FS Vol. 5 - Issue 3

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1 out of 10 Celebrities Agree, Scientology is the Space Opera of Choice Bob Timmer

Alumni / Creative Writing I have always found myself observing the very essence of life and wondering if there is something more. Thankfully, there are religions present in the world to provide me with the answers for which I so greatly yearn. Here lies the problem. Figuring out which one to choose can be as difficult as choosing between ice cream, cake, or pie for dessert. I could choose all of the above, but then people would call me a ‘fatty’. The same can be said for choosing to follow multiple religions at once, but then I wouldn’t know who and what to hate, what my savior looked like, and if what I heard would be true. It would be kind of like being Helen Keller, and I don’t believe in miracles. So many religions seem extremely similar in belief, varying mostly in the types of foods allowable for consumption, and if I wanted to be that picky about what I eat I’d just go vegan, which is just silly. Some religions seem angry at just about everything, and I don’t personally need the extra stress. There is also the possibility of joining a cult, but the types of people attracted to those gatherings always seem too clingy. Some people would suggest atheism, but then atheists are always Negative Nancy’s about so many things. I could never stand to have anybody refer to me as a Nancy. Then, one magical night, I found my answer, my religion. Thank Hubbard that Comedy Central’s South Park had the insight to inform me of The Church of Scientology. Don’t let the name fool you. Scientology has absolutely nothing in common with well-founded science. That is what makes it a religion. I decided the most logical choice was to pick the religion with the most interesting back story. That’s why I wish that people still believed in Zeus, Hera, and the rest of those crazy Gods ‘o’ Olympus. People do still believe in Scientology, though. As many as ten million people and possibly as few as five hundred thousand believe. But, most importantly, celebrities believe in the church. This elite list includes but is not limited to Tom Cruise, Jason Lee, Beck, Kirstie Alley, and John Travolta. The very same Tom Cruise who starred in “Days of Thunder”

has actually been referred to as the Christ of Scientology by some. There are even eight ‘Celebrity Centers’ of Scientology worldwide. The holy text behind scientology is as enriching as it is extraordinary. A portion of the truth behind life lies with Lord Xenu and his evil galactic empire and is a story more than seventy five million years in the making. The maniacal Xenu, for reasons unknown, decided to ship millions of his people to Earth in spaceships resembling Douglas DC-8 airlines, plant the transports near Hawaii and blow them up. The souls of these victims clumped together and stuck to early man. These poor souls are called thetans, and have engrams, which are bad and traumatic memories. This is the great L. Ron Hubbard’s space opera, and potentially the feel good movie of the summer. What Scientology does, at the mere cost of $1000 an hour, is have its members grasp onto two metal cans while talking about their past, and electricity passes through both the cans and the person. This machine, the E Meter, then measures changes in electrical currents. This amazing process will eventually bring a person’s thetan back to its natural state where the person will gain control over matter, energy, space, time, etcetera. In other words, they will become “The One” just like Neo from “The Matrix.” Not only that, but thetans are immortal, and once the human body reaches this natural state, it will also become immortal. The person will become the Highlander. Sweet. It should be obvious at this point why Scientology is by far the greatest religion ever. Most of these facts were researched on Wikipedia.com, mainly because most of my past professors strictly prohibited me from using this amazing source for their stupid research papers. I am a fucking rebel at heart. I also took a gander at Conservapedia.com, to get the extreme rightist opinion on my new life choice. What I learned was that conservatives fear Scientology and its awesome power. Most of the pages detailing the amazing story were listed as deleted and protected so that they could never be recreated. Perhaps they are jealous that Hubbard developed a better way of making money than they could. Other religions often take their

people’s money through stores and kiosks in the mall selling religious merchandise with pictures of a cupcake on them and the slogan “Christ Cake” printed above it. I even once went to a church that sold advertisement in their Sunday notes and were sponsored by McDonalds. This is all a pathetic attempt at making money. Scientology actually takes peoples’ money before they even join! That is true capitalism. Conservatives probably don’t even want people to know the real truth. The truths that Scientology reveal to us are even bigger than Da Vinci’s Code! The only references to Scientology left on Conservapedia.com talks about supposed leaders skimming millions of dollars off the top and laundering through Panamanian dummy corporations and Swiss bank accounts. Who hasn’t done this? This is all small stuff, really. It’s not like they started a Crusade or Jihad or had possible sexual encounters with children… well, maybe L. Ron did while living on his houseboat with his many horribly punished devoted slaves of all ages, but in his defense he was on a lot of drugs at the time. L. Ron Hubbard was not all bad. Really. He practiced ‘sex magic’. I have no idea what that actually is, but there were cases of him trying to resurrect some ancient goddess. I’ll bet she was hot. And, on top of founding an amazing religion, he wrote many amazing books and television scripts including Secret of Treasure Island, Man-Killers of the Air, Carnival of Death (coolest book name ever!!!) and the smash hit movie “Battlefield Earth.” “Battlefield Earth” is like the Scientology new testament, and starred devoted follower John Travolta as an evil Alien Bureaucrat. This is all really just the tip of the Scientology iceberg. The important point of this religion is that it sounds cool and celebrities endorse it. And, until someone forms the Assembly of Cyborg Ninja Lions, that’s good enough for me. Well, it will soon be good enough for me. I am currently too poor to become an actual member of Scientology. Sources: http://www.conservapedia.com/Scientology http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Scientology http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/L._Ron_Hubbard http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0399196/

October 10th - October 23rd, 2007

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(Don’t) Believe in Yourself Sara Adams

Undergraduate / Print Journalism These days, it’s so goddamned hard to avoid encouraging words. Everywhere we go we’re assaulted with posters and magnets sending a positive message. The poster proclaims something like “EFFORT,” in block letters, accompanied by a large photo of a landscape, like a nice lake. (Because if you work hard and believe in yourself you won’t end up looking at a landfill.) And how often are you given advice along the same lines? “Life,” or “Today,” is what you make of it, how you respond, or, the cliché we hear most often, “Attitude is everything.” Perception isn’t reality only when it comes to self-esteem; it’s also all over our education. And I’ll be the first to say I find post-modernism interesting, and enjoy unlikely symbolism. I had a great time with a paper where I decided a forest was analogous to a character’s feelings about his wife. But I feel like I’ve been extending this symbolism to my life in ways that add more bullshit to it than meaning. I just wonder if we honestly believe there’s nowhere a good attitude and positive thoughts can’t take us. And if my ability to find something in nothing allows me to pretend I’ve done something when I’ve done nothing. A disclaimer: I’m glad it’s not the whatever century. I’m glad I’m not subject to the dogma of a church or society where my desires and work ethic are useless. I’m grateful to live in a time and place where individualism is paramount. Yet, I want to know if we see rationalizing as an inadequate band-aid for pain and struggle words can’t touch? And if our exaggerated idea of our own efficacy leaves us using

