FS Vol. 5 - Issue 4

Flip Side: The Next Generation Jeremy Gragert Alumni / History

Tonight I write in solidarity with The Flip Siders putting the finishing touches on their 4th anniversary issue in the Old Library computer lab – these humble folks don’t even have an office. Their first issue was published on October 29, 2003, a full 80 years to the week since the first issue of The Spectator, which began in late October 1923 as a biweekly publication also released on Wednesdays. This article is not about the thought provoking parallels between The Flip Side and The Spectator (thankfully there aren’t many), but it is about the issue of longevity, and The Flip Side has passed some serious tests and won every battle to date.

As a founder of The Flip Side and its first Managing Editor, the current staff asked me to write a little something, and it’s been a while considering I’m now an alum (Dec. 2005) and haven’t contributed for a year and a half. The Flip Side has gone through its share of changes, but it still holds true to its role as the premier medium for free speech on a campus that never says enough and needs some encouragement. The early critics of The Flip Side never imagined that the magazine would reach four years and publish well over 600 articles that otherwise would not have seen the light of day. Student consensus is that those hundreds of student voices and contributions deserved a place outside of The Spectator’s limited train-ground-style journalistic activities.

The ultimate sign of sustainability for The Flip Side’s early years, however unfortunately true, was funding to pay for printing costs (the staff have never been paid). Initially financed by substantial grants sought out by the Progressive Student Association (PSA), after a year The Flip Side decided to distance itself from the perceived political bias of that relationship by seeking student segregated fee dollars that would make it clearly accountable to all students. In an unprecedented battle for Student Senate funding in 2004-2005, The Flip Side received its first support in fall 2005 with $403 for the year and a new and prestigious status as an organized activity rather than a student organization. The funding battle received some national attention (including in the Utne Reader) when the Foundation for

The Prime Crime Perpetrators...from a long long time ago

Individual Rights in Education (FIRE), based in Washington D.C., independently interfered in support of The Flip Side’s right to be funded even if their political bias perceived by the Student Senate at the time was true.

At the same time, The Flip Side had only existed for a year and student senators expressed serious doubt that a paper/ magazine could survive even if it were fully funded, citing an admittedly true history of alternative newspapers at UWEau Claire lasting only a few years or a few dozen issues, even with funding. The Flip Side is surpassing 60 issues now, held together mostly by a broad but consistent mission and a devoted staff that has been able to recruit new and unconventionally talented writers, artists, and leaders who aren’t aspiring or destined to work for the Gannett newspaper empire after graduation. Now fully-funded by the Student Senate the paper can focus more on its free speech mission, instead of expending energy writing grants, holding weekly bake sales, or soliciting advertising and individual donations (which collectively brought in nearly $10,000 in the first two years). Now their budget it so bloated that The Flip Side is publishing their first color cover, which you can either enjoy or criticize if you as a student object to the 60 cents or so that was successfully hustled from you to pay for the roughly 14 issues to be published this year.

Four years is a generation on a university campus, and as a result The Flip Side is run by an entirely new staff than it started with. A notable exception is Phil Kolas,

current Editor in Chief, who as a freshman led the layout and design on the first mock-issue of The Flip Side during his first month at UW-Eau Claire. Over the years Kolas has held nearly every staff position listed on the inside cover, and term limits prevent any one person from holding any one staff position for more than 4 semesters, because turnover is important.

One reason why The Flip Side has worked is that it has been a strong organization with a Managing Editor in charge of the organization itself, with a focus on openness and flexibility for anyone who wants to be involved. Gloria Anderson, The Flip Side’s current Managing Editor, is only in her second semester of involvement, but the paper has a strong history of electing new-comers to top positions.

What will the next four years bring? I won’t speculate beyond saying that it is up to all students at the university to decide, and that includes deciding whether it is part of your responsibility to step up and write that article you have been meaning to before you graduate, send in that favorite piece of artwork as a cover submission, or give your editing and organizing skills a test with a group of eccentrics calling themselves a staff.

Gragert graduated in Fall 2005 and was a co-founder of The Flip Side and its first managing editor. He currently works out of the UWEau Claire Center for Service-Learning as an AmeriCorps*VISTA. Fellow founders of The Flip Side were Andrew Werthmann (2006 graduate), Brian Vander Kamp (soon to graduate), and former faculty advisor Bob Nowlan in the English Department.

October 24th - November 6th, 2007

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Here Lies Catherine Genovese...

Alexandra Chisholm Undergraduate / Social Work

“Here lies Catherine Genovese… ..1936-1964….38 watched her in life and in death.” I read as I was wandering in Connecticut. I called out to the rest of us that were strolling throughout the cemetery.

“Hey guys look at this. What do you think this is all about?” I called out hoping that someone would have the answer.

Of course like always, my friend Hendrix had an answer for me. I braced myself for a story and political commentary. Hendrix began:

“Yeah I know all about that…I looked it up on Wikipedia. In New York, 1964 Kitty Genovese was stabbed to death.”

“So what? People get killed all the time. What’s the deal with this whole thirty-eight business?” I shouted impatiently. I need details and I hate waiting.

Looking annoyed, Hendrix rolled his eyes and looked at me with a glint in his eye. “It’s not everyday that a whole neighborhood, a reported thirty-eight eye witnesses, watched the murder happen and do not report it to the police. You see, after Miss Genovese was done with work a man attacked her, stabbing her twice, and the neighbors did not do a thing. She was reported to have been coming home from work at about three thirty and she was attacked by a man, stabbing her once. Miss Genovese began to scream and beg for help….”

“Oh, my god, he stabbed me! Please help me! Please help me!” I screamed at the top of my lungs. I could feel the warmth of my blood staining my shirt and leaving my body. I look down at my shirt and see that the once peaceful pastel had turned into a violent crimson. My head is getting so light, I cannot stand any longer. I am so weak I crumble to my knees. NO KITTY GET UP! AND STAY UP! FIND A PHONE! Why aren’t people helping me? What’s going on? Am I going to die out here? I went to the bottom of myself starting from my feet and slowly pulled up the last of my energy and wailed “HELP!!!” I see him in the

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distance. Rushing towards me is that terrifying face that has ripped my flesh once.

Determined, it is now coming back to finish taking the life that his blade has already tried to cut out. I don’t even know his name but I know his mission. He thrusts the blade deep in to me, I feel my inside getting lurched out of me and I long to be at home again. I had no strength to fight him, he took advantage of that. I collapse and my vision gets blurry. I stare him dead in the eye as he runs away from me. I wait until he is gone in his white chariot of a sedan. I slowly rise to my feet feeling certain that I am the only one that can save me. I need to call the police so I make my way to the stairwell. Along with the certainty that I need help is the certain truth: I cannot make it to the stairs for the phone. I call out one more time desperately seeking the refuge of a good Samaritan. “I’m dying!

I’M DYING!” Fading fast I tumble, and fall by the stairs; I can see my apartment but I cannot make it there. I look down at my completely crimson corpse and my vision blurs. A red film moves over my eyes and I feel sleepy….. I am going home……

“…Thirty-seven people watched and did nothing. One person did call the cops but it was already after she was stabbed a second time. Oh…yeah and some people called their family members” he declared. “it’s known as the Genovese syndrome now. You know, when nobody does anything, just kinda sitting there waiting for someone else to do the right thing.”

I thought for a moment. And then I am once again interrupted by another loud outburst by Hendrix.

“Actually the only time that the neighbors came out of their apartments was when good ol’ Kitty’s body was being taken to the morgue. I’m sure glad that nothing like that ever happens anymore …”

I tune him out and think. It doesn’t happen anymore?

What about Darfur? We do nothing as people are being killed in the name of racial cleansing. An estimated 400,000 people have been killed in Sudan. We sit there and watch. “Why?” You might ask, because their government (who is respon-

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sible for the attacks) has oil. Disgusting.

The syndrome plagues us more. Thousands of people have fought and died for their side in the countries across the world.

My mind jumps to the Serbian-Albanian conflict. An estimated 200,000 (half of the Serbian public) had been expelled from their country, thousands of people on both sides were victims of war. It took 86 years (from 1913-1999) for the UN to get involved.

What about the war in Iraq, unconstitutional searching and seizing, escalating poverty rates, tuition hikes, budget cuts and civil rights violations? The list continues and the actions remain unseen. What are we doing for help? How are we being heard? How are we stopping these injustices? Why is nothing being done about these ideas that threaten our quality of life?

People around the state, around the country and around the world are being hurt and we do not do a thing. We think about it, call some friends, watch but do nothing.

Why?

Much like Kitty’s neighbors we do not want to get involved. Those people will figure it out, right? It is clear that barging in and imposing our morality on a population is ineffective. We have been down that route recently and it has failed; though it seems that there should be a happy medium between laziness and imperialism. Why are we not protesting, educating, writing, rising, really changing? Why doesn’t the world know that some people are angry and in disagreement with our government? Why are we not changing the system from the inside out? Why are we waiting? Students have made changes before. Is the situation more complicated now than it ever has been, or are we just waiting on someone else to do the right thing?

I make a personal resolution. “I will no longer sit on my hands, I will be heard” I say to myself.

How much longer should we wait until we are all our metaphorical Genoveses?

“I Spent Five Years at College and All I Got was this Stupid Article” Bob Timmer

Alumni / Creative Writing

As a member of the elitist group of college graduates, I feel it necessary to bestow a portion of my attained wisdom onto those just entering higher learning, or soon planning to follow in my footsteps and also graduate. Don’t do it. Really. All those things that television has told you about people leaving college and getting jobs in their desired field, or at all, are just media lies. These jobs, like architect or teacher or even geologist, only exist in the movies like “The Day After Tomorrow” or anything with Indiana Jones. That reality is just as real as that of “West Side Story” where everyone just joins a gang and learn synchronized dance (Ricky Martin realized this early on in life and that is why today he is Ricky Martin).

College lets you dream about the possibilities of life while partying and having sex with people you don’t love. It has an assortment of classes that prepares a person for winning a bunch of money on trivia shows like Jeopardy. That is the true goal of the liberal arts system. The reason behind this is that many liberal arts schools are funded by the government. The government also highly taxes the winnings of a game show contestant.

They want the winner to really know all aspects of the trivia so that they can win a ton more cash increasing the chunk that the government gets off of this and thus completely fund the war in Iraq. If stupid people play game shows, the terrorists will win. This is all really just basic economics.

I may be bitter about graduating since I did it this past May and have not really found any promising employment. At first I spent a good chunk of time looking for that dream job, only to realize that it does not exist. There were jobs closely related to it, but they all were looking for people with about ten years experience in that certain area. The problem is there are no entry level jobs in any actually good position to obtain the experience needed to obtain these other bitchin’ jobs. It’s a vicious circle! Really it’s the fault of the baby boomers. They were supposed to retire. That is what everyone has told me

for the last few years: how lucky I am to graduate when the baby boomers will start mass retiring. But no, they decided to be selfish and hold onto their jobs because, can you believe this, the economy is bad.

