cold today?" she said,smiling and exposing all of her pearly white
teeth. She was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. She was a com-
bination of all that is good on the earth. If man would try to capsulize his
greatest achievements they would look like her.
"I love you" she said beaming.
"I love you" I replied. Would any woman in this frigid cold expose her
teeth less she was not totally in love? No.
"There is something strange going..." she cut me off.
"Shhh,don't say anything." she took my hand.
At this moment the short stocky man came steaming around the corner.
Tripping and falling but determined.
"You get away from him now woman!!!! She'll ruin you too!!! Let him go!!"
The woman was suddenly gone,lost in a snow flurry. I thought I saw her
disappear but that would be impossible. The short stocky man's head was
now totally blue, like a royal blue. He lay on the sidewalk dead. I pulled
him along the street until I found a drainage entrance. Steam bellowed
from it and there was a lot of water about fourteen feet down. With great
effort I was able to shove his body down the drain. He submerged on con-
tact as the rate of the water increased. The hot dog cart man was gone. I
couldn't find him, I didn't really look, just tried to stay warm for the rest
of that winter.
Morbid Future (it happened yesterday)
I saw a brilliant silhouette on a baby blue sky,
and in it's way, it drowned any doubts I did
own, and on that day, I swear I saw your aura
just subtlely eclipse the sun away from me.
The shadow you brought sought me to believe
that the silhouette was still there to behold.
But when you left, and the sun shone above again,
the silhouette I saw was kidnapped, you cunt.
Why take it away from me Again?
-Ron von Stellete
Picture by Anna Chamberlin
~_--~I-'=-CI-~PeC~T~ ~Llre-~3~s -- ~sC·-r~-~-- -- -- 4~-b~·rra~.·s~ar~Psl~sl~l~~ _ Bt--~b--QI--
- ~C~ ---- · ·- ---- p~sbL1

My muse has no blonde hair,

and it's the scars
that make her beautiful.

I alone command her.

I rule her.
I will have her dressed as I wish.

I like her open sores-

they suit me.
They fester on black-clad breasts
and make my existence aromatic.

I've had other muses,

they've only inspired lethargy.

My new bitch commands me,

and I listen.

NO, I don't fucking want her to die.

I need her.
I need her.
I need her strength
and her clear headed world view,
so that the rose-colored glasses
that've been shoved
down my fucking throat
are rendered powerless by her.

I rape her nightly

and my seed fertilizes a garden of shit.

And like all couples, we fight.

And sometimes I wish I could leave her.
I can't. Picture by Anna Chamberlin
She knows the extent of my dependence on her. Fallen Idol
And she uses it. She uses me.
And I use her. I looked up to you.
You stood on that pedestal
I Love Being Raped By Her. holding your head high
No... Let me change that: as if nothing could touch you.
I Love Having Control Over Who Rapes Me. You held your hands up
So I bend over smiling bronzed in a position of glory.
as the blood drips
down the back of my thigh, I looked to you for guidance.
I can breathe. I looked to you for acceptance.
I can finally breathe. You stepped on me
and walked the other way.
I am getting more and more used to
letting her accompany me What do you see
to the places I go. when you look in that mirror?
I let her dress in the clothes she likes most. What do you see when you look at yourself.
I am no longer afraid of my muse/whore. Do you see yourself as you are
I hold her arm proudly or as you were?
as we walk and copulate.
She's so easy, Do you see the people
so fucking easy. who loved you
or
As an aside, I must say that, yes, I am afraid that one day she just the one
will either overpower me and change me into her or betray me you love,
and kill me. She is very powerful, so I fuck her with reverence, yourself.
always aware of the fact that she can end my life. Conversely, I
am also terrified that one day, she will leave me, and I will be How does it feel to
alone and blind again. fall
so far
Our mutual breast feedings so quick?
help me become who I am. You still haven't
And I will always be grateful for that. reached bottom.
I need her.
I really do. But you will.
I think. And when you do
you'll realize
-John Giuffo the one thing
you are afraid of.

You're alone.

-Vic Alfieri

October 16, 1995 page 5

I~SllwlPsPasleera~ar~3srr~lll~~ - - C -~--~I--- -" I aBlrBsP ~
--

D:XVIa

its a dream in a
dream
everybody ever had
is here
drssed to kill
as we wait for elvis

in sparkling new rooms

all honey combed
together
and brilliant carpets
on the floor
i follow my pray
around
planning my kills
w/ precision

they see my blade

and only smile
knowing it'll soon
be their turn
to be tied up &
sacrificed
to the bloodiest
god ever

3 are already dead when

elvis arrives
as the mob of
overdrssed people
form a wave of mutilation
around the young hipster

red splashes dot

this bright white
landscape
in the throngs of people
i bring 2 more to the
land of the dead
as i kill them in the
throws of passion

but the white tiger

escapes me
and leaves bloodiest
claw marks
across my face

-ted swedalla Picture by A nna Chamberlin

Narcissism

If God could create

a more perfect woman,
I couldn't conceive of one,
and even if He wanted to,
I don't think He could.
You're the best He's ever done.
God made a perfect man
and He called Him His Son,
but still He had no fun.
Yet if He had met you,
He would have kept you,
and left me kissing a gun.

-Ron von Stellete

Picture by Anna Chamberlin

Fall Literary Supplement page 6

 Picture by Anna
Chamberlin

·IYIIIII-C~-~.~-~_III-·-·

What's With The Fruit Salad?

By Ken Kerr back and into his pants. Then her eyes shifted to the brown paper bag he
was holding in his hands.
The ad read, "Looking for a TASTY man with scrumptious attitude toward After clearing his throat he said, "I brought the fruit salad."
life. Hungry single white female, blonde hair, blue eyes, mid twenties, with "Great, come in, please," her voice chimed. "My name is Lisa."
a taste for plump men seeking a way out of their everyday humdrum "I'm David, It's nice to meet you, Lisa." He couldn't help noticing how soft
lifestyle. All ages O.K." her hand was, yet it was uncannily cold. So cold it sent a shiver through him
"That's me," Dave said out loud to no one in particular. that he hoped she wouldn't notice.
He decided he'd make the call to her at lunchtime. Usuaily he'd wait until "Would you like a drink, David?" she asked from behind the kitchen
he got home to his apartment to answer the personals, but this one seemed counter. He sat down on the couch and noticed she had two glasses poured
different. This would be the one he'd been looking for, every day in the ads. already,
All those women whom he'd meet for one night at the destination of her "Yes, I'd like one please."
choice, only to blow him off well before the night was over. He knew he was "I hope whiskey is okay. I haven't gotten to the store lately."
on the heavy side, but it didn't hinder his progress in his search for a mean- He took his glass from her. "Thank you."
ingful relationship with someone special.
She sat down on the couch facing toward him and began to ask him about
Dave knew this would be the one he could make very happy. Lunchtime
his profession.
came and he leaned back in his chair pulling his belly out from under the
"Well, It's really not all that exciting. I sell heavy machinery to companies
desk. After the second ring the voice on the other end said, "Hello."
outside of the U.S. Same thing every day. You know, on the phone with this
"Hi, my name is Dave Park. I'm calling in response to your personal ad
one, on the phone with that one."
placed in the..."
She started to rock back and forth. No, he was. He was feeling very light-
She abruptly cut him off. "How tall are you?"
headed. He blabbed on about his job, and she got up and began to dig
"Five nine and a half."
through the brown paper bag on the kitchen counter. He took another sip of
"And how much do you weigh?"
his drink to try to straighten himself out.
"Listen," he stopped her, "if that's all that your interested in, then just for-
His head slammed into the coffee table as he dropped off of the couch onto
get I even called you."
the floor. Before he totally blacked out he saw her holding up the fruit salad.
But she already had her answer from his defensiveness. "No, no, that's
Smiling, she said, "Oh, I'm so happy you remembered."
alright. I was just curious, that's all. Meet me at my apartment tonight for
He came to in what seemed to be a meat locker, though he couldn't really
dinner, say, seven o'clock. Just do me a favor please. Bring two pounds of
tell because of the numbness in his entire body. He tried to get up but could-
fruit salad along with you."
n't budge. How? Nothing was binding him down as far as he knew, because
Dave was confused. "Sure..Sure."
he found out he couldn't lift his head either. Only his eyes.
He scratched his head.
Lisa came in, what seemed to be hours later, carrying a hacksaw.
"Garden apartments, Twenty-Fifth and Lexington. Seven o'clock."
"Hi David, Did you sleep well last night?"
"Got it. I'm looking forward to meeting you," She had already hung up the
Just what the fuck is this, he said only to himself. He couldn't move his
phone halfway through his sentence.
mouth either.
Dave ran to the subway from his office building. It was six fifteen. He had
"I'm sorry I took so much last night, but you've got to understand that I
plenty of time to stop at a deli once he made it to her area. He stood in front
was starving."
of her apartment complex, and scanned the area for a deli. Vinos' Deli was
What do you mean, took so much? Why can't I talk. Why can't I move.
the one he came upon a few buildings away.
What the fuck is happening? He could only see her crouch down with the
"Do you have any Fruit Salad?", he asked to the old man behind the
hacksaw out of the corner of his eye. Sawing. That's what the sound was.
counter.
She was sawing something. When Lisa stood up she had his right leg under
The man looked at him as if he was asinine.
her arm. Cut off at the top of the thigh.
"Is this a trick question or something?" he said back to Dave, as he point-
"I guess I should explain a bit huh? That didn't hurt did it? No, It should-
ed to the six trays of fruit salad laying behind the glass counter.
n't have. You'll never feel a thing. Sometimes David, I just get these strong
"Fruit salad is my biggest seller. Even outsells the cigarettes and beer.
urges that I can't ignore."
Now, how many pounds do you need?"
His eyes followed her as she crouched down beside him and started sawing
Dave was amazed. "How did you know..."
at his right arm at the elbow.
"Because every person that walks through that door asking for fruit salad
"Sometimes I just get so disgusted, myself." She kept on sawing as he
never buys less than a pound or two."
looked on in horror. "My other love, David, is fruit salad. It..." She had trou-
Dave just shook his head and said,"Two pounds please."
ble as the saw was stuck in his bone, then freed up again.
The doorbell rang and he could hear shuffling from behind the door, indi-
"It helps to get some of it down easier. You can understand that, can't you
cating she was coming to the door. The lock was being unfastened, then the
David?"
door creaked open.
She was gorgeous. His eyes were fixed on her captivating face, and she
looked as if she felt the same way about him, which sent a thrill down his

