The Grass Burr (Weatherford, Tex.), Vol. 73, No. 5, Ed. 1 Friday, April 8, 1994 Page: 4 of 22
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4 Oplll
Aaah, the lights, the art, the suicides?
All this and a whole lot more in NYC
Alex Pendleton
■mwmmmm -
Reporter
What do nude paint-
ings, 354 steps and cab
drivers named
Novofastovski all have in
common?
They all happened to
my family in no place else
but New York City. In-
stead of boring you with
every little thing that hap-
pened to us in the Big
Apple, I’ll give you awhirl-
wind sampling of my daily journal that I kept
during the trip.
Saturday, March 12 (Day One)
Well, we have finally arrived at the Holiday Inn
Crown Plaza in Manhattan. I can’t believe that
we got from the airport to our cubicle (it’s too
small to call a room) with nine pieces of luggage.
Actually, I am sitting in the hall right now
because only three people can fit in the room
with all the luggage. In the short time we have
been here I have discovered that the toilet is the
most spacious and most comfortable seat in the
cubicle. Anyway, I better go get rid of the
bellhop who seems to be attached to my sister.
The only thing stopping him from asking for her
hand in marriage is the language barrier.
Sunday, March 13 (Day Two)
This morning we accidentally paid $97 for a
brunch buffet. It seems that the posted price of
$9.95 per person was actually $19.95. Some-
one had erased the one in front of the nine on
the board outside of the restaurant! My dad,
who is not known as a hothead, grabbed the
waiter and threatened him with a salad fork
when he gave us the bill. We had to take out a
loan just to get out of the restaurant!
I am kind of surprised that we have not had
our pockets picked by now. I haven’t even seen
that many crazy people yet...
Monday, March 14 (Day Three)
We started out our morning with a cab driver
named Anatoly Novofastovski. I had heard that
New York cabbies called passengers "Ameri-
cans,” but this was too much. My dad tried to
initiate a conversation, only to get a laugh. This
man was as Russian as Joseph Stalin! Anatoly
dropped us off at the feriy to the Statue of Liberty,
where I started my first “Two Hours of Terror”
session of the trip. When we got to the base of the
statue we read a sign that said, “342 steps to the
crown.” It failed to mention the tight winding
staircase that I thought was taking me straight to
heaven. I was expecting a snack bar or a gift shop
at the top, but no such luck. All that was there
was a seven-foot steel walkway and a few dirty
windows looking out on the dirty water of the
Hudson River. If this would have been my first
sight of America as an immigrant, I would have
gotten back on the boat and gone back to poverty
and suppression.
Even after riding the subway back to our cu-
bicle, we haven’t been mugged yet...
Tuesday, March 14 (Day Four)
Today we visited the Metropolitan Museum of
Art, and I can say that I have been to Hades. This
place made the AC room look like Disneyland. It
was filled with endless walls of paintings done by
cra2y men. The only exciting partwas the special
exhibit of Lucian Freud, a dirty old man who
paints his wildest dreams. This was like walking
through a girly magazine! Once we got to the
third room of this we were about to explode with
laughter and offend all the critics who were
studying the birds and the bees, so we made a
run for the door.
New York must not be so dangerous after all.
Four days and no pickpockets...
Wednesday, March 16 (Day Five)
New York is a dangerous place! While walking
back to our cubicle after lunch we were nearly
squashed by a lunatic woman who jumped from
the balcony of a hotel. While we were watching
the police move the body off the sidewalk, some-
one stole my sister’s wallet out of her purse! It’s
a good thing we are leaving tonight.
Thursday, March 17 (The Day After)
I’ve decided that our trip to New York is my
favorite. I woke up this morning with a Big Apple
hangover. I miss the blaring horns,, the neon
Panasonic sign, and most of all, the adult theater
(which is the self-proclaimed “best” in the coun-
try). I mean, where else can you take in a show,
see someone jump from a building, and walk
through a pornographic magazine in one day?
America's losing the war on life
Since 1973, it has
taken more casualties
than the Revolutionary,
Civil, Korean, Vietnam
and both World Wars.
Abortion; a simple pro-
cedure of removing a
product of conception, or
the murdering of a pre-
cious child.
A woman strongly sus-
pects she is pregnant
when she misses a second period. By that time
the baby’s organs are present, heart beats
sturdily, sex can be determined, arms and legs
move freely, fingerprints are visible, skeleton is
formed, and facial features are developing.
If a woman waits another month “just to be
sure,” the baby can, in addition to the second
month’s developments, suck its thumb, swal-
low, make facial expressions, kick, make a fist
and turn its head. Finally, the woman is tested
to affirm what she already knows, and if she is
considering abortion, will probably take a week
or two to decide. Yet, all this time the little
human inside her is making leaps and bounds
toward a life outside the womb.
