ENG 001: Language & Writting

Final Entry

2007-12-10T13:04:00.000-06:00

In the video for the song Any Man of Mine by Shania Twain we find ourselves in the middle of a country scene embodying everything from denim vests to pastures to horses, cows and pickup trucks. My family is a farming one and this video appeals to my memory of my first horse, the one dad bought for me when he finally decided I could graduate from my pony. His name was Worms and he was a sorrel Quarter Horse. He was my birthday present when I turned 8 and we were instantly best friends. He had no markings on him except for a perfect white diamond, which sat directly between his big brown eyes. He was about 15 “hands”, the standard unit for horse measuring high, so he wasn’t all that big. His height, or lack thereof, made it possible for me to climb up on him unassisted and allowed me to saddle him myself. It wasn’t long before Worms and I became best friends. Whenever I crawled through the fence to see him I would be able to hear his large hooves pounding over to great me with a gentle nudge on the shoulder with his soft velvety mussel. Whatever my whim or fancy Worms was along for the ride. He would trod slowly through a river or kick up his heels and fly through a corn or wheat, all I had to do was ask. When I entered my senior year of high school I decided that some other little girl deserved to experience the joy that Worms had brought into my life, and I sold him to a little neighbor friend of mine. It marked, to me, the end of much of what brought me simple joy when I was younger.

On of the first experiences I had with the band Yellowcard was through this video for their song Ocean Avenue. In the opening clip of the video the lead singer/ main character of the video is wearing a black starter jacket with yellow stripes down the sleeves and along the collar. When I was in the 4th grade it was the “cool thing” to have a starter jacket, generally your typical Wal-Mart brand, and wear it every day when were let out of class for a short stint of recess. The jackets ranged in colors from greens to yellows, and usually embodied a secondary accent color for sleeves, or showed themselves as stripes down the sleeves or collars, or perhaps even a bold strip across the body of the jacket. This trend crazy got so out of hand at my grade school that the kids in my class went so far as to start their own “Starter Jacket Club”. With only about 15 kids in my class the club rapidly grew to a size, which warranted it a playground legend. Naturally, seeing the craze that was unfolding, I begged my mom for a starter jacket until she relented and picked one up for me when she next visited Wal-Mart. It was blue with white sleeves and white striping along the collar. It was perfect! Whenever I slipped into it I marveled at the slickness of the lining against my arms and the warmth it always provided. Sadly, when I approached the “grand master”, aka- leader of the club I was told that I was not allowed to join the club due to the fact that I “didn’t talk”. Naturally I was crushed, however I still sported my starter jacket every chance I got.

This video for Matchbook Romance’s song Promise depicts the band playing in what appears to be a teenage girl’s bedroom. One interesting feature of the girl’s bedroom is the mosquito net canopy, which covers the girl’s bed. When I was 11 I put up a mosquito net over my bed. The net was, by area standards, to large for my bed so much of the thin flossy material gathered on the floor and fell lackadaisically over the posts of my bed. The veil was white and hung from a screw hook my mother and I together inserted into the ceiling above my bed. The strings from the screw hook attached onto a white circular tube, about the size of a large punch bowl and from this circle hung the netting like material, which comprised the actual veil of the net. The net afforded me the ability to lie I bed and pretend I was a princess along the Nile river, for the material reminded me of what kind of luxury a princess might enjoy. Also it granted me the feeling that I was always safe in my bed. Whenever I felt alone I could crawl in my bed, close the net around me and disappear into slumber or into a daydream. My bed became somewhat of a sanctuary when the net was closed around me. It provided a barrier between reality and myself. Often I would find myself going to bed early shearly to enjoy some time where my imagination could wander freely as I gazed through the netting up to the ceiling of my room Eventually I outgrew the feeling of safety and enjoyment that the netted covering over my bed provided and took it down.

This music video for Bittersweet Symphony by The Verve is not the original one made for the song by the band itself. The video, however, is a collage of moments form the movie, Cruel Intentions, which can largely be credited with the success of the song. In one scene of this video we see the main character, Sebastian, driving his classic car down a highway with his prized leather bound journal in the passenger seat. The entire movie is based around this journal and the effect it had on people’s lives. For my 14th birthday I received a journal from a good friend of mine. Generally I am not the type to keep a journal, but something about this book inspired me to write and I did just that within its pages every night. The journal was about 10 inches long and 8 inches wide; the red cover was accented by horizontal blue squiggle lines and bound by a white metal spiral binding. The pages were an off white beige color and each individual page was headed with a verse from the Bible. I kept the book forever under the framework of my bed where it was safe from the prying eyes and hands of my mother of the cleaning lady. Journals, like this one, provide a place for people to put their thoughts in writing and express themselves without having to hear a critique from the pages to which they confide. I confided in my diary; looking back to my entries they seem juvenile, however they were an expression of a person I no longer am and of thoughts that were relevant to my life at the time. When the journal was full I purchased another, but the new journal’s pages were rough and unfamiliar and I abandoned the book after only a few weeks of patchy writing. Looking back I understand that the effort I put into writing the journal was what bonded me too it so strongly. I can still remember the crinkled sound the pages made whenever flipped over so I might begin a new page or entry. Also I remember the freedom that swept over me when I found myself with some extra time to steal away and create another personal entry within the vault of the pages.