Boo-hoo!

About a month ago I did get a job offer from a reputable insurance company which I will not name here for legal reasons. Ask me at the bar, and I’ll spill it.

Anyhoo, I had never thought about selling insurance. But, having nothing else going on I decided to give it a go, plus the money was said to be just fantastic. More lies! Well, it sort of wasn’t a lie, but they never told me that I would have to sell my soul to blind optimism and manipulation in order to make said money. I was told after the whole experience that I would have known this had I watched Michael Moore’s “Sicko”. I don’t really like him, though. He is the extreme Left just like Dick Cheney is the extreme Right. I don’t like dealing with extremes unless we are talking about people skateboarding through flaming hoops while doused in lighter fluid or that soda “Surge” that used to have commercials of guys charging over sofas in a dirty alley filled with broken glass, racing to get the last can of Surge.

My experiences selling insurance left me feeling morally bankrupt, and that says a lot coming from a guy who thinks it would be funny to open a factory that employs both babies and lions (ask me at the bar if you would like to hear more or discuss investment opportunities). Selling insurance not only involved cold-calling people, but also involved something referred to as the “worry box”. This “worry box” tactic is used when an agent meets a prospective client. They bring up every horrible thing that has ever happened to them or could ever happen to them or those they loved, getting them emotionally fragile in order to sell them something they probably do not need.

I sold insurance to people that reminded me of my grandma. One lady, who seemed senile, was yelled at by my accompanying trainer agent, because she wanted to first discuss buying more insurance with her son before giving my trainer agent a rather large portion of what already

little funds she had left. She was probably only going to waste it on food anyway. My trainer agent also found out that she had a dead son, so he asked her questions like “How and when did he die?”, “How did that make you feel?”, and “Can you show me pictures of him and talk about your grief and loneliness some more?” What I learned from this man was apparently you had to make a person cry before you could sell them insurance. There were many people that actually needed insurance badly, but they were too poor so we just let them be. Many of my other fellow agents (though by no means all) would also make jokes about this while at the same time talking, in a sympathetic way, about how their work was comparable to that of Mother Theresa.

I left that industry shortly after beginning. Given our country’s lovely health care system, I realize the insurance agent is a needed person to help the average person not have to give doctors, oh say, twenty thousand dollars to grab their testicles and make them cough. In that sense, more perverts should really become doctors. Anyway, I am thus unemployed yet again. I think the next logical choice is to adopt the philosophy and lifestyle of the “townie”. It is kind of like being in college, but you don’t have to go to class. I never liked game shows anyway. But I want to understand the townie way of being. In the past, I would often go to places like the many Chinese buffets around town with my townie friends, and watch them sit there for like two hours just slowly eating and chatting. This always drove me nuts. I had so many other things I could be doing (not really). I want to understand this extraordinarily laid back lifestyle where I could just throw away my watch like Peter Fonda did in “Easy Rider”. I want to be like the care-free hippie, but not actually have any stupid causes, like saving whales, and also I don’t want to smell bad. Ah, to be able to dream again…

October 24th - November 6th, 2007

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A Search for Soldier Coverage: Part Two Phil Kolas

Undergraduate / Philosophy

Pure terror. I read over my article just now, from two years ago. I said some things about soldiers, things that had me feeling a bad shake, coming from my ass and down my legs and up my spine. I don’t like people trained in M-16 assault rifles with armor-piercing rounds. They scare the shit out of me. And sitting in that restaurant 10 feet from a good halfdozen of them had put me in some kind of manic high-speed wind shear—I’d just started writing on my notepad, in one sitting, talking about fearing for the lives of children I don’t have yet if they were put in the same room as these soldiers. These were family members of people I’d never meet, and I was glued to my seat, thinking about the death they’d carried with them in every word they spoke and story they told.

The Women who struck back at me had every right to hate me. I’d talked about little more than the feeling I had of wanting to run screaming from the very sight of the people they loved, for the things they’d done before I met them and were going to go back and do again. I’ve opened up this can of worms all over again.

More than I bargained for here. Not the shot of adrenaline from being scared that I enjoy; this is mental terror. I’m following the lines, theorizing, contemplating, and not liking the conclusions I’m reaching.

Every soldier, no matter how nice and beautiful, no matter how many candy bars and new pairs of shoes they give to poor Iraqi children, are still in a selected vocation of being given the information on how to best end someone else’s life.

That’s a fact. Some of them are unmitigated assholes out for the blood-lust, but most of them aren’t. I know that. But they still know how to kill. Each and every one of them. ************

Lisa Cooper-Murphy sent me to P.J. Kennedy, a psychiatrist at counseling services, who was her liaison to the professional world of mental health here on campus, in the event that anything or anyone came to the WAGE center “support group for those with loved ones serving in Iraq or Afghanistan” that she couldn’t

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handle. Like I said last issue, I was worried about the fact that a non-psychiatry/ psychology major was put in charge of offering emotional support for women with shipped-out loved ones, but I was put at ease when I saw how prepared things were, and heard about the green light Cooper-Murphy had been given from counseling services. Both from Lisa herself, and straight from Kennedy.

“In the WAGE center, they can have a support group—not a counseling group, a support group—for family members. Who are they really going to get their support from? It’d be facilitated

by WAGE, but being able to talk to other family members who are going through the same experience is supportive.”

Kennedy himself is a Vietnam veteran. This is something I hadn’t run into yet—someone with a touch, somewhere, of first-hand experience that I could talk to. I hadn’t been able to get an interview with any of the Women yet, and Lisa Cooper-Murphy had no personal connection, no need for support herself. She was just an organizer. But Kennedy put things in perspective, especially in comparison of the homecoming between now and 40 years ago.

“I was a pretty disillusioned person [when I returned]. I really think people returning from this war will be a little different because I think in the nation we’ve made that differentiation between the war and the warrior. Whether we agree with the war or not I think we support him or her. My reading of it is there is more support in society, for people coming back.

I think as a nation we are going to do a better job this time supporting our service members and I think for post-Vietnam we did a pretty poor job. And I do think, as a society, we owe it to them.”

On a cursory glance by Wikipedia, I found stats comparing Vietnam and Iraq, parts 1 & 2. On conservative estimate (from the Gulf of Tonkin until full withdraw) Vietnam lasted 140 months, with 553,000 soldiers sent, with 58,209 casualties (10.5%)(1). Iraq 1 was 697,000 over 6 months, with 293 casualties (0.04%) (2). Iraq 2 is on 56 months, with 300,000 shipped out, with 3,833 casualties (1.3%) (3).

“The survival rate is higher in this war [compared to Vietnam]. What does

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that really mean? That means there’s going to be a lot of injured people coming back. There are many ways that people can be affected by the time they leave that warzone. And the military man today is different from the military man then.

There’s a wider age range. It’s not a bunch of 18 and 19 year olds who went into the service right out of high-school. Some of them are 40 year olds. It’s a whole different situation.”

I think about now, in comparison to peace time. At any given time, will you grant me a safe assumption that there are crazy people in the world? A certain ratio of the populace that will always be high-strung, in all the wrong ways. Too stressed, too nervous, too many things to handle on a day by day basis. For whatever chemical reason, we will never have a perfect population of mental health walking the earth. The difference between now and any other time in our country lies in where they come from. The Given Ratio is created from birth, or whatever it is that causes these mental quirks. But, other than the standing percentage of anger management cases, no one is ever born a warrior. And other than the backwoods of Michigan and Montana, there’s no source of militant warfare and the psychological change that comes with it. Except during wartime. A new category is created every time a war declaration is made. A certain group of people leave and come back differently. This new strain needs to be dealt with once the flags are flown at full staff again and the guns are put away.

This is point one of my concerns—most people live their lives in Normalcy. They get from one end to the other. Cradle to grave, straight line. But sometimes a large contingent of people, on occasion, do not. And Normalcy needs to deal with this new baggage that returns with them.

And as P.J. Kennedy said, “There’s only so much resource to go around. There’s only so much pie to cut.” ************

I don’t want people thinking I imagine killing-squads of ex-marines roaming the streets of America pumping lead into anything walking on less than 5 legs.

I know everyone coming back from the front does not live on a hair-thin edge keeping them from blowing off a string

of gruesome sprees that would put Manson to shame. I just want information. I want to follow all strings of information that come my way, come up with questions, get them answered, and then come up with seven more that I need answering. I’m not that frantic, even though the first time I wrote that sentence just now I wrote “I not that frantic.” That’s just be-

cause it’s 3:43 in the a.m. now. I like each step I’m taking here. I can feel myself getting smarter. I know it’s working, too, because I can read this last paragraph and tell that I’m getting my sense of humor back.

I even know my next move. If you talked to a Veteran Psychiatrist from Vietnam about war stress, where would

you go next? Maybe some voices a little more contemporary? I think I can satisfy your hungry little brains with more.

1. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vietnam_War_ casualties#United_States_Armed_Forces 2. http://www.cnn.com/SPECIALS/2001/gulf.war/facts/ gulfwar/ 3. http://icasualties.org/oif/default.aspx

Friends Don’t Let Friends Sex Drunk Drive Kristoffer Martin

Undergraduate / English

The news had spread quite rapidly of the “Girl’s Gone Wild” party bus imminent arrival here in Eau Claire. As soon as it pulled up the milling of men of all ages was apparent, with honks and hoots of cheer. Their sexually explicit commercials promise tapes of sex and nude girls and all “hot girl on girl action”. What these entrepreneurs of the cheap porn industry don’t want you to see is the method and extremes they go to get their performers.

The Eau Claire tour of the group was being partially sponsored by the owners of The Pickle, a local college bar on Water Street. When asked on various subjects the answer was all the same “Sorry, no

reporters.” This left many answers unhinged; why are you in Eau Claire? What are the plans for the stay? Did you guys really embezzle those millions of dollars from Hurricane Katrina victims?

Later, this Friday, after a rash of “terrorism” against the Wild Bus, which included graffiti on the bus reading “Respect Yourselves”, camera’s being spray painted over, and the more interesting stink bomb, a mild protest was held in front of The Pickle. The emergency protest was spurred by female rights advocates and loosely made up of mostly college students.

An Eau Claire citizen, Mark J. witnessed several incidents that occurred during the protest. These included one of the Gone Wild crew sexually assaulting one of the protesters and the exploitation

of an extremely inebriated UWEC student.

The conduct of this group has been abysmal, hardly standing with any moral ground. It is this reporter’s opinion that they should not be allowed here. Their taking advantage of intoxicated students, who have no control over their inhibitions, is wrong. Getting them to sign waivers while intoxicated is wrong. And I would hope with all sincerity that none of the students at UWEC will fall further prey to such ruthless and heartless tactics used by proprietors of an all ready often degrading profession.