October 16, 1995 page 7

I-·BrY - ~s c~--t-~c-~·--·rc-- -~- I-I I I , - Irl - IC rlI

. . .
-- . . .. ..
Fortrait 1995 by John Giuffo
Self

Her Window Window, shaded, related, frozen upon frost Hungry for sex, sultry raptured and cap-
and lost, tured, drawing me
Every night I would stand outside her revealing her presence, reflecting winter's near, sleeping in fear of the next dreadful
house sparkled countenance morning
staring up through
her window Contrasted and refracted, framing as a Hungry for sustenance, hoping against
on the second floor, frame and observing hope and raped
yearning to see her life's game of assumptions beneath your father's rooftop

Then one night I went upstairs When I walk into your room I am hungry, Hungry for food and drink, sinking
and when I opened the door, she was sit- you're tawdry, beneath sink, dreaming
ting laundered and unsurprised with mystical of connections outward and beyond my own
awake visions, true
staring at her doorway the succulent wave of mystery needful visual cosmos

The moon's light gave her face incredible Hungry for food, subdued, recluse winding III
dimension, as they shined through down and
her window spiraling crazy, I am crazy, dazed amaze- Are you leaving me now ?
ment to swallow the shadows
That night she made love to me like it was and to cry away the night
the last night of our lives Hungry with lust, hoping to trust, can you without sleep
and the next morning the sun wouldn't be trusted ? or dreams
shine through rustled in February, losing our sanctuary, of your flowers
Her Window thrust into life or your
whispers
II Hungry like fire, sorrow for hire, funeral
pyre, rapt, -Michael Oliva
Moonlight, shadows growing stretched trapped, strapped to the walk sulking,
upon the meadow moping,
tearing softly in the naked eye of virginity sauntering up into cloudy shrouds mounting
two lying in their sheltered box, exasperated
and death is born ...
Hungry for your touch, consecrated, sodden
in shame,
betrayed again and I am sorry

FallLiterary Supplement page 8

Dear Oceansize, happen to you anyway, it was "in the cards" so 9 hugged this very attractive girl, not only did the
Why does it seem that people with brand new to speak. Now you know and you want out. horses come out early, but it was a stampede.
Well isn'tthat justlike one of you crystal car- Needless to say it was embarrassing,and 9've also
cars don't use theirblinkers and cut people off?
rying, Love Tarot reading, Black Candle sub-
7•s' Wonderin' got stuck with manry horriblenicknames.Please tell
scribing, fat ass parked in the New Age section
of Borders, candle burning, incense sniffing, me what to do, }MSTE/? O 07HEI TH7DES.
Dear Wondering, free love to Anton LeVay giving,whitewitching, Too Quick
it's a very simple thing. New car owners realize Celtic rune believing imbecile! The future sucks
that they only have so many flicksof the turn baby, and you are right there lapping up the Dear Premature Infatuation,
signal lever before it becomes useless and they spit at the vortex of all sucking! Close the door, I find that when I'm with your girlfriendshe is too
don't want to waste them all before the war- turn out the light you know they won't be eager to make me let loose my salt water taffy.
ranty is up. I don't think this is entirely your fault. firstlyyou
home tonight, baby...the Devil mocks their
have to tell her to slow down. Naturally withyour
every step...and guess what, biorythym bitch,
Dear Oceansize, emaciated penis she probably feels that she has
tag you're it! Now for your sins of seeing you to get a vigorous rubbing to achieve pleasure.
My friend uses 7-arotcards to tell the future and are going straight to Hell in monster truck and
She's probably right since she told me that you
lately she's been giving me the creeps. 9 always Jimmy Page is driving, hon! It seems to me shake like a fish, whatever that means. Also you
seem to be drawing really bad cards, and that like the loser of a fist fight,you're com- can holdher hips in place and that should keep you
inevitaibly something ominous and foreboding plaining. If the medium had given you favorable in the control you desire. I mean really after all
would be fine
comes up. So far so good, nothing has hrappened results then I suppose everything she's not that good lookinganyway. I findthat you
and I wouldn't be reading your Goddamn drivel. can keep each other satisfied best from behind.
to me yet (9 just bought a new car too), but 9'm
Speaking of God Damned, that's what you are! That's what we do. As for the hug, happens to me
really starting to worry. Ever read the Bible? Says right in there that all the time.
Scared 'o iarot Thou Shalt Have No Other God...you're looking
into the future with your new God, Tarot!
Burn in Hell! By the way you can tell more All letters can be sent to:
Dear frightful, about a person's future with a game of Oceansize
The future is a very scary thing indeed...l know Monopoly than you can with any Tarot card! Room 060
things, man, big thirns, a lot of things, things Student Union or
people shouldn'tknow, thingsno one else knows, Dear Oceansize: sbpress@ic.sunysb.edu
attn:os
man, people would kill to know the things 1 9 have a problem, it seems my horses come out of
know, touched by angels and all...and you are
the gates just a little too quickly. Not only does it
right to be afraid. You see though, without
your friend's help bad things were going to hrppen when S• with my girlfriend,but once when

