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December 7, 2011
By Roy McKluskin’GAMBIER — Student Council votedunanimously last week to deactivatethe dormitory K-Card lock system,sparking campuswide debate. Thenew policy would reverse a Decem-ber 2010 decision to restrict accessand enables students to enter build-ings without the use of their IDs onweekdays. Some students object tothe new policy, while others havevoiced their support. Still others, likeLinus Daniels ’14, “don’t care . . . atall. Is this a Peirce thing? I don’t careabout Trayless Tuesdays. Whatever.”“What really bothers me about itis how they just let students vote onsuch an important issue,” complainedBelanie Smalls ’15 over Allstu. “Icame to Kenyon three months agothinking that this was a place with acompetent and decisive administra-tion, but now I know differently. Thecollege is being reckless.”“All I know is that things werebetter before, when the doors wereunlocked,” said Kyle Normand ’12.After realizing that he was describingthe current state of affairs, he added,“Oh yeah. No, I meant that I wantedthe other thing. What I’m saying isthat everything was better when I wasa freshman, whatever it was like.”Despite of the online clamor, fewstudents have taken action. “Some of us were going to organize a protest,but Peirce was having breakfast fordinner and my comps are due in just
ve months,” said Small. “Regard
-less, I think our rage gave the admin-istration something to think about.”
From the Future Archives:
Dorms Unlocked, Community Disturbed
“Everything was betterwhen I was a freshman,whatever it was like.”
Some students have called re-cent rule changes ‘“the end of theopen Kenyon community.” Here’sa look at some other controver- sial moments from the history of Kenyon’s safety policy:
August 28, 1825
— Bishop Philan-der Chase conceives of a Matricu-lation Book signed by all students.Sadly, this plan brings him no closerto catching the vandals who paint-ed “Mrs. Philander Chase” on hishorse.
March 12, 1927
— Kenyon Col-lege begins hot-iron branding all in-coming freshmen to prevent nearbyDenison University from rustlingstray students.
September 29, 1972
— Plagued byconcerns over how to make the ea-gerly awaited Student Union a truesafe haven for the community, col-lege administrators resolve the issueby deciding never to build it.
May 10, 1980
— Rattled by anopening-night showing of
, the Board of Trusteesmakes the unpopular decision todeadbolt all doors on campus andturn on all the lights in every room.
February 30, 2007
— In a triumphof grassroots campus activism,twelve brave student senate rep-resentatives unanimously defeat aproposal to install K-Card locks onKenyon dorms.
From ‘Tagging,’ page 1.
Special Report: The K-Card Debate
ID ear tag. The K-Tag, which con-stantly broadcasts a weak radio sig-nal, will supplant the often malignedK-Card in opening locked doors,making campus purchases, and pro-viding entry to the Gambier Grill.“The switch over to RFID technol-ogy is a long time coming,” said Ke-
nyon Security Ofcer Brock Eivaz.
“You look at Yellowstone NationalPark where they’ve been tagging andtracking their wolf population foryears, and it’s just disgraceful howfar behind we’ve fallen. How can theCollege be expected to keep a studentsafe without knowing their location,migration patterns, and heart rate?”Despite the support of Eivaz and
other College ofcials, the K-Tag
plan has met staunch opposition fromthe student body. The issue has beenhotly debated over Allstu, where se-niors and freshmen alike complain of feeling mistreated.Despite the vocal criticism of thestudent body, Nugent claims that theBoard of Trustees remains undaunt-ed. “Our next target is Middle Path,which has sadly grown obsolete overtime. We plan to install a state-of-the-art system of industrial livestockharnesses to safely hoist students toclass on time. It’s all in the interest of
lling each of you with as much raw,
steaming education as your fragilebody can handle.”
The proposed changes would affect all doors on campus.
By Clams Casino OLIN LIBRARY — All was quietwhen Nicholas Appleburn ’14 report-edly walked into the men’s room inLower Chalmers on the Monday afterThanksgiving break. “That bathroomis my secret lair. I call it the Room of Requirement,” noted Appleburn. “It’salways there when I need it. I canlock the door to the stall and the outerbathroom so I can really be sure noone’s going to interrupt me.”When Appleburn felt a pressureincrease in his lower abdomen while
writing his nal paper on Dickens,
he realized it was time to pay a visitto the hallowed hall. At the strokeof midnight, Appleburn lowered his
milky white derriere, ecked with
patches of raven hair, onto the ceram-ic toilet seat. Hesitating a moment inanticipation of the cold, his buttockstrembling with tenderness, he nestledhis privity onto the basin’s rim.Clenching and releasing hissphincter, Appleburn began to movehis bowels. It soon became apparentthat this was no ordinary meadow
mufn. “I was like, Wow, I don’t
think I’ve pooped this much inmonths. Then I realized, Aw man,this is the Thanksgiving poop. This isThanksgiving dinner.”It was a poop for the ages, a poopfor all time, a poop for all seasons.After ten minutes of rocking backand forth, coaxing the sordid beastfrom his rectum, Appleburn resortedto new methods, alternating betweendeep breathing and shifting weightfrom left to right butt cheek. At the
fteen–minute mark, the tail end of
the giant poop neared the aperture,slid out and plopped into the waterwith a satisfying splash.As Appleburn turned to bid fare-well to his ordure, he noticed some-thing peculiar. The giant poop beganto stir. Appleburn became frightenedas it started quaking, turning violentlyabout in the murky liquid. The fresh-man wanted to run for the door, but
his piqued curiosity held his feet xedto the linoleum oor.
Out of the brown mess peeked a
sharp beak and a eshy protuberance.
A head and neck poked out, squawk-ing as it came. Like a phoenix risingfrom the ashes, the Appleburn fam-ily’s Thanksgiving turkey rose fromNicholas’s poop. The poop turkeyspread its majestic wings, drippingwith excrement.“Nicholas,” the turkey’s voice re-verberated, “Nicholas, I have some-thing very important for you. Reachinto my mouth.”Eyes wide with fear, Apple-burn nodded at the renaissance of his Thanksgiving dinner and did asthe sage bird demanded. In the tur-key’s mouth, Nicholas Appleburnfelt something cold and rough. Hegrasped it and pulled forth a shiningsilver sword with a ruby-encrustedhilt and the inscription “Vive memorleti, memento vivere, memento mori”on the blade.“It’s a sword of remembrance, mychild,” squawked the turkey. “Re-member the turkeys that have diedso that you might feast upon themin copious quantities. Remember theturkeys next Thanksgiving when youslather their carcasses with cranberrysauce and boiled fat. Remember theturkeys when you eat your cold gel-atin-like turkey cold cuts in PeirceServery. Remember the turkeys . . .Remember the turkeys . . . Remem-ber . . .” With that, the poop turkeytouched his wing to the lever and
ushed himself down the toilet drain.
“Remember . . . Remember . . .”Appleburn has reportedly ceaseduse of the Lower Chalmers basement.“There’s too many memories there,”laments the freshman. “The poop tur-key certainly elevated my awarenessof animal rights, but I don’t need torelive that experience every time Idrop the kids off at the pool.”
Reborn Clairvoyant Thanksgiving Turkey Delivers Gravy Message