Page 4-The Michigan Daily- Weekend etc.- September 17, 1992 Fear & Somehow, I spiedhim on the other Uni side of the fraternity house's danger- ing ously overcrowded third-floor rec wer room. He lay sprawled out on a worn, five ver toc e h e, 3 crew c was su as if i sneere seem t past, Ij to the and I d of sor began Thi beer-soaked couch, drooling and ap- parently in some sort of drug coma. As I waded toward him, through the foul, sweating mass ofrich, spoiled loathing on fr, sity undergrads desperately try- as an opening cleared around my edi- convince themselves that they tor, whoremained prone on the couch, aving a good time, a six-foot- soaking up apuddle ofhis own vomit. 00-pound Neanderthal with a "Wake up, you bastard, and show ut lumbered into my path. He some self-respect!" I yelled, savagely cking on a smoke-filled bong kicking him in the side with one of my t were a giant glass penis. I steel-toed boots. Under normal cir- d athim in disgust, buthe didn't cumstances, I might've been gentler, o notice, so as I maneuvered but the smell of booze and urine and jabbed him with a quick elbow pot and body odor and who knows groin. Nobody saw me do it, what else had put me on edge. idn't look back until the group My editor rolled off the couch and ority girls he collapsed upon landed at my feet with a thump and a to scream. groan. Seconds later, he opened his s distraction was ideal for me, eyes and blinked up at me. "Jesus, Mark," he coughed. "What the hell?" "'What the hell?' is right," I shouted over the Guns'N' Roses song blaring in the background. "What the hell are you doing here? This isn't your scene." Although editors are a notoriously sick lot, the meanest bunch of embittered dipsomaniacs short of Hollywood and Congress, mine had always been surprisingly human, a polite and even intelligent gentleman who treated his writers with the dig- nity and respect they deserved. "I dunno. I was justbored,Iguess. I mean, everybody's here," he started to explain, hesitating as he noticed my eyes light up amidst his blather. I reached down and grabbed him by the shirt, pulling his face up inches from my own. He began to shake, probably from a combination of with- drawal and fear, but I continued. "That's exactly what I needed to talk to you about: My column pitch," SPlayersIwhispered feverishly. "So here it is: SP aBi-weekly. Entertainment-oriented. Basically, stuff to do besides going to D and GET the bar or the movies or renting a ) D OR DE R*video or going to some horrible party or whatever. I'd be heavily present in at row all of the stories, which would more or less recount what I did or where I went, and they'd be unusual places and things, at least for a college stu- dent, and the whole thing would be written in a sort of fictional style ..." "Sounds like a lame Hunter S. Thompson rip-off to me," a tipsy frat brat in a Notre Dame sweatshirt grunted from behind me. "Swine!" I snarled, whirling around and spraying him in the eyes with the vial of Mace hanging from my key chain. "This'll teach you to eavesdrop." He howled and staggered back into the crowd. "Listen, I haven't got much time," I said, turning back to my editor, who'd retreated a few steps. "These bastards'll be all over me any minute now. What do you say? Yay or nay?" "Yay, yay. I mean, I'll have to talk it over with everybody else, but it should be OK." "Done," I smiled,justas the stoned, enraged, six-foot-five, 300-pound Neanderthal clamped me in a full Nelson from behind. Luckily for me, the University's rent-a-cops shot a couple of phospho- rous grenades through the balcony window before the animal could snap my neck like a toothpick. I managed to crawl out the back fire escape and avoid the chaos that followed. Later, I heard from a friend at the ER that they did a record amount of business that night, particularly in the areas of broken bones, toxic gas poisoning, concussions, and bullet wounds. In other words, a very ugly scene. I try to avoid this shit as much as possible. *Note: The title of this column was stolen from a John Cale/Brian Eno song. The "been" is not, I repeat, NOTmeant to be a pun on my name. STERLING Continued from page 1 And they don't hate White people. They're like mellow, ya know?" Me: "Ah. I think I get the picture." That was two months ago, and I'm Vintage by Aaron Hamburger Before Robert Redford became a relic who pops up from time to time in disposable entertainments like "Legal Eagles," "Havana," and the newly- released "Sneakers," he appeared in several controversial movies which were highly critical of the U.S. government, including "The Candidate" and "All the President's Men." Perhaps the most audacious of these films was the suspense thriller "Three Days of the Condor," which basically accused the CIA of a willing- ness to stoop to the lowest of crimes - including the murder of innocent citizens - to achieve its ends. "Condor" came out in 1975, when the Vietnam War had just ended and the Watergate scandal was still fresh {' news. Moviw' like "Sands of Iwo : f::,::i * y Jima'or"Hear- r &R; id"weren't exactly the rage u; : , "Con- dor" paved the w" such anti- government films as fhe . Seduc- tion of Joe Tynan" and "The China Syndrome." At heart, hov ver, "Three Days of the Condor" really wanted to be a "Fatal Attraction" roller coaster ride which emphasized chase scenes over moral dilemmas. Redford plays a small-time clerk in the CIA whose job is to read documents and books from foreign countries to search for information that might be helpful to the agency. One day Redford receives a strange wire in code that he cannot fathom and subsequently disregards. He goes out to lunch and when he comes back he finds that the entire staff of his office has been killed. Redford reports the incident to the central office, but he can't help feeling as if something is wrong. Sure enough, within minutes, he is on the run from his own govern- ment. Along the way he pauses to meet Faye Dunaway, a sympathetic stranger, Max Von Sydow, a cold- blooded hired assassin, and Cliff Robertson, a smarmy CIA agent to whom Redford delivers a long speech explaining why the series of rousing action sequences we have just watched is actually Important. The sanctimonious speechifying, however, cannot get in the way of the sheer entertainment value of the Redford movie, which actually features a performance from Robert Redford (instead of his usual bland line readings and cloying grin), and even manages to be "disturbing," if only for five seconds after the movie. Redford 0 0 All FRESH INGREDIENTS - MADE TO ORDER 15 different SUBS and 30 different SHAKES G B"! 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