And to the unknown vigilante(s) who went after the bus in disgust, I cheer you on, keep fighting the good fight.

October 24th - November 6th, 2007

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Fenris Unchained: Part Four Philip E. Kaveny

Undergraduate / Religious Studies

So I got a small bottle of iodine that still had a little left in it and let her clean out the wound. Then I asked the question that I hated to ask her.

“What are you going to do tonight?

Where are you going to stay?”

“Do they have a women’s shelter in Madison?” she answered.

I said that I wasn’t sure, but if they did it was probably a dump. I told her that there were some University Of Wisconsin buildings that stayed open all night, because it was clear that she did not have the money for a room.

I was living in a world where it was possible for someone to freeze to death. I looked deeply into her eyes and thought of all the trouble this sort of thing always implied. Trust died in the late 90’s. I remembered then that she reminded me of someone that had gone home with me in 1979, when a fuck was the answer to a bum’s dream. I added it all up in my mind and then said simply, “You can spend tonight with me.”

She answered, “You have me wrong, and I am not cheap.”

She had pissed me off and my voice showed it. “You have me wrong too. I risk my life to take a stranger into my home.

So take it or leave it. There might not be a tomorrow.”

We walked to my place together. To have sex with a stranger in this world was to risk your life. I wondered what she was thinking about as she walked with me.

Was she waiting for me to make a move?

Was she wondering if she would have to pay for her room with sex?

Then we were inside my apartment.

She only had the things she wore and a few changes of clothes in her luggage. I asked her where she wanted to sleep as I heard the wind rattle the window panes again. Somehow the sound made me think of a ghost ship. If it was possible, the wind had gotten fiercer and it was probably sixty below. The radiator whistled, and then I held her, her mouth tasted fresh and sweet, not what I expected, for a woman who had been on the lamb for three days.

She breathed. I held her.

“I hate this world. I hate what happened to Mark. Who or what would do that terrible thing to him?”

It was a few years past the millennium and I was not sure how much farther we would make it. It used be that people played the Fin de Siecle word game, but we were at the Fin Due Monde. I could remember she probably could not remember what that other rock and roll world was like.

I gave her my robe and a towel and

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some soap and the window rattled again and I felt the roll of The Ghost Ship. I wondered where it would take us. She spent a long time in the shower. I suppose she was trying to wash all the pain away.

Then came back to me wearing nothing but the robe and said something that stopped me in my tracks, sounding just like the girl scientist that was a secret part of every woman in the world.

“I was tested for the HIV antibody three weeks ago. I am not positive, nor am I in a high risk group. I think that the same thing is true about you. You have the look of someone who has been celibate for a long time. Are you an intravenous drug user?”

“I don’t think that I asked to fuck you, so what’s the difference?” I said somewhat indignantly, like an old fart I was terrified of becoming. I didn’t even know her name as she went on, but in a way she had me pegged.

“Do you want to fuck? It seems so cold when I say it, and I hate the way the words sound.” So I took her in my arms and kissed her. The earth did not move, time and death still held sway, but I felt some things that I thought I was past and she seemed to almost burn against my chess as we connected. Afterwards laying next to me on the futon I spoke almost as if she wasn’t there.

“We are both at risk from whatever killed Mark Briggs.”

Something I could not explain, yet I knew it was watching, waiting, as she talked to me, almost as if I was not there as we unconnected again.

“My name is Jane. What does a fuck mean to you? Is it just a fuck? Do you think that this is my way of paying for a place to stay? I wonder what happened to my language. I try to say things, and I can’t. I just fucked a stranger without a condom and I have a dead friend.”

I kissed her lightly, holding her in my arms and said, “We will be at war. There are these things out there. God, how can I keep it out? It moves like the shadows and it is in my house.” I heard a howl, perhaps it was the wail of my soul. But Jane had collapsed with no sleep for three days into a world where she was unreachable to me.

Not even in my loudest voice.

I screamed, as I called out whatever was watching me. “Damn you, come out whatever you are. Let me see what it is that stalks my soul.”

Jane dozed on the bed with the blanket wrapped around her.

It came out of nowhere; soundless like it was walking in fresh snow... It was just there, gleaming teeth in a shroud of fur!

Yes, form and terror without substance, the ghost of Christmas Past with teeth in a ratty fur coat. It changed and I saw a huge noble wolf ’s head, then a montage of jaws, teeth and red flaming eyes. Then

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it was gone and the room was silent. Jane still slept, the first rays of sunrise glinted against the window. In the frost on the window were the words: You will follow next time or lose what you have found to care for.

They were such soft words from a monster who knew everything about me, while I knew nothing about it, or about her. We had not been delivered, that much I was sure of. As I watched her softly breathing, I wondered how cold the world would get. How could it have come to know I cared for her before I did? The way that they played the game was to make you care first and then rip whatever you cared about out of your arms. Then I slept the sleep of the dead. There was nothing else to do. My mind, body, and emotions were exhausted.

Sunday the Ohio was closed, and as is my habit, I turned on the radio. I was just in time to hear the now recognizable voice of Detective Lulling, along with the moronic voice of the same announcer.

“Detective, with the two killings last night that brings the number to four in under a week, is that correct?”

The cheap radio hissed and Chuck the detective continued his little speech, but now you could sense a kind of Dutch courage in his voice. He was just as flippant as ever, but it did not hide the fear in his voice.

“This is not a good time to be out on the streets. We put extra officers on patrol but we have no new leads in the case.

It seems that serial murders of this type are on the increase worldwide. We recently linked with Interpol and even the communists seem willing to co-operate on this matter. I feel it is something like a worldwide Manson cult, you know, or maybe some sort of plot or means of intimidation or something like that. I do know that panic won’t do any good.”

“Chuck we have a caller on the line.

Are you willing to take his call?”

“Yes, go ahead. What is your question?”

“Well, you see Chuck I just went outside of town, because of our stupid gun control ordinance, to buy a 44 magnum in the town of Cross Plains, where a real man can still by a real gun to protect the ones he loves. Well anyway, how many grains of powder do I need to load into the cartridge case of my silver bullets because I hear on television that a silver bullet is the only way to take out these things?”

Chuck took a deep breath, and you could tell he was being just a bit patronizing.

“Well the thing is, you know, that silver is a little lighter than lead so that you would probably need a few extra grains of powder to maintain you killing power, and

if you don’t clean the barrel right away it will tarnish all to a hell from the silver.

Too bad we are the only ones that get to buy Teflon bullets.”

That stupid shit is becoming a talk show celebrity. The next thing you know he will have his own show.

The sun was up and its light and the radio woke Jane. I had the feeling that by sundown all pandemonium would break loose, not as a figure of speech but as the real deal. I had only this minute to think about Christmas Day. Was this the start of the new dark ages? Would grass grow in our streets? Would only a small number of us be left? And did I give a fuck?

“What do I fight a nightmare with Jane? What do we have to use against our deepest fears?”

“Not silver or Teflon bullets” she answered. “I can promise that it lives on all of the attempts to kill it. Prayer is but an illusion.”

“Do we have any of our old gods?” I asked. “Do we have anything or anyone on our side? Is there anything in the world that does not hate us?”

“You’re a fool if you think that this is a story about saving the whales. We are not part of some ecologist’s guilt trip.

Something from the back of the map is ripping us to pieces because humans are setting the thing free. The whole world has let itself get like me. Let’s go for a walk.”

I don’t know why I let her talk me into it but we went outside. It was a record low but the wind had stopped blowing, and the finest brittle crust was on the snow. This was the first day of the end of the world and I knew in some real and literal sense we had to go into that other terrible nightmare world. Perhaps what I was not sure of was how I would get there, maybe the key was that we were all drawn by this same mood. As we walked through the parish we saw Bud just getting out of mass. He came up to me as if he was running for re-election, then he sort of whispered to me.

“The reports are in and if the creature that the proteins described is real it would be as large as a small horse, but it is canine in at least one of its forms. Science has taken us as far as it can.”

Then he asked me if I believed in magic, which made laugh for the first time because I thought of Jane and the “Lovin’ Spoonfulls”, a group from the late 60’s. God, even for a moment to laugh.

Magic, I thought. Fuck, I don’t even know where we’re going. Large as a small horse, only canine. I knew the thing did not look anything like that. It was noon and quiet, the sun’s disk barely showed above the cement block plant. No one was on the street except Jane and me.

Finally she said, “Well, about last night, let’s just forget it happened.”

I don’t know why but she really pissed me off, and I snapped back at her.

“Forget what happened,” I continued more loudly, “I porked a total stranger, saw a monster, and now I’m elected to stalk a werewolf. I would like to fucking forget it happened. Somehow I have the feeling that more is happening than you are telling me about.”

“What do you want know?” she asked.

I snarled at her. “It would be stupid to ask what a girl like you is doing in this part of the world.”

It was still bone chilling cold, and she pressed against me as we walked to the bus station to get her stuff. Funny, when you are sitting at the end of the world you complain about how the fucking city canceled all holiday municipal service in order to make up for the cutoff of all federal funds. It looked as if she was going to be staying with me at least till she could make enough money to go back where she came from.

Back at my place, she asked, “What do people do for living around here?

What kind of work can you get with a BA in natural science, and several nursing courses?”

I could not help laughing out loud.

“You could find a career in food service or housekeeping like the rest of us. You can also supplement your income by selling your plasma at the blood center. Did I mention hospital orderly or nurse’s aide?”

“In other words,” she said, “I can get a job shoveling shit like the rest of you.”

I think that she was trying to make a joke but I didn’t feel like laughing. It was strange to think that she was talking about the future as if there was one. This was a woman I had porked once, and I realized I knew nothing about her. So I asked her a few questions. I was never very good at this sort of thing and it was clear that I was not getting any better.

“About last night, “ I said, “I really don’t need this sort of thing; it is not part of my plans.”

She smiled. I hated the way women could always tell about me.

“It was also something that you have not done for quite a while.” She was slightly taunting, but a little compassionate in the way she said it. “I can tell when a guy likes it so much that he loses it like you did last night. You were off before we started, but that’s okay.”

I became petulant. “And it’s something you do regularly with total strangers at every opportunity?” I replied.

I felt stupid saying that. It sounded like a fifteen year old who has just had his first fuck. For the life me, as I looked at her, I had the image of two stars pulling past each other and then bursting into a terrible explosion of silent light. This is not my idea of the way you think about

a one night stand. My life was in danger, my world was about to collapse, and I felt as if a cannon ball were exploding inside of what had been a life of introspection.

She answered, “Not very often, as a matter of fact. Of course, you know that it is easier for a woman to get laid. It would only take me a couple hours if I wasn’t choosy. You, I would suspect it would take a couple years.”