It was my good friend Leslie who introduced me to this video for the song Jetsetter by the band Morningwood. The part of the video which intrigues me are the cuts from the theme of the video to the chorus, and the video filmed inside of an airplane. My family does allot of traveling. Since the age of 5 I have been on an airplane at least 4 times a year. In this time I have grown accustom to what to expect from the flight of your average jet setter. The seats of an airplane are generally comfortable when first you sit down in them, however this feeling usually only lasts about the first hour or so. After that time you begin to feel ever spring you are sitting on. You should always feel lucky if you don’t hear a baby screaming somewhere in your vicinity and you should feel even more lucky yet if your seat is located far away from the lavatories. The main source of amusement for a never ending flight was always found in the SkyMall brochure you could find in the pocket attached to the back of the seat in front of you. This catalogue had everything your average airplane rider could image to make them wish they were anywhere but on the plane. The one item in the SkyMall magazine that my younger self wondered over was the custom embroidered bags. For kids, they came in multiple colors, generally the bags were orange, green, red and white. Each section of bag would be a different color. The front pocket would be red and the sides would each be a different color. But, the absolute coolest part of these bags was the fact that you could have your name embroidered on the bag! It always seemed to me that as much traveling as we did I deserved a bag with my name on it.

Few videos strike such a joyous feeling in my heart as this video for the song Shimmy Shimmy Quarter Turn by Hellogoodbye. The video is set on a beach in what appears to be landscape characteristic of southern California or the white sand beaches of Hawaii. Since about my freshman year of high school my family has vacationed at several beaches across the nation for the Christmas season. This particular beach setting reminds me of the beach my uncle’s house opens up to in Hawaii. Two Christmases my family traveled to see my uncle and during our stay we enjoyed the soft sand beaches the destination allowed for. The feeling of your toes curling up soft white sand as you gaze out over a crystal blue ocean is a feeling I have never experienced at any other time in my life. The beach outside of my uncle’s house stretches about 8 to 10 miles in length. Dotted across the beach you also see about 3 lifeguard stations, such as the one depicted within this video. It is a private beach and a line of open air, cool toned houses follows the natural curvature of the beach about 100 yards off the actual breaking point of the waves upon the sand. This Christmas my family is returning to the beach house in Hawaii for Christmas. It is a place that holds carefree family memories.

An ode to the cell phone; although this song was released long before the onset of cell phone mania the line “Leave a message and I’ll call you back” is one, from this No Doubt song Spiderwebs, which has been emblazoned on the minds of America’s teenagers, adults and senior citizens as the standard line heard whenever a person reaches the voicemail of the person they intend to call. Cell phones have made voicemail a staple in nearly every citizen’s life. My own cell phone plays a message nearly identical to the one in this No Doubt song whenever a person reaches my voicemail, this also rang true with my first cell phone. I received my first cell phone during my sophomore year of high school and I believe it is safe to say that it changed my life forever. It was a candy bar style Nokia 3220. It was about 5 inches long and slid easily into my pockets. The coolest feature of my new phone was the light up sides. Whenever the phone rang the sides of the phone would light up in different patterns with the lights alternating in multiple patterns of red, green and orange. Each preinstalled ring tone on the phone came equipped with is own personal light sequence; fast loud ring tones were generally accompanied by flashes from each color at the speed of light, while slower, more docile, ring tones faded gently from one color to the next. This feature on my phone provided for hours of amusement while my friends and I were stuck on bus rides to athletic events or on our way to see a movie. Also, this light feature had a pattern for whenever I received a voicemail from a missed caller. In order to inform me I had an awaiting message the phone would gently pulse red colors from the side bars every couple of minutes or so until it caught my attention and I realized what was waiting for me. My own personal experience with my first phone, and voicemail may be more recent than the experience No Doubt sings of in their song, but essentially they are connected through the fact that cell phones, and voicemails have worked themselves into our lives for good.

My boyfriend of two years is in a band, and I have never seen an actual music video convey the true atmosphere of a small time band’s show as well as this Arctic Monkey video for the song Fake Tales of San Francisco. The video cuts between shots of the band playing on what appears to be a small bar stage in front of a small crowd and shots of some more behind the scenes esque shots of just the band and their “entourage”. The feeling of a small show is one that I have grown accustomed to in the past couple of years. Generally the stage is setup with a lead singer in the middle, guitarist on the left, bassist and sometimes there is another guitar player on the right, and drummer in the back left hand corner. The stage raises about three feet off of the ground level. In the video you see a line of show goers up against the stage, which is accurate of how the setting is played out. Generally those closest to the stage are the ones who know either a band member or those who know all the words to the songs. The farther back you progress into the crowd you generally encounter those less comfortable in the setting and those who are not as familiar with the band or their music. Least often recognized are the people in the very back, usually sitting. These girls tend to be girls like me, band members girlfriends, who sit and watch the events unfolding before them.

