PAGE 3 | THURSDAY, FEB. 17, 2011
OPINIONS & EDITORIALS
opinions&editorials An endangered species: the Drake hispster To those who are unfamiliar with the term, hipsters are loosely defined as a subset of 20-somethings who are interested in nonmainstream culture. These affections include but are not limited to: indie rock, Wes Anderson films, facial hair, flannel, public radio and Pabst Blue Ribbon. Growing up in a relatively small town in Minnesota, I never even knew what a hipster was or that being one could be considered a bad thing. Every warm weekend, my friends and I would ride our bikes downtown to drink coffee at a local café, then mosey on over to the thrift store to buy some ironic T-shirts (I still have one that says “Experience Nebraska”). We’d wrap up the day by pedaling over to the record store to pick up some classic vinyl. All of this was quite natural to me. But my hipsterly experiences were limited mostly to my core group of four or five friends. Some of my classmates, however, would make cracks at me for being a hipster when I wore my Wilco T-shirt with my blue flannel. “Whatever could they mean?” I thought. “Is it wrong to wear my ‘The Big Lebowski’ Tshirt with a sport coat and jeans?” (I still consider these two outfits to be the epitome of my personal style.) My buddies, however, thought I looked like an idiot. It probably didn’t help matters that I trashed the music they liked. There were great debates wherein I mocked the likes of Jason Mraz, Sum 41 and Li’l Wayne among others, all the while stating that those who didn’t like Bob Dylan were dead to me. In one friend’s words, I was a “musical jackass.”
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I imagine that Iowa hipsters are much more polite than Brooklyn hipsters.
these weirdos, and I never once felt the air of superiority that comes with being a so-called “scenester.” I imagine that Iowa hipsters are much more polite than Brooklyn hipsters. But like all good things, 80/35 ended, and I once again returned to the land of country stations and top 40 music. Now I am here at Drake, and I am running into a lot of those same old problems that happened back home. I meet people who absolutely hated “Catcher in the Rye.” When I ask people if they listen to Dr. Dog or the Dirty Projectors, I get a polite “No, I don’t think I’ve heard of them.” It still baffles me that people aren’t willing to drive two hours to hear Jeff Tweedy do a solo show in Iowa City. Where are all of the hipsters that I was supposed to meet in college? I’ve had to give up a lot of ground, manifested as an unflappable appreciation for the Katy Perry song “California Gurls.” I’ve learned to keep my mouth shut when my friends talk about Rascal Flatts. I pretend that I’m totally cool with listening to Michael Bublé again. Mostly, this has been good for me because I try to be less pretentious when people don’t have the same tastes as I do. So, to all the non-hipsters out there reading this, we’re not trying to bring you down or make you feel worse. We’re just lonely out here with nobody to talk with about the new Decemberists album. It’s not you, it’s us. And of course to my fellow hipsters out there, keep fighting the good fight. If you see a guy wearing an Animal Collective T-shirt, say hi to him. And if you’re going to the Of Montreal show in Omaha, Neb., this May, can you give me a ride?
FRANK MERCHLEWITZ | COLUMNIST
Merchlewitz is a first-year writing major and can be contacted at frank.merchlewitz@drake.edu
Letter to the Editor This letter was written in response to an article in the Des Moines Register about marriage and not having to care for others of different faiths. When we as Christians start making laws so just the people we want to marry can, or just the people we judge can get to the food of other services that we, Christians, are putting forth. “What would Jesus do?” Jesus showed love and compassion to the people He came in contact with. Even when the leaders brought to Him the woman caught in adultery, Jesus did not force them to not treat her badly. He drew in the dirt, but then He told the leaders, those of you that are without sin, cast the first stone–they left. He never asked any of the people He healed what belief they were or if they would follow Him after He healed them. Do you think that if Jesus had made them follow Him and they didn’t, He would not
have healed them? Who is your neighbor? Jesus said love your neighbor as you love yourself. Would you want the gay/lesbian society to make a law saying that one man and one woman cannot marry? I think not. To not give food or help to people of other beliefs is not being Christian. This, according to Jesus’ teachings, is a sin itself ! There is non perfect, even those trying to make these laws! Like President Reagan who tore down a wall! Iowa Christians, don’t build this wall! Pastor Byk’rmark Carver bykrmark.carver@drake.edu
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thebuzz
Siblings Weekend is a time to show a wonderful, clean campus.
Dropping the club doesn’t mean ditching members
Greek life, a way of life
If you can’t stand the fratmosphere, get off the street. Since the first fraternity was founded in 1776, members have pledged their lifelong loyalty to organizations like Sigma Alpha Epsilon, Delta Gamma and, thankfully, for me, Kappa Alpha Theta. But since we’ve been joining them, pledges and members alike have also been quitting them. It’s a hard question with no definite answer–what does Drake do with those (rare and few) individuals who decided Greek life wasn’t for them? In every good relationship things can turn sour, but, based on a foundation of love and brotherhood, the bonds between us are meant to be unchanging. If I respect someone as my sister, I hope that respect will remain evident in the halls of Meredith, the middle of Zumba class or even vying for the attention of the nearest Dublin bartender.
