ENG 001: Language and Writing

O-O Final Project

2008-12-15T16:36:00.029-06:00

"Paramore", "Decode": From the beginning of the video, the singer and band members appear to be seeking refuge in a large, lush forest as the singer tells - or rather, sings, - her story. As the video progresses, the viewer can see the singer and band members alternately regarding the forest as an apparent shield from some unseen force as they freely sing or play their music, and regarding the forest as an enemy, as each band member presses back to back and gazes off with anxiety towards the end of the video. As a child, I always held both a fascination and terror of forests, which could offer shelter and adventure to the unruly, overimaginative child that I was as my friends and I learned to climb fifteen-foot poles (safely attached to harnesses) or launch ourselves through the forest using a harness and wire suspended high above the ground. As the day grew darker, however, the forest could suddenly turn into a dark, terrible maze or home for giant monsters that were constantly ready to carry you off the moment the sun set, each 'night noise' turning from the daylight hours' singing bird to the night's screeching, fanged creature. Watching this video now, the members of Paramore appear to have housed similar fantasies and fears in their childhoods, and perhaps still possess some shreds of their fascination and fear.

"Within Temptation", "Memories": The video opens with an aging woman making her way slowly up to a large, abandoned 'For Sale' home, her eyes gleaming as she hurries as quickly as her aging body will allow towards the front door. As she steps inside the house, her face immediately seems to brighten, her skin smoothing and her clothes shifting into those of her youthful years long gone by and the house reverting back to its younger state as she moves swiftly through the house, encountering what seems to be the ghost of a lost loved-one, who re-presents a gold necklace to her before she flees from the rapidly-aging house. With the exceptions of my first home - a small apartment in a modern building - and my current home, only four years old, I have always lived in houses at least fifty years old, due mostly to my father's fascination with the 'classic' style of house. As a child, I would often explore our houses (we moved -a lot-) with a sense of excitement and intrigue over who had lived in the house before us, what had happened to make the previous owners leave, and - my personal favorite - were there ghosts? I spent many hours roaming through nooks and crannies in old attics and playing games of 'drop things down the laundry chute and see where they turn up' with my friends, the pasts of the houses sending shivers down my spine as I hurried from bathroom to bedroom at night, thrilling at the terrifying thought that there could be a ghost right behind me. It seems the members of 'Within Temptation' hold some such 'memories' as well.

Apocalyptica - I don't care
by elo0806

"Apocalyptica", "I Don't Care": In the opening of this video, it is not immediately apparent that the singer and band members are playing inside a doll house. The lowness of the ceiling and impassable heights of the doorframes soon give the band's whereabouts away as the band members interact with apparently living dolls, their interactions with the 'dolls' wavering between reality and make-believe as they alternately use the dolls as violins late in the video, or have more intimate relationships with them towards the end of the song. Growing up, I always had a variety of doll houses at the ready, be they the plastic, miniscule, palm-sized versions created by Polly Pocket, the larger, more elaborate ones manufactured by companies such as Fisher Price, or large, hand-made and hand-painted houses of wood found at a garage sale for $5. Doll houses always held a sort of alternate reality for me and my friends, where we could imagine ourselves as both adults and children as we directed the lives of the ever-smiling 'mommy' and 'daddy' dolls or impish child dolls, while still allowing us the chance to return to innocent reality and leave our 'grown-up' selves behind in the parent dolls as we ran outside to throw snowballs or draw complex hop-skotch patterns across the sidewalks. While each band member in this video is male, it seems that each has still retained a sense of childhood longing to play make-believe, even as grown men. After all, I know more than one boy who played with dollhouses as a child.

"Evanescence", "My Immortal": With it's lack of color and calming music, the video for 'My Immortal' comes to highly resemble the main instrument used both visually and musically throughout the video - a piano. As the video progresses, the piano is used as both a symbol of calm as singer Amy Lee dances slowly around a fountain or rests on a rooftop, gazing up at the sky, but also representing other emotions at the same instant or closely together, such as sadness, with the strange man forlornly stroking the piano's keys while the wind around Amy becomes picks up, along with the music and the man's pace of playing. For as long as I can remember, we have had a piano in our house, an ancient, out-of-tune chunk of wood with yellowing keys and a broken bench that belonged to my grandfather when he was still alive and critiqueing music. My mother had grown up with a piano and lessons constantly at her disposal, and on more than one occasion I would find myself suddenly startled out of whatever I had been doing to listen to soft music floating up from our piano's 'place of honor' in the basement storage room, the music usually calm and soothing, though at times more slow and solemn or fast and sprightly depending on my mother's mood. As the years passed and my brother became more apt at caring for ourselves, the music became more frequent, my mother eventually teaching my brother and I to play small bits of songs, and shorter, easier songs before awing us with the way she could effortlessly play any tune we asked of her smoothly and with equal pressure on each key - double-handed - in comparison to mine or my brother's chunky one-finger tunes. Amy Lee apparently also harbors a love for the piano, as the solemn but loving presence of a piano in this video shows.

"Rihanna", "Disturbia": The setting of Rihanna's "Disturbia" creates both a sense of thrill and anxiety in the viewer as they're introduced to a miriad of 'freak show'-like contenders - an overy-muscle bound man(?), twin, gaunt men in matching tux-overalls, and half-crazed version of Rihanna herself encaged by thick metal bars and two guards standing ready outside her door. At the center of it all is the 'real' Rihanna, the eye of the storm and calm presence in the darl, chaotic scene layed out before the viewer in reference to nearly every horror film known to man. If there was one thing in my life I could always count on, it was the presence of horror films. At the first sign of fall every year, my father would immediately have his study strewn with the classics - Dracula, Frankenstein, The Mummy - in every film variation available, ranging from black-and-white to color, gory to psychologically unnerving, cheezy spoofs to nightmarish originals. In the beginning, I held little love for the creatures depicted in this films, the eeriness of gleaming fangs or raging fires usually doing little more than wake me screaming in the middle of the night. As I grew, I learned to recognize another view of these films - not just the creepy visuals and crazed monsters, but the underlying battles of good and evil and antiks of misunderstood creations longing for companionship. When my parents divorced, these largely disappeared, though, without fail, I will myself haul out one or two classic - read, 'still on VHS' - movies every Halloween, sometimes also helping to inspire my artistic style. As evidenced by the gothic, monsteresque feel of this video, these films have had the same sort of effect on Rihanna, too.

"Brad Paisley" & "Alison Krauss", "Whiskey Lullaby": With the return of the soldier at the beginning of the video and knowing the premise of the song, the viewer immediately develops a sense of anxiety at the image of this soldier walking joyfully and purposefully towards his home, a past scene of the soldier and his girlfriend or wife promising to start their family when the soldier comes home increasing the viewer's anxiousness as the soldier makes his way to his bedroom and finds his wife in bed with another man. The image of soldiers standing at attention, ready to serve their country has become a very prevelant image in the news, films, and in my friends homes over the past several years since Sept. 11th, at times commanding a sense of respect and dignity for those watching for any sign of danger to their loved ones and/or country, love and devotion in scenes depicting the soldiers and fathers of my friends returning safely home from war to be reunited with their families, holding each other tightly and grinning from ear to ear, or fear and chaos as soldiers shoot at opposing soldiers and dive out of the way of bombs... or don't. I've seen the anxiety on my friends faces when they tell me their family members are off to war again, and see the solemness in their faces when watching videos such as 'The Patriot', which I had always regarded as entertainment, a window on the past, but not the present before becoming acquainted with the families of actual soldiers. This video shows the not-so-happy ending that some soldiers might unfortunately come home to, if the situations of characters in movies such as 'Jarhead' hold any truth.