the wrong adjectives way too fucking often. I find shades of gray where there aren’t any, and often describe situations in ways that defy logic, and I do it with a straight face. When things are bad I rarely say so. Like the vast majority of us, I say “good,” and “all right,” when people ask me how I am. If we were to judge the human condition on the way we greet each other, we’d be approaching some sort of utopia. But I suspect otherwise. There are times when I realize the upbeat nature of social niceties allows me to lie all the time. But I don’t feel too bad, because I’m sure what I say is true on some level. One area where this “it’s how you see it,” line of thought is particularly troubling is when it comes to things which are inarguably awful. With a vocabulary that’s lost contact with the darker side of reality, we find all we know how to do is counsel people to pick themselves up again. I’ve done it. Because, in our happy world, anything can be assimilated toward our inevitable return to a better place. I wonder if this is unique to our generation. Once, my mother, who’s seen a lot, said hard times don‘t make you stronger, you just live through them. What I always hear, from anyone my age is, “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.” And everything is a learning experience. One time, I was upset about one thing or another, and my friend told me that, well, you learn from it. And I thought yeah, you learn from it, but people learn from car accidents too, but that doesn’t mean I’m willing to drive into a building for the potential learning experience. I think our problem lies in only seeing each experience in terms of what “I” took from it. Because, while difficult experi-

ences can confer a lot of maturity on us, shit only teaches us so much about ourselves. When I hear people recount what they’ve learned from difficult experiences, they don’t often get too far beyond learning their strengths and what’s important. That’s good, but isn’t there something else? I’ve spent a lot of time with sickness, and I have learned a lot about my pain tolerance, but the other insights into myself have been limited. Rather, there is something larger at work when we are confronted with a reality that all the resolve in the world can’t refashion. We could learn something about the nature of the universe, but instead we trivialize it with endless exhortations to believe, try harder. There’s a time and place for this kind of encouragement, but what does it say about us if we can’t get beyond that? These are the questions we’ve usually looked to religion, philosophy, literature, and even science to understand. But it seems that with self-help psychology plastered everywhere, we’ve just stopped bothering. It’s part of our language, part of our decorations, and it’s dulling our senses. It’s almost as if the posters are part of a larger propaganda, allowing us to take some kind of refuge in the irrelevant, but leaving us ill-equipped to address anything substantial. The thing about catchphrases is they’re so dense they don’t trigger associations. They stick in your brain as they are, reminding you of nothing else, except other equally bland statements.

A Fresh Dose of Life David Steinfeld

Undergraduate / Psychology We were driving behind a few other cars heading towards the same destination: A rock concert in Bielefeld, Germany. I constantly gazed out of the window to admire the beauty of the dark night as well as the bright city lights accompany-

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ing us. I took another sip of my Beck’s and thought about a few things that had gone wrong and some mistakes I had made and was ready to keep my mind off them for a while. Finally, we arrived at the place where we would spend the next hours full of deafening noise, sweaty bodies, screams, and laughter. There we were among a

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thousand moles who had all come out from underneath the earth and were all here for the same reason: To escape from this dead world whose life had almost been incinerated completely and to take advantage of an opportunity we had all been yearning for so long. We were waiting patiently outside the building in the freezing cold. As soon


as the security guards opened the doors everybody streamed inside like a bunch of bees which had just discovered a pile of honey. It took a while until the first band would start to perform. Neon lights as well as a few other faint lights brightened the wide, big hall which was filled with an almost infinite darkness. My friends and I spent some time at the bars intoxicating our bodies with some more alcohol and didn’t head out towards the stage until our anticipated favorite band would perform. The performance of the third local band had ended and a short composure was establishing itself in the hall. Some quiet music was playing in the background. I was having some small talk with a friend when I suddenly perceived the Star Wars theme and Dan, the lead singer of Story of the Year, running around on stage. His band mates joined him a few seconds later. This was the moment I had been longing for and I didn’t hesitate as my feet accelerated towards the stage and into the moshpit. Story of the Year started with “And the Hero Will Drown”, followed by “We Don’t Care Anymore” and “In the Shadows of Our Lives.” Within several seconds excitement and enthusiasm had invaded all the bodies surrounding the stage since the moshpit turned into some kind of a cage filled with a bunch of wild lions. I was a tennis ball which was being smashed around by various racquets into different directions because many people pushed each other around. Although I sensed several fists and elbows punching into my back and icky bodies which were completely saturated by sweat I didn’t give a shit and enjoyed the show because these were the moments worth to be living for. Story of the Year kicked ass and played many of their awesome songs, though I decided to conserve all my energy for my favorite song. Once the sweat ran down my back and the dryness of my mouth set in they finally started playing my favorite tune “Until the Day I Die”. I couldn’t believe that all of this was actually happening. While screaming my lungs out to sing the lyrics of this marvelous song I was alive again as I felt like God had injected a fresh dose of life into my body that was now running through my veins. All the

Wishes for Christian Researchers Jeremy Behrendt

Undergraduate / Creative Writing inspired by Lucille Clifton’s “wishes for

sons”

their results to the devil and see him beautiful as god once did, eyes two black bulbs fixed to the skull.

i wish them called out, their every christian name a small sculpture of misshapen sound.

“what will happen after you die?” let them shake every hand with their left when we gather both as one

i wish them naked when they come to my table, dicks firm with what i always should have wanted.

and as many. i wish hordes of marxists upon them: marxists with opinions. let them know the curve

they ask if they may join me because they are pious and i am eating alone. i wish for distance between

of the devil’s shoulder is clean of any wing. “if there’s a heaven, there’s a hell, right?”

their words and mine. they are conducting a survey for class. they will ask, “have you ever told a lie?” or “have you ever

i wish them forgiven before they are ready. “will you go to heaven?”

stolen something?” once weak and forever tempted, later i wish their blood knit into small lumps of clay;

i wish them try the fried pollack. today it is delicious and tonight we dine in hell.

bound together, each to the other, each to me. “and what would that make you?” i wish them

worries, grief and anger vaporized out of my head. A bomb of endorphins had exploded inside of me and they were now dispersing inside my body. This special, splendid moment was mine and I knew that life was good. It was an unforgettable, wonderful performance and the other bands, such as Funeral for a Friend, Rise Against, Killswitch Engage, and The Used, did very well, too.

honest, i wish those clots some safe corner inside them. i wish us live forever. i wish them submit

After having spent a great amount of hours at the concert we agreed it was time to drive home since exhaustion, hunger and thirst had weakened our bodies. I went to bed with a smile on my face and couldn’t wait to attend the next concert to receive another fresh dose of life.

October 10th - October 23rd, 2007

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Local Writer Kills Four Dead through the Internet, Full Investigation Pending A thesis on the development of online FPS pwnage Michael Seaholm

Undergraduate / Computer Science A terrible addiction is gripping the youth of the nation today, as I am sure you are all fully aware. It has caused the lives of millions to slowly fade away into unimportance and, ultimately, nothingness. I am, of course, referring to video games, in particular first-person shooters. Untreated, this epidemic could quickly become fatal… fatally entertaining, I mean. Thus, this article will address this hot-button issue with a tenacity rating of at least 85% so as to expose the truth on all that you hold dear, by which I mean the aforementioned video games. To those of you with weak hearts, kidneys, livers, or brain stems, please read this article amongst friends so that they can be there to enjoy your reaction to it. Firstly, I must explain something to the twelve people on campus who do not know what a video game is: a first-person shooter, commonly known on the streets as an FPS, is a simulation involving guns, action, team-killing, and general debauchery, all through the eyes of a character that you control. The most popular function in an FPS is the multiplayer mode, which usually takes place over the Interweb. For the most part, a majority of these players are intelligent, sophisticated individuals in real life. Once they join a death match online, however, a large portion of their central nervous system shuts down, allowing them to focus all their energy toward playing the game and speaking only in expletives. In gamers’ circles, this is called “getting in the zone” and is probably illegal in California. Recently, a fancy new FPS about a series of mechanical Halos has appeared on the market, much to the anticipation of its disciples. I believe it’s called “Giant Killer Space Ring 3” or something. Anyhow, the person across the hall from me, Jadie (pronounced JD) Rutledge, managed to get the special edition game pack – the Mythic Pack, I think it’s called – and played through the Campaign mode all last Saturday. Amidst the sudden waves of