She sort of laughed as she said it and I knew that she knew she had me pegged.

I wondered what happened next. I didn’t need to wait for long. You come to expect terror in the middle of the night, not in broad daylight as all conversation ended.

Suddenly it was just standing there in front of us. It was the size between a small bull and an exceedingly large mastiff. Its head was its most astounding feature. It had a neck as thick as Jane’s waist, its jaws were short and powerful, more like a human than a wolf or a dog. At first it simply stood there blocking our way. Its muzzle was bloodstained and it looked as if it was about to attack. My worst nightmare standing in front of me in the cold winter light. Quickly I looked at Jane who was standing a little behind me. The whole incident took place in much less time than it takes to tell it.

Jane walked towards it and it bared its teeth and rolled it gums back.

I screamed, “You goddamn fool, step back! It will rip you to pieces.”

She was now only about ten feet away from it. I picked up my machete from my bed. I was sure it was useless; nevertheless I thought I had to try. I grabbed her waist with one hand and sprang to drive the board into the creature. As I sprang towards it, everything around us disappeared. There was no light but we could see. We were inside the maelstrom, and we were moving outside of time, all time past and future seemed to be part of us.

We were inside that blue light. We landed on a solid ground. It was not cold, it was not the eastside. We saw the stars as if there were no clouds, the sky seemed to pulse, yet that blue light was constant and unblinking. We seemed to be on an obsidian floor that reflected our feet and sky back into our faces.

Then it was in front of us again, but this time it was not the ugly monster I had seen face us in the lot of the cement block factory. This creature was three yards long with steel blue fur. Noble beyond description, it moved almost like a cloud flying across the pale full moon. Its fur seemed to glow with an inner light while the light of the unblinking stars was caught in his pale blue eyes. Then it moved, half bounding, half running. For an instant I had forgotten Jane. As I looked for her, she was gone, but in front of me following the great wolf I saw another wolfish figure which Jane became, or had been always.

October 24th - November 6th, 2007

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Local Task Force Goes Hither and Thither in Search of Strange Phrases An essay on the importance of language and how to speak good Michael Seaholm

Undergraduate / Computer Science

Since the beginning of time, the English language has been filled with all sorts of what-the-fuck style phrases. As those of you versed in Elizabethan English know, 90% of the expressions currently used were first thought up by the great playwright and neck frill enthusiast William Shakespeare, who came up with such colloquialisms as “in a pickle”, “play fast and loose”, “when I said I was helping her move her bed against the wall, I meant just that”, and “what-the-fuck style”. This article will explore some more of our country’s great phraseology and test your patience with the most improbable (but possibly true, maybe) manipulation of words you have ever seen outside of a Mad-Lib.

Break a leg: Though this may at first appear to be an insult, telling a thespian or singer/songwriter to “break a leg” actually expresses the hope that you do so well at your stage-related performance (be it “Vivaldi’s Greatest Symphonies” or “The Hamster Orchestra”) that the applause you receive becomes so staggering in magnitude that the sound waves match the resonant frequency of your leg bones, thereby reducing your femur to a fine powder. As you can see, this is not really an insult at all. It’s more like an expression of the desire to see you in the Intensive Care Unit for an indefinite amount of time.

The cat’s out of the bag: Cats are known for their graceful, distant affection and passive aggression that clearly states to their owners, “Fuck you”. This is called “independence” amongst cat lovers, and is a valuable trait indeed. This phrase came about during medieval times when the more independent cats would be put into bags and then thrown at children for

sport, a barbaric display that has now become wildly popular amongst fraternity members. At any rate, some of the highly independent cats involved in these escapades would jump out of the sack and immediately rend the flesh of their oppressors and nearby children. Thus, people use this phrase when an inconvenient truth with the ability to rearrange one’s facial features is revealed, using the all-powerful cat analogy to refer to a simpler time in human history, when animal rights laws existed only in grog-induced dreams.

A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush: Anyone who has ever heard this phrase probably has wondered, just as I have, what kind of dumb bird would hang out in a bush in the first place. Probably this phrase was relevant back before trees existed (sometimes known as Ultrabushes), and people needed a simple analogy to say that you should be happy with what you have. On the other hand, maybe they’re just saying that you shouldn’t reach into bushes, since most of them have plant defense mechanisms (nettles, thorns, laser cannons) that are less than desirable to have near your face. They really should have just said “Never stick your hands in a bush, even if there are birds in it. In fact, just keep your hands in your pockets. It’s better this way.”

Flash in the pan: Back in the days before assault weapons and fancy brass cartridges to hold our bullets and powder in one convenient package, our forefathers utilized the matchlock rifle, which was known the world over for its failure rate.

The black powder in the rifle was ignited when a smaller charge inside of a small pan next to the breech was set alight, thus firing a half-inch chunk of lead upwards of 30 yards. The powder in this small pan was lit by a small piece of burning matchcord, also known for its startling efficiency.

Anyway, an insufficient amount of powder

in the pan would not result in a lead brick being cast into the face of the enemy, but rather a bright flash – hence, a flash in the pan. While this could be used to blind foes, it proved to be ineffective during the Robot Wars of 1605, since most mechanical beings have a natural immunity to blindness (see your Dungeon Master’s Guide for more information).

A watched pot never boils: Scientists have studied this saying over the centuries with a simple experiment involving two pots filled with water placed over an open flame. Then, one pot was put under constant supervision until finally, after several weeks of patient observation, it came to a steady boil. The other pot, sick of being constantly neglected, leapt down from the stove top and ran out the door. It was never seen again. This shows us that it is actually the unwatched pot that never boils, so the next time you have to leave the kitchen and you’re readying some boiling water for, say, a béarnaise sauce, you can take solace in the fact that you can exit the building without having anything catch fire.

As you can plainly see, the English language is riddled with sayings that, when taken literally, make absolutely no sense. It is this smattering of nonsensical language, however, that makes this country as great as it is, inasmuch as it renders us completely incomprehensible to the rest of the world. Our everyday speech is so influenced by these axioms that they currently make up more than 37% of our gross domestic product. So, the next time somebody attempts to impress you with some amazing new phrase, be sure to slap him or her across the face. This is America; we have all the phrases we need right here, courtesy of William Shakespeare, a true American hero.

The Flip Side would like to thank the following individuals for helping to keep us from having social lives . . . . .

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The Flip Side

Looking Backwards is a Great Way to Fall Off Your Bike

Andy Breton Out-of-towner

Our past and our present are inextricably entwined. One of the first moves of imperialists and conquerors has been to deprive a people of their history. Removing the collective memory of a population makes it easy to meld them to fit new patterns and norms. Whether the new cultural patterns are religious, social, or political, the idea of replacement remains integral to the control of the Empire.

So we must become concerned when we notice acts of rebellion becoming celebrated by the powers-that-be. This manifests itself most strongly in the media representation of the 1960’s. To be sure, the 60’s were a happening time. Cultural transformation in a manner never before attempted swept our country, starting with two main currents: the struggle for civil rights for people of color and the alienation of middle class white youth.

And we all know the story from there.

I am suspicious, however, when I turn on the television, that box which programs the language of our minds, and see celebrations and memoirs of those turbulent times. We are familiar with these celebratory perspectives on the 60’s, having been taught them as part of our history in high school. Hippies, free love, Black Panthers, the Weather Underground—whatever your political stance, there’s a historical concept you can relate with.

Are you as freaked out by all this as I am? Perhaps I am a bit of an iconoclast in these post-ironic, post-Cold War days.

But as a consummate believer in the need for the destruction of the whole of the bourgeois order, that 500-year regime responsible for more atrocities of body and mind than any other, I see these celebrations as examples of recuperation.

Like most people, I doubt the veracity of

anything that anyone in power tells me: “hard work is good for you,” “the police are here to protect you,” “Lenin had the right idea.”

It seems to me, then, that if the same people who tell me to cut my hair and get a good job anthologize the days of long hair, something is seriously amiss.

The wheel of capitalism turns again. The danger to the establishment that the 60’s represented was encountered, disarmed (COINTELPRO, legitimation, “ballots or bullets” vs. “nonviolent resistance,”) and ultimately defeated. But in order to cement its hold over us, the Empire has turned our own myths against us, like stolen arms. Any desire for real, radical, revolutionary change in this country is dismissed with that refrain, “This isn’t the 60’s!”

Of course this isn’t the 60’s. So what?

The decades since then have only illustrated more strongly the need for a complete overhaul of civilization. Whether politically, (Reagan, Bosnia, Iraq) economically (welfare reform, globalization, global warming) or culturally, (symbolized perfectly in the letters MTV) capitalism has proven itself the worst thing ever to happen to the planet. Revolt is perennially simmering below the surface, periodically erupting: voter apathy, LA riots, employee theft, punk. But the ideology of the 60’s coupled with the “end of history” rhetoric so expertly beaten into us by both the left and the right keep us from organizing to move forward.

And so the time has come, I believe, for young would-be revolutionaries to declare independence from the myths of the 60’s. There appear to be two ways to do this: stealing them back for ourselves or creating new myths. Examples of the first strategy are becoming more powerful, such as the revival of Brown Berets and SDS, both organized in significantly

different and more democratic ways than their predecessors. We should continue to steal the bits of our past that we can from the Empire. But this cannot become our primary strategy, as the line between using the past and living in the past is thin and easy to mistake.

Our movement must be one of complete and total transformation of capital.

We will have no tolerance for sell-out reformers or professional revolutionaries.

We will not be fooled by men in suits into another false workers’ paradise. We will not indulge in bourgeois fantasies of absolute freedom without anti-oppression as theory and practice. In short, we must build a movement that pokes holes anywhere and everywhere in the false impression of the perfection and control of that secular deity, capitalism.

They have stolen our history from us and they will steal it again. Learning from our past is important, but attempting to repeat it is idiotic. Relying on the past to build the future is the failed strategy of priests and primitivists. Our only demand must be everything, our only practice must be anything. Ironic consumption is no substitute for creation, just as alcohol is no substitute for orgasm. Bourgeois society cannot and should not be saved.

It’s time for us freedom-fighters to take to the streets/workplaces/fields and seriously threaten the Empire, demolishing its superstructure down to its foul foundations.

So wave goodbye to the summer of love. Good riddance, I say! We have in front of us a long beautiful time, the cold winter of struggle punctuated by moments of laughter, strong coffee, and poetic madness. But we must prevail, or our descendents will repeat our mistakes, longing for the good old days of the twenty-teens.