"Garbage", "The World Is Not Enough":
The video opens on a theater in 1964, where the enormous picture of a fiery-red-haired woman is glaring down onto the streets as people begin to slowly file into the theater doors. Inside the theater, the pictured woman is shown twirling around her dressing room in a blood-red dress, before leaning down to her dressing table, pulling an earring off of someone's earlobe and attaching it to her own ear before twirling once more to walk out of the room, the body of the real woman lying dead at the dressing table - the next scene flashes back two weeks and shows the construction of a robot-woman resembling the actress, who kills and takes the place of the real actress only moments before the actress/singer's show begins. One of the most unifying objects in my family has always been James Bond movies - my father and brother both appreciate them for the action sequences, be they 'Aston Martin' car chases, shoot-outs or fist-fights - my mother appreciates them for the drama and romance aspects, and I... I've always appreciated them for the ability they give me to annoy my aforementioned family members by pointing out every plothole and goof up in the films I can find. Recently, my mother started getting in on this aspect of the films with me, too, when she, my brother and I went to see 'Quantum Solace', which had possibly the worst opening sequence in the history of movie-making. My mother and I both sat in the theater feeling mildly annoyed, and after the movie, we fondly made fun of every inconsistancy in the film to the point that my brother no longer wanted to see a movie anytime, anywhere, with either of us, ever again. Judging from the fact that the robot-actress felt the need to destroy the entire audience, I'd have to assume she feels...er, felt, likewise.

Blogger-Post-Numero-Twenty

2008-12-11T14:12:00.004-06:00

A. This course as a learning experience.

I don't think I'm entirely sure how well I write anymore. I used to/still would like to think that I'm a fairly good writer for your average college student, but there is absolutely no way I am ever going to remember enough about the writing processes of rhetorical, object-oriented, etc. essays to be an English professor.

As far as my views of writing, I think I now have more respect for (good) essay writers, having seen everything that they have to remember about each style of writing in order to turn out a respectable (among other writers) piece. I was amazed to find how hard it can be to do a good example of rhetorical or object-oriented writing.

I think work-shopping with other students is god as far as finding out how easy to read and interesting your piece is, but as far as technical stuff, like grammar, punctuation, etc., peer-reviews are pretty useless. For this reason, I think conferencing with writing teachers is extremely important when working on any sort of writing project - only your teacher can give you exact, accurate pointers on how to improve your work.

MY definition of ''good writing'' is a piece that is easy and interesting to read, relates to the reader in some fashion, and is free of spelling, grammar, and/or punctuation mistakes. This is how I evaluate everyone's writing - both my own and the writing of others.

I think I can now successfully recognize a few different types of writing, but as I'm planning to be an artist, I don't really think critical essay writing is going to be too prevalent in my life after college... but, really, who knows? Several people in my family have had career-changes over the years. It could happen to me.

B. Your own development as a writer during this course.

I would like to think that my writing has improved somewhat over the course of the semester, having gone back and read some assortments of stories I'd tapped out on my laptop and realizing how much now needs to be changed to make them easier/more fascinating to read. I think I've also become a bit more 'descriptive' in my writing (as far as physical descriptions and sights, smells, sounds, etc.).

I think my strengths as a writer are in physical descriptions - smells, sounds, etc., and grammar, etc. I need to work on 'emotional' writing, though. Right now I try to avoid emotional writing because it's very touchy-feely. I think this is why I had so much trouble with object-oriented writing - it's all extremely nostalgic.

Liferaft of the Rings

2008-12-07T20:58:00.004-06:00

By the time I reached eighth grade, I had already moved countries twice, states three times, cities seven times, and houses nine times in the five years since my family had left Canada. Through all this, I had desperately clung to whatever friends I could find, hoping and praying we would not be moving again. By the time we settled in Marion, Illinois, I was enrolled in a painfully Catholic school, and starting to wonder if making friends was even worth the trouble, as my father refused to unpack in apprehension of another move. I was thrilled when was accepted into a clique of five girls who all had two things in common - they were head-over-heels in awe of their 'leader', and all absolutely obsessed with J.R.R. Tolkien's books, mainly, 'The Lord of the Rings'.

At first, I was hesitant to go anywhere near such books, having associated 'fantasy' with 'nerdy' for most of my life. However, desperation to understand their 'inside jokes' and really join in their group drove me to search out 'The Hobbit', which I was told was a prelude to the 'Rings' books.

The copy I found had been shoved roughly onto the miniscule bookshelf at the back of my homeroom class, most of it's pages torn from the binding and the pages all dog-eared or stained with food, ink or, oddly, nail polish. The next time 'silent reading' rolled around, I cracked open the pages and immediately became absorbed in the story of Bilbo Baggins and his unwitting involvement in a Dwarf-quest to recover their stolen halls and treasure from an evil dragon named Smaug.

As soon as I finished 'The Hobbit', I ran out and - having found 'Rings' to be slightly above my reading-comprehension level at the time - bought 'Fellowship' and 'Two Towers' on dvd, falling for the story of Frodo's adventures even faster than I'd fallen for Bilbo's.

Unfortunately, the clique I'd been 'accepted' into wasn't the slightest bit impressed.

"We" meaning the leader, since whatever her opinion was immediately applied to everyone else - "don't watch the movies." With that, the five of them skipped off, leaving me feeling numb as I unknowingly resolved never to be a 'sheep' again.

I've grown to become an almost nerdy 'Rings' fan, and, since moving back to almost six years ago, have started reading 'The Lord of the Rings' and 'The Children of Hurin', sought out 'The Silmarillion', and have reread my own ratty, dog-eared copy of 'The Hobbit' three times, intermitently cracking open to my favorite parts to get me through bouts of depression - knowing each time I read it, that I will never regret my decision to leave the mainstream of preppy cliques and go out on my intellectual own.

Silver Lining

2008-12-05T21:44:00.003-06:00

In my life, I have never really had a constant object to keep near me as a security blanket - any objects I held in reverence have long since been tossed into the trash by my father without a second glance, along with many other valuable (memories-wise) items belonging to my brother and mom.

However, there is one item that sits, even now, on the topmost shelf of my dresser, that was gifted to me when I was thirteen, probably the worst age of my life. Around the neck of a tye-dyed purple Beanie Baby is a small, tarnished gold cross, it's white and red gems half-missing as it sits quietly surveying the bric-a-brac that clutters my room.