My First Music Video

2007-11-18T22:17:00.000-06:00

“In the midnight hour, I can feel your power
just like a pray, you know I’ll take you there”

I will admit that I do not remember the first music video I ever saw. However, I do remember watching this video very distinctly. Growing up as an only child I built my cousins up as role models and copied everything they liked, said, and did. My cousin Katherine was, and still is, an avid Madonna fan. When I was, perhaps, no older than 5 or 6 I remember Kat having this particular music video dubed onto a VHS. One weekend the who of us spent an entire weekend watching the images dance upon the television screne. Between the two of us we succeeded in acting out most of the scenes in the video. Katherine, as the oldest and there for dominate member of the cast, naturally was always Madonna and I got the challenging role of assuming the role of all the other video characters. After the weekend was over, and Katherine returned to Denver, I begged my mom to purchase the single for me; after a couple of weeks of hard begging Mom caved and I was the proud owner of my first cassette tape. Now I could be Madonna when I danced to the waves of “Like A Prayer” in my room. Today, when I pulled up this video on youtube I was immediately reminded of my cousin Katherine and that weekend we spent together. Since those days both of our music tastes have changed, however I still notice that after a weekend together I always acquire a new song, or band that I find myself building a special spot for in my music taste. I guess as silly as it sounds you never out grow the admiration and respect for those who you aspire to be like.

2007-11-12T13:17:00.000-06:00

I have a reputation with my friends as a person who enjoys “weird” things. They make fun of me for enjoying artistic movies/music and art that differ from the norm of society. However, when it comes to this video “In the Air Tonight” by Phil Collins I feel absolutely no fondness for the present “weirdness”. I dislike his face in the video, and think that it is creepy. I can even say that for the most part I appreciate songs with no actual meaning or symbolism. I thoroughly enjoyed the video “Seven Nation Army” by the White Stripes, which was criticized for being “pointless”. The first time I ever saw this Phil Collins video was on VH1’s “100 greatest songs of the 80’s”. I remember watching it and wondering what the heck Phil Collins was thinking. I was confronted with the video again in another VH1 special, “Behind the Music” and began to wonder what brought Phil Collins, an artist I generally enjoy, to write this song. When I went to my computer that day to uncover the meaning behind the madness of this song and video I expected to come across some deep meaning which was intricately woven into the lyrics. After a couple hours of fruitless searching, however, I had to except Phil Collins’ own explaination of the video, “

I don't know what this song is about. When I was writing this I was going through a divorce. And the only thing I can say about it is that it's obviously in anger. It's the angry side, or the bitter side of a separation.”

To this day whenever I encounter this video, or hear this song on the radio I generally respond by making a disgusted noise and changing the channel. It is a video I can not, no matter how much I wish I could, bring myself to enjoy in any way.

"The Ghost of You"

2007-11-11T15:58:00.001-06:00

My Chemical Romance is known as one of the most popular rock groups of modern day. Their songs have earned them top of the chart rating with nearly every single they have released, earning the band a lot of attention. However, My Chemical Romance is also known for their deep music videos, which often deal with historical events or social movements of the past. In this video “The Ghost of You” the band makes a statement on the atmosphere of World War 2. The video uses its verses to convey the image war presents at home. We see a dance, and the soldier’s proudly dressed in their uniforms at a dance. It reminds us of how different the world is when you aren’t in geographical region of the war, being directly effected by it. It also shows how the young soldiers viewed themselves as heros and of how the girls they left at home were proud their soldiers were going to war. When the song reaches the chorus the video flies into an eerie reproduction of D-Day as the US troups land on the beaches at Normandy. The video continues to flashes between the scene of the dance, and the struggle to gain control of the beach. Perhaps the flashes eventually turn into the soldier’s thoughts of home as the storms into France under fire, and as he watches his friends and comrades fall dead on the beach. The impression you get is that the soldier is thinking the very words MCR sings in the chorus.

“At the end of the world
or the last thing I see
you are
never coming home
never coming home”

The entire video hints at an eerie sense of loss, and at the tragedy that unfolded during World War 2. I also feel that the video gets is power of catharsis from the actual lyrics of the song, and the sequence from which they unfold.

Argumentation & The Public Sphere

2007-11-11T11:47:00.000-06:00

In the late winter/ early spring of 2007 a slow grumble began to grow in the United States. It began, perhaps, in the minds of the politically elite, found its way into the media and finally into the minds of the citizens of our nation. It was the noise of pre-presidential election debate. Across the United States murmurs began to arise about possible presidential candidates and about which qualities could be attributed to each of these people. One candidate discussed during this period was Nebraska’s own Senator Chuck Hagel. Up until this point Hagel was best known as a 2 term Republican senator of Nebraska, avid opposer of the war in Iraq, Vietnam veteran, entrepreneur and native Nebraskan. While in congressional office he became a prominent political figure and gained the reputation of a “liberal republican”, a reputation that many thought would gain him bipartisan favor if he sought to run for the presidency in 2008. Although he never official announced his candidacy, a lot people believed that it was only a matter of time before this Nebraska senator jumped into the presidential race. Many were in such great anticipation for his assumed announcement that they jumped to begin work to ensure he had a foundation of supporters for his candidacy. However, as time went along he, according to some critics, missed his window of media attentive opportunity, and of finance collecting to announce his candidacy. The cartoon presented was published in August of 2007 and it presents arguments stressing just how far Chuck Hagel was from being able to consider a legitimate bid for the White House.