In no particular order: Bob Nowlan; Jesus; Jack Bushnell; Student Senate; Paul Pfaltz, Cindy Ostertag, and all the folks at Stillwater Printing; Satan; Pierre Omidyar and the Omidyar Network; Dirk Diggler; Anyone who has ever touched a Flip Side; John Lennon; Local purveyors of distilled spirits & liqueurs; Buddha; Ernest Pudding; Anyone who has ever understood “Gravity’s Rainbow”; Crazy people, for inspiration; Traci Thomas-Card; Lindsay Heiser; Scotch Tape; All the people who have come to stapling over the years; Johannes Gutenberg; Flippy; Frank Laubach; Frank Zappa; Jim Henson; Walker, Texas Ranger; Salvador D. Biznay; Yoda; Kilgore Trout; NAMBLA; Mom & Dad; All contributors who have ever contributed and all the readers who have ever read them......

October 24th - November 6th, 2007

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Eau Claire Students to Visit Fort Benning, Georgia Jeremy Behreandt

Undergraduate / Creative Writing

On November 16–19, twenty students and one faculty member from UW–Eau Claire will travel to Fort Benning, Georgia to join nonviolent protestors in remembering the millions of Latin Americans killed by graduates of the Western Hemisphere Institute for Security Cooperation (WHINSEC), formerly the School of the Americas (SOA).

The protest originated in response to the murder of six Jesuit priests and a teenager by the Salvadoran military in November 1989. UWEC and UW–La Crosse students will be working together to travel by bus. Local coordinator Maria Boland said of her motivation to help organize, “I have been to Guatemala and Nicaragua and heard firsthand accounts of the inhumane brutality at the hands of these trained soldiers. Citizens should not have to fear their military, they should not have to fear genocide at the hands of their own government. Internationally, this school is viewed as one of the greatest centers of destabilization in the western hemisphere.”

The school was founded in 1946 in Panama to train Latin American soldiers; it moved to Georgia in 1984. Since its founding, WHINSEC has taught over 60,000 soldiers from approximately twenty-two Central and South American governments. Many of these soldiers have gone on to suppress anyone who speaks out for change in their respective countries. Those targeted as insurgents may be “religious workers, labor organizers, student groups, and others in sympathy with the cause of the poor” (Quigley 20).

WHINSEC currently trains about 700 to 1000 students a year by its own estimate.

According to the school’s website, its purpose is to “provide professional education and training to eligible personnel” and “promoting democratic values, respect for human rights” and an “understanding of United States customs.” This new focus, established in 2001, has been dismissed by activists as mere public relations and obfuscation.

Demonstrations begun in 1990 by Reverend Roy Bourgeois and nine others outside the school’s gates have steadily in-

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creased in size and scope every year. Bourgeois, a Catholic missionary to Bolivia in the 1980s, saw firsthand the inhumane methods used by school graduates against so-called subversives. Bourgeois’ efforts to speak out against the school bloomed into the School of the Americas Watch (SOAW), a grassroots organization dedicated to monitoring human rights abuses linked to the school through Freedom of Information Act requests; in the past two years, national security has been invoked to deny these requests. SOAW’s goal is not only to close the school, but to alter US foreign policy toward Latin America.

According to Bourgeois, “you can’t teach democracy behind the barrel of a gun.”

Last year’s vigil saw about 22,000 participants voice their disgust about the $20 million in taxpayer money going toward the school. Rallies, teach-ins, film screenings, music, and symbolic funeral processions marked the occasion. Some activists practiced civil disobedience by trespassing onto military property and risking arrest. In the past seventeen years, over 300 activists have been tried and over 200 have spent time in prison. In 1997, the House of Representatives voted to reduce funding to WHINSEC; the bill was shot down in the Senate Conference Committee. The House tried to close the SOA in 2000; the attempt lost 214 to 204. Representative James McGovern issued a bill (HR 1707) in 2007 to close the school; the bill was defeated by a six vote margin. Every year, congress gets closer to shutting down the school. The House mandated in August 2007 that WHINSEC release the names of 05-06 students and instructors to the public.

The history of SOA/WHINSEC’s involvement in Latin America is too complex to properly cover here. Throughout its sixty year history, the school has instructed natives from Argentina to Venezuela. Argentina’s Dirty War, in which thirty thousand Argentines ‘disappeared’, was inflamed by Leopoldo Galtieri, head of the military junta and SOA graduate. The principle architect of Chilean dictator Augusto Pinochet’s intelligence agency, known for several atrocities, trained at the SOA. Bolivian dictator Hugo Bánzer Suárez graduated from the SOA. In Brazil, SOA graduates have been

The Flip Side

convicted for employment of suffocation and electric shock. At present, Colombia sends the highest number of students to WHINSEC. Ever since the school’s beginning, it has churned out soldiers who went on to persecute the peasant class throughout Colombia. The Atlacatl Battalion of El Salvador, perpetrators of the December 1981 massacre of 750 civilians at El Mozote, came from the SOA. Two of the three assassins of Archbishop Óscar Romero received training at the school. Manuel Noriega, the notorious Panamanian Dictator, also a graduate (Quigley 9-17). Though SOA/WHINSEC ostensibly trains soldiers in counterdrug operations, graduates often go on to cooperate with drug cartels.

When asked, “How can you ensure students graduating from your institute will not commit crimes against their people?,” WHINSEC denies any responsibility for future crimes committed by graduates. The school can only train students to “help them better understand their role in serving a democratic society.” Amnesty USA, in “Unmatched Power, Unmet Principles,” says that this long-term range of consequence from military training is not a reason to absolve the USA of responsibility. Rather, it suggests unintended consequences of information passing indirectly from the USA through a “one military or police unit to another” must be considered an extension of foreign policy (3). WHINSEC says it would be against the law to track students after they return to their own country. The school claims that the annual report to congress on its activities will include “any known illegal activity by former students,” yet these reports, which are supposed to be submitted by the Secretary of Defense after conferring with a Board of Visitors, often go unpublished.

According to Ruth Blakely, because of the pressure exerted by SOAW and the Board of Visitors, WHINSEC is now “transparent and subject to external oversight” (1445). Blakely argues that the training in democracy and human rights demonstrates significant improvement. Few of the charges against SOA graduates have led to conviction (1447).

I think calling an investigatory committee selected by the Secretary of Defense

and, as Blakely admits, subject to intervention by the White House (1455) “external” is quite a leap; the lack of evidence for charges of human rights violations is hardly surprising. Blakely suggests, “Conveniently for the Department of Defense, attention remains focused on WHINSEC, diverting attention from the majority of US military training, which remains secretive” (1447). I believe she is correct when she suggests that scrutiny needs to be brought to Fort Huachuca, “where intelligence training is formulated” (1449), yet SOAW has made headway because of its dogged focus on achieving one tangible goal; to prematurely broaden the scope of the movement would diffuse its impact.

It may seem like atrocities are committed by ‘bad apples’, but the Pentagon was forced to admit that the training manuals employed at the School of the Americas advocated the use of torture in 1996. The manuals, which covered subjects on “Handling of Sources, Revolutionary War and Communist Ideology, Terrorism and the Urban Guerilla, Interrogation, and Combat Intelligence,” had been in use since 1982, and were based on lessons learned in Vietnam (Quigley 19). Several manuals are now available online at http://www.soaw.org/article.

php?id=98. Not only does the school produce dictators and soldiers, it invites them back to learn at the school after they have been charged with human rights violations, and even inducts them into its Hall of Fame. Former SOA teacher Major Joseph Blair has said that the instruction in terror tactics found in the leaked manuals was “at the heart of intelligence instruction” (20).

There are signs of change. This year Bolivian President Evo Morales announced the country would not utilize WHINSEC’s services. Venezuela stated it would no longer send its military personnel to WHINSEC as of 2004. Costa Rica, Argentina, and Uruguay have also withdrawn support. Given WHINSEC’s lack of accountability, Amnesty USA has called for the suspension of all training at the school and the establishment of an independent commission, which would “recommend appropriate reparations for any violations of human rights to which training at SOA contributed, including criminal prosecutions, redress for victims and their families, and a public apology” (61).

The SOAW has demonstrated how a small group of dedicated organizers can rally many thousands of people together.

The SOAW employs a multitude of strategies, including nonviolent direct action, legislative measures, and an intellectual engagement which exposes the hypocrisy of labeling Iraq and Afghanistan havens for terrorism. In light of Abu-Ghraib and Guantanamo Bay, the United States has little reason to believe we can teach Latin Americans anything about human rights that the citizens of those countries can’t teach themselves through exercising their freedoms. America’s pervasive use of terror, spanning from My Lai to El Mozote to Abu-Ghraib, suggests that we must not merely ask the American government to return to the values of democracy and free markets it claims to uphold; rather we must ask if the flourishing of American democracy and economy itself relies upon oppression abroad.

If you are interested in joining or supporting the UWEC students in attending the vigil, please contact Maria Boland at bolandmr@uwec.edu. With enough interest, the students may order another bus.

The students also need financial support to defray the cost of representing Eau Claire as a community that will not tolerate injustice. They will be fundraising to meet these costs, and welcome donations.

I Support a Woman’s Right to Kill Her Unborn Children Jake Everett

Undergraduate / Creative Writing

If you’re a pro-lifer, I suppose this statement might piss you off. I have two different responses to your feelings. If you’re a pro-lifer who tries to convince others to your point of view with discussion and civil arguments, I’m genuinely sorry, and you probably shouldn’t read this. However, if you’re a pro-lifer who tries to convince others to your point of view with pictures of aborted fetuses, calling pro-choicers “pro-death”, and just generally being a douche bag asshole, then I don’t really care about your feelings, and you should probably go fuck yourself.

Sometime last month, there were a bunch of pro-lifers protesting. If you were on campus at all, you couldn’t miss them. With beautiful signs like “Why should God bless America?” and the usual “Abortion is murder,” they were quite a spectacle. As I was passing them by on

my way to class, one of them offered me a pamphlet. I said, “No, thank you, I’m prochoice.” This immediately made him angry, and he responded with, “Oh, we like to call you ‘poor-choice.’” He then continued to yell things after me as I walked away. That really pissed me off. I mean, I would have liked to call him a fuckhead and set him on fire, but I didn’t, because I’m a civil and rational person.

Don’t get me wrong, I support freedom of speech, and have no problem with protests or protestors. I have a problem with people making up stupid names for me like “poor-choice” and acting like I’m an unbelievable pile of shit when I disagree with them.

Let me ask the supporters of these types of protestors this: How would you feel if the next time you’re out there with your disgusting posters, I came and stood next to you with my own poster? My poster would have a cute little healthy fetus on it with an X over it and the slogan

would be “Death to the unborn!” Maybe I’d have some more with, “Kill babies!” Or even better, some with the title of this article. It would probably make you a little angry, wouldn’t it? Maybe it would make you think that I’m an idiot? Well, guess what…that’s what your posters make me think of you.

The posters I described are the prochoice equivalent for what you’re doing.

It would be ridiculous. It would be just as ridiculous as you thrusting pamphlets in my face and condemning me for my beliefs.