October 16, 1995 page 9

IC -- CIIC -- - - -I I~L~asa~ 4arsa
L p
By Vic Alfieri
It is finally over! The trial that would have last-
ed four days for a normal person, lasted almost a
year. OJ was lucky. He was starting to run out of
money. This trial has now proven without a
doubt to the nation that our justice system is just
one big pile of shit. The police department
spends more time going after people with park-
ing ticket violations than it does the true crimi-
nals. What makes matters worse, is the fact that
more and more police officers are turning out to
be worse than the criminals they are supposed to
be arresting.
OJ did make a smart move by not doing that
free interview on NBC, because now he can do
the Pay-Per-View interview for $50 each.
Combine that with the book he is writing and he
will double the money he spent on the trial itself.
Isn't American Capitalism just great?
To make matters worse, the second trial of the
century has just begun. The Don King trial.
Enough said.
The lovely President Kenny made the news
again last week. In her convocation address, she
stated that we, as a university, had to "shoot for
the stars" despite the continuous cuts. That is
becoming very hard to do considering that some
of the departments have already run out of "blue
books" for their exams and mid-terms have just
started. Professors that have either left or retired
are not being replaced. It is a constant fight
between students for the few spots left in the
classes they need. The variety of the classes has
become like choosing what kind of floss to use.
They are all the same and they are all tedious to
I -
By Andy Preston
61g Cit
I'm a hick. Obviously, I expected to come to col-
lege and grow because of it. There were definitely
going to be changes in the way I live. Some of
these I was prepared to encounter and I didn't
find. Others, I was surprised to find here.
I found some of those changes obvious, like liv-
ing in feaf of robbery, gangs, and other things I
only saw and heard about on the news. I, of
course, lock all my doors all the time, and I always
hold onto my bags when I leave my dorm room,
afraid of thieves.
Other things, though, I didn't find. Nobody has
offered me drugs. In high school, drugs were
around and available, but nobody offered them to
me. I had connections through which I could easily
have gotten me anything I asked for. Here, I haven't
heard anything about them, but obviously, they're
around. They always are.
I also went home for the first time over the
Columbus Day weekend. I saw and met some
interesting people. One of them was the first bus
driver. He was late so, he barely slowed to see if
anybody needed to board the bus at my stop.
Unfortunately, I had to cross the road to board the
bus, so the bus driver didn't see me. I was left
stranded in Mineola without the possibility of
catching another bus. I had missed the last sched-
uled bus out of Mineola to my hometown.
The second bus driver was also interesting. I
asked him if I could get to Binghamton on his bus,
and he said that he was going straight to Albany.
I U -' I--" - - - ---- - I --
The Stony Brook Press page 10
--- 1- ~9~- 1 Ir _PD~----~S~LIPI r I s c------~e
--- - I -' -
S e r V i C e
sit through. With things like this taking place, it concern for those little Frenchmen in their little
is only a matter of time before the students go outfits. Can you say 'squeal' in French?
elsewhere. I hate the Seattle Mariners. [Ed. Note- The
For those of you English majors out there, this Mariners rule and will beat the Indians in 7.]
one is for you. The head of the department has Jerry Jones, owner of the Dallas Cowboys, has
decided to change the listing on the class EGL been taking notes on Steinbrenner. He's creating
380-The History of the English Language. For his own controversy in the NFL. Whatever hap-
those of you not aware of this class, sitting pened to the sport itself. That should be what mat-
through it is worse than root canal without ters; not what the official soft drink or credit card
Novocain. This is one of those tedious classes of the league is.
that is mandatory, but is only offered once a year. Rapper Tupac Shakur was released on bail this
Well anyway, the Dept. Head has decided to weekend when an appeal went through to lower
change the listing to EGL 207. The intention is to the original bail set at $3 million. It was lowered
get the students to take it earlier in their academ- to $1.4 million. Shakur still has problems staying
ic career. That is great, but then it must be offered out of trouble though. He tested positive on a
more. Not only that, but now students lose senior drug test taken while in jail. You would think
residency credits for that class. Now they will that after hitting a brick wall over and over
have to find another class that is over-filled and again, a person would start to feel pain.
under-teached. An Adelphi student accidentally shot himself
For those of you who have followed the events last week. He was carrying an automatic hand-
between this paper and "The Statesman," you gun in his gym bag, and when he unintentional-
will know about the accusations flying from ly dropped the bag, it went off, shooting himself
office to office. For the record, according to in the calf. Police say that he was probably carry-
Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, the definition ing the gun for protection. First of all, a person
for the word SATIRE is "the use of ridicule, sar- that clumsy needs protection from himself, not
casm, irony, etc. to expose, attack, or deride others. Secondly, he must not be that smart to
vices, follies, etc." I also wanted to say that any keep a loaded automatic in his gym bag without
sentence ending in a question mark is not an putting the safety on. Thirdly, if he was carrying
accusation. That is a question. At least some- this gun for protection, the gym bag is the worst
body should be able to tell the difference place to carry it. If a situation arose where this
between the two. individual needed that gun for protection, by the
Here's a trivia tidbit. The upcoming '96 time he pulled the gun out of his bag, it would be
Summer Olympics is being held in Atlanta, too late. But then again, he could just thrown his
Georgia. The river in which the kayaking events bag on the floor and hope it went off in the right
will be held, is the same river that the movie direction.
"Deliverance" was filmed on. I have a sudden
-- I-
So, one more time I was stranded in Mineola. I
Ivtes
There are other things that I saw that changed
called the people who were supposed to help you my outlook on city life, but I'm running out of
get where you wanted to go, and they told me that space. I now believe that I won't 'be permanently
I had to transfer busses at four different locations, be moving to a city when I graduate. I'm going to
So, I had to wait a few more hours until the next go back to my roots and live where it's quiet.
scheduled bus left Mineola.
The third bus driver I met talked with me exten-
sively. I asked him if I could buy a ticket as I pre-
pared to board the bus. He said, in a thick Russian
accent, "No. I am only going to Monticello, not to
Binghamton." He told me to find the ticket agent
in Mineola while he waited for me. I went on a
desperate search for an impossible goal. I looked
all over the area for five minutes. I got back to the
bus, and he told me to get on. I would buy the
ticket in Monticello. (I showed the driver a fistful
of cash. I think he believed that I would pay for
the ticket.)
Nothing else of importance happened on the way
home. On the way back, though, things were different.
The first bus driver out of Binghamton actually
used the overhead P.A. system to address the bus.
He wished us a good trip, and gave us a run down
similar to what I thought I might hear on an air-
plane. After the transfer in Monticello, the new
bus driver was horrible. Some passengers asked
him some relatively simple questions, like, "Is this
bus going to go to Long Island?" and he didn't
reply. He complained most of the way to Mineola.
We had to change busses in a parking lot in some
small town for no apparent reason, and that just
made him even more angry. He complained and
grunted even more.
- ------- - ----- ------ - ·- -· - -- - - - - ----- -- --- -- -- - - ,
 PHALLACIES OF MAETIAN PHILOSOPHY
By Heather Rosenow
The other night I went to see David Mamet's
Oleanna. It is a play which deals with the issue
of sexual harassment in the university commu-
nity. The Stony Brook production of this work
was directed by Dr. Farley Richmond. This pro-
duction was done in a manner where the audi-
.' . rl,1
ence was kept on it's toes. mhere were
three possible situations presented to
the audience. One was a situation in
which the teacher was a female and
her student a young man (played by
Christopher Graham and Roseann
Hundertmark), another situation was
where the teacher was a male and the
student a female (Shane Covey and
Stephanie Hughes), and the third situ-
ation involved a female teacher and
her female student (Katie Lee and
Jessica Maerz). By the end of the first
act I could hear the various opinions
_1 •_ ,.-.•
which had tormed tiying around in
little arguments that were popping up
- A
Pardon me but I think that could definitely be ment, the charge of rape was just ludicrous. Jan
construed as sexual harassment. The teacher Stuart of Newsday called it "one man's reac-
had stepped beyond the societal boundaries set tionary protest, a howling "Enough Already"
in a student-teacher relationship. Some argued leveled at a standard of political correctness that
that he/she was only trying to comfort the stu- is perceived to be spiraling dangerously out of
dent in his/her confusion. I argue that it was not control. Jack Kroll of Newsweek said "There
his/her place to comfort. The student expressed will be family fights over this play. "The guy
her feelings, saying that she was uncomfortable never raped her! She's a feminist fascist!" "He's
with the situation, yet the fascist with his power trips!" But the play
the teacher persisted isn't about two people. It's about two worlds
in the simple reply colliding." Could be. As soon as this play was
"Shhh. It's O.K.". I released, various feminist groups threw back
went with my their collective heads and howled.
boyfriend and we Granted I do consider myself a feminist, but I
found ourselves argu- feel that if feminist playwrights can produce
ing at the top of our plays dealing with sexism or sexual harassment,
lungs on the way than its only fair that other playwrights can pro-
home. He felt the duce plays in response to the situation. Free
charge of sexual country remember? That freedom of speech
harassment filed at thing is kind of important. Anyway, the opin-
the beginning of the ions were definitely polarized. This is obviously
incident was still a volatile issue which was probably pushed