This picture, first published by Leavenworth Street, embodies several different strategies through which it seeks to convey its point. The picture deals with Chuck Hagel’s thought of running for the presidency, which is stated very directly through the picket sign he is holding and by the badge he is wearing. Perhaps the first thing a person notices when viewing the photo is the picketing sign Hagel is holding. When the methods used to advertise a political candidate is considered, generally the image the mind comes up with is much grander than the sign Hagel appears to be waiving on his own behalf. The sign appears to be homemade, lacking any special detail or slogan, and tacked onto a wooden stick. This method of campaigning is actually quite humorous when we compare it to the mudslinging television ads, and detailed banners and fliers we usually see revolving around a presidential election. Also the badge Hagel wears appears to be rudimentary, bare skeleton of a mere idea that Hagel could be considered as a candidate for office. The illustration seeks to convey, through the lack of any surrounding images other than the central figure itself, that even if Chuck Hagel sought a presidential bid it would probably not gain enough notice to be in a position from which he could effectively run a campaign. One of the strategies we see used over and over again in this argument is the cause and effect strategy. The image conveys the point that if Chuck Hagel chose to run for the presidency it would result in him not being able to put together an efficient campaign due to his lack of resources and due to the late start he would be getting off the blocks. The image also classifies Senator Hagel as a less than note worthy presidential candidate, through the “army of one” comment, by stressing his lack of resources necessary to run a campaign, such as press attention, organization and planning, and by this point time as well. It is interesting also to take an in depth look at how the image shows the argument that Chuck Hagel’s chances of seriously, and successfully seeking a presidential bid are slim to none. The image is structured to embody a mock campaign rally, which might be used by a candidate’s supporters to seek further support for the candidate. The ironic part, the part that makes a statement, about this image is that Chuck Hagel is starkly alone in the image, apparently without any fellow supporters/ or ralliers, which continues to stress all the things Hagel lacks to build a candidacy. Also the lone statement at the bottom emphasizes just how obscure the author feels the validity of citizens assuming Hagel to be a strong candidate for the 2008 election to be. This image also shows this lack of support to Hagle’s campaign by not picturing anyone around him, which effectively to emphasizes to the viewer just how alone he would be in his campaign efforts if he had decided to run for office. The animation done to the figure of Hagel within the cartoon also can be viewed as a statement about the whispered candidacy of Nebraska’s senator. The fact that Hagel is wearing a war helmet speaks to the fact that, had the campaign been managed differently, he might have been able to run an effective campaign for the oval office. The helmet symbolizes Hagel’s resistance to the Iraq war, which is a central issue in the upcoming election. The illusion to this fact shows that Hagel was not in want for a platform to run on, or for the ability to be the next president, but rather that, through mishandling of his pre-campaign work, he fell behind on putting together the necessary pieces of shaping a campaign, such as a wealth of campaign money or an early shotgun into headline news to gain exposure. Also, as the image is analyzed we notice that the Hagel’s head appears to be crushed in. The animation of the head is far from being comparable to the actual structure of Hagel’s face. The image of the squeezed face is another analogy to how Hagel was seeking to jumpstart his campaign when he was squeezed for time beyond that necessary to build a practical campaign.

When we apply rhetorical appeals to this argument we see that it appeals mainly to Logos and Pathos. We see the image’s appeal to logos in that it can be seen as a rational argument. It is rational to assume that Chuck Hagel’s lack of support, and mishandled pre-campaign activity played a large role in him not announcing a bid for the White House. The pathos of the argument comes from the appeal of this argument to the reader’s sense of humor. The figure itself is comical and also there is dry humor and sarcasm implied through the use of the US Army’s tagline about standing alone. When the army uses the slogan “an army of one” it brings about the feeling that one person can make a difference, however, in the image we look at it seems to be more of a slapstick joke that someone may assume that Hagel, as one lone man, could actually work his way into a presidential bid.

So is did Chuck Hagel have enough support and resources to make a bid for the Republican ticket? The author of this photography certainly believes that his idea of running is joke-worthy. Also it is apparent, from the fact that he didn’t announce his candidacy, that some of the claims the photos held true not only in the mind of the author, but also in the mind of Chuck Hagel himself.

Post 9: Xanga Reminiscence

2007-10-17T23:56:00.000-05:00

At the beginning of my sophomore year I one day noticed my friend on a web page I had never seen before. When I asked her about it she quickly introduced me to the world of blogging. The sight was Xanga, and within about a 2 month period about 7 of my real close friends had developed sights of their own. It was like nothing we had ever experienced. We were free, free to express our emotions and to communicate with each other at all times of the day without tying up our home phones (none of us at this point had cell phones). We blogged about our love lives, friendships, disappointments, exciting events, family, pets… the list went on and on. It was the period during which our friendships were the closest. It was easy to comment suggestions and celebrations on other’s pages, and it was easy to express your emotions when you knew that somewhere one of your friends was going to log on and share them with you. Maybe it was our adolescence, or maybe it was simply the thought that something in our lives was simple, but blogging became the center of our world. As we got older, however, our posts became less frequent and our friendships began to unwind themselves. By the time the end of my senior year Xanga was just a place we visited for a melancholic reminiscence or for a laugh about the things we toiled over in our earlier youth. This experience makes me wonder about all the things we were infatuated with in our youth that diminished in value in our life as we age.