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enemy attacks, bullets, and plasma bolts in each level, I was able to point out the most outstanding feature of GKSR 3: motion blur, that is to say the sudden blurring of the background as you swivel your head rapidly. Thus, every time Jadie – who is, by the way, single, ladies – turned around and shotgunned a Brute in the face, I would give an appreciative thumbs-up for the motion blurring involved in this sequence of events. Between the amazing blurring action on Jadie’s Xbox 360 and my roommate Kent “Also Single” Amundson’s own cool FPS experiences on his nearly-sentient custom computer, I felt the weight of peer pressure bear down upon me: I had to get in on that FPS action. Unfortunately, my only computer is a rental laptop that I got from the campus library, a process that involves signing a contract stating that my hands would be chopped off if I installed any software. Despite this, I decided to search the various nooks and crannies of the Internet for an FPS. What seemed to be a bright ray of hope on the horizon quickly turned out to be a craptastic vision of a dystopian future as I came to the horrible realization that certain FPS games wouldn’t work on a rental laptop because I didn’t have super ultra administrative powers. As such, I was only able to find one game in what was probably 247 consecutive hours of searching that actually worked. It is called Assault Cube, and it allows for the use of five unique weapons: pistol, automatic rifle, submachine gun, sniper rifle, and shotgun. Also featured is the knife, which is never, ever, ever, ever used, unless you’re into brain surgery with a bullet medium. It would seem that the story is over, but like an unresponsive Windows program I didn’t know when to quit. Despite the surfeit of interesting weaponry that Assault Cube had to offer, I decided to pull off a bold maneuver: I would create my own FPS. A quick search on the Internet revealed one of the few FPS makers that doesn’t actually cost money, which I downloaded immediately. Within minutes, I was able to become totally con-

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fused by the lack of any user-friendly commands and was ready to chew off my arms at the shoulder in frustration. I was lucky enough, however, to have found a brief user’s manual before I managed to get to the bone. In only a few more minutes, I concocted an astounding combination of badassery and state-of-the-art polygon technology that became known as The Pit. It consisted of a single room housing only a zombie that looked like an undead Raggedy Ann. Still, it was a start. Not every aspect of FPSing is this friendly and carefree, however. Since its creation, the genre of first-person shooter has come under heavy criticism because of its frequently violent nature. Some have speculated that impressionable young children could be influenced to emulate the behaviors depicted in many of these games, much like how children emulate, I don’t know, cuisinarts. Luckily for those of you who are worried about the youth of the nation, I have recently discovered an FPS that does not involve any violence whatsoever. It is called Super 3D Noah’s Ark, and it operates under the principle of throwing food at stray animals to make them fall asleep. It is also the only unlicensed Super Nintendo game ever commercially released, which can only attest to its quality. As for me, I’ll settle for Giant Killer Space Ring, if only because I am old enough to handle the ungodly alien-on-power-armored-persons carnage within.


Hedonist: Part Two Aaron Frase

Undergraduate / Print Journalism I smell the fresh polish on the leather interior. My eyes dim from an eight hour work day and constant thoughts of Brandi. I think of the extra stash in my bed stand that Brandi knows about. The butcher knife that is lying in a kitchen drawer. The alligator skin suitcases lining the lower wall of my closet. I think of these things and what she’ll choose. I look at the clock in the council. 6:13. Brandi didn’t work today. The steering wheel is sticky from the long time contact with lotion slathered hands. The Bose radio/CD player/MP3 player is turned off. I sit in the quiet of the car and the road and I think. What will I see when I get home? My day at work was slow. Starting with my morning desk work, I was thinking about Brandi. My morning executive meeting, Brandi was there. My sixth cup of coffee, Brandi. My afternoon desk work, Brandi. My client calls, Brandi. My management work, Brandi. My afternoon trip to the company gym complete with spa and indoor pool, Brandi was with me. And now. The car ride. She’s here.

The Mercedes gently glides into the driveway. I get out and walk to my door. I stop. There are no waves of blue, green, and purple. No waves of pressure. No euphoria. No white light. Only broken images of a lifeless body with open wrists in a warm red Jacuzzi bath. A perfect blonde statue laying still on my carpet, a long strand of silver from the crook of her arm. A sobbing woman, makeup running down her cheeks, being cradled, cold, shaking, crying and an older woman saying “Don’t worry, honey. You’re safe here. We’ll get you clean.” I put my keys in the door. Blood pours from the wrists of the woman in the bath. I step inside my house. Spit and snot and blood come out of the mouth and nose of the blonde statue, eyes rolled back into its head. I walk down the hallway. The sobbing woman, in the arms of the old woman, gritting her teeth, saying “I hate him. I don’t want to see him again.” My stomach sinks. My paintings in the hallway all look at me. Pierce me. Their eyes accusing. I turn into the living room. I see Brandi on

the couch. Not crying. No blood. No snot and spit. No old woman. She smiles while she thumbs under her nose. A snowy mirror and razor in her lap. “Hi.” She says. I stare. Frozen. She gets up and walks towards me. She grabs the back of my head and encloses her lips on mine. I can taste her tongue. The coffee. My coke. She places her hand on my neck. I feel the slight shock of cold metal. She brings her arm down and opens her palm. She holds out my syringe, my tin can, and my butane lighter. “Here. I’ve been waiting for you.” She says. Three Magnum Trojans lie on the coffee table. I take my lighter and press down. An orange flame erupts. I stare at it for what seems like an hour. I look deep into Brandi’s eyes. Clear and blue and cold. I take my belt off. I wrap my belt around my arm. A vein bubbles up by the time the can is heated. The contents are emptied into a vial. A vial into the syringe. Needle in my arm. And the plunger comes down. By the time it bottoms out waves of color begin to surround myeyes.

If They Build It, Will You Go? John Rohde

Undergraduate / Physics, Pholosophy Not a day goes by that I don’t wish I knew more about the “scientific” claims in the book of Genesis. You know what I mean by scientific claims… claims about the “days” of creation and the mass extinction due to rising Flood waters. Luckily, my thirst for such knowledge will soon be quenched. A museum dedicated to what some might call Creation Science is slated for the near future in Wisconsin Dells. This museum will feature displays depicting all land animals living together preNoah’s Flood and post-Divine Creation, one example: Dinosaurs and Humans living side by side a few thousand years ago. And why shouldn’t the Old Testament’s scientific claims get museums? Faith alone in the Bible’s infallibility is great and all, but this museum represents something substantial, objective, and real.