All I’m saying is that you need to be respectful of other peoples’ views, or they won’t be respectful of yours. I’m all for a friendly discussion on the subject of abortion or anything else, because I realize I probably won’t change your views and you probably won’t change mine. And I think that’s OK. If you disagree, then just be prepared to have me do my own brand of protesting.

October 24th - November 6th, 2007

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14

The Flip Side

The Derby: Part One Aaron Frase

Undergraduate / Print Journalism

Each of my cold, steel tools are organized perfectly from left to right on my wall. Color. Shape. Function. These tools are set on iron hooks that protrude out three and one third inches. I know this because I made them all myself. I filed each of them by hand. I like it when all things are the same size. I see accomplishment in my garage. The tools. My car. The faint scent of gasoline and oil. This is my domain and I like to keep it organized and clean. I have to do this. I don’t know why. I know that my garage will still be there if my crescent wrench is left on my bench, or if my belt sander is still sitting on my sawhorses. But I can’t let that happen. My disorder won’t let me. You know what I’m talking about. Some with it will walk through doorways until it feels just right. Some will check hundreds of times to see if the doors to their homes are locked. I have been late to work six times because of this. Some take meds; magic pills that make these tendencies go away.

But that costs money and I don’t like doctors. Besides, my house is entirely clean.

My neighbors appreciate it and so does Lucille. Instead I take meth. After what I took tonight, I could probably clean the whole block of houses before sunup. But that’s not what’s important. My car is calling.

I notice the details of my car all in perfect order. The decals. The fresh blue and red paint job. The large number six painted on the hood, the top, and each of the sides. Car maintenance is fantastic if you have my disorder, especially if you are getting a car ready for my town’s annual destruction derby. This is our escape.

Our way of life. The respect. The admiration. For one whole year. If you win, you get this and a thousand dollars in cash. I have spent almost five thousand on this car. This is in two days and I am itching to race. Or is that something else? I can’t tell if it’s the excitement or the imaginary bugs crawling up my arms. I have learned to ignore this. I will win that race. No matter what. But I will have that respect.

That admiration. But I won’t be around to enjoy it.

I rest my back on the rolling board and push with my feet to my destination.

It’s quiet under here. I don’t know why I’m

under here. I know everything is perfect.

I notice everything. I see the cold steel of the car parts. I see the tin foil I heated my last fix on resting on the bench a few feet away. The light reflects into my eyes. I hear the overhead door open and footsteps to the side of my car. There small feet fit into large green boots. An angel’s face stoops down to look into my face. It’s Lucille.

“Hi.” she says.

I just stare at her with a strange smile on my face. I see her dark brown hair in a pony tail. Her light freckles. No makeup.

My skin stops itching.

“You know you’re goin’ to go crazy out here just sittin’ here.”

I tell her I will be fine.

“But you certainly get excited for this every year.”

I usually get pissed when somebody doesn’t know that. But I look in her eyes again and it fades.

I tell her I love to do it.

“I know.”

She is bending close to the ground. I see her panties up her worn skirt and six months of pregnant belly.

“It’s almost my shift at ShopKo.”

I tell her I love her.

“Okay honey, I love you too. See you.”

She pushes off of her knees to stand.

A tiny palm reaches down and waves to me. I can see the worn fingernail polish. I stare at the space she used to occupy. I can still smell her six dollar perfume.

After about an hour of looking at the underbelly of my car, another pair of feet enter my garage. I should really get a lock.

It’s Emilio. I only hear his footsteps. In the three years I’ve know him, he’s said about a dozen words. And I barely understood those. I pull myself from underneath the car and stand up.

I say hey.

He says nothing.

I don’t even know if he knows English.

I tell him I’m happy that he showed up.

He says nothing.

I tell him that we are pretty much all done with the car. There is nothing else to work on.

He says nothing.

I see his dark moustache. His dark skin. His sweat stained hat. His dirty flannel shirt and jeans. I still don’t know

what he does for a living. He walks over to one of the sawhorses and sits down. I almost freak but he’s my friend. I will let this go even though his fat ass could break by sawhorse.

I met Emilio after the race three years ago. He came in second after me.

He climbed out of his car when I got the checkered flag. I ended up backing up hard enough to bend his front right tire.

It stalled right there. He got out swearing in Spanish. That was when I heard him speak the most. His kids and wife ran from the stands to meet him on the other side of the fence. There were seven kids. Some of the kids and the wife were crying. I didn’t know if they were sad that their dad could have been hurt of if they needed the money. In this town it’s usually the second. This is what happens to these families in towns so near the border.

I walked over after the race and stuck out my hand to shake his. He said nothing.

I told him that he had a hell of a race.

He said nothing.

I told him that his kids looked pretty hungry.

He said nothing.

I extended my hand and held out the large wad of bills. Three grand was the prize this year, a bit bigger than the others.

I tell him he can have it. That he needed it more than me.

He said nothing and hawked a mouthful of spit.

He spat into my hand and the money.

He looked furious.

We have been inseparable ever since.

He has always remained so stoic ever since I met him. Like he needs to, like he feels obligated to.

I grab the tin foil pouch and hand it Emilio.

He waves his hand away. He never tries it even though I keep asking him.

We stare at the car for a while admiring our work. We have decided to become a team. I do all the driving though.

I tell him to follow me.

We walk behind the garage. We walk up to a large car parked in the grass behind the garage next to the abandoned ambulance I bought last year. Its keys are in the ignition.

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I tell him that it’s his. He can do whatever he wants with it.

I see a rare moment of happiness in his face. I know he has a car but I get these shitty cars along with the car I detail. We junk one each year before the race. This is our ritual. This is my gift to him. And he enjoys it every year.

After work I meet Emilio in the abandoned corn field next to my house.

I brought a red gas tank. We walked over to the junker and poured the gas in the gas tank. It had no cover. Afterwards I reach into my pocket and pull out what’s left of my fix. I heat the underside of the foil with my lighter and inhale the fumes.

My head tilts back and I can’t feel a thing.

That means it’s working.

I can’t remember filling the gas tank.

I can’t remember giving Emilio the keys.

I can’t remember lighting my fix. I can’t remember lighting Emilio’s cigarette. But I do remember what happened next.

Emilio has a look on his face. I will never forget that look. He looked happy.

In the years I’ve known him. The days I’ve seen him. He has never looked so happy.

His ecstasy shined from his expression but I saw his face turn to a frown before anything happened. Emilio flicked his cigarette. It didn’t land too far away from the car; in fact it bounced off the side. The

gas cap was open when it bounced. For the life of me I cannot remember screwing it back on. It touched a small stream of gasoline leaking out and caught on fire.

The fire led all the way up to the gas tank, erupting the car into a fireball. Emilio was still in it. The car went airborne after the explosion. It was only about three feet before it came crashing down, smoldering.

The gasoline tank exploded into where Emilio was. Flaming gasoline lined where he was. It sucked all the oxygen out of the car. Emilio died of suffocation. He didn’t burn alive. He never screamed.

In Search of Morals Aaron Brewster Undergraduate /

With or without religion, you’d have good people doing good things and evil people doing evil things. But for good people to do evil things, it takes religion.

-Steven Weinberg

One argument that proponents of religion often put forth is that religion is necessary for instilling morals in children and encouraging moral behavior in adults.

Is this really the case? Do those who are raised without religion or reject religion at some point lead amoral lives, swindling their neighbors, acting cruelly toward others, and wreaking havoc on the social fabric? I would argue that this is not the case.

Many religions share large parts of their codes of moral conduct not explicitly dealing with religious procedures.

The vast majority of religions have rules against murder, theft, and lying, among others. Because of this frequency of similar “moral” commandments throughout many religions, we could logically draw one of two conclusions: The human being has an innate system of morals that help us live together in social groups or all religions that are not copies of other religions received their “divine inspiration” from the same deity. Given the complete lack of scientific evidence of a powerful, supernatural entity exercising control over mankind, the first conclusion is infinitely more likely.

As humans evolved over time, it is likely that our brains developed hard-wir-

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ing that helped us to survive as a species.

What we see today as morals may have evolved to ensure a stable social structure, capable of banding together to improve the odds of survival. A social structure with no impediments to murder, theft, and dishonesty is going to lack cohesion and trust between individuals, lessening the chance for survival and ultimately preventing these social characteristics from being passed down either genetically or as collective unconscious. The fact that almost every known human civilization has or had these morals makes a strong case for a system of “natural morals” that have been proven, through the process of evolution, to be of benefit to humankind.

Another fault in the argument for religion as a moral teacher is the disproportionately low numbers of atheists and agnostics in the American penal system relative to their share of the population.

According to a 2002 poll, estimates of the percent of the US population who consider themselves atheists range from 8-15%; the percentage of the US prison population who consider themselves atheist or agnostic stands at 0.209%. So with the most conservative estimate, only 0.2% of the prison population is atheist while 8% of the general population is. In all fairness, there tend to be a higher percent of conversions to religion in prisons than in society at large, so the statistics might be slightly skewed.

But what about such famous “atheists” as Hitler, Stalin, Mao and Pol Pot? In any debate about religion and morality, they will inevitably be brought up. There

The Flip Side

is significant doubt that Hitler was, in fact, an atheist. He was a baptized Roman Catholic who never repudiated his faith.

In his 1924 work Mein Kampf he wrote that “faith is the sole foundation of a moral attitude” and that an attack against religion “strongly resembles the struggle against the legal foundations of the state.”

It is true that the other three listed above were atheists in the strict sense, but they were also communists. Often in a communist system, the communist party will use quasi-religious indoctrination methods in their attempt to become the “religion” of the state. Even without this element, it was not atheism, but communism that bears responsibility for the crimes of the aforementioned.

In addition to being very similar, religious moral codes often have some serious omissions. I’ll quickly list the Christian Ten Commandments in case you forgot.

It may seem to some that I am unfairly targeting Christianity. In a way that accusation is true, as I could have targeted most religions just as easily. However, the readers of this article are likely to be Christians of some denomination and I want the subject matter to be as familiar as possible.

1. You shall have no other gods before me 2. You shall not use the name of the Lord in vain 3. Remember the Sabbath and keep it holy 4. Honor thy Father and Mother 5. You shall not murder

6. You shall not commit adultery 7. You shall not steal 8. You shall not bear false witness 9. You shall not covet your neighbor’s house 10. You shall not covet your neighbor’s wife

Right away, one can notice a few things missing. There are no prohibitions against rape, slavery, physical assault, spousal or child abuse, or child molestation. But apparently God really doesn’t want you to covet what other people have.

I think most school children could write a better moral code than the Christian God. In fact, many of the things that are missing from the Ten Commandments are actually condoned elsewhere in the Bible. For example, the Bible sets regulations for slavery for both Hebrew and non-Hebrew slaves. Especially repugnant is the regulation of sex slavery noted in Exodus and Leviticus.

