Page 2-Sunday, October 9, 1977-The Michigan Daily

OT LONG AGO, while taking
N out reserved readings at the
UGLI, I ran into Annie Wheatgerm,
an old. acquaintance of mine. Not
really an old acquaintance, I might
clarify, since I only knew her
freshman year, when we lived in the
same dorm. Nevertheless, we both
managed to cut through the under-
brush of the University, to some
degree, and reach our senior years.
So I'll call her an old acquaintance.
It's much iore classy.
Last I heard from her a couple of
years ago, Annie Wheatgerm was
headed into a career in art, or-maybe
nutrition. She looked very nutritious,
if such a thing were; possible. Lean
and slender with long blond hair the
color of sun-dried flax, Annie Wheat-
germ looked great in her faded jeans,
peasant shirt and wire-rim glasses.
She was the type of person who'd
saunter into the dormitory cafeteria
looking great, grab a container of
yogurt-and head for the salad bar for
a few translucent dollops of jello.
Never mind the grilled chopped
round or the turkey loaf or the
starchy lasagna, Annie Wheatgerm
w would admonish9sprinkling organic
granola into her yogurt, Dannon
Plain, thank. you. "Do you really
want all those preservatives in your.

1INGS/ ja
diet?" she'd say with jello in
between her teeth. "Here, eat what I
eat. It's good for the soul." After
dinner, Annie Wheatgerm would
retreat to her dormitory room,
perhaps to sit yoga style on her
patchwork bedspread and sketch
figurines of fruits and- vegetables and
amber waves of grain in her big
white pad. She liked to talk about the
virtues of her art and how she felt
close with her subjects, particularly
the fruit,Avegetable and outdoor
subjects. Annie. Wheatgerm - this
split level suburbanite- professed a
knowledge and love of the great
outdoors. Why, sometimes she'd
even take her sketchpad tshe Arb.
S 0I WAS caught off-balance
that day when I ran into Annie
Wheatgerm in the pastel-drenched
trenches of the UGLI, a building so
out of character with this woman whu
spent her time sketching fruits and
vegetables and getting high on
granola.
"Annie Wheatgerm," I exclaimed,
walking up to her as she waited for
the reserve desk employe to call her
name. "How've you been?"
Annie Wheatgerm wheeled around
and faced me with a startling visage.
Gone were that vibrant blush on hero
cheeks and the shining luster in her

r levin
sun-dried hair. Her eyes and expres-
sion were a study in fatigue. Gone,
too, were her familiar wire-rim
glasses, whipped aside in favor of
contact lenses.
Worse, she wasn't carrying that
big white sketchpad I remembered
so well. And in her hands were a
couple of spiral notebooks and - the
most "shocking item of all oa
Nestle's Light Chocolate Bar gar-
nered from the UGLI's basement-
level vending machine.
"Annie Wheatgerm!" I cried, dis-
rupting several earnest studiers,
"You're eating a Nestle's Light
Chocolate Bar, a food item so out of
character with you!"
"I know, I know," she said as we
sat 'down on that cushiony bench
opposite the reserve desk. "But my
doctor said that after I came down
with anemia a couple of years ago, I
had to get more calories and min-
erals in my diet."
"Anemia," I echoed, "Oh, Annie
Wheatgerm, an illness so out of
character with you! I remembered
you so well as the picture of health!"
"Yeah, yeah," she said, "but all
those meals of Dannon Plain yogurt
and translucent dollops of jello
finally got the- better of me. So they
put me on this high carbohydrate,

high protein, high sugar diet. Be-
sides, I need the chocolate bar so
I'll have the energy to study."
"Study!" I shrieked, nearly drop-
ping my -English text on my foot.
"Annie Wheatgerm,. study is an
activity so out of character with you!
You were so happy biding your time
sketching figurines in your big white
pad. ,Whatever happened to your
art aspirations and your closenes
with your outdoor subjects?"
A NNIE Wheatgerm sat quietly,
fingering the embossed num-
bers on her ID card. "Well, I guess I
got a little charley-horsed sitting
yoga-style on my patchwork bed-
spread, sketching in my big white
pad. Besides, my father threw me out
of the house a couple of summers ago
because all I did was sit yoga style in
the backyard, sketching shrubbery.
He told me I'd better do something
more substantial with my life, or
else ..."
Just as her voice trailed off,
another voice came from behind the
reserve desk.
"Wheatgerm!" the voice intoned.
"You the one with "Fundamentals of.
Business Law" and "Empirical Mod-
els of Urban Public Economy? ",
Annie Wheatgerm sprang up,
checked out the two massive texts,
slipped them into her canvas back-
pack with the spiral notebooks,
unwrapped her Nestle's Light Choco-
late Bar, bid me adieu and trudged
out of the UGLI for the quiet stacks at
the 'Grad, a freshwoman nevermore.