Because religious claims are often seen as lacking these things, a museum makes sense. We’re all familiar with the Intelligent Design movement and its attempts to introduce alternative perspectives into the high school’s biology curriculum; although this movement is gaining supporters, its success has been minimal. Thus, a museum could be viewed not just as a great idea, but also as a necessary reaction to the attack on Judeo-Christian beliefs and the unchallenged acceptance of the dogmatism of Darwinism and the fallacy of historical geology. Now I know what some of you are thinking. What about geology’s virtual denial of Genesis’ single act of creation and a world-wide flood? This anti-Literal position has been strengthened (the second floor of Philips would contend) a billion-fold during the last several decades thanks in part to very “accurate” dating techniques. What about evolution, you

may be wondering. Darwin may not have known about DNA (of course, no one did back then), but we do now. The biology of today not only has tremendous experimental support, it has a mechanism for evolution that Darwin lacked. Both sides of this debate feel themselves entirely justified. But neither side seems to be able to settle the issue or convince the other side. Why can’t this issue be simply resolved, or can it? Let me leave you with a few more questions. Is opposition to this museum a violation of the proponent’s free speech? Is support a violation of truth, and if so, should this matter? If you oppose such a museum on the basis of factuality, should more of the Bible’s claims (scientific or not) be rejected? Can Christianity survive without a literal reading of the Bible?

October 10th - October 23rd, 2007

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Thank You, Creepy Middle Aged Guy! Paydon Miller

Freshman / Print Journalism 1. I was leaving Hibbard Hall several days ago, headphones on and enjoying the somewhat decent weather when I was approached by a balding man with a stack of papers in his hand. He said something to me – what it was, I couldn’t tell you – and offered me one of those papers he held. I accepted it, more interested in not being rude than in reading the flier. What I found in my hand was a pamphlet titled “Who Killed Junior?” The following pages showed the different ways that an unborn child may be aborted, accompanied by cartoon pictures of babies being cut into pieces, literally sucked out of a woman’s womb with a vacuum cleaner and burned to death by chemicals. The final pages give the reader valuable insight into the sanctity of a woman’s body, telling us that “No woman has the right to interfere with a life God had created” and “Some foolish women say ‘I have a right to my own body.’” Finally, on the very back of this Pulitzer Prize material, abortion is compared to the Holocaust, aided by a tasteful picture of infant corpses thrown into a pile. 2. I live in Green Bay, Wisconsin, where people are generally tolerant… as long as you believe the correct things. Every year, from about mid-April to lateOctober, every day a person driving by the Bellin Hospital on Webster St. (a heavily used street in Green Bay) can see a group of anywhere from ten to fifty people picketing outside the front doors of the hospital. In their hands, they have five foot tall pictures of aborted fetuses and signs with thoughtful expressions like “Abortion Doctors are Murderers!” These past years, this same handful of people have sparked countless debates and police intrusions, mostly for the gruesome photos and their comments to passersby. For reasons unknown to most, these tasteless displays, which are specifically designed to shock and appall people, have been allowed to continue. 3. The recent tasing of Andrew Meyer, a University of Florida student who was arrested for “attempting to incite a riot.” For the unaware ( Jump onto YouTube as soon as you can), Meyer was arrested and eventually tased for his actions at a

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question and answer session with Senator John Kerry. He began shouting profanity after his microphone was cut, and for this he was arrested. After he was led outside, Meyer settled down, claiming he would walk on his own if they let him go. Meyer was then wrestled to the ground by Florida cops, where he was tased numerous times, all the while saying he wasn’t fighting. I know you guys know this. What most people don’t’ realize is that Meyer had been disruptive during the entire session with Kerry, shouting out several times during Kerry’s speech. Finally, when he reached the podium, he rambles on for minutes, claiming a question is coming. When he begins to use profanity, his microphone is cut. When he is arrested, he struggles against the officers, which is by definition, resisting arrest. Let me be very clear: In no way did Meyer ever deserve the arrest or the tasing. All I’m saying is that by definition, he did resist arrest by struggling with police as they tried to bring him into custody. All of this could have been avoided had Meyer simply stated his case and asked his question in a logical manner, rather than trying to draw attention to himself and discredit Kerry. The profanity and disrespectful nature towards both police and Kerry are what caused his arrest in the first place. Again: the arrest and tasing were unwarranted, but so was the manner in which Meyer handled himself beforehand. ****** The first story sparked me to write this article, but all three of these instances document something that has slowly been bothering me more and more over the past two or three years: the need of some to shock instead of use facts to support their beliefs. In the case of the man handing out tasteless pamphlets condemning abortion, my question to him is “What did you intend to prove?” Call me crazy, but I can’t logically see someone who opens this publication, reading it, and saying “Oh! Now I understand! Thank God there was a cartoon picture of a child being cut into pieces!” A simple flier stating the medical and religious facts against abortion would be just as effective, if not more. And I use the same logic for the picketers in my hometown. All these kinds of displays do is disgust and draw away from the point

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you are trying to make. Now, because of you, people are talking about the way you handle yourself instead of the reason you protested at all. The Andrew Meyer case is another example of people taking unnecessary steps to make themselves seen. Meyer even has his own website dedicated to himself and his vigilantism. He purposely goes overthe-top with his displays to gain recognition. Remember the picture on the day the last Harry Potter book came out? The one of that guy walking down the street with a sign that says “Harry Dies”? Yeah, that was him. I will grant Meyer that his points were valid and thought provoking, but had Meyer chosen to present the fact he had in a calm manner, he would have had his questions answered and wouldn’t have been arrested and tased. Then again, he wouldn’t have had his fifteen minutes of fame, would he? Why else would he have brought his own camera and asked a female student to film him asking his question just moments before he went up? All I ask is that people ditch the shock value approach and try to present their facts intelligently. But for some of these people, that might be too much to ask.

Vane Truth Jennifer Sisko

Freshman / English / Theatre I called it pain but it cannot be this;

If it were pain my mind would not be numb.

Thoughts waver from light to dark and I miss Your quiet voice telling me to come.

That those vapors from your whispering

Had been less powerful! And then I could Forget the laughter, go now unheading

Words I heard, which I never thought I would. I should have decided at that moment

But for some reason I did take too long,

And soon as you said this won’t work, and went

Wisdom straightened me out, but you were gone. I know now, though my mind is in this vice: Empowerment comes only at a price.


Fenris Unchained: Part Three Philip E. Kaveny

Undergraduate /Religious Studies Maybe to take my mind off the horror I asked myself a question: Why is Christmas Eve the most terrible night of the year for the hopeless? Because it’s a time when things come up for an accounting. The bars close in the city at about 6:00, and those with families go home to them. For those without families, there is no place else for them to go. Some try midnight mass but you need to believe that you are in a state of grace for that. This holiday I did not have to clean up the Ohio Tavern. My shift ran from noon ‘til closing, which was 6:30. It was business as usual at the Ohio Tavern. Bud was in again today, and he was drinking extra-sharp ginger brandy again, the drink that had brought many alcoholics to the end the line of either death or recovery. Bud was in a really bad mood, I could always tell when he was quiet. So, I asked him what was wrong. “Did you hear that asshole Detective Lulling on the radio last night? Who the fuck does he think he is anyway, Sherlock Holmes?” Bud slapped the bar so hard the bottles on the wall rattled. “You know, he does not know shit about what he is talking about. Chain saw serial killers. He will say anything to look like a big shot.” “What are you trying to tell me?” I asked cautiously. “I was there when they did the autopsy on what was left of both victims. You know, that in both cases, they brought what was left back in a body bag. I’ve got the report here. It’s about the same for both victims. “‘The victims in both cases were dismembered in a manner that can only be compared to the results of a shark’s feeding frenzy. The wounds were such that it is impossible to determine the exact cause of death, but in both case foreign tissue was found mixed in with that of the victims. At this time we are awaiting the lab reports in order to try to determine where the tissue came from. In addition, we may try to make some identification from blood typing. You can sometimes decide something about what something is by seeing how close it compares to some existing animal. For example, humans and some of the larger primates have almost identical blood protein.’”