If you buy a Hebrew slave, he is to serve for only six years. Set him free in the seventh year, and he will owe you nothing for his freedom. If he was single when he became your slave and then married afterward, only he will go free in the seventh year. But if he was married before he became a slave, then his wife will be freed with him. If his master gave him a wife while he was a slave, and they had sons or daughters, then the man will be free in the seventh year, but his wife and children will still belong to his master.

But the slave may plainly declare, ‘I love my master, my wife, and my children. I would rather not go free. If he does this, his master must present him before God. Then his master must take him to the door and publicly pierce his ear with an awl. After that, the slave will belong to his master forever. (Exodus 21:2-6)

However, you may purchase male or female slaves from among the foreigners who live among you. You may also purchase the children of such resident foreigners, including those who have been born in your land.

You may treat them as your property, passing them on to your children as a permanent inheritance. You may treat your slaves like this, but the people of Israel, your relatives, must never be treated this way. (Leviticus 25:4446)

When a man sells his daughter as a slave, she will not be freed at the end of six years as the men are. If she does not please the man who bought her, he may allow her to be bought back again. But he is not allowed to sell her to foreigners, since he is the one

who broke the contract with her. And if the slave girl’s owner arranges for her to marry his son, he may no longer treat her as a slave girl, but he must treat her as his daughter. If he himself marries her and then takes another wife, he may not reduce her food or clothing or fail to sleep with her as his wife. If he fails in any of these three ways, she may leave as a free woman without making any payment.

(Exodus 21:7-11)

The New Testament is little better.

Jesus even condoned the beating of “servants.”

Slaves, obey your earthly masters with deep respect and fear. Serve them sincerely as you would serve Christ. (Ephesians 6:5)

Christians who are slaves should give their masters full respect so that the name of God and his teaching will not be shamed. If your master is a Christian, that is no excuse for being disrespectful. You should work all the harder because you are helping another believer by your efforts. Teach these truths, Timothy, and encourage everyone to obey them. (1 Timothy 6:1-2)

The servant will be severely punished, for though he knew his duty, he refused to do it. “But people who are not aware that they are doing wrong will be punished only lightly. Much is required from those to whom much is given, and much more is required from those to whom much more is given.”

(Luke 12:47-48)

The support of the institution of slavery is just one of the many travesties in the Bible. There are numerous accounts of God-sanctioned rape, slavery, and even murder in the Bible, yet people still have the guts to argue that religion provides a superior moral framework to other theories of morality. Those who would use religion as a moral guide have apparently never studied history. People have used religion as a justification for untold suffering and cruelty over the millennia, ranging from the burning of “heretics” and the Crusades to the partition of India and the September 11th attack on New York. Almost all religions are complacent in some way in the suffering of humankind. By not being absolutely explicit in issues of morality and giving religious extremists justification for their actions, religion fails in its moralizing of humankind.

If not religion, on what might we base an effective system of morality? Unlike most of the religions of the world, we have the benefit of a long, recorded history of the human experience to draw upon when building a new moral structure. We

can learn from the mistakes and successes of the past to craft a moral code that truly represents the human moral consciousness. In researching this article, I came across a “New Ten Commandments” on the Internet. The author had almost perfectly expressed my feelings on the matter so I have decided to adopt them for my own use, and I strongly encourage you to do the same. The justifications for these commandments can be found at http:// www.ebonmusings.org.

1. Do not do to others what you would not want them to do to you.

2. In all things, strive to cause no harm.

3. Treat your fellow human beings, your fellow living things, and the world in general with love, honesty, faithfulness and respect.

4. Do not overlook evil or shrink from administering justice, but always be ready to forgive wrongdoing freely admitted and honestly regretted.

5. Live life with a sense of joy and wonder.

6. Always seek to be learning something new.

7. Test all things; always check your ideas against the facts, and be ready to discard even a cherished belief if it does not conform to them.

8. Never seek to censor or cut yourself off from dissent; always respect the right of others to disagree with you.

9. Form independent opinions on the basis of your own reason and experience; do not allow yourself to be led blindly by others.

10. Question everything.

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Islam and Women

Some purport that Islam teaches that men are superior to women and that men should use violence to control women.

First, I would like to point out that Islam is not an agent itself. It does not treat women any way. It is Muslims who treat women either well or poorly, and I would argue the former, which is why I am writing this article. Islam is not a religion that promotes malice toward women; it teaches believers to treat women with fairness and respect.

Now, I understand, to a degree, how some people may have arrived at a different conclusion. I realize that some Muslims mistreat women. “Each year hundreds of Muslim women die in ‘honor killings’ – murders by husbands or male relatives of women suspected of disobedience, usually a sexual indiscretion or marriage against the family’s wishes” (1).

This fact is, of course, shocking and disturbing. But, although honor killings are usually associated with Islam, they have broader roots. “[They are] based in medieval tribal culture, and Arab Christians have also been known to commit honor killings” (1). Female genital mutilation is also commonly attributed to Islam. But, “the practice predates Muhammad and is also common among some Christian communities” (1). So, we must not confuse culture and religion.

It is true that the Qur’an suggests that wives should be submissive to their husbands. For a religion to deem men as leaders of women is one thing – a common thing. Saying that Islam invites husbands to harm their wives is another.

I would argue that the teachings presented in the Qur’an are more liberating for women than anything else. According to the Qur’an, surah 4 verse 19, men are to “consort [women] in kindness, for if you hate them it may happen that you hate a thing wherein Allah hath placed much good.” If Muslims or Muslim societies act to suggest otherwise, it is due to cultural tradition in opposition to the teaching of

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the Qur’an.

It is important to look at the historical and culture contexts that influence Islamic realities before we make a judgment of Islam. “The status of women in Islam was profoundly affected not only by the fact that Islamic belief interacted with and was informed by diverse cultures, but also, of equal importance, that the primary interpreters of Islamic law and tradition were men (religious scholars or ulama) from those cultures” (4). The culture in pre-Islamic Arabia was patriarchal.

Muhammad could have been considered a feminist for his time. He overturned the practice of female infanticide, deemed “the education of girls a sacred duty and gave women the right to own and inherit property” (1).

It is possible to pull Qur’anic verses out of context and use them to support a certain judgment of Islam. Surah 4:34 of the Qur’an, which places men in charge of women, is perhaps the most difficult verse to deal with because it is so seemingly explicit in its allocation of power to men (this is one of many possible translations):

“Men are in charge of women, because Allah hath made the one of them to excel the other, and because they spend of their property (for the support of women). So good women are the obedient, guarding in secret that which Allah hath guarded.

As for those from whom ye fear rebellion, admonish them and banish them to beds apart, and scourge them. Then if they obey you, seek not a way against them. Lo! Allah is ever High, Exalted, Great.”

But, it is important to look at how Muslims interpret the Qur’an. A modern Islamic school of thought is emerging, one that differentiates between a literal reading of the Qur’an and a more generalized reading. It breaks the Qur’an up into varying levels of priority, deeming some aspects more fundamental than others. It holds that the ideas in the Qur’an regarding patriarchy are a product of the patriarchal Arabian culture during the 7th century when the Qur’an was written (4).

In a way, Muslim women feel that their way of life embodies respect for women even more so than does the Western world. For example, Purdah, the veil, is seen by outsiders as a sign of oppression. But, the common Muslim view is that women wear a veil to protest obsession with the physical appearance of a woman, a notion which is, according to them, very sexist. “In the Western world, the [veil] has come to symbolize either

The Flip Side

forced silence or radical, unconscionable militancy. Actually, it is neither. It is simply a woman’s assertion that judgment of her physical person is to play no role whatsoever in social interaction” (2).

Any way you look at it, it is important to know that Muslims are doing something about the problem. “Muslim feminists … are calling for a return to the Qur’an as the ultimate and sufficient source for a renewed and egalitarian Islamic social order where males and females enjoy equal dignity and rights” (3).

But, the version of “feminism” that is present in Muslim societies is not the kind we are used to. It is emphasized that it is not a rejection of Islamic law, but a movement in accordance and harmony with Islamic law, which renders it less radical than its Western counterpart. “Men and women though equal are not identical, and each compliments the other in the different roles and functions that they are responsible to” (2).

Finally, we have to ask whether or not Muslims, especially Muslim women, indeed desire social change. “Muslim feminists, whether male or female, generally reject Western forms of women’s liberation as incompatible with Islam” (3). The women’s liberation movement in Muslim society exists within the boundaries of Islamic law and tradition. But, Muslims, even Muslim women, embrace these traditional ways and accept them as part of life. For example, even in cultures where Purdah is not required, many Muslim women wear a veil anyway, in celebration of their faith” (3).

We cannot impose our own cultural ideals upon another culture’s reality. It poses a risk of jeopardizing a major part of the Muslim experience, stripping them of an important cultural tradition to which, for the most part, they hold dear. “Modernization is one thing and it is generally acceptable to these people, whereas westernization is not” (3). In passing judgment on Muslim society, we are only perpetuating the negative, exceptionalistic view that characterizes Western misunderstanding of Islam. I would urge everyone to think objectively in looking at Islam and Muslims, especially on the issue of women.

Beyer, Lisa. “The Women of Islam.” Time 12-3-2001, Vol. 158 Issue 24, p50. 2001.

Chopra, Sehmina Jaffer. “Liberation by the Veil.” Resources for and About Muslim Women.

Denny, Frederick Mathewson. An Introduction to Islam. Pearson Education Inc. Upper Sadle River, New Jersey. 2006.

The Qur’an Yazbeck Haddad, Yvonne and John L. Esposito. Islam, Gender, and Social Change. Oxford University Press. New York. 1998.

A couple weeks ago we played at Mr. Heavy’s in Menominee with Aloha Triangle. Our crew was as follows: Joe, Brad, myself, Jones, and Jody. We got there around nine, assuming that we would sound check and Aloha Triangle would go on first at ten. Wrong. Wrong. Turns out the bar doesn’t even open until eleven.

So here we are, sitting and watching the bartender (Matt) sweep the floor. He said it was cool if we just hung out while he got shit ready. After hearing this, our immediate instinct was to figure out exactly how many free drinks we got. Turns out we could get all the free beer we want; Jones and Jody were also conveniently included in this. I felt I wanted to start the night off with whiskey anyway, so I ordered one and attempted to pay for it.

Matt replied, “You know what, fuck it.

You guys can have whatever you want for free.”

These whiskey cokes weren’t pussy

shit either. We’re talking Jack Daniels, stiff as hell, and about 16oz. each. We pounded drink after drink, and played some pool. Then Matt comes over with a round of shots for us. They were called “Applesauce” or some shit like that and they were pretty damn good. We kept knocking back drinks with the occasional round of Goldschlager (all free, goddammit), and eventually Aloha Triangle showed up and people started to filter in.