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most common factor, money, can play a huge role in abandoning fraternity ideals that were once so sacred. If you don’t agree with me on the friendship part, then still try and shoot for respect. If that isn’t happening either, then it’s probably best to agree to disagree. No matter how the relationship ended, Drake is a school of 3,400 students and with only 34 percent of us Greek (and proud of it), those other 2,000-some students definitely have strength in numbers. The odds are probably against you in a West End bar fight or soccer house showdown, and if you do manage to outnumber your ex-sorority sister or fraternity bro (Greeks to GDIs), chances are you won’t have the support you count on. Not all of us are so eager to turn against someone who, albeit a long time ago, was still one of us.
While they may not be my sister, I hope to still call them my friends.
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While they may not be my sisters, I hope to still call them my friends. Whatever reason a member has for leaving his or her fraternity, the decision was probably a hard one and could have been made for a thousand reasons. Parents, outside friendships and probably the
EMMA COLLINS | COLUMNIST
Collins is a sophomore English major and can be contacted at emma.collins@drake.edu
Automotives a foreign language?
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I clearly had minority interests and opinions in my hometown. My first real-life experience with hipsterdom at large occurred at the 80/35 Music Festival in Des Moines. For those who do not know what 80/35 is, it is hands down one of the best things about Des Moines. The two-day festival drew the groups Spoon, Modest Mouse, Yo La Tengo and a myriad of music fans from across the Midwest. Naturally, there was also a bevy of hipsters to be had. But I was a little fish in a big pond; these hipsters meant business. Fedora hats, skinny jeans, ear gauges, dark rimmed glasses—it was like the uniform of the apathetic. I felt at home dancing and rocking out with
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The idea of a world like that depicted in “The Matrix” seriously scares me. I never want a cord to be connected to my head to teach me whole subject matters, with one notable exception. If I could connect a cord to the back of my head and download everything I need to know about my rusty 2001 Chevrolet Blazer, I would take the red pill in a heartbeat. Seriously, I never feel as wholly incompetent as I do while working with my car. When I go into a shop for an oil change, the etiquette is as foreign to me as getting a pedicure at a Parisian salon. Do I pull my car up to the back and leave it there? Do I sit in the car? Do I lay on the horn? How many coffees can I have sitting in the waiting room? Do I wash in between my toes before the pedi? And if I don’t even know how to park my car for an oil change, how am I supposed to know what the hell a carburetor is? If only I had the time and dedication to learn more. When most of our parents went to school, there was a whole clique called the “gear heads” who worked with their cars all the time. My dad was a proud gear head, and I still have his shirt from his years working at an auto shop that says “Price” on it. I want to know where these gear heads went. Maybe hipsters have replaced them, I don’t know. They’d be good friends to have, though. That way, when I go to Drake Garage and they tell me I need to drop $200 of my scarce money on a “serpentine belt,” I can call my buddy up and ask why I need a boa constrictor under my hood. When I go to Best Buy to fix/replace my television, I don’t need to leave with a microwave, coffee maker and Bluetooth headset. But for some reason, when I go to the auto shop for a $30 oil change, I always leave calling my parents and telling them how much I love them while asking for a $1,200 wire transfer. I’m either being scammed, or my Blazer is actually a decrepit antique. Probably both. My sister owned a horse named Bailey for a
while and she was an expensive, temperamental, moody steed. Whenever she wanted to take a friend out trail riding in Minnesota, Bailey would never come to her beckoning. She had to feed her several times a day and brush her. To merely store her oversized pony in a barn cost her thousands of dollars. Meanwhile, parking permits are hundreds of dollars for our cars, and if I want my car to work properly, it seems like I need to caress it gently and whisper sweet nothings into the muffler. I guess some things don’t change. Wagons broke down on the Oregon Trail, and my Blazer didn’t start last week when I had an important interview in 20 minutes. Oh, and the worst part about knowing nothing about cars is the crap we unknowing men get because of it. Just because I can’t figure out what a spark plug is doesn’t mean my manhood is any smaller. Real football players don’t need to know how to make and lace a football. Real chefs don’t need to know how to plant and harvest crops. Real drivers just need to know how to drive. So, take solace my fellow auto-ignorant guys. Just because we don’t know the difference between a windshield wiper and a transmission doesn’t mean we’re any less man. And until someone offers me the red pill, I’ll just thank the car gods for AAA.
RYAN PRICE | COLUMNIST
Price is a sophomore broadcast journalism and rhetoric major and can be contacted at ryan.price@drake.edu
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