I couldn’t help myself as I asked incredulously, “Bud, we thought you were stupid. How is it that you know all this stuff? The word is that you don’t know a heart attack from a knife in the back.” He answered gruffly, “Just because I’m 68 years old does not mean I am fucking stupid. I let them tell those stories because it keeps my name in circulation. Besides that incident took place in l967, a lot has changed since then. “In this town brains are cheap” Bud added. “Ph.D.’s wash dishes and drive cabs. The point is that some of those brains are working for me now. While that asshole detective was taking target practice with pigeons we were going to school. I can tell you that whatever is out there is probably the canine equivalent of saber tooth tiger, and it doesn’t leave ANY tracks and the DNA we found on the victim does not match anything in this world.” Just then a woman new to the neighborhood came into the bar. One of the regular customers gave her a friendly greeting. “Make sure that fucking door is closed tight honey buns, it’s cold enough to freeze the balls of a brass monkey, or a witch’s teat out there.” The Ohio wasn’t known as Madison’s friendliest tavern for nothing. She was in her late twenties or early thirties, medium height and dark hair and clean. As she sat down at the bar I noticed she had very large hands for a woman. She did not belong in a place like the Ohio. Bud checked out and told me to keep my doors locked. I looked out the window and saw that the sun was setting. It was only a couple of hours until I would close up. She looked at me with her dark eyes and asked for a bottle of Perrier. “Perrier?” I laughed, “Sorry we don’t stock it. The best I can do is Canada Dry club soda with a twist of lime.” Then I noticed that she was crying. This I don’t need, I thought to myself. This is the last thing I needed. I seem to remember things like this happening all my life. “What’s wrong?” I sighed. She looked me straight in the eye and by the way she talked I could tell she had been to college, probably for a number of years. She pulled herself together, and answered. “I came to town to stay with this

guy for a while until I could find a job after I finished nursing school at Iowa State.” She seem to care what I thought of her as she continued. “It’s not what you think. He’s gay. I came to 2214 Center Avenue, his address, and I found the house empty and two cops standing guard around that yellow tape used to mark a crime scene. Do you know what happened? Was there a bust in the neighborhood? Is he in jail?” I looked at today’s paper open on the bar, and cursed under my breath. By this time we were the only ones in the Ohio tavern and it was my closing time. The words just slipped out of my mouth. “What was his name? Maybe I can tell you something.” She grabbed my wrist; I could feel her nails dig into my skin. She was very strong for a woman. “His name is Mark Briggs.” I looked down at the newspaper headline: “No Suspect in Briggs Murder Case”. I told her the news. She didn’t say anything. Then she started crying. “He told me it would be alright to stay with him until I got a job? The last time I saw him was three years ago at Iowa state. Who would do this terrible thing? He told me I could be safe with him” she sobbed. My wrist started bleeding from her finger nails digging in, so I turned away from her thumb joint to break her grip. I got my hand free and just watched her cry. Then she stopped crying and said, “Your wrist, your poor wrist. I’m sorry your wrist is bleeding. Look what I did to your poor wrist. Do you have any peroxide or anything to put on it?” I answered that I would just wash it out. “No,” she said, “I’ve taken a nursing course, that has to be cleaned out.”

October 10th - October 23rd, 2007

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A Search for Soldier Coverage Phil Kolas

Undergraduate / Philosophy I’m in way over my head. On some impulse I followed a message left on a white board in one of my classes. It was for a support group for “those with loved ones serving in Iraq or Afghanistan”. That sentence does not apply to me in the least. If anything I’m the last person that should ever come in contact with war widows. I wrote a nothing of an article two years ago about a few doubts that struck me while watching a half-dozen soldiers eat at a Perkins. To my surprise there was a cult of girlfriends, fiancés, and wives who rounded off at least 3 separate messages to myself, and the Flip Side for printing me. In a rotten moods, too. I say cult because I’d never heard anything from these people before in 3 years of college. Not a word, a poster, a bubble on a white board, not a sign, and not a letter to a paper until my written fart stirred them up. Whichever reason it was, it must have put some kind of itch in my ass, because now I’m on the trail of the elusive Counsel Creature. I’m exaggerating for the most part, I know (and it’s something to always keep in mind while you read my every word), but I feel like I’ve been gladly thrown into a challenge of my brilliant budding intellect: The Angry Women in question two years ago suggested I shut my damn mouth until I know what I’m talking about, and there’s not many things more exciting to me than when my radar clearly picks up an area I’m blind-drunk ignorant in and I jump in full-on naked. I don’t know what or how American soldiers come back as. I never actually admitted that I did anyway; The Women simply took my naturally curious nature as affronts to their soldier boys’ presence (or absence, however you want to want to look at it or whichever one’s grammatically correct). But they were still right—I didn’t know what I was talking about. I have no personal baggage in Iraq, no one in my family I ever knew personally has been killed in combat, I’ve never waited with a white shawl on the rain-fallen seaside docks. So this is a backlogged debt. A chance to take them up on their offer. It initially struck me as strange to see a notice written in basic marker on the far corner of a white board advertising

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something I thought would be a foregone conclusion years ago—support for the ones left behind. My logic would’ve guessed that the very next day after the boys on the boats left should’ve been when the meetings started, but maybe not. The other shock was that I actually saw the notice. Like I said, the group is notoriously cloistered, at least as far as I could tell, since being a compulsive reader, I figure I would’ve run into the group before I wrote The Thing two years ago. I like seeking out the truth in a situation, because it’s sure to be more complex than anyone could guess at a passing glance. I’m masochistic in that sense—I like losing my footing and getting proved wrong, and there turns out to be enough finer points to the idea of “Support Group for those with loved ones serving in Iraq or Afghanistan” to keep me busy for a while. Lisa Cooper-Murphy, coordinator of the Women’s and Gender Equity Center, and the organizer of the group (every other Wednesday, 7 pm, WAGE Center Schofield 30), even had initial trouble rounding up a fore-going group to follow in the footsteps of. “There hadn’t been anything formal or publicized that I’d been able to find out about. I think other groups were just informal meetings between friends, or people that heard through the grapevine another person was going through the same thing.” The idea came from a brainstorming session over the summer, once CooperMurphy found out she was getting the WAGE position. I was initially suprised when I found out she’s neither a psychology/psychiatry major, nor has a personal missing significant other due to the war. But the plan for the group has the full blessing of the Counseling Services, so I trust judgment of people who know better than me. If I can put myself in the shoes of the type of people that this group is for, I would guess I’d be happy to have a solid base of operations, a constant opendoor spot where I knew people would be on call for the type of thing that I’m going to be coming in with every time I walk through the door. If you talk with Cooper-Murphy, you can tell she has plans together with what to do with the group, and has thought through things