m
EA8A
mNuntounded. I severely Ir I I

all over the place. The arguments ....
were mainly over what the first act suggested.
Some thought that what had happened was
justifiably called sexual harassment. Others
disagreed wholeheartedly. At the end of the
first act, the teacher in the student-teacher rela-
tionship under question had put their hands on
the student's shoulders. The teacher rubs the
student's shoulder's and says "Shhh. It's O.K. I
understand. Shhh.".
disagreed. We did
Y I
however agree that
the play took a serious turn to the right some-
where half way through. The teacher was
charged with rape after restraining the student
from leaving his/her office. No rape was com-
mitted. The teacher became frustrated with the
student and wanted him/her to stay to talk. The
student upon trying to leave was grabbed and
kept from leaving. Though the teacher was out
of line and did deserve some form of punish-
to the very back of public consciousness by the
media circus known as the O.J. Simpson Trial. I
was impressed by the production, and the act-
ing, and I would recommend that anyone inter-
ested in this issue see this play. Whether you're
against the commentary contained within the
plot or not, it certainly makes you think. You
can still catch this production on October 19-21
at 8pm; October 22 at 2pm. The box office num-
ber is (516) 632-7230.

By David M. Ewalt
On Saturday, October 14,
the Staller Center presented come-
dy/juggling troupe "The Flying
Karamazov Brothers" in their
newest play, "Club Sandwich." The
play is about a club of juggling mil-
lionaires who search for the ancient
"Clubs of the Pharoahs"- juggling
clubs that juggle themselves. During
their search they run into fat, evil
Egyptians, private detectives, and
bearded female lounge singers.
Okay, it sounds stupid, but it
works. The Brothers blend well-
written one-liners, slapstick
humor, and impressive juggling
abilities into a hysterical -if slight-
ly disjointed- show. It's tough to
blend juggling into a play, but the
Brothers present the whole show
in a sort of off the cuff, casual
way, so that when they segue
from a bar in Egypt to juggling
and talking to audience members
it doesn't seem awkward.
The highlight of the show was a
staple feature of Karamazov shows
called "The Gamble." The brothers
gamble that they can juggle any
three objects heavier than an ounce
and lighter than ten pounds, small-
er than a breadbox, not a live animal
and not so dangerous as to keep the
Brothers from staying live animals.
Long a staple of Karamazov shows,
audiences have come to expect "The
Gamble," and they come prepared. When the
Brothers announced the Gamble was about to
begin, they told audience members to bring up
onto the stage anything they wanted to see jug-
gled. The audience would then vote
on the items by virtue of applause,
and the top three would get juggled.
When the crowd approached the
stage, they were carrying all sorts of
sordid items. Kids approached bearing
umbrellas, wine bottles, huge metal
anchors and venetian blinds. Two mid-
dle-aged men also approached the
stage. One, inexplicably wearing a yel-
low raincoat inside the theater, put a
large bucket containing a citronella
candle on the stage. To make matters
worse, he lit the candle on fire and
doused the bucket in chocolate syrup.
The other man, an extravagantly
bearded biker-type, plopped a coffee-
can sized serving of jello onto the stage
and covered it in whipped cream. The
final three objects turned out to be the
jello, an inflated latex medical glove,
and a full carton of eggs; and yes, he
did manage to juggle all that.
The Flying Karamazov brothers a re
kind of hard to describe in print...
They're definitely one of those things
you have to see to appreciate. Their
juggling is first rate, but the real
humor of their shows comes from
well written, often obscure comedy
bits... much in the vein of TV's
Mystery Science Theater 3000. The
next time these brothers fly into
Stony Brook, be sure to catch them.

