With all the impending university budget cuts, service reductions, and tuition increases, I’m oddly reminded of something —hunger pangs.

You see, both Iowa State and I vocally claim that we’re starving at the moment. The problem is, only one of us is telling the truth.

The recent Regents decision to only slightly raise tuition (3.6 percent) is supposedly going to cost the university big bucks (not to mention what its going to cost its students).

Despite the fact that the increase is 0.7 percent above the Higher Education Index, and despite the fact that the university only requested an increase of 2.9 percent, apparently the budget crunch is on.

Combined with the enrollment drop of the past two years, the proposed tuition increase still leaves the university with a thinner-than-comfortable wallet. Plans and reports regarding the situation are being generated at a furious pace; what they have to say is frightening.

It’s been suggested that university services be curtailed, six departments eliminated, and grounds maintenance frozen.

So, indeed, on the surface it looks like some changes need to be made. The numbers aren’t adding up correctly. The books aren’t balancing. Budgetary “fasting” we’re told, is in order.

Yet still, I’m reluctant to believe that the university has an empty cupboard, a situation which would necessitate either a tuition increase or an academic downscaling.

Granted, I don’t have all the numbers in front of me. However, that doesn’t make me ignorant, or out of line, so to speak. What I do have, in this case, is evidence that the university isn’t “starving.” If that were the case, shouldn’t its “stomach” be wholeheartedly growling louder than it is?

What makes me think that the university is not “starving” is the number of capital improvements just completed, currently in progress, or soon to be undertaken on campus.

Perhaps Martin Jischke, Gene Smith, and their puppet friends (e.g. “I Need Another Pound of Bacon” Martin Pomerantz, who undoubtedly bought his way back to the Regents chair) aren’t being completely honest in their overview of the budget.

I mean just what is defined as a priority? What’s the difference between necessity and luxury? Judging by the aforementioned capital improvements, it appears that luxuries do come first, and they are not even, for the most part, educationally-oriented.

Consider my examples yourself; for all practical purposes, how well will the following capital improvements serve you in your future career?

Can the average student find great value (at the sacrifice of academic enrichment) in the Olsen-Jacobsen Complex, the Hilton Coliseum addition, Soil Tilth’s extension, or the Cyclone Stadium and Memorial Union (including a $6 million food court) renovations? How about Reiman Gardens, new parking west of Clyde Williams Field, new grass at Jack Trice Field, exorbitant head coaching salaries or Lake LaVerne’s rebirth?

Mind you, these are just a few examples of current projects; look around and find your own to further exemplify my point.

While some projects like the new Health Center or even Gilman’s reconstruction, may certainly be needed, is the money really there for these projects?

If it’s not, I question why they aren’t deferred until a later time (they’re not that urgent, students like me have gotten along without them until now.) For that matter, isn’t anyone disturbed at the proposed budget of $70 million for a new Engineering MegaPlex? For that kind of money, why not build a retractable-domed petting zoo for the College of Veterinary Medicine?

Can someone tell me where the hell all this money is coming from? If the state refuses to finance education for its own sake, how can it be expected to pay for fringe benefits that give the appearance (but not substance) of an excellent university?

The same line of reasoning holds for students (who unsurprisingly have seen tuition increases every year since 1980, although tuitions elsewhere have sometimes decreased in a given year). For that matter, while outside sources may contribute some funds, they certainly don’t receive all incurred bills.

Regardless of who’s supplying the dough, several million dollars doesn’t just grow on trees, no matter how numerous they are at a scenic land-grant institution.

So all in all, what I’m saying is that the university is far from “starving.” While it may be eating “junk food,” it’s not going “hungry” at all.

What I bitterly resent, however, is that it expects students to finance its “bad diet,” when those same students can barely afford to finance their own diet.

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David Ptak is a senior in philosophy from Long Island, New York.