The Flip Side

that might go wrong. “I put specifically on the posters that it wasn’t a political debate, and that’s what I was worried about. I think that maybe a concern with some people [is] that there’s such strong feelings surrounding whether or not we should even be in Iraq, that they’re afraid of having to take sides one way or another. So part of what I plan to do at the group is that if it gets into any kind of area like that where people are getting heated and starting to talk about politics rather than just their coping strategies I’ll have to diffuse that. I think that might have been a concern in the past that the real purpose of the support group would get lost in the political debate.” The group has only had one meeting so far, and I haven’t been able to secure an interview yet with anyone who was there. I can’t speak on the meeting, either. I left on deference to privacy. But besides solid plans for a creative support group (babysitting support crews for those members left with children single-handedly, a reading list that Cooper-Murphy’s been going through on her own time, and the Counseling Services as a referential safety net for anything she feels is out of her powers) I felt good watching it all come together. These aren’t widows either, near as I could tell by first impressions at least. No black shawls. Mostly my age, with one mother whose son returned within the last month. But I’ve already been verbally bitch slapped once on this overall topic, so I approach on my judgments with caution. In the references CooperMurphy gave me to Counseling Services alone I’ve got more work to do with an interview I grabbed there with PJ Kennedy (till next issue kids), and I want to do everything the best I can. I’ve got at least four more issues left this semester to cover the whole 100-yard run of this topic to the best of my ability. I’m counting on being pulled back and forth. I know soldiers coming home and the support they and theirs get (or don’t get) is not something to face lightly. Also, being the icon of high-class reporting that I am, I’m not actually done with this. It’s a piece-by-piece work in progress. This might go somewhere completely off of left field in the coming in-


stallments. Come with me as we have our mind’s blown and possibly find out everything we know is wrong. Or it might be really boring and a waste of your 75 cents of segregated fees (yes, you have already paid for this paper, in order to keep it free. Wrap your mind around that). The excitement is that no one knows which way it’s going to go, certainly not me. That’s always the fun of confronting your ignorance.

Letter to the Editor In the first issue of this year’s Flipside, I read the article “A Morally Healthy Wisconsin Bears One Another’s Burden” and was both moved and angered by what I read. Brandon Buchanan’s interest in helping his fellow citizens was something that touched me personally, especially in his story about Annette, the woman who suffers from complication of diabetes. As he went on to talk about our government’s influence on the lives and well-being of American citizens, I was frustrated because I know exactly what he’s talking about. I am a sophomore here at UW-Eau Claire. I’ve been a Type 1 diabetic for nearly 7 years now. This summer I became ineligible for my health insurance because I turned 19. I have been searching like crazy for affordable health insurance that will cover my diabetes expenses, which can very easily exceed $13,000 annually. That’s more than I’m paying for college each year. It’s also a scary thought considering I’m working a part-time job to pay for my expenses, and that’s solely what I depend on. I either have to pick a shitty insurance plan, having to not only pay for that but also all my supplies for a year putting me in debt at age 19, or apply for government programs that will take 5 or more months to even process my application. I’ve found it quite funny that those individuals who appear to need health insurance the most are the ones who are denied it the most.

Amanda Jennings Undergraduate Biology Education

October 10th - October 23rd, 2007

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God According to a Drunk Girl

It was a night in September. I found myself at the Joynt, incontestably my favorite bar, accompanied by one of my dearest friends as well as a very expensive leather purse that concealed a plastic bottle of vodka and cranberry juice. I was happy. We couldn’t find seats, which was odd for 10:30. We circulated, knowing we would inevitably see friends – that’s what I love about the Joynt. I was pleasantly surprised to encounter a certain old acquaintance, still cute and cornered against the pinball machine. We chatted about France and graduation and a few other things. Then, we started talking about religion. It always comes up at bars for some reason. He feebly announced that he was a fundamentalist Christian. I nodded. We deftly proved that our beliefs were different, but as the conversation progressed, our smiles slowly began to outnumber our grimaces. His openmindedness stunned me. We began to recognize our similarities and rejoice in them. We made plans to meet for coffee to continue the conversation. I maneuvered my way over to a newly vacant table and sat down next to a friend of mine, an atheist with serious eyes that were peering at me from behind a small glass of beer. We fished around for things to talk about. I brought up the conversation I had had with the old acquaintance, whose French khaki blouson was now lost in the throng. I remarked that he is a fundamentalist Christian – which, by the way, does not bother me really. It’s not like he, I don’t know, hates Queen or something.

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Either way, I paraphrased the exchange we had had. Then suddenly, my friend began grilling me about my own beliefs. He has done it in the past, but this particular interrogation was much more intimidating than usual. “Why do you need to believe in the Bible?” he kept demanding. “I don’t need to,” I explained. “I want to.” “But why?” he persisted. Suddenly, I realized that, while I know well what I believe, I was simply unable to reply. Next, I found myself held hostage at Shenanigan’s. All I can remember seeing now is legs in ill-fitting pants wobbling atop platform heels, everything glistening with sweat and spilled alcohol. Everything was hazy, partly due to the multi-colored clouds of cigarette smoke animated by strobe lights and partly due to my own drunkenness. It was beautifully horrible. Not soon enough, I was alone, walking home. Refreshed by the crisp night air, I regained alertness and began reflecting on the conversations of the night. Damn it, why do I believe in the Bible? I have toyed with the idea that God has chosen me to be a disciple of Jesus, and therefore I am one; my soul has been molded by God such that it only makes sense that I believe. Not everyone is made to follow this path; God just set me upon it. Not exceptionally compelling, but sufficient. Another simple explanation is that I was born into a Christian family. Not very moving, but true. My brother, however, has abandoned the lessons of my parents and of the church and is now an atheist. Speaking very generally, there are many reasons people have faith. Fear is big. In the Christian church, fear of punishment from God strongly motivates believers to repent. Many people simply fear death, so they find a comforting alternative through religion. Reward is another compelling reason. Buddhists strive to achieve good karma through behavior in order to gain higher status in a future life. I know a Christian who believes that the wealth he has accumulated in this life has been a reward of sorts for his piety. That’s a little sketchy, even coming from a Christian standpoint, or at least from a progressive

The Flip Side

Social Gospel standpoint. Something about a camel and the eye of a needle, but I digress. I was midway through Randall Park, within eyeshot of my yellow, stucco-encrusted dwelling. The peace that such a walk routinely grants me was suddenly disrupted by melodies of Sunday school rhymes swirling around in my mind. “The B-I-B-L-E… yes, that’s the book for me…” “Jesus loves me, this I know…” I couldn’t make them stop. I panicked. Is this what my faith amounts to? No, I’m past those days. Certainly, I bring a level of maturity to my faith that is newer with each day. My religion is not just a remembrance of childhood or of good feelings. Surely my spiritual life is not simply based on nostalgia! Or worse – indoctrination at an impressionable age! Of course it is. But it is also much more. The Bible is often beautiful and sometimes brilliant. It is always delightful. It is ever stimulating. Its metaphors, its parables, its principles, its teachings all have impacted my spiritual life in a paramount way. I do not necessarily believe it is infallible, but the Bible has always been central to my faith. Why? I don’t know. God does not instill fear in me, and I do not believe in any sort of merit-based rewards system. But I still believe. And I am content in not knowing why. Call me unreasonable. I think the less you can explain something, the more real it is. Explaining something devalues it. Relationships are a good example. The fewer reasons for a relationship to exist – in other words, the less reasonable it is – the more meaningful and valuable it is; the purest love cannot be explained and needs not be justified. I know that is true in my spiritual life. The very fact that it cannot be explained means that it must be real. Or at least that it must be worth believing in. These thoughts lulled me to sleep that September night. I don’t remember what I dreamed about. Probably France.