October 16,1995 page 11

saa~l~e8a~iieararsei~aaaa~lair~
When Is Midnight Madness?
By Ted Swedalla
This following article was written in two parts. The
first part was written before I attended Midnight
Madness, so I could - in all honesty- say what fears I
had going into this event. When I
think of Midnight Madness, I think
of large Division I schools who are
going to be in the NCAA
Tournament at the end of year, not a
Division II team that isn't in a con-
ference with the word 'big' in it.
I am also scared because I know the
level of interest in sporting events on
campus is equal to that of people
who are waiting to see the next
Elizabeth Berkeley movie, Showgirls
II: Tramps in T-Shirts. Interest in
sporting events has always been dis-
appointing on campus. I would love
to be engrossed in one of our teams -
as a lover of sports- but never have I
seen this kind of push for any single
sporting event.
They did a real good job of pro-
moting this event. In the Fine Arts
Plaza, they had written out MAD-
NESS with their posters on Tuesday, only to have it
reduced to MADN by Thursday, but what can you
expect from the trogs who populate this campus.
They also took advantage of the schools largest nat-
ural resource: cement. They bought a couple of
bucks worth of chalk and covered the campus with
scribblings telling people what and where. It's
about time that someone figured out that this was a
cheap and easy way to get your message out, with-
out permanently defacing our school. Their only
worry was the rain. Ten minutes worth of rain can
destroy two days worth of drawing on the ground.
But the most disappointing thing I heard about the
event was one person asked another what time it
was. Now I'm pretty sure an event with the name
Midnight Madness occurs some time at midnight.
So I am going into this event more than pes-
simistic, mega-pessimistic you might say, and when
I get back I will finish this article with what hap-
pened. Wish me luck.
Well I'm back. I spent the last two hours in the gym,
sorry Indoor Sports Complex, at Midnight Madness.
Now I could say that it was disappointing because
they were behind schedule and missed a few events
or that emcee David Weiss was unintelligible over
I~ _I ~r ~I
By Ryan DeWitt
This was the winner of our "Litigation Sucks" contest. For those of you who
don't remember it entailed writing a caption to a Family Circus cartoon. Mr.
DeWitts winning entry for the cartoon, which showed Billy bending over, was
"Billy, stay in that position until we find you hamster. " We all got a good laugh
out of it and we promised him an 1/8 of a page as a prize for whatever he deemed
worthy. And the following is more than worthy.
I graciously accept the accolades bestowed upon me by the
Stony Brook Press after my victory in the much celebrated,
highly disputed, "Litigation Sucks" Contest. The prize so gen-
erously granted me by this prestigious "paper of record" is an
entire one-eighth of one page which I am more than happy to
utilize as a (albeit limited) forum for my scathing, warped
commentary on current events. In keeping with the spirit of
satirizing libel tort through the spoofing of artists more talent-
ed than myself, here I present a parody of the song "What's
the Frequency, Kenneth" originally recorded by the mascara-
wearing, probably T cell deficient, Atlanta-based, college
band R.E.M.:
I - LL.I
IIII1IL
I -- : bJ ·
I
The Stony Brook Press page 12
the loudspeaker, but that would be nit-picking. a three point contest and countless paper airplanes
Overall the event must be qualified a success. The thrown on the floor. Of course this was not official
stands were full -close to four thousand people- the sanctioned by the people holding the event, but it did
music was pumping and the crowd noise level never seem to keep most the impatient frat guys busy.
got below that of a crowded bar. The Seawolf and the The National Anthem was sung by Angela Alvey,
and if I heard right she is a gradu-
ate student on campus. A good ren-
dition, much shorter and not pre-
taped like Whitney Houston's, it
led into the dimming of the lights.
Then came Van Halen's 'Right
Now,' the only song with lyrics I
could understand, which brought
us up to the countdown to mid-
night, Which was interrupted by a
streaker. Yes a naked man
appeared at center court, and then
was summarily tackled by security
people with wandering hands.
Luckily his timing was off and the
crowd had enough time to get back
to the countdown before it ended.
Both men's and women's
teams were introduced to the
crowd, and then the fireworks
went off. Disappointing, but I
guess I can't ask for 6 inch mor-
WALK-FM Bear wandered around the floor for most tars in an indoor arena.
of the night, they never did venture into the stands, Then came the 3-point shooting contests, scrim-
but that can be understood. Those fake heads are mages and slam dunk contest. Only the slam dunk
very easy to pull off, I know. The Seawolf was also contest got people up and screaming, and many of
the only casualty of the night as she -yes it is a she- the dunks were outstanding. The night then hit its
was mauled by climax when they started giving
every basketball away prizes, including free tuition
player at center for the Spring semester. By this
court, as they time the crowd had thinned out to
were getting about two thousand, which is
their pictures unfortunate for some people as it
taken. took four tries for them to give
All the per- away the TV/VCR.
formers were The Athletic Department should
good, including be proud of the job they did, they
the USB got a quarter of the student body to
Kickline, Step go to an event on a weekend, which
Team and is amazing. But I hope they are real-
Cheerleaders, istic and realize that 90 percent of
and each of thei tonight will never come back to see
section. As with most events there were some corny a home game, even though they are held on cam-
games to keep the crowd occupied for the hour lead- pus. I found the whole night enjoyable, even though
ing up to midnight, when the basketball season offi- it ran a half an hour late and made me miss the
cially opened. There was a dizzy bat race, and I'm COCA movie Apollo 13.
pretty sure the guy cheated, a pudding eating contest,
--- -~ ' I-11 -~ I -- II , - ---· r I _ --- -·
"What's The Conspiracy, Johnny?"
What's the conspiracy Johnny are you bullshitting me, uh uh
Is it a concoction for the all-black jury, uh uh
Smile like a preacher, tooth for a tooth
You said Mark Furhman was the enemy of Jews
I never understood the conspiracy, uh uh
You wore a tie with African things, uh uh
You said if it doesn't fit then you must acquit
Judge Ito got pissed and told you to sit
I never understood the conspiracy, uh uh
He had arthritis and was fast asleep, uh uh
Smile at client number thirty-two
A very rich man he has made you
1never understood the conspiracy, uh uh (I couldn't understand)
Was it Colombians or LA.P.D., uh uh
I never understood the conspiracy, uh uh (I couldn't understand!)
Now your pockets are lined with green, uh uh
I-_I -I--~L I
I-' -
111~ -
- '
II a_·
- - ·
- L~ --
-
__---
- ~'
I
- : -
- ---
_ _ '
 Low Cost Housing Available
By Steven Tornello
Simpsons Interlude: Homer enrolls in
Springfield A&M. In order to acclimate himself to
college life, he refurbished a room in his house like
a college dormitory - lava lamp, Einstein poster,
etc. Marge asks, "Where did you get those cin-
derblocks?" Homer replies, "From a construction
site, Marge. I need it for shelves. All the college
kids are doing it. It's cool and economical."
With this being my fourth year of living on cam-
pus, it is fair to say that I have seE
experiences in Residential Halls, b(
nomical. As a noted sociologist st<
life leads one to alcoholism an
holism." Yet, despite these image
having lived in Tabler (please se
instead of flowers), H, and G (Men
my ass) Quads, I have received a ft
specter of different viewpoints
of campus life. However,
another view of
campus residency
will come into the fold
as soon as next fall.
Houston Bowman, the
President of Campus
Residences, has announced
in a press conference last
week that the formation of a
new quad for students is cur-
rently in the works. In a prepared
statement, he stated, "With the
increasing influx of freshman and
the refusal or incompetency of
seniors to graduate, we have a prob-
lem of housing both returning and incoming stu-
dents. With the large extent of unoccupied land on
this campus which is currently being used to con-
fuse and misdirect students and non-students
alike, we decided to put this land to some other
use: the formation of a new quad.
"However, with the scarcity of funds to build
actual buildings, we have copied the pioneering
of landmark institutions such as University of
Alabama at Possumviller University of Georgia
at Buttcrack, and Incest College in Kentucky to
build an area for students to live in mobile
homes. Yes, Fall 1996 will mark the debut of
Trailer Park Quad!"
Now, before you start praising the low-cost
genius of campus Residency, let us review a histo-
ry of previous Stony Brook cockamamie housing
ideas. This history has been well-guarded, but my
crack reporting (or reporting on crack has uproot-
ed the hidden incompetency.)
Stony Brook decided to begin housing it's stu-
dents in the mid-sixties. However, once word of
this got out, students flocked to live in one of these
buildings. Instead of giving away spots by lottery,
then Campus Residency Director Ty Webb decided
to build "Stick and Stone Quad." Houses were
built with, yes, sticks and stones. Obviously, these
houses did not last too long. A seawolf wandered
by and decided to blow them all down (strange
how things come full circle, ain't it?)
However, Campus Res was not to be
discouraged. Webb promptly
pyramid-like formation.
(Everybody has built baseball
card houses; if you haven't, get
away from the window.) These actually
lasted for awhile, until one student's mother
came by and threw away the houses (ask your
father about his 1955 Mickey Mantle card that got
away.) Webb was embarrassed and eventually
fired. He was replaced by Al Czervik, whose love
for the Indian heritage was renown. The problems
of overcrowding continued still, and Czervik
announced what he thought was a long-awaited
solution: Tee Pee Quad. Tee Pees were constructed
where we now find our football and intramural
fields. Again, though, problems occurred. The tee
pees were ripped and torn by drunken students
with Swiss army knives and bad intentions.
Although this primitive form of air ventilation was
sufficient during the summer months, but it did
not bode well for the winter months. Czervik was
intent to not let go of his dream of an Indianesque
settlement on campus. He developed
"Adobeville", where students lived in adobe huts.
"Adobeville" was a success until Czervik was fired
from embezzlement and molestation charges.
Assistant Vice President Danny Noonan then con-
cocted and executed a plan to eliminate
"Adobeville", much to the chagrin of it's residents.
In lieu of it, he introduced Screenhouse Quad. It
was a giant screenhouse where "Adobeville" once
was. This co-ed side-by-side living arrangement
was not embraced with open arms, as was expect-
ed. People demanded "Adobeville". The Vice
President was consequently fired
and Screenhouse Quad eventually
went the way of Adrian Zmed's
career: into the dumpster. And
so, the era of economically-
deficient cockamamie hous-
ing plans passed by. But, as
one noted philosopher
once wrote, "Stupid ideas
have a way of resurfac-
ing when people fail to
learn from their mis-
takes." (That actual-
ly makes sense.)
Back at the press
conference, Al Debris,
vice President of Campus
esidences, commented on the
f trailer parks. He stated, "Trailer
certain quality that has been pre-
here at SUNY-Stony Brook. How
s can you name from this school?
ler parks bring are an aura of one-
rs.One needs, to look only at the
pedigrees that trailer parks celebrities bring.
Roseanne, the cast of 'Hee Haw', Larry, Darryl,
and his other brother Darryl, Elvis Presley, the
Clampetts, and David Hasselhoff all came from
trailer parks. Richard Bey and Jerry Springer get
their vast cast of vermin guests from trailer parks.
Our very own Eastern Farm Workers come from
these establishments. Trailer parks are the home-
front of immorality, teenage pregnancies, unbri-
dled stupidity, and a squalid odor. These are qual-
ities ot student life I feel would add a special plate
to Stony Brook's table."
Plans for a deforestation of woodlands are in the
works, and applications for mobile homes are
being handed out at Administration Luckily, I'll be
graduated before Trailer Park Quad becomes a
reality in Fall 1996. Unfortunately, I might be living
in one at that time. But the addition of so-called
lowcost housing such as Trailer Park Quad to stu-
dent life must be stopped like "Cop Rock". One
renown scholar noted, "Trailer parks plus educa-
tion equals Hooked On Phonics". So before a Stony
Brook diploma becomes more worthless than obvi-
ous DNA evidence to a Los Angeles jury, then take
a stand and say "No" or "Naw" to Trailer Park
Quad. You'll he glad you did.