I don't remember exactly when it was given to me - I think it was right before Christmas Eve, immediately before my mom and I recieved our flu shots. That night, both my mother and I became ill, purportedly after-effects the flu shots, though my mother was the only one feeling better the next morning. I quickly became less and less willing to eat, and had little to no energy to move from our couch in the living room. By the time my father's Office Christmas Party rolled around, I was lethargic and could do little more than sleep all day. After a few hours, my mother called home to check on me, and immediately ran home, sensing something was wrong. The next morning, I was hauled out to the hospital, crying with the effort of walking, and was immediately admitted with pnemonia. As they prepared a room for me, I remember pulling the cross from my neck and handing it to my mother for safe-keeping. Somehow it ended back on my neck, where it stayed for the next seemingly endless week as I struggled to breathe and, at one point, completely stopped eating. My mother stayed with me the entire time, refusing to go home to sleep and literally holding me up as I was forced to walk around the halls to help my lungs. By the time I finally regained my appetite, half the gems in the cross were gone, having been worn out and off by my continued tossing and turning as I lay in the hospital.

As soon as I got home, the cross was taken off and disappeared for a long while - it wasn't until I moved back to Lincoln from Illinois with my mother and brother that I found it again, packed in with a going-away Beanie presented to me from one of my only true friends from the hell-hole of a Catholic school I'd attended in Illinois. I carefully wrapped the necklace around the Beanie's neck, and it has stayed there for the last almost six years, a constant reminder that no matter how hopeless and miserable I feel, there is always a way through - everything will be alright in the end, even if I have to endure a period of misery before the 'silver lining'.

Thanks, mom and Mary-Beth.

Only An Elephant

2008-12-03T20:43:00.002-06:00

The first time I saw the small, ivory elephant - swaddled safely inside a clear, white film canister stuffed full off cotton balls - I nearly mistakened it for one of my teeth. Clutching the elephant tightly in my eager 5-year-old hands, I held it out to my mother, asking what it was.

As she held it up to the light, I was able to make out the small carvings of an eye, tusks, and trunk embedded in the ivory, the entire figure small enough to sit comfortable on the face of a dime.

When my great-great-grandmother was a young girl, her father took her to the circus, where she was terrified of the giant, powerful elephants parading around the ring. Shortly afterwards, her father came home with the ivory elephant, saying, 'See? Not so scary - it's only an elephant.'

After that day, the ivory elephant became a reminder to my great-great-grandmother to keep everything in perspective - never to let yourself be intimidated by a problem. Eventually, she handed the elephant down to my mother, who carried it faithfully to every one of her law exams to help her keep each situation and problem in perspective.

One day, I was told as the elephant was packed carefully back inside it's canister, I will inherit this small beacon, and until then, whenever I feel worried about some impending deadline or problem in my personal life, all I have to do is think back to that small, ivory carving waiting patiently in the back of my mother's closet and remember - it's only an elephant.

RhetResponse to 'Never Too Late'

2008-12-02T13:21:00.004-06:00

The video for 'Never Too Late' by Three Days Grace relies heavily on pathos, compare/contrast and metaphor, while kicking logos completely out the window at times.

Compare/Contrast is used extensively throughout the video, flashing between peaceful scenes from the asylum ward's childhood and her chaotic life in the asylum. In the scenes featuring the inmate as a child, the audience is given a strong dose of pathos from the overly loving, cookie-cutter family she dances with in an ideal child's room, which serves to make the agony-ridden face and frantic efforts of the girl as an asylum ward, being physically torn away from her mother and bound to her bed to keep her from hurting herself or others.

Metaphor is also extremely prevalent in this video - the butterfly, a metaphor for freedom as it lands next to the girl, bound to her bed - the angel, possibly a personification of the mental retreat the girl forced herself into to escape the abusive nature of her father - the black handprints that appear all over the young girl and her bedroom walls, leading back to the father and acting as a physical representation of his abusiveness towards her - and the hands of the father than materialize in stead of the hospital restraints, representing both a physical and mental entrapment of the girl who has gone insane from a childhood of abuse.

This is also where logos gets almost drop-kicked out the window - much of the video's storyline plays out along the lines of Lewis Carrol's 'Alice in Wonderland', with the girl's memories changing to things that can't possibly be real or are highly unlikely, including the angel in the corner of her room, the parents with the band-aid eyes, the black hand-prints all over the girl and her room, and, at the end, when the girl apparently has been lying on a bed parallel to the floor or is walking straight up the wall from her bed.

'Never Too Late' for 'Three Days Grace'

2008-11-25T14:10:00.014-06:00

((Embedding for this video has been disabled on every posting on YouTube, and Yahoo! is eating my entire post if I try to embed it from there (this is also why my posting is going up AFTER midnight, instead of when I finished and posted it AN HOUR AGO. Music video can be viewed HERE.))

As the video starts, a man dressed completely in black is shown playing the guitar. Behind him is a child's room, which starts to illuminate as the man starts singing and a child sits up on the bed. The girl gets up, moving closer to the singer, Adam Gontier, to join hands with her parents as each enters from the darkness beyond the walls of her room. The mother touches the girl's face lovingly as the father smiles and the parents and girl begin to dance around in a circle.

As the singer says 'never too late', the scene changes to a young woman being forcefully hauled through a sterile, hospital-like environment by two nurses. The singer momentarily reappears with the slightly sinister shadows of the young girl and her parents swirling visible on the wall behind him. The young woman turns back over her shoulder to look at another woman, the mother of the girl in the previous scene who is apparently grown and in an asylum, the same woman being hauled down the hallway. The older woman (the mother) is crying as she turns away from the daughter, who is pulled back along the hallway by the nurses. Darker scenes of the girl and her parents are shown behind members of the band and the singer as the music continues, before showing the daughter seemingly give in to the nurses and watch her mother go.

The scene again changes and the girl is back, with her mother and father slowly releasing her outstretched hands. The father reappears, sitting beside the girl and placing his hand against the front of her shoulder.

Anguished shots of the grown daughter's face are shown as she lies with her hair strewn around her, flashing back and forth between her grown self and herself as a child running to her bed and hiding underneath it. The flashback changes as the nurses begin to strap the daughter's wrists and feet to her bed, showing her mother and father with band-aids over their eyes as they dance with her in a circle. The shadow of her father is shown approaching her bed as her grown self struggles against her restraints, which have turned into her father's hands. Her memory then flashes back to her younger self still hiding under the bed, which is flipped over by her father to reveal her curled into a fetal position on the floor.

The scene changes again to show her younger self sitting with her father's hand still on her shoulder. She glances up at him before calmly leaving his frozen figure still seated as she approaches a number of mysteriously falling black feathers.

A monarch butterfly comes to sit on the bandages and pills next to the grown daughter as she lies strapped to her bed, and the flashback continues, showing the cause of the feathers to be a young man floating in the corner of her room, dresses completely in black and flapping two large, black wings that shed as they're flapped.

The butterfly leaves the medical table next to the now reasonably calm, grown daughter as she peers anxiously around herself, a flashback showing her sitting on her bed as a child, surrounded by black handprints all over herself, her furniture and her bed - the camera zooms out to show the paint-blackened hands of the father.