We had booked a show in Winona, Minnesota with Choose Your Poison. Since one night of partying together didn’t sound like enough, CYP decided to come to the Eau C. a day early. Their original target was to be in Eau Claire by 9 p.m. at the latest. What time did they show up? No sooner than three in the fucking morning. The next day we all got up at the buttcrack of noon and were at the bowling alley by two. This resulted in scheduling glitch number two. Our minds had succumbed to the pleasures inherent in bowling and beers, the result being that we didn’t even get back to the house until five-ish. By the time we were actually in the vans and ready to go it was about 5:30. The problem was that the show was to start at 6:00, and Winona was about an hour and a half away. We arrived at the venue an hour and a half late, but the show hadn’t even started yet. The venue was this sort of ghetto banquet hall, and there were kids and beer everywhere. During one of the other band’s sets I witnessed people smashing fruit, a random girl taking off her clothes w h i l e swinging on a pole, and I’m pretty sure there was some sort of drug party going on in the bathroom. It is somewhat commonly

known in the DIY community that the Winona kids (or Wino-punks) are completely insane; I had never experienced the Wino-punks before, but I loved it. We got pushed back to being the last band, which meant a lot of time to kill. We drank beer, Joe pulled his balls out, I mooned everyone, and just had a generally good time. When the time came to play we were absolutely annihilated. To this day I have no recollection of playing my guitar that night, but I’m told that we played pretty damn good. What I do remember, though, is the battle between CYP and Flags that took place in the parking lot. Here’s the back story: we acquired a slightly-larger-thanlife-size cardboard cutout of Macaulay Culkin circa Home Alone (we refer to it as Kevin). Naturally, we took it to all our shows and put it on stage with us. A couple weeks before the Winona show we had played at the Poison Estate in Appleton, and CYP had secretly stolen Kevin and held him hostage. CYP and Flags decided on a rule that if you are in possession of Kevin, you have to bring him to any and every show you play. Joe had offered to help CYP load their equipment, knowing full well that Kevin was in their van. When he jumped in the back to load one of the cabs, he grabbed Kevin and took off. I think it was Toban that caught up to him so he passed it off to

me, and I eventually passed it off to Brad. Shane tackled Brad and Kevin got ripped in half while being put in our van, so we called a truce. I’m not real sure what else happened that night, but there are pictures of me wearing a Viking helmet. The next day CYP took off before I even woke up. Jim (our host) offered to take us to “breakfast.” Guess where we ended up. A fucking bar, holy shit, imagine that. The locals called this place Boobs but it was really spelled Bubs, kind of a bar and grill place. The guy that set up the show happened to be there and introduced us to a drink he supposedly made up called the “Dead Pirate.” It’s a shot of whiskey, a shot of amaretto, and a shot of root beer. They were so awesome, I decided to have about seven of them, on top of the whiskey cokes and beer I had consumed. At this point our crew was Joe, Brad, Barrows, Lindsey, Jim, Jeremy, and his girlfriend. After about five hours of drinking one the employees told us we had to leave. Apparently our potty mouths, drinking, and decibel level was upsetting the families that were eating. In other words, they kicked us out. So Jim came up with what he thought was the best idea ever: go to another bar. Off we went, the seven of us zig zagging down the sidewalk, and all the while Joe is holding up Jim’s pants because they kept ending up around his ankles and Jim was too drunk to do it himself. We spent about an hour at a bar called Stinger’s and blasted death metal on the internet jukebox to the dismay of the one other guy in the bar. Then we decided it was time to head home. By this time scheduling glitch number three had occurred. Our original plan was to leave around noon or one, but now it was six o’clock, the sun had gone down, and we were fucking shitfaced. I passed out halfway back and woke up in my bed with all my clothes on. The rest of the guys decided that if I wasn’t going to help unload the van, then they weren’t even going to take it to the basement. As result, when I eventually woke up all the amps, guitars, and every piece of the drum set was in my living room and stayed there for a week or two. What’s the moral of the story? Go see Wartorn (with members of CYP), Tenement, and a bunch of other bands at Nate’s Dungeon, on Friday October 12th, 6:00 p.m.

October 10th - October 23rd, 2007

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both traditional and digitally produced mediums. FRIDAY, OCTOBER 12 11:30 AM – UAC Cabin Featured Artist: Ari Herstand – The Cabin, Davies - FREE 3-9 PM – Used Book Sale – Eau Claire County Expo Center The American Association of University Women’s used book sale supports scholarships and activities. 6 & 8:30 PM – Campus Film: The Host – Davies Theatre

Running & Ongoing Events PSA Peace Rally | Every Wednesday | 4:30 PM | On the corner of Garfield and State - All are welcome to join the Progressive Student Association’s weekly peace rallies! Signs provided or make your own. Refresh: Print Biennial II | October 12-23 | Weekdays 10 AM-4:30 PM, Weekends 1-4:30 PM | Foster Gallery, Haas An exhibition of printmaking including both traditional and digitally produced mediums.

7:30 PM – A Cappella Extravaganza – Schofield Auditorium - Featuring: Impromptu, Fifth Element, Innocent Men, Girls Night Out, Chamber Choir. 8 PM – UAC Cabin Featured Artist: Ari Herstand – The Cabin, Davies - Tickets available at the Service Center in Davies and at the door. FREE 10 PM – Live Band: Irie Sol – Higherground

WEDNESDAY, OCTOBER 10

SATURDAY, OCTOBER 13

7:30 AM-1 PM – Downtown Farmers Market – Phoenix Park

7:30 AM-1 PM – Downtown Farmers Market – Phoenix Park

Noon-1:30 PM – Campus Dialogues With the Chancellor: Our Campus Culture – Nursing & Health Sciences, Room 227 - Discussion will focus on the following issues: How must our culture change if we are to implement the new proposals? Who are our students in 2020? What about continuing education opportunities? Graduate education? What’s best for our future—contraction or growth? What principles need to drive our financial decision-making?

1:15 PM – Clearwater Choral Festival – Gantner Concert Hall, Haas - Performances by The Singing Statesmen and Women’s Concert Chorale. FREE

4:30-6 PM – Raising Awareness About Organ Donation and Transplant: The Gift of Life! – Council Fire Room, Davies Come to this event to find out more about this important life and death issue. Following the presentation will be first-hand stories from people whose lives have been touched by the gift of life. 8 PM – UAC Cabin Jazz at Night – The Cabin - FREE THURSDAY, OCTOBER 11 7:30-11:30 AM – Jeremy’s Market – Outside Zorn Arena This mini farmer’s market features fresh produce, flowers and cheesecake. 10 AM-5 PM – Swap-O-Rama – The Cabin, Davies - A free market that is an alternative to consumerism. Bring gently used items to participate in the give and take exchange. Collection boxes will be present to collect clothing for victims of sexual assault to be given to the Sexual Assault Nurse Examiners program at Sacred Heart. 1-5 PM – Downtown Farmers Market – Phoenix Park 3-5:30 PM – Study Abroad Fair – Council Fire Room, Davies - The fair will showcase study abroad programs in nearly 50 countries and people who have been involved in the study abroad program in the past will be available to answer questions. Free study abroad application fees will be raffled off and there will be free refreshments. 5-7 PM – Karaoke – Higherground 6 & 8:30 PM – Campus Film: The Host – Davies Theatre Tickets available at the Service Center in Davies and at the door. 7:30 PM – Artists Series: Milwaukee Symphony Orchestra – Zorn Arena 7:30-9 PM – Refresh: Print Biennial II Opening Reception – Foster Gallery, Haas - An exhibition of printmaking including

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9 AM-5 PM – Used Book Sale – Eau Claire County Expo Center - The American Association of University Women’s used book sale supports scholarships and activities.