Post 8: Response to Nebraskans dropping land lines in favor of cell phones

2007-10-14T22:22:00.000-05:00

America is quickly becoming “the cell phone nation”. And although I knew that the number of cell phones in the world was growing, I was surprised when I read the article that in Nebraska this growth is being countered by a loss in the number of landlines. I guess it was fairly naïve of me to be surprised by this information, but I grew up in a small town where cell phone reception is labeled sketchy at best. I did some research and a basic phone line in Nebraska can be expected to cost somewhere in the ballpark of $60.00 a month; this service would provide the service to the whole family. On the contrary a cell phone plan, for 2 users, averages about $100.00 a month (including tax). So why is it that the Nebraskan people are so willing to pay more money for the cell phone? I believe the answer is mobility. Our culture has become fascinated to see how much of our lives we can pack into the smallest gadget possible. We have grown from a nation who had one phone line, in the house, per family to a nation with a phone line, and a computer, to a nation who has a phone and a computer built together in our pocket as we stroll down the street. Compact is the way to live; almost cell phone carrier in Nebraska, and the world feels lost without the gadgets that connect us to each other. And yet as we increase our communication with each other it could be said that the communication is less personal then before. Our new ultra modern communication devices (aka- cell phones) allow for a whole new mode of communication: text messaging. Rather than picking up our phones and calling someone people can now simply “shoot someone a text” and avoid voice communication all together. Mobility of communication has certainly become a standard presence in the lives of American teens, businessmen, and ordinary people.

Free Write: Encounter with a Rubik Cube

2007-10-10T17:14:00.000-05:00

During the summer between my sophomore and junior I traveled with a choir group throughout Europe. In the span of 17 days we traveled through 8 countries, and sang in some of history’s most interesting sights, such as Saint Marc’s Basilica in Venice and the John Wesley Chapel in London. However, despite the magic of the places I experienced on this trip, one of my chief memories from this trip is of Zebadiah Ziggenbein. Zebadiah had a special interest, Rubik Cubes. As we rolled through the snowcapped hills of Switzerland, and meandered across the green plains of Germany I watched Zeb struggle to master his Rubik Cube. Once, at a pit stop in Lichtenstein I found my concentration drawn once again to the sight of Zeb struggling with his obsession. Blue left, yellow acrossed two turns vertical, one turn horizontal; it was a pattern that enthralled me. However, I soon noticed an elderly man also studying Zeb and his cube. The man appeared to be in his mid 80’s, with cotton ball white hair and very little of it at that. He hunched over as he took in the sight of Zeb’s young features. Then he moved toward Zeb and coolly lifted the cube out of his fevered hand. The old man gritted his teeth and began working on the cube. I continued to watch this encounter and to my astonishment only a moment later the man held up the perfectly completed cube, muttered something in what I assumed to be German, dropped the cub into Zeb’s hands and strode away. The feat that had just taken place in front of me was amazing; I had no idea that solving a Rubik Cube could be accomplished in such a short matter of time.
I got an email from Zebadiah the other day. He sent me some pictures of his Rubik Cube styled 19th birthday cake and told me that he had solved a cube yesterday in a mere 19 seconds. I remember watching him toil over his cube so vividly, and I found myself excited to hear his latest progress. What interests me though is that despite my fascination with Zeb’s hobby, and despite the admiration I felt for the old Lichtensteinian man I never myself sought to so much as purchase a Rubik Cube, let alone attempt to solve it. I guess that it is a testimony as to how some things are better left a mystery. I would rather continue to marvel at the accomplishments of others than to reach out and attain them myself. However, I am sure that some of my quarries hold the same fascination with out longing for other people. Perhaps it is merely an issue of interest, or of motivation. Or maybe we feel that, although humans are generally striven to be the best, this small feat which makes us inferior serves a purpose to keep our own ego’s in check and allows us to sit back and wonder.