Again we have sent our woman on the street Zippy out to ask the students of Stony Brook what they thought, who they hate and if they masturbate. (We are going
to ask that question over and over until we get truthful answers.) Don't worry if you haven't been asked and are upset that you are not setting Stony Brook demo-
graphics; Zippy is very busy and can't talk to everyone every week.
15% of the residents don't like their roommates
50% of the school thinks OJ was guilty
66% of the men think OJ was guilty.
33% of the women think OJ was guilty
46% of people who have seen an OJ movie believe the trial was a race thing
22% of students who have been on TV have performed oral sex
75% of people who think that the Statesman is the worst campus newspaper have received oral
sex
67% of those who have been stuck talking to the pamphlet people in front of the union have thought about hitting them with a blunt object
0% of the students have never cheated with one of their roommates sexual partners
73% of the students who have received oral sex have also performed it
O
39% of students have never given or received oral sex
22% of students knew that the train crash was in Phoenix-
17% of students have slept with someone one last time before they broke up with them
66% of those didn't wait at least an hour after the sex to tell them it was over
83% of women who have seen Single White Female like their roommates
0% of students have ever been caught masturbating by their grandmother
.,' .. ....... ,,:..October6,6 1995 page 1:...-3..-3:-
..........
 A SOPHOMORE
By Lowell Yaeger
Long time ago, in a galaxy far far away (actually
on the west coast), two warring high school death
metal bands formed to create a group called Turd,
made up of two young men whose musical talent
consisted of an unplugged guitar and a Radio
Shack Realistic 120 Cassette. Somewhere along the
line, more people showed up, they saw a
porno movie about an aspiring presidential
candidate/circus clown, and one of music's
better-kept secrets, Mr. Bungle, was born.
Their first, self-titled album was released in
1991 on Warner Bros. to absolutely no adver-
tising whatsoever. In fact, its only claim to
fame was the singer, dubbed Vlad Drac on the
liner notes but really the enigmatic Michael
Patton of Faith No More, a thrash band
whose Top 10 hit, "Epic," was garnering them
tours with everyone from Metallica to
Voivod. Many of Faith No More's fans
flocked to Mr. Bungle and found that they
were very - VERY - different, not only from
FNM but from anything ever heard before.
Spanning musical genres in the space of time
it takes to switch chords, jumping from ska to
industrial to funk within one chorus, and
laden with everything from explicit lyrics
about masturbation and making love to food
to bizarre sound samples of people taking a
shit, "Mr. Bungle" was an immediate hit in
the underground music scene. Their live
show, fraught with mask-wearing musicians,
iuur-ioung songs, ana continuous scatological
antics (like peeing into a boot and then pouring it
on the audience), added to their reputation as the
wildest bunch around.
And then they disappeared. Mike Patton worked
with Faith No More on two more albums, and the
only mention of Mr. Bungle was the brief appear-
ance of their guitarist, Trey Spruance, appearing on
the latest FNM album. Rumors surrounded their
sudden disappearance, from Mike Patton having
"grown up" to an impending lawsuit on the part of
Slash/Reprise in an attempt to keep one of its
money-makers from "making money" with anoth-
er big label. Whatever the truth, October 10, 1995
saw the return of Mr. Bungle, with their second
album, "Disco Volante" (Warner Bros.).
Released with an equal amount of publicity as
the first album (read: none), only word of its
arrival on the Internet and its brief mention by
Mike Patton during a Faith No More interview on
120 Minutes last summer gave the fans any news
that it was on its way. Which is odd, because Mr.
Bungle has become very, very popular in a very,
very quiet way.
Maybe it's because of the nature of the album.
The first album was produced by John Zorn, but
his presence didn't seem to have a big effect there;
however, he might as well be writing the songs on
the new album, despite his having had nothing to
do with this piece of work.
A mish-mosh of noises and muttered vocals, the
EFFORT
new album drops the entire pretense of song struc-
ture to revel in sheer creative lunacy. The first Mr.
Bungle made a lot of fans by dint of its silly out-
look on life and its crazy music, which while chaot-
ic, managed to hold some semblance of order long
enough for the song to draw to a close. There is
none of this on "Disco Volante."
The album opens with a heavy-metal/hardcore
riff, repeated for about 2 minutes through
shrieking feedback and Mike Patton
howling about the death of old high
school enemies. This is followed by the
first of many jazz instrumentals dreamed
up by Trey Spruance, which is in turn fol-
lowed by a weird 70's Mellotron-blast
mixed with whining vocals a la Grandpa
Simpson. Mike Patton's voice is almost
unintelligible on here; if I didn't know it
was him, it would take 40 - 50 listens
before I even made a comparison.
The running themes of this album
seem to be inhuman noises like barks
and howls, intermingled with lyrics in a
language other than English. The cho-
rus of "Desert Search for Techno Allah"
is chanted in some Arabic tongue;
"Violenza Domestica," a lament/trib-
ute/homage to wife-beating, is sung
completely in Italian, while the 7-
minute jazz opus "Mah Meeshka Mow
Skwoz" is in a completely unidentifi-
able language. The songs culminate in a
10-minute semi-ambient instrumental
_ _ _1Ia
"_ _ "__ 1 1 _1.. LC.l1 - ý
entitea i ne Denas aDout railing orr or
a boat and getting stricken with disease upon
floating to the surface.
But is this album BAD? The answer here is "no,"
just "different." The people who liked the first Mr.
Bungle simply for lyrics like "Cookin' like a begin-
ner but I'm goin' up in her/I had Fritos for lunch,
I'm havin' bush for dinner" are going to hate this
album, but those who liked Mr. Bungle for their
sheer chaos and limitless creativity will fall in love
with this album, too.

