W w WI w w
Them ol' term paper blues
(1) Ben Lam and (2)1
upon their lives. For a
My obsession with cycling? I'm not sure when
it started, maybe when I was around five, when
I got my first tricycle. My mom gave it to
me. She sat me on the seat, put my feet on the
pedals, and turned them round to show me how they worked.
After a few minutes I caught on and was off on my own. I
set out from my house, down the driveway, and out onto the
sidewalk. I pedaled and pedaled, and the faster I worked my
feet the faster I went. I loved it. But then I lost all sense of
reality. My mind was awhirl with shapes and colors flying
past me. Soon everything was a blur, and I felt completely
free. But with this feeling of freedom also came something
that wasn't as pleasant - a feeling that I couldn't stop
myself, that I didn't have any control over where I went or
how fast I got there. It was horrible, but at the same time, it
was exhilarating. I know this must sound weird to many
people. Believe me for a long time I thought I w as
completely crazy. Get me off a bike, and I'm just as
grounded as the average person. Get me on one, and I cannot
be held accountable for my actions.
My parents first became aware there was a "problem"
when one of my elementary school teachers sent them a
Nena Edwards has a problem. It's the night before her term paper is due, and she hasn't even started it. Poor Nena. For a description c
By Alyssa Lustigman
Nena Edwards take a leisurely stroll, unaware of the havoc mad biker (3) April Abdella will soon wreak
a description of their clothes, see Page 25.
letter saying I had been caught several times running into
kids over on the playground with my bike. My parents were
shocked and defensive; my teacher was concerned and
psycho-analytical (after all it was the '70s), and I just plain
didn't remember anything. After a slew of examinations,
EKGs, and ink blot tests, it was determined that the root of
my "psychosis" was bicycles. Keep me off a bike, and I
would become and remain an average kid, even a little
demure. So that's exactly what my parents did. From the age
of seven to 12, I was forbidden to so much as even talk
about bikes. At first I was depressed and nervous, but after a
while I adjusted and even grew ambivalent to bikes. The
doctors thought I was making excellent progress and told my
parents they could give me a new bike. The doctors felt I
could now ride responsibly.
One day when my mom came home with a brand-new
Huffy 10-speed, I was scared; I didn't want to ride it. But she
assured me I wouldn't relapse. I hesitantly climbed on and
began to pedal. The wind hit my face, houses began to blur
by, but I kept control. I could regulate my speed; I could
stop when I wanted; I was cured. After a 10-minute ride I
jumped off the bike and hugged my mother. God, I was
I began to ride my bike everywhere, almost as if I wanted
to make up for the years I'd been grounded. I was in control,
and it stayed that way all through junior and senior high
school. But when I got to college things sort of changed; I
changed. I didn't relapse into my old "problem;" I can still
control my speed and direction. Instead I picked up a new
problem. Now, when I ride a bike, I get this overwhelming
urge to seek out people and scare them by riding as close to
them and as fast as possible. I don't know why I do this,
maybe the desire stems back from when I would
inadvertently run into people on my elementary school
playground, and some kind of weird, sadistic yearning
planted itself in my mind. I know how terrible I must
sound, but I just can't help myself.
With the advent of the mountain bike craze and spandex
riding pants, I have discovered I can go even faster. Now
when I see some people strolling around the Diag, I hang
back, let them get a good distance between us, and then 'er
rip. You should see how people scream and jump out of the
way. I love it. God, I must be crazy.
The above testimony is in no way meant to portray
Weekend fashion model, April Abdella.
ife in and of itself is inherently stressful. And even
under the best of circumstances, it's hard to look your
best under pressure. But eventually, it hits us all.
Grades, work, parents, love, life, pressure. Maybe its
thar heritage of the 1980s. The whole Yuppie mentality has
crashed in upon our generation - make $40,000 when you
graduate from college, drive a hot car, own your own condo
complete with a Jacuzzi and sauna.
Stress today has been built up to unparalleled levels. Think
of the possibilities:
It's 12:30 a.m., you have an hourly the next day for a class
you haven't attended all semester, and you've just realized you
lost your friend's notebook last week.
It's 4:30 a.m., you've been up all night typing your term
paper into your computer, a system error occurs, and you never
bothered to press "save."
You've been late for work every day this week, and your
boss has been giving you the evil eye. Your alarm comes
unplugged, and you sleep 'till noon.
Your parents, who you haven't spoken to in over three
weeks call you up. They've forgotten to pay the tuition bill
and are wondering why your grades have, slipped down almost a
point since last semester.
It's the middle of the day, and your car breaks down in the
middle of State Street. No, you tell helpful passers-by, its not
the engine. You've just forgotten to fill the gas tank.
You haven't had a date since you were set up months ago
with your best friend's kid sibling who wore two inch thick.
glasses and giggled incessantly throughout the evening.
And if all these pressures aren't enough to drive one to an
early grave, today's society has fostered a 'never let them see
you sweat' attitude.
"When I encounter a stressful situation, I try to look as best
as fuckin' possible," explained first year LSA student Peter
Ross of his dressing-under-stress philosophy.
"I guess the theory is, if you look good, you'll feel good,"
hypothesized LSA junior Lori Tucker.
So what looks good for spring?
For most people today, especially those on a college budget,
what looks good is what is most accessible and most
comfortable like big T-shirts, long shorts, cotton or denim
minis, and sweatshirts.
For the more fashion-conscious individuals, models in far-
away, exotic, and barely affordable, cities like Paris, Milan,
and London are walking the runways in a wide variety of new
colors, lengths, fabrics and styles.
While most women over 30 can't seriously wear short skirts
without looking like Shirley Temple on hallucinagenics, any
female with the slightest bit of self-confidence can to wear a
mini. They're comfortable, they're cool, and they can be worn
in any situation, no matter how stressful. As you can gather,
stores are still selling them like hot cakes.
However, for the less bra
sweeping full skirts, plea
fitting, calf-length skirts ar
Trousers, either tapered
high torsos are also being
Stores are currently selli
Ts to crisp button dowr
season are cropped sh
Unfortunately, getting the
enough to give any grown
For men, classics are
sweaters or cardigans, wc
downs are being shown v
and dressy trousers worn i
More casually, oxfords,
dark jeans, and for the fa
of the J. Crew or L.L. Be
And for those of you at
graduation - and there is
stress you'll encounter -
integral for success. For
pinstriped suits, but a bo'
unexpected change of pace
WEEKEND/MARCH 25, 1988
WEEKEND/MARCH 25, 1988