As the younger girl lies on her bed, her father and the black angel begin to fight, feathers falling as they push each other around the small room. As the feathers fall, they begin to collect around the younger girl, and also on the asylum bed around the girl, full grown. The fight between the angel and the father continues as the falling feathers increase in number and the grown girl begins to smile as her fathers hands/her restraints release her wrists and ankles. The grown girl curls into the fetal position on her hospital bed as the flashback of her father and angel fighting stops, with the father retreating. The grown girl climbs off her bed and begins to walk towards the camera, giving the impression of walking up her wall as a flashback of her younger self runs to her bed and climbs into it, her grown self smiling as she stops in front of the camera.

While I've seen this music video by Three Days Grace multiple times, I'd never really stopped to think about the storyline or the significance of said storyline in connection with the song, which is slightly ironic, considering it's one of the main things I love about this video - there's a complete storyline to go along with it.

I think the main reason that this video is so appealing to me - aside from the music - is because I was raised around a never-ending supply of horror and/or mystery movies, which allowed me a daily dose of craziness that has come to influence my own interests in movies, books, art, etc. The mystery surrounding why the young girl has come to be placed in an asylum, combined with the surreal (what I assume are) flashbacks that include fights with floating angels and band-aid-eyed parents (vaguely reminiscent of Coraline's 'Other Parents') serves to draw me in and hold my attention as I try to catch every flash of memories and scene changes between the daughter's past and present.

I also learned that every member of 'Three Days Grace' is from Toronto, Canada - where I'm from. How cool is that?

''Staring Contest" - Final Draft

2008-11-17T19:59:00.024-06:00

((Click the image to enlarge))

In cultures all over the world, death - both the occurrence and the personification of it - is most commonly viewed as a horrific reality that will eventually claim every living soul on Earth - something to be deeply feared and avoided at all costs. Soemthing that cruelly tears families, friends and loved ones apart against the well-meaning human wishes of the living that often, unfortunately, merely extend the agony and suffering of the dying by trying to hold on said loved one's life with the use of advanced technology that only serves to prolong the inevitable for only a short period of time. Rarely do the living stop to think about the comfort that Death can also bring; such as release from a painful, all-consuming mental or physical disease, or from the crippling after-effects of a cruel accident that leaves it's victims in constant pain and unable to physically care for themselves or even function properly at all, mentally or physically. Possibly the most suprising un-realized 'gift' of Death is the reunion of loved ones with their own loved ones who had already 'shuffled off this mortal coil' long before they did themselves.

Yet, in this warring world where families are so often torn violently apart by death, "Staring Contest" by Cyril Van Der Haegen still dares to show the lighter, more innocent side to an anthropomorphic figure who is more commonly associated with painful, despairing and anguished circumstances than peaceful and unifying ones, such as those mentioned in the previous paragraph.

In "Staring Contest", a balanced blend of rapport, comparisons and constrasts, analogy and humor are all used to convey the apparent message that Death is not necessarily always such a horrific and painful event as many people tend to make it out to be. By introducing the small, innocent (and, quite probably, warm and fuzzy) rabbit into what would otherwise be considered a bleak scene of death and cold, Van Der Haegen creates an illustration of a more peaceful encounter with Death, bringing a sense of comfort and friendliness into the piece - as well as the viewer - as they take in the humorous scene of the personification of Death engaging in a staring contest with a young rabbit.

As you examine the picture, you may begin to notice the recurring theme and patterns of swirls and circles used throughout the image, such as in the shape of the pendant around Death's neck or in the design embedded in the wide base of Death's scythe. It can also be found imprinted in the snow at Death's feet, and in the curving of the branches of the trees in the background or in the folds of Death's cloak.

These swirls could possibly stand as a metaphor, here meant to represent the 'mortal coil', as William Shakespeare first termed it, and serving as a reminder that Death always comes full-circle - no exceptions -, only separating loved ones for a time - everyone will die eventually, and, depending on your religious standpoint, we will all be reunited with those loved ones we have lost when Death comes full circle to ourselves, an idea that is most likely to be considered a comforting thought to the majority of us. The background of the piece itself is also very soothing to the senses, in contrast with the not-so-lively image of Death. The backdrop of this stare-off is done in multiple shades of white, a color which commonly represents innocence and purity, helping to add to the growing feeling that maybe Death is not always meant to be viewed as a horrific event, as it is often made out to be.

The white of the background also helps to convey a sense of peace in contrast to Death's bleak appearance and profession. As mentioned previously, white is commonly respected as the color of innocence, and the almost overwhelming presence of white in this piece introduces a softer touch to the scene than, for example, the use of bold reds and blacks would have done. These colors, in contrast to the clean, soft white present in this scene, could serve to heighten the anxiety felt by the viewer as they gaze on Death and perhaps cause this scene to be viewed as more of a stand-off between Death and the rabbit than a friendly game of 'Who-Can-Make-Their-Eyes-Fall-Out-First'. In using white, the artist presents us with a more peaceful scenario of mortality vs. fatality and instills a more childlike quality in the scene, by using both a peacefully-colored background and in portraying both Death and the rabbit as engaged in a childlike game - only in this case, whoever blinks first could possibly stand to lose not only the game, but their soul.

Another aspect of this painting that helps to create a sense of life and happiness is easily overlooked at first - as Death stands challenging/challenged by the rabbit, brightly colored leaves swirl around Death's cloak in a way slightly nostalgic to 'Pocahontas', (but we won't go there). These leaves, a possible anaology for life and exuberence in an otherwise dreary circumstance, greatly brighten the wary and bleak surroundings of the competitors while also creating a sense of warmth. The presence of these lively-colored leaves, in comparison with the small, innocent rabbit, helps to create an even more greatly lessened sense of fear and hostility in this relativaly bleak scene of an encounter with Death.

On the other hand, these leaves could also stand to be viewed as a metaphor for unhappy souls claimed by Death - no longer suffering from their previous mortal wounds, fears or illnesses, these souls, here represented by multiple brightly-colored leaves, are vibrant and peaceful as they swirl energetically alongside a sort of heroic figure who has freed them from their pain.

In the end, Death is still likely to be more often viewed as a menacing figure - a symbol for all that will eventually come to a close. But, thanks to Van Der Haegan's uncommon, light-hearted illustration, perhaps we can now believe that Death is not something to be so feared at all, but see it as a bringer of peace, instead.

Panda ish "Kawaii"

2008-11-07T22:55:00.002-06:00

I would be severely hard-pressed to find any sort of practical use for "Panda" by Takashi Murakami - at almost seven feet tall, five feet wide and freakishly adorable in all it's fiberglassical glory, it hardly serves any sort of function, other than perhaps a very oddly-shaped, nightmare-inducing coatrack. Luckily, my job isn't to find a practical use for it, so it's all good. On to the assignment.

Oddly enough, Murakami's "Panda" does stand to represent as many as three different cultures - Japanese, North American, and, of course, Artistic.

First and foremost, "Panda" serves as a great cultural icon for Japanese art culture and cartoon/fashion style - not only because it was created by a Japanese artist, but because it also embodies an increasingly popular artistic style favored by Japanese teenagers (commonly referred to as 'Harajuku' in the fashion world) with it's lively colors, warped patterns, creepy smile, and face that's positively kawaii, give or take the enormously face-eating tongue. No, really, stare at it long enough and I swear it moves.

