Connect with Boone before time disappears

by Jennifer Lancaster

Well, seniors, we've made it. For some of us, it's been a four-year venture, for others five, six or perhaps more. The years have been amazing. All will culminate in one final hurrah in which many of us will finally let go, and more still will realize their doom and begin studying for the first time in years. Driving back up the mountain, eager to see friends, move into a new apartment and start work at the paper, I was struck with the notion that this year will be a great one-- quite possibly the best of my years at Appalachian State University. However, it will also be one of the most difficult and challenging of my life. While classes will be tough, and something called a Senior Honors Thesis looms dauntingly on the horizon, these are not my greatest worries. My problem is one all of us must face at some point if we intend to claim a coveted ASU degree: graduation. Yes, graduation. As a freshman, it's something I looked to with dreamy eyes: the culmination of years of work, parties, trips and who knows what else, providing a path directly into the job of my choice. Who knew I would end up being a history major? Who knew I would stick with that four-year plan and feel at the beginning of this final year that I don't want it to end? And why not? Why is it that I would rather stay in limbo in some sort of strange holding pattern than leave for bigger and better things in the real world? Many of you know exactly where I'm coming from. It all has to do with the realization of coming back up the mountain to begin a new year for the last time. As always, I was struck by the blinding sunlight hitting the green trees and the shadows of clouds floating over the mountains. I was exhilarated by the sheer beauty of the day and the emotion of coming back to this place I have grown to love. Moving into my apartment made me think of the countless other times I would move into a new home in locations I don't yet know. But this is the last time to move back to Boone as a student. Even in the hussle and bustle of the bookstore, I found a surprisingly soothing familiarity. The same people working, and the same eager, annoyed, tired, excited faces of students purchasing books for absurd amounts of money. Working with one last group of students during orientation, I felt proud to show them our school, embracing their excitement about being at Appalachian. I remembered how it felt to be on campus for the first time, overwhelmed and nervous, but so enthusiastic about being in college. It was bittersweet to see these bright-eyed students beginning a career I am in the process of ending. Graduation should be a beginning, not an ending-- and it is. Don't get me wrong; I'm excited about graduating, getting a job, going to graduate school or whatever I decide. But excitement doesn't compensate for the sinking feeling I get about leaving this place. Appalachian is just that sort of school. It's the places on campus and in Boone and the surrounding area that we become familiar with and feel connected to. It's also the people working on campus and those we get to know as friends and acquaintances who smile and say hello, quite often when we only know them as familiar faces. So I look forward to this year as I have those in the past for the same experiences as well as new ones. But I also feel a new sensation of saddness knowing this year's memories will be some of my fondest as I close out my time in this place I know and love so well.

Parental Warnings need not be ignored

by Ian Hutchinson

I do not buy CDs at Wal-Mart. I do not like the idea of any form of expression being watered down in any way, shape or form. I do not care for music with excessively foul language, either, but I believe it has the right to exist free of censorship. Having worked at a real record store, I can't even begin to tell you how annoying it is when a parent asks for the "clean version" of an album for their child, because we rarely have any. The reason we rarely have any is because your hard core music buyer does not buy the "clean" version. If they do, they promptly return it. No record store I know of that sells used CDs will even take a "clean" CD back, because that CD will never leave the store again. But in rare cases, if Mommy wants to prevent little Bobby from hearing naughty words, then a "clean" CD will be purchased. However, a "clean" version is no better than the Parental Advisory version. Any kid who has had a fill-in-the-blank assignment or played with Mad Libs can fill the holes in a "clean" album. The damage is still done. But then, there are parents who think a "Parental Advisory" for a CD is like a PG rating for a movie. The think PG as in Ghostbusters or The Princess Bride, but in reality, they're giving their kid an R- or NC-17-rated CD. They thought they were giving their kid My Girl, but they really gave them Showgirls. Would you care to guess how many parents consulted me on whether a CD and/or movie was appropriate for their child during the summer? Was it hundreds? Was it thousands? No, it was less than five. Let's give a big round of applause for social responsibility. Of course, fans of the big media scapegoat might attribute the blame on me, but alas, you'd be mistaken. I did my part, as my job required, to deny any purchase of a Parental Advisory CD or R/NC-17 film to anyone under the age of 16. Unfortunately, when Granny buys Eminem's "Marshall Mathers LP" for little Bobby, there is nothing I can do about it other than perform the transaction. Granny never kept up with the big 2 Live Crew/First Amendment battle, but wants so badly to spoil little Bobby and has no clue what is on the CD. She never thinks to ask me. I watched it happen many times; I saw countless moms, dads and grandmothers buy explicit CDs for their children without a second thought. Sadly, a reasonable number of them will have foul-mouthed children and wonder why. Many will blame the media and simultaneously claim they are "too busy" to keep track of a child's media intake. What a load of crap. There are these concepts called "grounding" and "yelling" that will reduce media intake and separate fantasy from reality. It certainly worked for my parents. Want to keep Billy from visiting naughty websites? Disconnect the phone line from the computer and take it to work with you. Want to keep your kids from watching violent television shows? Either get a V-Chip or cut power to the TV through your home's circuit breaker. It's not rocket science, people. Amazingly, even though my mom let me see Die Hard as a kid, I didn't prance around yelling, "Yippie-ki-yay, mo'fo'." My dad let me play Mega Man on my Nintendo, but I didn't go around pelting my friends with tennis balls. I certainly didn't have a normal, well-adjusted childhood, but I think I came out OK because my parents knew how to raise me. However, that isn't to say I wouldn't consider pelting George W. Bush or Al Gore with tennis balls, but that's another opinion article.