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Sniff
creators keep identities under wraps A man sits in the back corner of Mama’s Pizza wearing a plastic nose taped to 1970s style sunglasses, a fake black beard and long brown wig and a red hat that says “50: Still wild and crazy.” As a table full of college-aged customers stare and laugh, the manager of the establishment approaches the table. “Is
everything OK over here?” he asks. “Yes, we are just having an interview,” the disguised man said. “The cooks are scared of you,” the manager said. “They think you are here to rob them.” “No, I am not here to rob them,” said the man with the fake nose, who would not reveal his identity and asked to be called Cornelius. “This is for anonymity. That’s the only reason.” Cornelius did not rob the restaurant, but he had his reasons for masking his identity: He is the co-founder of The Sniff, the satirical newsletter placed next to TCU Daily Skiff newsstands that pokes fun at campus figures and the daily happenings of the university. Even though The Sniff has been met with fanfare from students, Cornelius said he doesn’t want anyone to know who is behind the fake newsletter. “With anonymity, you can lampoon sections of TCU society you are even a member of yourself,” Cornelius said. “There is no pressure from any professors or other students. ... We are not doing this to make a name for ourselves. We are doing it because we believe in what we are writing.” Cornelius said The Sniff, which he said is printed biweekly and has a circulation of 500, draws its inspiration from The Onion and “The Daily Show.” In each story, he said an implicit message is mixed in with doses of absurdity and fiction. “It seems at first that it is just a good laugh, but it disguises like that,” Cornelius said. “It actually says something a lot of the time. Not every time of course.” The message is neither liberal nor conservative, Cornelius said, but a criticism of what he calls “tunnel-vision.” He says TCU students tend to take themselves too seriously. “(Tunnel-vision) is very obvious when it happens in America, when people are totally unaware or, worse, don’t care what lies outside their world, outside their country,” Cornelius said. “It is unfortunate when it happens on the national scale but that is kind of understandable. What is really funny is when it happens on a smaller scale. Like petty microcosms, like high school cliques whose members fail to see how silly and insignificant their mini-society is. We see the same thing at TCU.” Two common targets are the Greek system and the M.J. Neeley School of Business. In the first issue of the fictitious newsletter, March 18, one story focused on fraternity and sorority members protesting the Common Undergraduate Experience for being “too much of an imposition upon the collegiate experience of partying and networking.” In the April 1 issue, another story was about the business school successfully leading a drive to change the C in TCU from Christian to Capitalist. It also included comments from Satan and Jesus Christ, who was “deeply disappointed” that TCU “would fire me.” Cornelius said that although The Sniff certainly has its favorite targets, the paper doesn’t mean to go after anyone in particular. “We have no vendettas against any groups,” Cornelius said. “We don’t believe the chancellor is Satan and we need to take him down. We are basically an equal opportunity offender.” Cornelius said he writes the paper with another person (but he said they would consider submissions) and produces it at a printing company for 25 cents a copy. Both are students at the university, he said, but he wouldn’t clarify what his major is. He said he wasn’t a journalism or business student. The two pay for the costs themselves, he said, but “if somebody wants to send us money, that’s fine.” “This shows that we are not trying to take a profit from this,” he said. “We are not trying to get fame out of it. We aren’t trying to do anything but print satire.” And keep their identities secret. Cornelius stuffed his belongings into a box and walked out of the restaurant as employees and customers eyed his every move. As he walked away in the pouring rain, the disguise never left his face. Brandon
Ortiz |
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TCU Daily Skiff © 2002 |
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