"Panda" also works as a cultural icon for North American style. Ever increasing numbers of 'wapanese' teens prove that Japanese art styles are becoming increasingly popular in Western countries, sometimes creating odd mixes and clashes with our own cultural icons, which up until recently tended to be more stiff, reserved and 'classy'. In this case, the giant fiberglass "Panda" is shown standing on an antique Louis Vitton trunk, which is most definitely not a Japanese brand. Putting the two together is like fitting two puzzle pieces together to create one unique work of art.

All in all, and given the points I've already stated, I think I can safely say "Panda" serves as an artisitic form of entertainment for both Japanese and Western cultures - an enormous, loveable piece of art that combines the changing styles of two entirely different cultures, from opposite sides of the planet, into a single product that serves to seamlessly unite both cultures involved.

Now... bow to the cuteness before it licks you to death with that gigantic tongue of his... hers... whatever. And try not to stare. It's slightly weight-concious.

Scream Park of the Year

2008-11-02T14:19:00.006-06:00

Having only been to three different haunted houses (two of them designated 'Scream Parks'), I'm not horribly qualified to deem any one park 'Best of the Year', so I suppose it's going to have to be 'Scream Park of the Year According to Me Unless I Find a Better One Still Open After Halloween'. SPotYAtMUIFaBOSOAH or LOLWTF for short.

After working at the 'Carnival of Fear' over in the State Fair Park for the last month, me and most of my coworkers decided it might be fun to drive out to Omaha to see how well Scary Acres had set up ~~and also to steal some of their ideas for next year~~.

The 'Scary Acres' park is split into four sections - 'The Stalks of Terror', 'The Dark Forest', 'The House on the Hill', and 'The Master's Castle'.

'Stalks of Terror', which actually turned out to be more of a 'Semi-Tall Grasses of Apathy' was unfortunately only frightening for the approximately five minutes that we were with the belief that people were hiding in the grass to jump out and chase us with chainsaws. Obviously, there was no such luck, and after almost walking back out to the parking lot through a path someone had forgotten to close, we all turned back and found the exit to the maze...three feet from the entrance.

Our next stop was 'The Dark Forest', which fortunately started living up to the reputation of Scream Park Attraction, though not horribly well. We were split into two groups and sent off down a completely devoid of light, semi-dry riverbed inset with the occasional Giant Rock Your Ass is Going to Trip On. After a few minutes of walking, we were confronted with what appeared to be a Ninja with a giant axe who ordered us to follow him through a cold, surprisingly even darker than before path through a large patch of dead trees, which partially wound through a deserted shed and into a small 'meat-packing plant' where the tell-tale smell of gas alerted us to the next Ninja with a giant chainsaw.

Starting to feel like the trip had been a waste of $25 and and two hours of our lives, we headed to the 'House on the Hill', which looked rather imposing on it's perch well above the rest of the attractions until viewed from the side, where onlookers realized the front of the house was a cardboard front maybe 2 inches thick (though extremely detailed, so we were willing to forgive them). Once we reached the entrance, we were given a completely new set of instructions from the last two attractions - stay in a single line, and make sure you were in good physical health before entering, due to long stretches of darkness, claustrophia-inducing areas and sudden scares.

Cool.

Once inside, several of us immediately dropped our jaws at the amount of detail that had been put into the interior - it was as if we had actually stepped into a long-abandoned house, complete with caving ceiling, broken and torn surfaces and a violently obstructed staircase. We were led into the next room by a ghastly-painted woman who opened an entire wall that not even the technician from our haunted house had been able to spot. As we snaked through the deceptively large house, we squeezed through foot-wide openings in complete darkness, crawled through realistic 'caves', interrupted an attempt at waking the dead in a gothic church room and nearly lost limbs to several overly-enthusiastic monsters with an array of knives, chainsaws, axes, and meatcleavers.

'The Master's Castle' was reputed to be the most terrifying of the attractions, though I'd be hard-pressed to say if it or 'House on the Hill' was better - thinking back, I really can't remember which rooms belonged to which house.

The best aspect of the Park was the live actors who occasionally wandered through the yard at the center of all four attractions that excelled at picking out the most squeemish and freaked-out visitors. At one point, a terrified girl around 16 years old was trapped on a bridge between an advancing chainsaw-weilder and a slow-moving My Chemical Romance Gone Wrong with a five-foot-long fire axe. With both less than three feet from either side of her, she finally streaked past the axe-weilder while screaming bloody murder and didn't stop until she'd reached the other side of the park, where she immediately crouched down behind a golf-cart and had to be retrieved by her cackling friends.

Definitely recommended for next year. :D

Gag Me With a Silk Stocking...

2008-11-02T12:36:00.003-06:00

First off...

HA. I did the right assignment.

Anyway.

Growing up with a father who is a die-hard fan of anything having to do with the Victorian Era (including every Sherlock Holmes story, original and fan-based), it's not horribly surprising that I ended up loving the Sherlock Holmes stories, too. Unfortunately, liking them so much makes watching bad rip-offs of Sherlock Holmes stories especially painful.

I think the worst Sherlock Holmes-based movie I've ever watched was one in what I understand is a new series of Holmes shows produced by BBC.

'The Case of the Silk Stocking' is a good movie in itself, but as a movie based on the characters of 'Sherlock Holmes', it's horrible. Not only is it set in the wrong time period (which I suppose is slightly excusable - one of my favorite Holmes-based movies is also set in the wrong period), but it also shows Holmes doing every drug known to man every five minutes, he is increasingly egotistical and rude to every other character as the movie progresses, and he insults Dr. Watson, his 'best' and most trusted friend in the original stories, whenever the two are within shouting distance.

(Ironically, Watson is played by actor Ian Hart, who also played the part of 'Sherlock Holmes' creator Sir Arthur Conan Doyle alongside Johnny Depp's portrayal of Sir James Matthew Barrie, creator of 'Peter Pan' in 'Finding Neverland'.)

In many cases, the breaking of a movie can be put down to lack-luster acting skills, but in this case, I think the character flaws are due more to fault on the part of the writers and possibly even the director, though I don't think directors necessrily have that much of an influence on how the characters are written. Watching Rupert Everett in both this movie as Sherlock Holmes and as the evil 'Doctor Claw' in 'Inspector Gadget', I'm even less willing to put blame on his acting skills for the awkward portayal of Holmes, as he appears to be very talented.

Hopefully he'll choose to take his acting skills elsewhere if offered a part as this awful version of Sherlock Holmes again.

Pathos and Joe Biden

2008-10-26T14:51:00.005-05:00

Goal: Analyze Joe Biden's use of pathos during his answer to the first question.

Senator Joe Biden uses a large number of pathos after answering Gwen Ifill's actual question*, "what promises, given the events of the week - the bailout plan, all of this - what promises have you and your campaigns made to the American people that you're not going to be able to keep?".

Pathos used by Biden were mainly in relation to past budgets that he considered inadequate or profitable to the 'wrong' part of American society, including (in the first half of his answer), "$300 billion tax-cut ... for corporate America and the very wealthy", "another $4 billion tax-cut for Exxon-Mobile", "wasteful spending", and "$100 billion tax-dodge".