If the woman is determined to end her preg-
nancy she and her baby will undergo one of
three procedures, suction, saline solution or a
dilation and evacuation (D+E). They both enter
the clinic, but only one leaves still alive.
If the doctor explains the procedure at all, he
will use soft, candid words. He won’t tell her
that if she has a suction abortion, a vacuum will
be pushed into her uterus and everything is
literally sucked out; the baby will be ripped
apart and the dismembered body will be collected
in ajar. He doesn’t tell her that if she has a saline
abortion, a long needle will force a strong salt
solution into her abdomen causing the baby’s
skin to slowly bum off until the baby is pickled
alive. He doesn’t tell her that if she has a D and
E abortion, a forceps will be thrust into her womb
and whatever it grabs it rips out. Abortion a
simple procedure of removing a product of con-
ception, or the murdering of a precious child.
Now that we have established the vulgar, harsh
torment the child encounters, let’s establish the
terrible psychological tragedy the woman en-
dures. David C. Reardon, author of Aborted
Women, asked 210 women, prior to entering a
post-abortion recovery group, to fill out a four-
page questionnaire on the feelings they had after
their abortion. The results are astounding and
reveal the truth never found in a Planned Parent-
hood leaflet. After their abortion, 100 percent
experienced guilt, 87 percent depression, 11 per-
cent happiness, 93 percent shame, 89 percent
unworthiness, 17 percent liberation, 86 percent
anxiety, 95 percent unforgiveness, and 89 per-
cent self-condemnation.
Aside from psychological effects, abortion causes
many physical changes. In many cases women
have faced sterility, profuse bleeding which is a
result of lacerations in the uterus lining, and
recent studies have revealed that some cases of
breast cancer could be linked to abortion.
Despite all of these things, a woman who has
had an abortion does have hope. The best thing
for her to do is to seek Christian counseling. For
those who may be considering an abortion the
options are LIFE, suction, saline, or D and E.
Which do you think the baby would choose?
Pssssst!
Hey you, can
you tell me
the answer
to number
five?
“Pssssst!! Hey, I am
too stupid to take a
test without the assis-
tance of
somebody.. .heck, any-
body even if they are
more dumber than me
is. Shoot,
sometimes.. .heck,
most of the time, I just
steal the test soes me
and my friends can
pass ’cause we can’t think on our own. And
the teachers are real cool about it...heck,
everybody knows we do it and basically, they
let us gets away with it.”
Okay, so maybe this is not actually how a
cheating person thinks, but it does show
what someone’s opinion of that person might
be. Sure, I’ve cheated. I’m not proud of it by
any means because the grade I received for
the paper did not reflect my intelligence. The
only thing that excells when a person cheats
is his sneakiness and his lying skills.
Don’t get me wrong. The students are not
the only ones at fault. Some teachers make
it far too easy to cheat. Honestly, if a teacher
leaves the test on her desk and does not pay
attention to it or even leaves the room, a
person’s dark side is going to take over. Who
woudn’t take a peek at the answers? Hello!
Reality check! Wake-up! If you drop a piece
of bloody flesh next to a shark, will it just
swim away or inhale it like a vacuum cleaner?
If teachers do not want us to cheat, maybe
they should make it a little harder, or even
impossible to get away with it.
With the time spent writing the answers on
a hand, leg, shoe, eyelid or where ever these
sneaky ones decide to inscribe the informa-
tion, they could have studied and learned the
material. Also, they will cut down on the
always present chance of ink or graphite
poisoning. Would not it make much more
sense to just take the time and study the dam
stuff? Well, to some people it does not.
“Personally, my time is much too precious
to spend on school work. With the constant
teenage struggles I face I just can’t cope with
actual school interests. Therefore, I come to
class very prepared.”
Exactly how many deficiencies does this
human(?) have? Knock, Knock? Time to
evolve. Contraiy to popular belief, there is
more to life than teenage relationship prob-
lems. Things get blown way out of proportion
in high school and in the real world. So you
better start to grow up and learn what is
really important to you.
If you want to be an adolescent Donahue or
Oprah, then go right ahead. If you want to
succeed in life then buckle down and study.
Don’t depend totally on cheating because if
you do go to a higher place of learning, you
will probably not get a second chance to take
the test when you get busted.
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The Grass Burr (Weatherford, Tex.), Vol. 73, No. 5, Ed. 1 Friday, April 8, 1994, newspaper, April 8, 1994; Weatherford, Texas. (https://texashistory.unt.edu/ark:/67531/metapth1146969/m1/4/: accessed July 8, 2024), University of North Texas Libraries, The Portal to Texas History, https://texashistory.unt.edu.; crediting Weatherford High School.