HIN SLINKY
By Lowell Yaeger By Bill Nofi

Jim Nash, one of the two founders of the highly influential
Wax Trax! record label (whose artists include KMFDM,
Sister Machine Gun, and at one time, Ministry and their var-
ious permutations), died this week of complications result-
ing from AIDS. He will be missed by almost all of those in
the industrial community and many outside of it. Had it not
been for him, many forms of music we enjoy today, from
mainstream techno to Nine Inch Nails, would not exist.
Rumors are circulating that Phil Collins has left Genesis to
pursue a permanent solo career. These rumors go on to sug-
gest that Peter Gabriel has rejoined the group as vocalist,
perhaps suggesting a return to the time when Genesis
donned masks of Egyptian Gods before performing on-
stage. We shall see...
Despite various claims from "people-in-the-know," death-
metal/industrial band Ministry has NOT broken up, and a
new album, "Filth Pig," is due out on November 7. Expected
tracks include "Brick Windows" and "The Fall"; the already
recorded cover of Dylan's "Lay, Lady, Lay" has been
removed because it simply didn't fit. It will probably be
released later as a Revolting Cocks track.
Listen to WUSB 90.1 on Monday mornings from 3 AM to 6
AM if you have some kind of insomnia problem. Ted
Swedalla's "Pandemonium Cheesecake" offers the best in
modern rock at those times. (Fuck me now, please. Hard.)
Press page 14
The Stony Brook
The Stony Brook Press page 14
Where were you on Saturday, Oct. 7th, 1995, at 8:00PM? Well, if you weren't at the Nassau
Coliseum, then you probably missed R.E.M.'s last New York appearance. But, they went out
with a bang (or a blame). Everything sounded excellent. Most of the songs were from the albums
"Monster", "Out Of Time", and "Green", with several new songs thrown into the mix. Two of
the new songs, "Revolution" and "Wake Up On", were really groovin'. Hopefully, another
album is in the works. Visually it was a great show, too. Huge screens draped behind the stage
(glad I didn't have those seats) to form a backdrop for some really..ah..interesting movies. Some
called it art, others, well, to me it was just some naked chick floating in water. The band had two
extra dudes playing with them, one from Seattle, and one from San Francisco. They were pret-
ty cool, too.
The night ended appropriately enough with "End of This World As We Know It", which, as
always, was awesome. The swirling question marks looked really trippy. The whole crowd was
up and singing along to this one. Great show guys!
Highlights:
-Seeing lots of "old people" at this concert.
-Stipe said "Hello Pittsburgh," but then explained why.
-Movies of naked floating chicks.
-Before a song, Stipe said, "OK, take off your clothes and sing along," and several bras
flew up on stage.
-Registering to vote at the Rock The Vote both.
-Movies of naked floating chicks.
-Seeing some kid who tried to steal a seat cushion get caught by security.
-Movies of naked floating chicks.
-Having a strobe light right in my eye for a song.
-Did I mention the naked floating chicks?
 mas
Mag
By Chris Cartusciello
Gluttony. Greed. Sloth. Lust. Pride. Envy. Wrath.
Of the seven deadly sins, how many of us can say
that they are not guilty of at least one? The film
Seven may make you think twice about the course
your life is taking.
The opening scene sets the mood for the entire pic-
ture. It is a dark, rainy day and Detective William
Somerset (Morgan Freeman and his new partner,
Detective David Mills (Brad Pitt), are called in to
investigate a homicide. It seems that the victim, a
400 lb. man, has had his hands and feet tied. He was
then force fed until he, literally, burst. On the wall,
written in grease, is the word gluttony. This will
lead the two men on a trail of some of the most star-
tling and gruesome murders imaginable. They now
must track a serial killer whose modis operandi
reads like a sermon from the sternest of preachers.
He takes people who have wronged and makes
them atone for their sins. His version of redemption
is killing them in the ways of the aforementioned
sins in accordance to each person's profession
and/or personality.
Seven is a film which wants to be a psychological
thriller but more often than not is a standard cop vs.
killer flick. The movie asks us to look into the mind
of a maniac and see ourselves. Many people watch-
ing this film will no doubt feel that the lawyer, killed
for greed in a sickening fashion, deserved what he
got (especially in light of recent events). The killer
himself tells us that he died because he "made his
money by telling lies." Each of the victims was, in
some way, deserving of the punishment.
Trying to make sense of all this is Morgan Freeman
as Detective Somerset. Freeman is a veteran of such
acclaimed films as Street Smart, Driving Miss Daisy
and The Shawshank Redemption. His acting range
from these films alone, a vindictive pimp, an aging
chauffeur and a likable convicted felon, is impres-
sive. Here he turns in another fine performance, as
a detective who has had enough and just looks for-
ward to retirement. Freeman gives most of his lines
in a low, breathy, tone which is effective for this
character who has seen it all but wishes he hadn't.
Only the thought of catching this psycho gets his
juices flowing again.
Brad Pitt, as his partner Mills, does a fine job as the
young detective who is a little to eager for his own
good. His character is not a rookie, like so many oth-
ers in the young cop/old cop genre. He has been on
the force a few years but has just transferred to this
By Katie Entrekin
As a senior this year, I am seriously thinking
about what I want to do after graduation. And
although I must have changed my mind about
fifty times in the past three months, I thought it
would be best to make light of the situation and
ask my fellow graduating classmates what is
going through their minds as well. The following
is a list of the top thirty things the seniors of Stony
Brook University are thinking of doing after grad-
uation. So here goes...
30. Move to Puerto Rico and become a love slave
to Julio Iglesias.
29. Hold up a 7-11.
28. Read a Danielle Steele novel for its literary
value.
27. Go to the Vatican and moon the Pope.
26. Work on a sheep farm in New Zealand.
25. Become a porn star.
God-forsaken city with little knowledge of what to
expect. His Legends Of The Fall hair has been cropped
to a short, spiky, 'do and he sports a nasty looking
goatee. Throughout a good part of the film Pitt is
seen with his arm in a cast. The explanation being
that he broke his arm while giving chase to the
killer. Truth be told is that the cast is real. During a
stunt, in which Pitt's character was supposed leap
over a car hood, he slipped on the wet metal and his
hand went through the window. After he severed a
tendon, and required stitches, the script had to be
changed to accommodate the gutsy actor. The two
actors have a chemistry that works, breathing new
life into the buddy cop routine.
Rounding out the cast is Pitt's real life love,
Gwyneth Paltrow, playing his wife Tracy. It is basi-
cally a thankless role, with little screen time, but the
actress makes the best of it. Kevin Spacey
(Consenting Adults, The Ref) plays the killer, John
Doe. This is a man who believes that, morally, he is
doing right. He is a cold blooded killer but at the
same time seems psychopathic sissy This is tough
to do and Spacey does a good job to make John
creepy and interesting.
Director David Fincher gives us a compelling story
without too much detail. The story takes place in a
city that has no name. Even the killer doesn't have a
name and is referred to only as John Doe. Fincher is
smart to not let us see the actual killings, but only
the results. The mind of the viewer will fill in the
blanks with more interesting visuals than a film
ever could. Fincher's main problem here is that the
film is just to dark. It rains every day in this
nowhere city and it seems that nobody's lights ever
work. This type of atmosphere can give a certain
type of mood to a picture like this, but too much just
gets annoying. I found myself talking to the screen
saying, "Could somebody just open a blind or
something? I'm trying to see in here."
Sylvester Stallone's latest foray into the cinema,
after the disastrous Judge Dredd, is an effective cat
and mouse thriller called Assassins.
Stallone plays Robert Rath, the best hitman in the
business. He's number one with a bullet, but after
all these years it's about time to retire. He decides
that after the next assignment he'll hang up his gun.
Antonio Banderas is Miguel Bain, an up and coming
killer who wants to be the best. The only way to
achieve that is to kill the top man. This starts a dead-
ly chess game with each man trying to figure out the
other's next move.
Stallone is remarkably good as the aging C.I.A.
24. Eat 202 wings at Big Barry's in one sitting to set
a new record.
23. Spay a dog.
22. Drive to Mexico and have a phat margarita.
21. Visit ancient Indian high grounds in India
naked.
20. Become a professional B.A.S.S. fisherman.
19. Find Waldo.
18. The cross country trip.., hit happy hour in
every state along the way.
17. Be groupie for New Kids On The Block.
16. Ride the Big Kahuna Waves in Hawaii, and
party like a rock star!
15. Be a National Publisher's Sweepstakes Grand
Prize Winner..."It could be you!".
14. Burn the flag.
13. Watch a Three Stooges marathon.
12. Ride shotgun down an avalanche,
11. Watch a game at all 28 ballparks.
10. Wallow (boo hoo hoo) in my misery.
assassin who feels that it's time to get out. He plays
this reluctant killer in a subdued fashion that will
surprise many people. In the opening scene Rath is
sent to kill one of his associates. After walking him
into the middle of nowhere, making sure nobody is
there to witness, Rath lets his friend take care of the
job himself. This isn t the first time we've seen a
killer with a conscience but it is refreshing to see
Stallone, who is normally associated with action
and mayhem, letting grace take over. As the film
progresses it is nice to see that this is a role that lets
Stallone show some of his natural wit and charm.
Banderas does the majority of the scenery chewing
this time around. He plays Bain with the energy of
a 9-year-old on a sugar high the day after
Halloween. His maniacal laugh and wild eyes make
him the perfect antithesis to Stallone's laid back
characterization. His character will, and does, kill
anyone who gets in the way of his goal. Banderas
gets most of the laughs in this film, and fortunately
they are intended. Alt imes it is hard to understand
exactly what he is saying. His accent tends to get in
the way as his energy level builds. It sounds like
R.cky Ricardo getting mad at Lucy.
Julianne Moore plays the target, and then love
interest, of Stallone's Rath. Moore, who was very
impressive in Robert Altman's film Short Cuts, is
Electra, a surveillance expert who is selling top
secret information. Rath is sent to kill her, but when
Bain interferes he takes her on as a partner.
Richard Donner, of Lethal Weapon fame, directs this
with a good amount of restraint. He doesn't go for
one action scene after another. He lets the story
build at its own pace. This is a help as well as a hin-
drance. With a running time of 2:15 the movie does
tend to drag a bit. With some tightening this could
be a great film just under two hours. Donner gets
effective performances out of his stars and even the
scenes when Stallone and Banderas aren't shooting
at each other tend to raise the interest level. The
relaxed parts of this film, the conversations, the
computer interfacing and the working minds of
these characters, tend to bring a humanity to the
whole project. Donner doesn't rest on that alone
though. He, and producer Joel Silver, know action
and give some great moments here. There tenseness
at the end of the film that wraps up the whole pack-
age nicely. A big lesson of this film is that history
repeats itself. Let's hope that it does and we see
more work of this quality out of these people.
9. Appear on Jay and Dave simultaneously.
8. Read the Statesman.
7. Learn to play the Bossanova.
6. Become a squeegee guy.
5. Find myself.
4. Work at a Hess station.
3. Swim all the Salt Lakes.
2. Six weeks..Europe.Youth hostels..All on the
meager budget of $1500.
1. Get a job that doesn't require licking and sending.
Well, to all of you out there who are facing this
predicament just as I am, I wish you all the luck in
the world. But here are just some more things to
contemplate as you get through these last few
months in whatever fashion suits you. Just
remember, if everything doesn't work out, there's
always Graduate School.
October 16, 1995 page 15