By using examples of failed budgets in the past and comparing them to budget plans proposed by John McCain and Sarah Palin, Biden causes the listening audience to subconciously connect spending failure with McCain, though McCain did not necessarily have anything to do with past budget failures. With the economy as shot as it is, most Americans are unsympathetic towards anyone they view as feeding their tax money to large, wealthy corporations while the rest of them are struggling to make ends meet just so they can afford to eat or stay in their homes. Using terms such as 'wasteful spending' after forging such a connection of failure and his political opponent in the audience's minds can also serve to anger the audience members and in all likelihood cause them to be much less receptive to opinions and proposals given by Palin or McCain.

In addition to those examples above, Biden also uses more hopeful phrases to instill a sense of compassion in his audience members to himself and Obama, such as "we cannot slow up on education ... because that's the engine that is going to give us the economic growth and competitiveness that we need, and we are not going to slow up on the whole idea of providing for affordable health care for Americans" when defending what promises he and Obama would definitely keep to the American people. While these may possibly also be considered facts by some, they serve to further endear the audience to Biden and Obama because they feel that both are going to put measures into effect to make both badly-needed ideas (better education and affordable health care) a reality.

I think Biden's most powerful use of pathos was "I call that unpatriotic. I call that unpatriotic." Not only does it serve to (hopefully) cause a sense of guilt in those who have been practicing taking their post-office box off shore to avoid taxes, but also instills a feeling of need for stopping this practice in the audience, which also makes them feel more confident that Biden and Obama agree with them that it needs to be stopped and would actually stop it.

*This is NOT a shot at Biden. I noticed that BOTH Biden and Palin did a nice job of giving a 3 second or non-existant answer to the asked question before going into their own speech about whatever they felt like talking about. :P

Response to Final Presidential Debate

2008-10-22T14:04:00.011-05:00

Question: "Why is your [economic] plan better than his?"

OBAMA RESPONSE

Obama uses a mostly emotional appeal when answering this question, using phrases such as "CEOs ... enriching themselves", "shipping jobs overseas", "creating a job right here in America", "a give-away to banks", "waste tax-payer money", and "giving our wealth away".

Each of these phrases reflect the (often angry) views of many Americans as to the nasty state of the American economy. "Shipping jobs" affects those who have been laid off due to companies sending jobs overseas to India, China, etc. in order to pay less for their labor, and those left without jobs was to see more jobs kept "right here in America", where they're desperately needed with rising costs of living. "Give-away to banks", "waste tax-payer money" and "giving our wealth away" strongly affects those struggling to make ends meet in this roller-coaster economy while the government continues to overspend and borrow money that can't be repaid from other countries.

Obama uses three times more logos than McCain, who relied mainly on pathos, with maybe one actual fact. (I'm not making this up - I actually typed out everything they said so I could go back and highlight, and he only used one fact, which might even be counted as more of an opinion.)

"We are experiencing the worst financial crisis since the Great Depression" - obviously. Anyone can look back at the years since the Great Depression ended and validate this.

"We included, in the financial package, a proposal to get homeowners in a position where they can re-negotiate their mortgages" - we don't necessarily know that this is true, so this could possibly also be used as an example of pathos, since Obama is clearly targeting desperate homeowners in this instance.

"a give-away to banks if we're buying, for full price, mortgages that now are worth a lot less" - again, fairly obvious. With house values falling, paying for them based on their cost X number of years ago, instead of their worth now, would be a waste of money.

The only example of ethos used by Obama was a shot at Senator McCain - "the way Senator McCain has designed his plan" - which, in context, suggests that McCain has organized a terrifically flawed plan for an economic fix.

MCCAIN RESPONSE

McCain also relies heavily on pathos when giving his answer - more so than Obama, who only used six examples to McCain's eight.

"Our beloved Nancy Reagan is in the hospital tonight, so I thought some prayers were going with you" - while this is a lovely sentiment, it has nothing to do with the question asked and is clearly meant to put the audience into a more recieving mood based on his apparent 'sensitive' qualities.

"Americans are hurting right now, and they're angry" - a good way to attempt to connect with those hurt by the failing economy, and give an appearance of McCain relating to his audience.

"innocent victims of greed and excess on WallStreet, and as well as Washington DC" - again, playing on the emotions of those who feel they've recieved the short end of the stick as the economy's failed, while those in Washington DC have continued to overspend and continue to borrow more and more unrepayable money.

"housing crisis" - Intended to create a greater feeling of panic and urgency with the audience to find a fix for the economy -now-.

"Fanny and Freddy Mae that caused some prime lending situation that now caused the housing market in America to collapse" - blaming the government for the current economic situation endears him to the large number of Americans who also believe this to be the case.

"American Dream" - meant to instill hope in the audience that they could still possibly reach said 'Dream', even with things going as badly as they are now.

"Afford to pay the mortgage, stay in their home" - what every struggling household hopes/wants to do and fears they won't be able to.

The onyl example of logos I found in McCain's response was "reverse this continued decline in home-ownership and put a floor under it ... that value [of homes] will come up", which is obviously true - if you fix the economy, of -course- the value of homes will go up. However, he does not mention how he plans to do this, while Obama gave specific examples of how he intended to fix the economy.

McCain also made only one example of ethos, and this was a personal attack on a member of Congress. (?) Here, he attempts to pass off blame for the economy on one specific person.

"I am disappointed that Secretary Paulson and others have not made that their first priority".

I really do believe that both men are good people. I just think one's got it together better than the other.

Just throwing that out there.

(( ... Obama fo yo Mama. :) ))

Chapters 1 & 2 Questions

2008-10-16T13:39:00.002-05:00

Chapter One:

1. Is it possible to create anything without incorporating some form of rhetoric? How?

2. Do you think verbal or visual rhetoric is more powerful? Why?

3. Which comic shown in the chapter do you think had the most powerful message? Why?

Chapter Two:

1. What examples of visual rhetoric does the Wesleyan website use? How did it influence you to come here, if at all?

2. Which strategy of argumentation do you think is typcially the most effective in ads? Why?

3. Do you think logos, pathos or ethos is/are(?) typically more effective when appealing to an audience? Why?

Karaoke at Bennigan's

2008-10-12T22:27:00.004-05:00

Squeezing past the frazzled-looking families clustered awkwardly together with their small children at Bennigan's front door, your nose is greeted with the smell of cleaning fluid drifting up lazily from nearby tables and the scent of grilling burgers wafting from some hidden door to the kitchen hidden from view at the back of the restaurant. As you make your way to the dimly-lit heart of the restaurant, these smells quickly begin to disappear and are soon replaced altogether by the almost overwhelming smell of old alcohol and cigarette smoke.

At first, you may wonder why the majority of the restaurant's patrons have chosen to gather in this seemingly bar-like center, but in truth, it's here that the most fun is had. Every Friday night around eight o'clock in the evening, patrons of all types - fat, thin, blonde, caucasian, black, hispanic, young and old - begin the slow trickle of life into what is arguably the most entertaining and accepting place in all of Lincoln.