The Michigan Daily-Sund

PERSPECTIVE


From

'The

Blob' to

'Chai

Ravings of a

junk-movie

I


sunday i ndazine

ACr0STIC PUZZLE

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collectively
F. 19th closest star to Earth
(2 words)
G. Contrived; emerged
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organism
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Capable of feeling
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A. Strong aversion; shuddering
fear

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individual
R. Deliver from malignant
influences
S. Rear; harsh
T. Member of predacious insect
order
U. Minute portion; ratio
V. Privileged one; nobleman
W. Milk curd solid
X. Fill with delight or wonder
Y. Especially distinguished one
Z. Rounded projections

BY
STEPHEN J.
POZSGAI
Copyright 1977
INSTRUCTIONS
Guess the words defined at the
left and write them in over
their numbered dashes. Then,
transfer each letter to the cor-
responding numbered square
in the grid above. The letters
printed in the upper-right-hand
corners of the squares indi-
cate from what clue-word a
particular square's letter
comes from. The grid, when
filled in, should read as a
quotation from a published
work. The darkened squares
are the spaces between words.
Some words may carry over
to the next line. Meanwhile,
the-first letter of each guessed
word at the left, reading down,
forms an acrostic, giving the'
author's name and the title of
the work from which the quote
is extracted. As words and
phrases begin to form in the
grid, you can work back and
forth from clues to grid until
the puzzle is complete.
Answer to Last
Week's Puzzle:

OU WILL never find him hang-
1ing about the lobby during o
Bunuel film festivalor while the
latest Altman flick is playing. He is
as disdainful of artistry and popular-
ity as he is of quality. God forbid he
should walk down the block to see
Fellini's new masterpiece, but he will
drive an hour through a blizzard to
catch Bruce Lee chopping, kicking
and screaming his way through a
double feature. He will stay awake
long into the night, patiently suffer-
ing his television's grainy UHF
reception, to see Zsa Zsa Gabor in
"Queen of Outer Space" - for the
third time. .He is one of that rare
breed, possessed of bad taste and a
strong stomach, known as the junk,
movie junkie.
After years of enduring the taunts
and snickers of both friends and
family (generally- articulated in
dame inevitable cliche such as "You
mwean to say you paid good money to
see that trash?" and followed by a
severe heavenward eye roll), I feel I
must come out of the closet and
defend my position as one of these
devotees of cinematic kitsch. Society
may'heap scorn upon us but we shall
persevere nonetheless, assured of the
peculiar rewards one receives while
slogging through the swamps of bad
dubbing, abysmal acting and terrible
scripts.
There is the somewhat' savage
pleasure one can take in snickering
at the limp early efforts of today's
stars. Late night TV fans, for
example, are occasionally treated to
the sight of Jack Nicholson (decked
out in love beads and a pony tail, no
less) grimacing his way through a
true dog of a movie about the hippie
life entitled, Freakout. In it, poor
Jack is forced , to wend his way
through a forest of such classic
Sixties expressions as "getting my
thing together". Then there is Tony
Curtis in that very forgettable
knights-in-shining-armor turkey The
Black Shield of Falworth. This flick
features Curtis (a. k. a. Bernie
Schwartz) in the pre-diction lesson
days of his career's outset as a
medieval English knight with a thick
Bronx accent. Curtis utters, with
great aplomb, lines like "Yondah lies
da castle of my faddah" and "Wheah
ah my squahs?".
Bad film can be educational, in its
own way, -for the worst-in cinema
often reflects the worst in society's
prevalent attitudes - witness John
Wayne or Jack Webb's Cold War
propaganda works. Fortunately,
most of us today (at least those of us
outside of Marine boot camp) watch
these primarily for their value as
comedy.
And then there's The Flying Ser-
pent, a :low budget Charlie Chan
movie which deserves a footnote in
cinema history for its incorporation
into a single film of every offensive
racial stereotype that Hollywood has
produced from oily "I keel heem
now, } yg?". jgipan villains to

the Gladiators,

inscrutable Orientals to Chan's own
revolving-eyed, perpetually-terrified
black chauffeur. And, in dealing with
racial stereotypes, a special mention
award should go to the early Bowery
Boys series, whose sole black charac-
ter ("Dusty") possessed not only

tremendous amounts of rhythm, but
also a peculiar biological aberration
which results in his developing a
white eye rather than a black eye
when punched in the face. The mind
boggles.
Local insomniac motion picture

Reeves hurls those fake styrofoam boulders
in -numerous horribly dubbed Samson and
Hercules epics.
By Tom O'Connell

With six packs in hand, we addicts discreet-
ly rendezvous on quiet Sunday afternoons,
flicking on the tube to see Victor Mature
hack his way across Italy to Demetrius and

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In the province of the mind;
what is believed to be true is
true or becomes true within
limits to be found experien-
tially and experimentally.
These limits are further be-
fiefs to be transcended. In the
province of the mind, there
tiare no limits.
(John C.) Lilly
The Center of the Cyclone"

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