By Kilroy
Most everybody has heard about them, a lot of
people think they know a lot about them, and a
few people actually do know about them. They
are the service tunnels.
While your authors do not know a full or even
partial history of the tunnels, we do know a fair
amount about their present state.
First we shall dispel some myths.
They do not connect all buildings on
campus with a walkable route. They
are not small or cramped. They are
(mostly) well lit. The roaches, while
large, are few in number. We have
seen no rodents. Easy access is inter-
mittently available.
We are not aware of anyone who has
been harmed in the tunnels, but we
would not go so far as to call them
safe. Many people will recall the vari-
ous pipe bursts of recent years. None
of these have happened in tunnels that
one can walk through, but it does not
inspire a lot of confidence in the rest of
the system. There is also a single unlit
section which is exceedingly danger-
ous due to a sudden drop of about
twenty feet. (There are reports that this
section does have lights switches but
we have not found the switches yet.)
Getting into the tunnels is not very easy at the
moment. Vandals have made it necessary to lock
up Central Hall at night, and the current best
entrance is in the basement of that building.
Several semesters ago there was a door literally
missing out of the wall in the basement of Staller
which made access trivial. It has since been
replaced and, as a further obstacle, a gate across
the tunnel was repaired there. If one knows what
doors to try it is possible to find doors inadver-
tently left open on occasion.
Once anyone gets into the tunnels, just about
the first thing they notice is the heat. These are
sometimes called "steam tunnels" for a reason:
they provide each building with a supply of very
hot water for heating. They also carry phone and
electric lines, cold water pipes for summer cool-
ing, and natural gas.
The recent construction around campus for the
co-generation plant was largely running a steam
pipe and a fuel oil line. The new steam line has
made the trnnels considerably warmer. Now that
all of the insulation is in place around the pipe,
the tunnels are only as bad as last August.
Frequent pressure releases on the pipes (and the
odd leak on the older ones) keep the tunnels
quite humid. In some areas there is consistently
~II--
II~-~--.
- P~tJIB~ 88~a~8~P~4 ~LI~EI~
The winner of the last contest was Esteban
Rodriguez. The contest, for those of you who
don't remember, was to finish the story that
began "One weekend Tom Masse and John
Lowther went up to the Catskills alone in Tom's
truck. In the cabin they..."
Then you had to finish the story in a 100 words
or less and use as many of the words we sup-
plied as possible, and not use any words we
deemed to easy to get into a story like this.
Bonus points were awarded for using all 20
words and for making the story exactly 100
words long. Esteban did both, winning our con-
test. Unfortunately he did not leave a place were
we could reach him to give him his prize, an
eighth of a page for whatever he wanted. If you
know Esteban, tell him he's won and he can talk
to us about claiming his prize for the next issue.
~-~--~----~ I ----'-- ---- - ~- --- a -- a I ~---~--s~--
-~---
- -
The Stony Brook Press page 16
Under Your Feet
several inches of water.
Once you are in the tunnels you can pretty
much go wherever the tunnels go. The door to
Grad Chemistry has a card proximity sensor lock
(very much like the new electronic dorm locks)
which the authors have never opened. It also
appears to be alarmed. There is a half height door
that appears to lead to Old Chemistry or Melville
Library which is bolted. Sometimes the door to
Central Hall is propped shut.
There is a bend in the tunnel just after the
Computer Science building and for a while there
are no lights. This is an extremely dangerous sec-
tion of the tunnels. There is a gate across the tun-
nel which is apparently always open. After that
there is an entrance to the basement of the Life
Sciences Library. The size and contents of that
basement leave the authors quite perplexed. (In a
far off corner of the cavern there is a good sized
stock pile of blackboards, should anyone need
one.) After the library it gets pitch black. Then
there is the Drop.
As mentioned earlier it is about twenty feet
straight down. The brave are welcome to go
down the ladder there and continue on. We wish
you luck in this as we do not want to find any
bodies at the bottom. Once at the bottom there is
no way out that does not involve a tall ladder
straight up. This means that if you fell but only
broke your arm, you would still be screwed.
So what are the tunnels useful for the average
student? In short, very little. Access is too hard to
make them practical for avoiding the rain, snow,
or any other current weather condition. There is
-
nowhere great to go, hang out, and drink beer in
~··~5·l·l·~;ruPilrr~YP;LL-L~--)i-)~iYP
·-
Without further ado, here is his winning entry,
with the words we supplied in bold face.
"One weekend Tom Masse and John Lowther
went up to the Catskills alone in Tom's truck. In
the cabin they found a penguin with a tattoo of
Dave Shashoua handcuffed to a battleship
being disemboweled with a pneumatic drill by
Pocahontas who wore Fredrick's
Hollywood's new biodegradable lingerie. It
sniffed catnip, shit in a catcher's mitt, and
shouted, "That cold fusion'll kill ya!"
"Die hairless freak!" Tom shouted as he threw
a dozen tripolymer knives at its punany.
"No, it's endangered!" shrieked John too late.
It was dead.
There was a knock.
"Don't slip on the blood, Aryan scum," mut-
I - - ----
~au~PYla- ~-
_~lcr~·~sr~aaaar~-.~la~,~sa~a~-
_ p-d-----~-rula~-·~c~na~--
~-~-~---·-- , ~ _ __
them. The size of the cockroaches make for poor
sexual mood enhancement. About the most use-
ful thing we know the tunnels to have provided
was a source for scrap cardboard for making a
Regatta boat.
One of the authors of this has a vague anthropo-
logical interest in graffiti. There are apparently sev-
eral groups or persons that have taken to leaving
their own version of
"Kilroy" around the tun-
nels. The "Morlocks"
(doubtlessly from the Jules
Vernes novel Time
Machine) and the "Tunnel
Rats" being the most com-
mon. There also is to a
lesser extent humorous
stuff. There is at least one
"Eat a Poptart for Jesus,"
although some catholic
mind censored it. There
are a fair number of "Ham
and Cheese" stickers along
with several dairy related
graffiti. The pipes are
often labeled as to their
functions. Some people
have added other func-
tions to these labels such
as "Milk" and "Cheese."
One pipe recently noticed
had a label "Warm Domestic Beer."
In addition to the frequent functionless graffiti,
there are official signs and unofficial marker des-
ignations to help a traveler find one's way about.
During the pipe installation there were even
maps put up showing all of the emergency exits.
Of all the signs the only ones that are confusing
are those for the Computer Science Building. It is
constantly referred to as "LOB" for "Lab and
Office Building."
A few last bits of advice for the would-be spe-
lunker. Always bring a flashlight with you. Often
it is really handy for finding the light switches.
While there is lots of stray noise in the tunnels,
which might sound like someone else, it is quite
rare for people to be there. Public Safety seems to
only go in the tunnels when they suspect some-
one is in them. If you want to know if someone
else is down there with you turn off every light as
soon as you are through that section. This way
you will be able to notice the flashlights. Lastly,
be aware that strolling the tunnels is likely to be
at least criminal trespass and we would not want
to encourage a flagrant disregard for the law.
tered John.
-
Tom opened the mailbox. "Bob Dole!"
They ate the penguin. Dole burped and said
"That hit the spot."
Again congratulations to the winner. Now for
our next contest it will be to design your own
pumpkin. You can scrawl it on any piece of
of paper and slip in under our door. But if you
really want to kiss our ass and win the contest,
you can carve an actual pumpkin and leave it by
our door.
Please send all entries to room 060 of the
Student Union, or drop them off in person and
talk with the editors while you contemplate
your prize. There is no limit to the amount of
entries one person can send. Again the prize
will be an eighth of a page to do whatever.
~c a __I _
_ _~