Staring around the small, glass-walled square of Bennigan's 'Karaoke Room' given over every Friday night to a warm, friendly man called Dallas, you're likely to see patrons laughing in small, tigh-knit groups off in the corners as they sip their BudLights, screeching at their lively, bouncing children to sit down as the kids shriek their excitement over who gets to sing what song that evening, and, more often than not, a group of seven or eight young men and women who've gotten an early start and are already falling halfway off their sticky, ketchup-covered chairs under the influence of their alcohol.

One by one, slowly at first but gaining in frequency as the now crowded Karaoke Room bustles with activity, patrons begin filing over to Dallas' karaoke 'office', consisting of a large speaker and a karaoke screen that periodically flashes images of a dancing Scooby-Doo or Microsoft Word Paperclip boogying to the background music in a colorful array of Halloween costumes. Slip after slip of brightly-colored paper litters the top of Dallas' desk, already cluttered with empty bottles and a large laptop that is given over to organizing every patron's dream karaoke moments into reality.

As a slow, steady country beat replaces the fast-pace of Katy Perry's claims to have 'kissed a girl and liked it', the karaoke room goes momentarily quiet as all heads turn to see the first brave soul begin his own rendition of 'I'm Going Home'. By the time the first verse has ended, the room is once again filled with the sound of over-enthusiastic laughter and catcalls on the part of more inebriated patrons who make it clear that they wish the singer really would make good on their promise of 'going home'. These calls are soon followed by 'boos' and 'shhh's from their neighbors, who glare unsympathetically at those audacious enough to insult their friends and colleagues who have proven themselves daring enough to put their own reputations on the line by singing so fearlessly in front of a group of complete strangers.

As a small black girl, eleven years old at most with long, wavy brown hair boldy struts to the karaoke stand, fewer glances are given over to the newest starlet as she smiles at Dallas and waves to her family. Children are off-limits to critisism on their voices, being more sensitive to harsh words and much more forgivable than inebriated thirty-some year-olds when flashing their widest, most innocent smile. This time, however, the crowd is pleasantly suprised to find that no false coddling will be necessary as the girl begins to sing 'Take A Bow' with enough vocal dexterity to put Rihanna to shame.

As it nears ten o'clock, Bennigan's 'finest patrons' have completely released the stresses of the week, be it due to the presence of friends, alcohol, or a combination of both, and laughter and music blasts out of the small heart of Bennigan's, filling the nearly deserted outer borders of the restaurant. Pings and blasts are heard in periodic outbursts from a gameroom nearly as invisible to Dallas' crowd as the small Karaoke regular and resident star Cameron sweetly croons out Britney Spears hits, making the crowd 'ooh' and 'aww' in turns at her amazing vocal abilities and her adorably innocent seven-year old countenance.

As eleven o'clock rolls around, the buzz of conversation has become almost deafening, and snippets of conversation can be heard from the more active storytellers, tongues loosened by a shot or two of Jagerbombs and tequila. Your mind spins as you struggle to follow every story, trying to capture every word and every image created by such overheard snippets as 'beat their heads in with her baton if they don't smarten up', '2x4... screaming... paramedic shears... 300 cops in 5 seconds', and beer-related renditions of songs from 'The Sound of Music'.

By midnight, only the die-hard karaoke loyalists and those too sloshed to find their own arm inhabit the karaoke room. One or two patrons dance off-beat and rather suggestively as Dallas takes the microphone for his song of the night, and exhausted waitresses begin their wipe-downs of the tables cluttered with dirty silverware, forgotten jackets and cold remains of late dinners.

Only a handful of people are left as Bennigan's closes down at one the next morning. Slowly, the 'regulars' wave goodbye to Dallas with promises to return the following week, and cabs or family members are called to escort home those now convinced they are either the world's greatest lovers or capable of flying. A few sad glances are flashed back towards Bennigan's as soft sighs permeate the still air, tokens of grief from those who know that the highlight of their week has come to an end. But as they climb into the Fords, Kias and slugbugs, a small smile lights their faces as they wearily make their ways home. Karaoke and familiar faces will be return again next week, and so will they.

Writing Draft #2

2008-10-09T13:30:00.009-05:00

((NOTE: I just saw the critique email. I'll work on the points suggested in it in my final draft.))

As I squeeze past a two frazzled-looking families with small children at the door, I mentally chide myself for wearing such a stupid outfit. It's not that I don't like the clothes I'm wearing - semi-baggy jeans, old black sandals whose small brown beads are missing in places, and a very librarianesque, oversized pink sweater - I just don't like them combined. I slip into the back of the small, glass-walled-off square of Bennigan's devoted to 'Karaoke with Dallas' every Friday night, and for once, I'm the first person in our 'party' to arrive. The smell of old alcohol and cigarette smoke assaults me as I pass a full table of seven or eight men and women who've already drunk themselves halfway under the table, and I quickly scrawl my karaoke picks on the back of an orange slip of paper before handing it over to Dallas, who greets me with a warm smile and automatically glances around the room for the other yet-to-arrives.

A small ding from my cellphone, barely audible over the sound of some poor, misguided creature squawking out their apparently self-invented rendition of 'I'm Going Home' that makes the rest of his audience wish that were true, alerts me to the arrival of my friend and her family, though this time they've also brought a family friend, Dani. As the five of us commandeer two back tables and squash their sticky ketchup-coated sides together, my friend Katie explains their tardiness was due to Dani's need to go home and check on her cat. I'm distracted from asking why as a small black girl, eleven years old at most with long, wavy brown hair and wearing a pink sweatshirt over blue jeans begins to sing 'Take A Bow' like an old pro.

Several minutes pass as Katie's parents and Dani order their first round of drinks while making small talk, and I crack open my English journal, proceeding to jot down a few observations while Katie sneaks over to a basket of cutlery and nabs a napkin to turn into a makeshift drink coaster. As a particularly fascinating rendition of 'Summer Nights' sung by a half-drunk, tone-deaf man in baggy pants and a reasonably talented blonde-haired woman in a black and white-striped tee, Dani marches off in search of a songbook and a six or seven year old blonde-haired cutie starts singing Rascall Flatts while grinning impishly at his parents as if to say, 'hello, American Idol'.

"So, Rachel wants to kill her flag team." Katie announces, leaning back in her chair and adjusting her glasses as she slips her list of karaoke picks into her pocket. Her mother, Melody, a rather robust woman with a personality to match, sighs deeply from her far end of the table as she accepts a Pepsi from the waitress. "Again?"

"Yep." Katie replies simply, tapping out a few words on her cellphone's flip-out keypad in response to an instant message. "Apparently they've got a new band director who does nothing, and almost everyone on the team is a freshman."

A collective cringe from everyone at the table results from the word 'freshmen', memories of irritating five-foot-tall parasites with pimples and braces undoubtably invading everyone's memories before being shoved back into mental filing cabinets of memories better off forgotten.

"So, of course," Katie continues, "Almost no one in in the team is taking practice seriously, so Rachel wants to throttle them all with her baton."