Observation and Reflection: The Lincoln Children's Museum

2007-10-07T23:17:00.000-05:00

It is with anticipation that I walk through the gates leading into the Lincoln Children’s Zoo. Calmly I whip out my wallet and supply the $6.00 entrance fee to the attendant at the gate, and step into another world. Above me I see the thick canopy of shrubbery, certainly not native to Lincoln Nebraska, and breath in the scent of a place much different from the bustling city I just left behind. However, the place fails to mask its location completely, for I can still hear the steady whir of 27th street over the gates behind me. The path leads to a sign that says “Begin Your Journey Here” and I smoothly take a left turn and begin my stroll through the grounds of the zoo. Past me runs a small girl, dressed in a shade of blue that, ironically, matches the exact shade of her father’s shirt. Her face contains unmasked ecstasy at the journey she is ready to begin, and behind her the father’s face contains joy at the sight of his daughter all of a tither. I am sure that as a child I was naïve to the details of my surroundings when I entered the zoo. But now, 10 years later in my life, I take them in. The trees are magnolia trees and the shades of green vary from the deepest of hunter, to a light shade of mossy green and finally dull down to a peaish green color that reflects the oncoming change of season.
As I start my own “journey” through the zoo I stop and linger at the cage of the Black and White Ruffed Lemur. He looks me dead in the eye, not with the amusement of the monkeys I previously encountered, but with merely a “what are you looking at” expression. I sit down on a black bench and begin to absorb the environment of my lemur “friend”. There are several balls in his cage, which look like they have never enjoyed a moment of attention. Also, I pause to read his information plaque, which tells me that he is a tree dweller from Madagascar, and that he enjoys eating leaves and fruits off the rainforest canopy. The plaque goes on to describe the physical characteristics of the lemur, and the mating habits it enjoys. Also, I noticed the emblem, which codes this breed of lemur as an endangered species. I continue to eye the lemur and notice that behind his glare there seems to be a melancholic sadness in his eyes. Perhaps it is a result of his captivity.
Later, after I resume my spot on the bench, a young woman comes up next to the cage and pulls out of her bag an art book, and water colors. She begins to splash away the figure of the Black and White Ruffed Lemur. I watch her as she mixes and blends the colors in a tremendous hurry. After she is done I chance a glance at her work and label it cursory at best, for in her hurry she seemed to miss both the glare, and underlying sadness provoked by the lemur. As she walks away I wonder if this is the reason for the look I received from me lemur friend. This young woman strove to depict the lemur, without taking a second to understand it, or to try to look at it any deeper than a mere image in a cage. Her fever in producing her work stuck me as a token of the way people conduct their lives daily. Thus far I had noticed that the zoo goers were content to only gaze upon the occupants of the zoo themselves, and had little time to read the lengthy descriptive paragraphs about each animal that I found so fascinating, and even less time to linger and study the animals. I guess it is symbolic of how people spend their lives. We are in such a hurry to move from one task, event, or experience to another, or just along our daily path, that we don’t take the time to stop and look deeper into what it is we are experiencing. The inability to find time may be one of many downfalls of our culture today. It surely can not be possible for us to understand the path we take, or the things that cross it, if we can not take the time to mull things over, or to dig deep into the emotions in them.
Continuing on along the path I notice I young boy, gazing at a majestic camel. As my senses move on from the sight of a taupe headed boy dwarfed by a camel I hear the sound of his father calling to him to hurry. The boy continues to point and giggle at the humps on the camels back and the father continues to stress about his son’s, in the father’s eyes, unwarranted attention to the camel. The camel strolls over to the boy and the boy reaches out and swipes his hand across the hair covering one of the camels long lanky legs. Finally the father relents his useless efforts to distract the boy and walks over the fence and places his hand upon the camels shoulder. The two stand there, man and son, and take in the camel, and for a second, the father seems to let go of his anxiety as he murmurs to the camel, and to his son in turn.
In this instance the zoo provided for a momentary pause in the frustrations of the father, and he and his son made a memory that will probably stand for years to come. Is this the real purpose of the zoo? Maybe in this instance the man was allowed access beyond the clouded realms his world knows to an actual image of what his life is about. Life is defined by the moments we live, and what we choose to take from them. Everything I have taken in thus far leads directly back to how humans live their daily lives. Are we all just monkeys in a cage? Satisfied to look only as long as we can draw simple enjoyment from what we see, and too scared to look past the obvious and discovers something new about life, or about ourselves. Life is not a one-path journey; it is a wilderness to be explored. Staying safely on the path, as most people do, is no doubt the easiest and least risky way for us to live. Is that the right way for us to lead our lives? Wouldn’t it be better if we took the time to enjoy what life has given us, and to understand our surroundings? Henry David Thoreau once wrote:

“We live but a fraction of our life. Why do we not let on the flood, raise the gates, and set all our wheels in motion? He that hath ears to hear, let him hear. Employ your senses.”

People were meant to live, not to rush around, to busy to read the plaques of life. Life is the experiences we take from it, and experiences come from knowledge, which comes from letting our guard down, and opening ourselves to something new. The zoo is only one speck of an example of how humans cut their lives short, by failing to stop and “smell the roses”, or to take anything but a clouded memory from the experience. Ought the man been more willing to stop and enjoy a moment with his son immediately rather than trying to bring the moment to a screeching stop? Surely the artist would have been better satisfied to take the time to better understand her object, for maybe then she could have captured it correctly. People should adopt the attitude of Black and White Ruffed Lemur, and gaze past the mundane and seek to understand the world, better than to merely see it. The only reason we are jumping monkeys is because it is what we choose to be.

Post 7: Lincoln Drive

2007-09-23T17:12:00.000-05:00

The video “Lincoln Drive” is interesting in many aspects. I believe that the purpose of the video is to wet the appetite of both tourists and native Lincoln residents to explore the city. However, he virtual tour is somewhat cursory and only scratches the surface of the major attributes the city of Lincoln has to offer. One apparent flaw of the video is the laps of some 20 seconds at the beginning of the video before the actual footage begins. I was curious that the creator of this video chose to leave out some of the attractions that he did, such as the various museums and the zoo. However, the flybys of the major landmarks of Lincoln show the viewer not only an image of the places, but gives them life by letting the viewer see them in a live setting rather than just picture form. Also, the life feed provides a great visual of the streets and flow of Lincoln. This flow gives the viewer a feeling of action and movement in the city rather than the stale feelings left by mere photographs. The music, as well as some of the aspects of the video (such as the American flag at one point in the video) conveys that Lincoln provides a very homey, welcoming feel linked directly to the images the viewer sees. The speed of the video gives some aspect of symbolizing the speed of the city, and serves as a way to keep the viewers attention, while when the video passes something it views as important the slower speed adequately designates the focus as noteworthy. To the native Lincoln resident viewing the video from somewhere other than the city itself the video no doubt provides a channel for the melancholy of home. The end clip of the video, depicting the billboard reading “Be a Tourist in Your Own Hometown” provides a great last reminder as to the purpose of the video.

