COLUMN: Points to Ponder

From Lee Bailey's "The Immaculate Perception?," Fall '95 From Lee Bailey's "The Immaculate Perception?," Fall '95Perhaps one of education's most oft-employed and valuable tools is the Socratic method. Thus, in the quest for knowledge that is the collegiate experience, I ask these important questions: Two years ago, I was touring the Penn campus with my parents. As our admissions office entourage neared the offensively ugly Van Pelt Library, a petite lady accompanying her college-bound granddaughter began to giggle, pointing to a large white object, apparently a broken button. "What is the purpose of this?" she pondered aloud. Debbi (I think the "i" was dotted with a heart), our bubbly yet intellectually-challenged guide, began a cheerful answer, but then realized that she too was clueless as to the meaning of the asinine sculpture. She is not alone. I have often stared at the "Button," pensively asking myself if perhaps Disney had lost a piece of the Honey, I Shrunk the Kids movie set. Even if this were plausible, the fact remains that the button is mysteriously cleaved down the middle. Did Roseanne sit down for lunch, or did someone leave Marion Barry's arrest record lying on it? Also, why a button? Why not drop an oversized ball of lint instead? Certainly a thimble would have been better -- even utilitarian, for it might have afforded shelter to the indigent. Perhaps these puzzles ought to be explained in the next edition of The Practical Penn. WHAT THE HECK IS THAT PROTESTER LADY DANCING FOR? Any regular passerby at 34th and Walnut knows about the bizarre dancer who frequently adopts the corner as a venue for her enigmatic political protests. She is nothing short of a spectacle, her lithe body squirming to an evidently homemade soundtrack. Her wardrobe includes hemp-leaf bikinis, plush feathered headresses, globe-shaped pasties, Pfeiffer-esque cat suits, and phallic rockets attached to her bony pelvis. She hisses and sighs mantras of indeterminate political origin, extolling the merits of the forthcoming revolution and subsequent utopia in which we will all drop acid and love freely. A fiscal conservative, social liberal and certifiable freakshow, she is surely Penn's most engaging attraction. P.A.R.I.S.: MAN OR MACHINE? Just as the Oracle at Delphi counseled the ancients, PARIS serves as an omniscient guide to masses of hapless undergraduates. In the vein of Aldous Huxley, he mystically knows which courses are filled, where they are taught, and even one's private grade point average. Who is the man behind the miracle? Is his voice borne of circuitry and computers, or is that monotone yet real tenor an actual person? People can sound like computers, you know (just listen to Al Gore sometime). I sometimes wonder if perhaps a celebrity was ever offered the role. How would you like to register with David Letterman? "The top ten reasons you can't register for Parasitology 501 are: 10) Duh, you got a C- in Bio101; are you on crack? 9) You're in Wharton -- no broad-based education permitted," etc. PARIS has even cultivated a fan club -- I know of a girl whose wall reads, "All Men Suck -- except P.A.R.I.S." And the question weighing on all of our minds: Is PARIS going out with the VoiceMail announcer? WHY IS PENN'S COMMERCIAL ENVIRONMENT SO INAPPROPRIATE? It strikes me as odd that one can find the Gap conveniently located on campus, yet the nearest grocery store is blocks away, in an area with a significantly higher bullets per square foot rating. If one is hungry, what is he to do? Why, a pair of chinos sounds delicious, and would you like socks or hair accessories with that? Of course, there is respite in the food trucks, if you have a palate for salmonella or dysentery. And one ought not disregard the wondrous Food Court, perhaps the only place in America where he can feast upon uncooked pizza, mediocre turkey sandwiches and spaghetti-ohs all for just six dollars each. If nourishment isn't important to you, perhaps you're satisfied. After all, what's not to like about Houston Hall's "Campus Jewelry Connection?" Who needs food when there's a large selection of pagers and cellular phones available? Finally, one ought to take delight in the Bookstore, a hormonally-imbalanced Barnes & Noble, now complete with make-up counter and muffin emporium. What's next, a McPlayland? WHY IS THE PENN LIBRARY SYSTEM SO INANE? Although the University has an admirable collection, the administration thereof is astoundingly ridiculous. In a foolish attempt to gain access to the law library just after five o'clock, I was rebuffed by a burly security guard who informed me that only graduate students were allowed entrance at that late hour. Returning the next day, I actually was permitted to go past the Sansom Street antechamber (read: crappy excuse for an Ivy law school entrance) and into the Pei-like library, only to discover that I, as an undergraduate, hadn't the access privileges to check out one of six unused, shelved copies of a very basic text required for one of my courses. How was I to expect such a strict policy after breezing through Van Pelt? There is a facility which beckons commentary. For example, why are students treated as immigrants at the "security check points," forced to declare their overloaded bookbags? Are those official-looking sensor bars just for aesthetic purposes? And why should they even bother to open their backpacks, when the attendants only blankly glance into them. Are these people endowed with x-ray vision, or do they just hope that their supervisor is not about? I could probably smuggle the multi-volume Oxford English Dictionary, and they wouldn't even flinch. If Rosengarten were an airport, people could surely get away with murder, maybe even toting plutonium about or something. Then again, the people at Van Pelt aren't very serious anyway. Once, a friend queried a worker at Rosengarten as to why the intellectual Mecca was closing at 10:30 p.m. on a Friday evening. Her reply: "It's, like, party night." In closing, it is important to remember that though the University is, in general, excellent, there exist many outlandish oddities, all of which are points to ponder.