6 & 8:30 PM – Campus Film: The Host – Davies Theatre 7 PM – Clearwater Choral Festival – Gantner Concert Hall, Haas - Performances by UW-Eau Claire Concert Choir, Mankato East High School Concert Choir, and Festival Honor Choir. FREE 8 PM – UAC Cabin Featured Artist: Ari Herstand – The Cabin, Davies - Tickets available at the Service Center in Davies and at the door. FREE 10 PM – Club Mercury Dance Party – Higherground SUNDAY, OCTOBER 14 10 AM-4 PM – Used Book Sale – Eau Claire County Expo Center - The American Association of University Women’s used book sale supports scholarships and activities. 6 & 8:30 PM – Campus Film: The Host – Davies Theatre 2 PM – Concert: Symphony Band and Wind Symphony – Gantner Concert Hall, Haas TUESDAY, OCTOBER 16 Noon-1 PM – Classical Cabin Fever – The Cabin - Students will perform classical music over the lunch hour. FREE 7 PM – Flip Side Meeting – Wisconsin Room, Davies 7 PM – 5 Fabulous Foreign Films – L.E. Phillips Memorial Public Library - Showing recent foreign films with a discussion to follow each film. WEDNESDAY, OCTOBER 17 7:30 AM-1 PM – Downtown Farmers Market – Phoenix Park 7-8:30 PM – Step Aside Evolution? Wisconsin Dells

The Flip Side


Considers Creationism Museum – Badger Room, Davies - A Panel Discussion on the proposed Dells-Delton Free Dinosaur Museum which will depict the development of life on Earth according to Intelligent Design Creationism. Sponsored by UWEC Student Dialogue on Science and Religion & Chippewa Valley Dialogue on Science & Religion. 8 PM – UAC Cabin Jazz at Night – The Cabin THURSDAY, OCTOBER 18 7:30-11:30 AM – Jeremy’s Market – Outside Zorn Arena This mini farmer’s market features fresh produce, flowers and cheesecake. 1-5 PM – Downtown Farmers Market – Phoenix Park 6-8 PM – Refresh: Print Biennial II Opening Reception – Foster Gallery, Haas - An exhibition of printmaking including both traditional and digitally produced mediums. 6 & 8:30 PM – Campus Film: Rear Window – Davies Theatre - Tickets available at the Service Center in Davies and at the door. 7: 30 PM – University Theatre: Tobacco Road – Kjer Theatre 8 PM – NOTA Open Poetry and Prose Reading – The Cabin. FREE FRIDAY, OCTOBER 19 6 & 8:30 PM – Campus Film: Rear Window – Davies Theatre Tickets available at the Service Center in Davies and at the door. 7: 30 PM – University Theatre: Tobacco Road – Kjer Theatre 8 PM – UAC Cabin Open Stage – The Cabin. FREE 10 PM – Club Mercury Dance Party – Higherground SATURDAY, OCTOBER 20 7:30 AM-1 PM – Downtown Farmers Market – Phoenix Park 10 AM-4 PM – Hmong Student Association Garage Sale – 624 Germania St. - The sale is a fundraiser for the Hmong Student Association and will feature clothes, books and more. 10 AM-11 PM – S.T.E.A.K Con – Davies - A gaming convention featuring a Dungeons and Dragons tournament, movies, board games, and demos of locally created games. Sponsored by the Gamers Guild and No Brand Con. 10:30-11:45 AM – Chippewa Valley Book Festival – Creating Stories and Choosing Words: Tips for Writers and Readers – Eau Claire Room, L.E. Phillips Memorial Public Library - John Coy, author of Strong to the Hoop, discusses writing tips. Noon-1 PM – Chippewa Valley Book Festival – Dave Obey: A Politician’s Memoir - Eau Claire Room, L.E. Phillips Memorial Public Library - Dave Obey discusses his memoir Raising Hell for Justice: The Washington Battles of a Heartland Progressive. 1:30-2:20 PM – Chippewa Valley Book Festival – Opening the Door to Uncertainty – Eau Claire Room, L.E. Phillips Memorial Public Library - Sandy Tolan, author of The Lemon Tree: An Arab, a Jew, and the Heart of the Middle East, discusses his work. 2:30-3:20 PM – Chippewa Valley Book Festival – War. What It’s Really Like – Eau Claire Room, L.E. Phillips Memorial Public Library - Brian Turner, author of Here, Bullet, discusses his work.

3:30-4:20 PM – Chippewa Valley Book Festival – What’s Iraq to Oregon? – Eau Claire Room, L.E. Phillips Memorial Public Library - Benjamin Percy, author of Refresh, Refresh, discusses his work. 6 & 8:30 PM – Campus Film: Rear Window – Davies Theatre - Tickets available at the Service Center in Davies and at the door. 7: 30 PM – University Theatre: Tobacco Road – Kjer Theatre 10 PM – Free Concert: Family Groove Company Higherground SUNDAY, OCTOBER 21 10 AM-4 PM – Hmong Student Association Garage Sale – 624 Germania St. 11 AM-11 PM – S.T.E.A.K Con – Davies - A gaming convention featuring a Dungeons and Dragons tournament, movies, board games, and demos of locally created games. Sponsored by the Gamers Guild and No Brand Con. 6 & 8:30 PM – Campus Film: Rear Window – Davies Theatre - Tickets available at the Service Center in Davies and at the door. 7: 30 PM – University Theatre: Tobacco Road – Kjer Theatre MONDAY, OCTOBER 22 4-5:30 PM – Campus Dialogues With the Chancellor: Our Academic Mission – Hibbard Penthouse - The discussion will address the following issues: What do we really mean about a more intentional learning experience and are we ready to make it happen? We say we’re committed to excellence, but does that mean status quo? What is the role of graduate education at UW-Eau Claire? What principles need to drive our financial decision-making? 5 & 7:30 PM – OcTUBAfest – Gantner Concert Hall, Haas. FREE 7:30 PM – Marching Band Stage Show – Zorn Arena TUESDAY, OCTOBER 23 Noon-1 PM – Classical Cabin Fever – The Cabin - Students will perform classical music over the lunch hour. FREE 7:30-9:30 PM – Finding Darwin’s God with biologist Ken Miller – Schofield Auditorium - Recent efforts to introduce “intelligent design” into science classes will likely lead to a major Supreme Court ruling on the issue. The speaker is Kenneth R. Miller, a professor of biology at Brown University, a preeminent evolutionary scientist, and the author of the most widely used high school biology textbook in America. Sponsored by Chippewa Valley Dialogue on Science & Religion. FREE

Submit Your Events! To better serve our readers, all Student Organizations, Departments, Students, Faculty, Staff, and Community Members are welcome to submit events or activities to The Flip Side for inclusion into our calendar for FREE. The deadline for events in the next issue is October 18th. Send events to Dana Thompson at thompsod@uwec.edu

October 10th - October 23rd, 2007

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