Post 5: Volleyball game

2007-09-19T22:26:00.001-05:00

When I was in High School I played volleyball. In fact my life completely revolved around every aspect of the game. Tonight I went to a volleyball game for the first time since I played in my own last game last November. It was exhilarating to witness the game that I loved once again. The gym smelled of light sweat, which was only felt by those closest to the court, as the cool air of the air conditioning filtered through the crowed. The shoes squeak as the players take the floor, and being to work about in their quest for a victory. Suddenly you begin to hear the babble of the players communicating with each other in a language all their own. You can see their pulse through their neck, and the tension they feel seeps into the crowd. The squeaky shoes are joined by the soft snap crackle and pop of the ball as it contacts first the passer’s forearms, setter’s fingertips, and finally the hitter’s palm. If you look over to your neighbor you are likely to witness them eating popcorn, or letting a crisp coke run down their throat. Glancing to side of the gym you see the cheerleaders clad in their uniforms and shouting out encouragement to their team. It is amazing to watch the talent and skill of one team penned against that of another team of sometimes equal, and sometimes greater skill. Intermittently the sharp pierce of the referee’s whistle interrupts the game. However, when the game is going the players move in tandem exacuting their most difficult maneuvers flawlessly, and with apparent ease. Yet if you look closely you can see their muscle’s strain and pull with each movement. The closer the game is, the tenser the atmosphere. When the battle comes down to a couple points the crowd begins to roar behind it’s team, helping to drive them onward. When the game comes to a close the tension breaks, and emotion floods over and shallows out. The game tonight filled me with memories of my own games, yet it was interesting to view the game from the point of a spectator, rather than of a participator.

Post 4: Response to Nebraska's State Capitol Building

2007-09-16T23:04:00.000-05:00

History and politics have always been a sure point to draw my attention. When this assignment was given I was sure that other students would share my original idea for a topic, and my quest for individuality drove me to decide that I was going to find a completely unique place to write about. However, as I drove around Lincoln yesterday afternoon I found myself drawn to the State Capitol, and realized that maybe it was just the place I was supposed to write about after all. Gazing at the state capitol for its architectural structure is only slightly engaging. I mean yes, the Sower on top is neat, and the lawns are beautiful, but the true charm of the capitol occurs when you think about all that happens within its walls, and in what the building stands for. The building swims out on the prairie as a symbol of power. It represents the unification of a state, and is a center point for the people of Nebraska to be proud of. After all it truly is the figurehead to Nebraskans of a government that they alone can profess to run. Inside the building decisions are made that not only effect Nebraska, but which have also resulted in legislation enacted by the national government that have effected the nation as a whole. It is interesting to think that within those walls Nebraska state the bar for national legislature blocking trade with apartheid South Africa. To matter what age of person views the state capitol, it is a figure that spurs very patriotic emotions. No doubt it is a piece of architecture that will dominate that prairie skyline of Nebraska for generations to come. It can also be assured that is rough outer shell will hold for a long time, just as the democratic values practiced inside it have.

Post 3: Response to "Women of power in Nebraska"

2007-09-12T23:03:00.000-05:00

Women and power, the struggle is ages old. It is often said that we live in a nation where, although women claim equal rights, they have to fight harder to get to power. Here in Nebraska we like to think that our state leads “the good life” and that children are raised in tolerant environments. Growing up, in a small town, I was taught that I could do whatever I wanted to do; and I was never exposed to the actuality of how hard attaining those goals might be. “Women of power in Nebraska” written by Joanne Young, a woman, deals with the lack of women in power in our state today. Prior to reading this article I had never really thought too much about the role that women played in our state’s power positions. During my junior year I met Laurie Smith Camp, a Nebraska Federal District Judge, at the state Mock Trial Competition. I walked out of the room that day not fully appreciating the fact of what she had achieved, and how few women held similar offices of power in my own state. In fact as I read through the article the numbers that flew at me astounded, shocked, and frustrated me. I, who consider myself a fairly knowledgeable person in politics, had never even thought of the gross disproportion of political positions held by women.
As I continued to read the essay many thoughts raced through my head as to what lead to this lack of women in power. My first instinct was that our previously chauvinistic state was slow on the upswing at allowing access to powerful positions to the women of our state. But he more and more I thought about the problem, the more I realized that the blame must also fall on the women of Nebraska. Women can’t be expected to stumble into positions of power, because, well that’s not exactly how men get into those positions either. So what does that say about the women in Nebraska? Are we in fact disinclined to reach for the brass ring of political, and influential power? History shows that Nebraska holds breakthroughs for women into power positions, such as the 1986 governor’s race, where two women ran against each other in the gubernatorial race.
The lack of women in power positions in Nebraska is not limited to the political field. When I read on in this article I found that this shortage or women stretched to the business world too. Also I was inclined to laugh at the surveys claiming that a vast majority of women are concerned about the domination of the cooperate world in Nebraska by males. Indeed this vast majority must not be working very hard to correct the tipped scales, or things would be different, or at least abandoning harsh standstill for some progressive movement.
As my reading of the article came to a close I was forced to conclude that the lack of women in power in Nebraska is not through social fault, but through the fault of the women of this state themselves. I believe that if women want power, they should reach for it, and I also firmly believe that if you work for something it will eventually come to you in some shape or form. I wish that things were different, I really do; but it is hard for me to sympathies with a plea that I feel does no good, if no one is willing to step up and change it.