Somewhere in here we went up to the van to grab some shit and get some fresh air. That was when we met two black dudes, one named “Belief ” and the other we simply dubbed Wesley Snipes. Belief was pretty cool, and tried to get me to play guitar for a track on his upcoming hip hop album, which I took about as seriously as I do the Christian faith. As for Wesley Snipes, he was just that: Wesley Snipes circa the early to mid 90s, maybe with a little MC Hammer thrown in there. He

had a flat top, some crazy Oakley Razor looking sunglass (despite it being about 11:30 p.m.), a weird multicolored leather jacket with elastic at the wrists and waist, half-assed sorta parachute pants and high tops or boots I don’t recall; but either way, his footwear went past his ankles. Fucking awesome.

Aloha went on at midnight. They were very loud. I was pretty shitfaced and somehow had managed to take over the soundboard. Who let me get away with that, I don’t know. So naturally, I just cranked all the levels. I actually saw people standing in the back with their fingers in their ears. You know, because I’m not a jackass. The other thing was that no one got Aloha Triangle. They’re a sort of experimental noise-core metal band, and these Menominee folk just did not understand. So when we went on, we looked somewhat better by comparison.

I am told we were very loud as well.

Once again, we were all pretty hammered by the time we went on at 1:00 a.m. It was all going fine and dandy, when who shows up completely wasted? Wesley Fucking Snipes. He wandered over towards Joe, and in the middle of a song grabs Joe’s mic and starts belting noises into it. They resembled something along the lines of a moose mating call and “Too Legit To Quit.” I enlisted Jones as our mic guard, and sure enough, in the middle of the next song Wesley Snipes wanders over but was intercepted by Jones. I thought it was over. Jones, seeing as he was also intoxicated, apparently forgot he was guarding the mic. Halfway through the next song Wesley Snipes is back. He made a move for Joe’s mic but Joe played the John Spartan to his Simon Phoenix (Demolition Man reference): Joe simply kicked the entire stand into the crowd. No more Wesley Snipes on backups problem.

All in all we had a blast even though not a lot of people showed up. This is mainly due to the fact that, after crunching the numbers, we easily drank well over $200 dollars worth of booze for free.

What’s the moral of the story? Go see Wartorn, Choose Your Poison, and FWCTC for a special Halloween show at the Poison Estate in Appleton on Saturday, October 27. The Pizza eating contest starts at 6:oo p.m. and the show starts at 7:ooish.

October 24th - November 6th, 2007

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Four More Years of Flip Side!

Andy Boden

Undergraduate/Political Science

Well, we’ve made it this far. Four years have gone by and there are no signs of slowing down. We the good people of the Flip Side are a well-oiled machine.

We’re still bringing the good word to the people of UWEC and the future looks to extend beyond the horizon. To appreciate the time that our publication has been in existence, let’s look back at what has happened since we took the campus over in October four years ago.

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In 2003: The era of the Governator begins in California as Arnold Schwarzenegger wins the gubernatorial recall election. Massachusetts legalizes same-sex marriage. Iraqi dictator Saddam Hussein is captured by US forces in a rat hole in Tikrit. And Michael Jackson gets arrested once again for child molestation.

In 2004: The FCC introduces the five-second rule as a new method of censuring television shows after Janet Jackson’s nipple was exposed during the Super Bowl. The world was saddened and shocked by the Madrid train bombings

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exactly 911 days after 9/11. The Boston Red Sox finally win the World Series after an 86 year drought. And the Battle of the Lesser of Two Evils proves to be a farce as George W. Bush defeated John Kerry in the presidential election.

In 2005: The Vatican names a former Hitler youth member as the new Pope after the death of John Paul II. Live 8 rocks the world in hopes to end poverty. The BTK Killer is finally caught 31 years after his last reported murder. And Hurricane Katrina rocks the Gulf Coast. The reaction to the disaster was slow, and painful.

In 2006: Laughter sweeps the nation with the newly discovered facts about TV star Chuck Norris. Israel and Hezbollah go all out. Steve Irwin gets owned by a sting ray. And the Democrats regain power of Congress; Donald Rumsfeld leaves the Bush Administration shortly after with his tail between his legs.

And in 2007: Hillary Clinton looks to become the first woman President. Al Gore looks to end global warming and wins the Nobel Peace Prize for it. Michael Vick looks at jail time. And Britney Spears can only look up after hitting rock-bottom

on several occasions (at least she has that freaky guy on YouTube to look after her).

After all these events, the Flip Side has held together and continues to bring the great people of UWEC together on a biweekly basis. With four more years of the Flip Side, the people will enjoy four more years of great things, such as free speech, insight, world per spective, humor, hard-hitting opinions, legal advice, creativity, and everything else the alternative media has to offer.

Not only that, but the Flip Side will provide better leadership than what our

current leader has now. For instance, our current leader has an approval rating in the low 30s. The Flip Side’s popularity, on the other hand, has proven to be far greater with at least 80% of all distributed issues this semester reaching the hands of the students and faculty. Our current leader has driven our nation into trillions of dollars in debt. The Flip Side, on the other hand, has a budget that is secure for years to come. Our current leader has gotten us into war, which is still going on 1637 days after the declaration of mission accomplished. The Flip Side, on the other hand, is continuing its mission of promoting peace through free speech and alternative press. Plus, the Flip Side is so bad ass that we don’t even need to fight wars.

So stick with the Flip Side, as we will continue to bring the good word by the people, to the people, and for the people for years to come! FOUR MORE YEARS! FOUR MORE YEARS! BYAAH! USA Today/Gallup Poll 10/14/07 Brillig.com/debt_clock

October 24th - November 6th, 2007

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8-11 PM – Higherground Halloween: Costume Contest – Higherground 7:30 PM – University Theatre: Tobacco Road – Kjer Theatre FRIDAY, OCTOBER 26 Noon – Concert: US Army Field Band Quintet – Phillips Recital Hall, Haas. FREE

Running & Ongoing Events 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 Bienniel II | October 24-November 1 | 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.

WEDNESDAY, OCTOBER 24

5 PM – Critical Mass Bike Ride – Owen Park Band Shell – Grab your bike and join this ride to promote the rights of cyclists and encourage alternative transportation. FREE 6 & 8:30 PM – Campus Film: Night of the Living Dead – 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 – Club Mercury Dance Party – Higherground

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

SATURDAY, OCTOBER 27

4:30-5:30 PM – Peace Rally – Corner of Garfield and State St.

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

7-9 PM – Alternatives to Incarceration: Drug Courts and Other Strategies – Unitarian Universalist Congregation, 421 S. Farwell St. – Panelists will discuss Drug Court and how it differs from the traditional justice system, aspects of treatment and the positive results. A question and answer session will follow the panel discussion. Sponsored by ACLU. FREE

6 & 8:30 PM – Campus Film: Night of the Living Dead – Davies Theatre – Tickets available at the Service Center in Davies and at the door.

7 PM – Domestic and Dating Violence Rally – Campus Mall – After the planned speakers there will be an open mic where people can share ideas, stories, thoughts and experiences.

Sponsored by the WAGE Center.

7 PM – UAC Concert: All That is Within Me Tour – Zorn Arena – Featuring Christian bands MercyMe, Aaron Shust, Monk & Neagle.

7:30 PM – University Theatre: Tobacco Road – Kjer Theatre 10 PM – Club Mercury Dance Party – Higherground

7:30 PM – University Theatre: Tobacco Road – Kjer Theatre 8 PM – UAC Cabin Jazz at Night – The Cabin, Davies. FREE THURSDAY, OCTOBER 25 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 Bienniel II – Foster Gallery, Haas – An exhibition of printmaking including both traditional and digitally produced mediums.

6 & 8:30 PM – Campus Film: Night of the Living Dead – Davies Theatre – Tickets available at the Service Center in Davies and at the door.

6-8 PM – Higherground Halloween: Pumpkin carving/apple bobbing – Higherground 7 PM – Running Water Poetry Slam – Acoustic Café. FREE

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SUNDAY, OCTOBER 28 6 & 8:30 PM – Campus Film: Night of the Living Dead – Davies Theatre – Tickets available at the Service Center in Davies and at the door.

MONDAY, OCTOBER 29 7:30 PM – The Forum: Max Brooks-Zombie Survival: Preparing for World War Z – Zorn Arena TUESDAY, OCTOBER 30 Noon-1 PM – Classical Cabin Fever – The Cabin – Students will perform classical pieces over the lunch hour. FREE 4 PM – Feminist Book Club: Female Chauvinist Pigs: Women and the Rise of Raunch Culture – WAGE Center 6:30 PM – Idea Lounge: Savvy Spaces – Pizza Plus Eatery – An open discussion about community businesses, shops, housing, public space, parts, galleries, etc. Come and voice your opinion on what makes a great space. FREE 7 PM – Flip Side Meeting – Wisconsin Room, Davies

The Flip Side

7 PM – The 48 Hour Video Projects – Davies Theatre – A screening of the films entered into this year’s Local Independent Filmmakers’ 48 Hour Video Project, in which participants are only given 48 hours to create a film. FREE WEDNESDAY, OCTOBER 31 4:30-5:30 PM – Peace Rally – Corner of Garfield and State St. 8 PM – UAC Cabin Jazz at Night – The Cabin, Davies. FREE THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 1 4 PM – Chancellor’s Roundtable – Eagle Room, Davies – A chance for students to ask questions and share concerns with the Chancellor’s cabinet. Refreshments available.

6 & 8:30 PM – Campus Film: Pan’s Labyrinth – Davies Theatre – Tickets available at the Service Center in Davies and at the door.

7:30 PM – Concert: Les Favorites – Phillips Recital Hall, Haas FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 2 6 & 8:30 PM – Campus Film: Pan’s Labyrinth – Davies Theatre – Tickets available at the Service Center in Davies and at the door.

8 PM – UAC Cabin Local Talent: Drew Brown – The Cabin, Davies. FREE

SUNDAY, NOVEMBER 4 Noon-4 PM – International Folk Fair – Davies Center – Featured exhibits represent many different countries and cultures, and there are performances and food from around the world.

2 PM – University Symphony Orchestra – Gantner Concert Hall, Haas.

6 & 8:30 PM – Campus Film: Pan’s Labyrinth – Davies Theatre – Tickets available at the Service Center in Davies and at the door.

TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 6 Noon-1 PM – Classical Cabin Fever – The Cabin – Students will perform classical pieces over the lunch hour. 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 for inclusion into our calendar for FREE.

SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 3 6 & 8:30 PM – Campus Film: Pan’s Labyrinth – Davies Theatre – Tickets available at the Service Center in Davies and at the door.

7 PM – Concert: Indianhead Honors Band – Gantner Concert Hall, Haas

The deadline for events in the next issue is September 1st.

Send events to Dana Thompson at thompsod@uwec.edu

October 24th - November 6th, 2007

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