Post 5: Volleyball game

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

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"

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

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

“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.