Post 2: Response to Telephone Museum visit

2007-09-09T23:20:00.000-05:00

Strolling through the Frank H. Woods Telephone Pioneer Museum is literally like taking a walk through time. The museum tells the story of the evolution of the telephone, and more specifically the evolution of the Lincoln Telephone and Telegraph Company. For the average history nut, gadget fiend, or even curious explorer, wandering through and gazing at generations of telephones is a thrill. However, the true enjoyment, which I enjoyed, came from the stories others told while we were in the museum. As we wandered through the room of the museum portraying an old fashioned switchboard operating system I fell into conversation with a middle to elderly aged man, my guess is mid 60’s, touring the museum with his wife. It was neat to see his eyes rived to the systems as he told stories of how as a youth, he was told that the old community lines were a source of sharp gossip, and enriched entertainment. He described the thrill that one felt from eavesdropping on another party’s conversation. “The Trick” he said, “was not to let the other parties hear the click as you picked up or replaced the receiver. He explained how the tell tale click was the sign that someone was listening in on your conversation and how more than once he was told off by an angry neighbor as he was discovered listening in on a conversation.
I went to this museum with my roommate and my boyfriend and each of us enjoyed telling the tales of each phone we remembered. My boyfriend recalled how his relatives in cattle country still rely on the 80’s bag phones for communication out in the fields, and how these now out of date communication devices still provide the clearest signal. My roommate fell into a long conversation with the museum curator about the glass insulators that were used on the original phone lines. The curator explained to her how they worked, and she talked about how her grandparents had a couple of these artifacts sitting in their living room, and of how she had always wondered what function they had. As for myself, I fell mesmerized with the simple old version of the rotary dial telephone. It reminded me of the telephone my grandmother used to have in her house. I remembered playing with the circular dial style for hours, and at the marvel of how much different Grandma’s telephone was from our more modern one. All three of us exclaimed at the Mickey Mouse and light up telephones and were captivated for hours by the old dial boards used by operators.
After we departed the museum all three of us jabbered about how cool the museum and about how much that we had learned. However, later I realized that it was as much the stories, and the displays that had intrigued us. I think it is safe to say that none of us actually read all the boards and complex descriptions. We learned through the stories shared to us through each other, and the random strangers we encountered that day. I will admit that when I left for the museum I was dreading having to wander through it. Also I think it would be foolish of me to pretend that I didn’t drag both my comrades with me on this outing, although I believe that both of them enjoyed themselves. It is amazing how much is out there that we never experience. Never in a million years would I have gone to the telephone museum, or perhaps even known of its existence. But now I do know that the Frank H. Woods Telephone Museum exists; and I think that it is safe to say that it has impacted my life with a great memory.

Post 1: Discource Surrounding The Essay

2007-09-03T22:26:00.000-05:00

“In school it [essay] is (or was) a written paper of a certain length, on an assigned subject with specified margins and neatness, due on the teacher’s desk at a certain date.”

-Ian Frazier in “The Essay as Object”

So the educational “system” continues on, the basis of teaching the modern day student the fundamentals of writing falls on a structured assignment. Although these structured essays are an adequate test, and way to practice writing essays I believe that they lack in successfully stimulating an interest in writing. It is hard for a young writer to develop their own voice and style when they are restricted to following the guidelines often set down by the average writing composition teacher. Also, to often the subject chosen for the students to work with is less than enticing to the student, and results in the misconception that writing is “work”. I believe that essays should promote thinking, and not the resuscitation of those ideas which the teacher believes should be conveyed. Samuel Butler once wrote “I never make my books, they grow, and come to me instead.” Students should be given reign on the works they are prompted to create. For instance, one student might have adequately expressed himself in less than the assigned quota body for the essay, while another student may be cramping their ideas and styles to fit within the boundaries created. Standardization pushes writers to conform to certain methods that may not allow them full reign on their creativity. As Chateaubriand once wrote “The original writer is not one who imitates, but one whom nobody can imitate.” It is hard for a student to stand out as an individual when he or she is essentially set to writing the same paper as their fellow. To often the angles at which a writer can take an assigned topic are limited. In the end it all comes down to how much the educational system is willing to risk in developing writers in order to maintain their “system”. No doubt my children’s composition education, just like Ian Frazier’s and my own, will be structured around the “standard” essay. But one has to wonder if that is really the wisest approach.

Test Post

2007-08-31T14:31:00.001-05:00

First post for ENG 001, Setion 7.