Our attention is drawn back to the front of the room as another child, identified as 'Cameron' and six years old at most saunters shyly up to the karaoke screen and is rendered nearly invisible behind its size the moment she steps behind it. As she starts to sing 'Oops I Did It Again', only being interrupted once by Dallas as he compares her to the size of a typical Bennigan's burger, murmurs increase throughout the room at how well she can sing for her age.

As a rather heavy-set woman in a bright blue top begins to croak along loudly to the music, Dani gives me a sideways glance over the top of her glass, an evil glint in her eyes.

"So, what's with the librarian outfit?" She asks, a wide grin taking over her thin face. Katie's stepfather, Steve, immediately tunes in to the conversation, glad for any opportunity to make librarian jokes, which will almost inevitably lead to jokes about Sarah Palin. I feel my face grow slightly warm as I pout.

"My contacts have been acting screwy." I offer, and Dani reaches for her bag, pulling a rather scratched pair of Tina Fey glasses from out of its depths.

"You should try there. They're a bit messed up since I just drop them in, normally, but..." Dani hands them to me, and I dutifully replace my pink-framed glasses with the newly offered ones, and, sure enough-

"They make you look like Sarah Palin." Even unable to see an inch in front of my face, I can picture the gigantic, contagious grin plastered across Steve's face and I'm silently thrilled that I can't see the contorted half-smiles of everyone else at the table as they fight unsuccessfully to suppress their mirth. I yank the glasses off my nose and hand them back to Dani before snatching my own back up out of a growing puddle of condensation from my own Pepsi. I'm saved from any more Palin jokes for the moment as Dallas calls Dani and Melody up to sing 'Does He Love You', and I'm surprised to realize the Dani being called is the same one sitting next to me, as I only recall hearing Dani sing maybe once before. She easily matches Melody's own virtually flawless voice and the crowd claps appreciatively as they resume their seats.

"So, Sarah." Steve grins at me once more, all too happy to resume the previous conversation, "You going to be singing anything tonight?" I give him my goofiest smile and bob a fist as I giggle, "Darn tootin'!"

The next two hours pass the same as always - more Sarah Palin jokes than I can possibly remember, some rather provocative dances from drunk patrons who are reminded more than once by their peers that they're as gifted in dance as they are vocally, and first-hand accounts of some of the most bizarre 911 cases experienced by Steve, including something about a 2x4, screaming, paramedic shears and '300 cops in 5 seconds.'

As I gather my things together to head home for the night, Katie taps me on the arm and holds up her cellphone, whose screen is flashing and shining text messages in turns, and I have to squint to make out the words crammed onto the two-inch screen in unfathomably small letters.

"You've seen this, right?" I glance over the message and laugh, nodding that yes, I have seen the song lyrics she's referring to, and it's still as dumb as it was the first time I saw it back in middle school, when I was still 200 lbs. with an unintentional fly-away, wannabe-straight-haired afro of sorts.

''Do, I've gone and spilled my beer,
Re, the guy who pours my beer.
Mi, the one that drinks my beer,
Fa, a long way to the john.
So, I'll have another beer.
La, I'll have another beer.
Ti? No thanks, I'll have a beer.
And that brings us back to...''

I wave goodbye to the small crowd clustered around our table that's become a sort of second family to me, and I grin slightly as Cameron's mother shoots a wary sideways glance towards Katie's back, apparently still unsure what to make of Katie's recent rendition of a popular song by a J-Pop singer named Gackt.

I climb into my blue Volkswagen Beetle, feeling happy to have gotten rid of some of the stresses of college, homework and family, though more than a little sleepy and slightly sad that the night has already come to an end. But there's always next Friday, and, observation assignment or not, I know my friends will be here, and so will I.

Writing Draft #1 - Karaoke at Bennigan's

2008-10-06T20:01:00.004-05:00

As I squeeze past a two frazzled-looking families with small children at the door, I mentally chide myself for wearing such a stupid outfit. It's not that I don't like the clothes I'm wearing - I just don't like them combined. I slip into the back of the small, glass-walled-off square of Bennigan's devoted to 'Karoke with Dallas' every Friday night. For once, I'm the first person in our 'party' to arrive, and I quickly scrawl my karaoke picks on the back of an orange slip of paper before handing it over to Dallas, who greets me with a warm smile and automatically glances around the room for the other yet-to-arrives.

A small ding from my cellphone, barely audible over the sound of some poor, misguided creature sqwuaking out their apparently self-invented rendition of 'I'm Going Home' that makes the rest of his audience wish that were true, alerts me to the arrival of my friend and her family, though this time they've also brought a family friend, Dani. As the five of us commandeer two back tables and squash their sticky ketchup-coated sides together, my friend Katie explains their tardiness was due to Dani's need to go home and check on her cat. I'm distracted from asking why as a small black girl, eleven years old at most with long, wavy brown hair and wearing a pink sweatshirt over blue jeans begins to sing 'Take A Bow' like an old pro.

Several minutes pass as Katie's parents and Dani order their first round of drinks while making small talk, and I crack open my English journal, proceeding to jot down a few observations while Katie sneaks over to a basket of cutlery and nabs a napkin to turn into a makehift drink coaster. As a particularly fascinating rendition of 'Summer Nights' sung by a half-drunk, tone-deaf hispanic in baggy pants and a reasonably talented blonde-haired woman in a black and white-striped tee, Dani marches off in search of a songbook and a six or seven year old blonde-haired cutie starts singing Rascall Flatts while grinning impishly at his parents as if to say, 'hello, American Idol'.

"So, Rachel wants to kill her flag team." Katie announces, leaning back in her chair and adjusting her glasses as she slips her list of karaoke picks into her pocket. Her mother, Melody, a rather robust woman with a personality to match, sighs deeply as she accepts a Pepsi from the waitress. "Again?"

"Yep." Katie replies simply, tapping out a few words on her cellphone's flip-out keypad in response to an instant message. "Apparently they've got a new band director who does nothing, and almost everyone on the team is a freshman."

A collective cringe from everyone at the table results from the word 'freshmen', memories of irritating five-foot-tall parasites with pimples and braces undoubtably invading everyone's memories before being shoved back into mental filing cabinets of memories better off forgotten. Another child, identified as 'Cameron' and six years old at most saunters shyly up to the karaoke screen and is rendered nearly invisible behind its size the moment she steps behind it. As she starts to sing 'Oops I Did It Again', only being interrupted once by Dallas as he compares her to the size of a typical Bennigan's burger.

As a rather heavy-set woman in a bright blue top begins to croak along loudly to the music, Dani gives me a sideways glance over the top of her glass, an evil glint in her eyes.

"So, what's with the librarian outfit?" Katie's stepfather, Steve, immediately tunes in to the ocnversation, glad for any opportunity to make librarian jokes, inevitably leading to Sarah Palin jokes. I feel my face grow slightly warm as I pout.

"My contacts have been acting screwy." I offer, and Dani reaches for her bag, pulling a rather scratched pair of Tina Fey glasses from out of its depths.

"You should try there. They're a bit messed up since I just drop them in, normally, but..." Dani hands them to me, and I dutifully replace my pink-framed glasses with the newly offered glasses, and sure enough-

"They make you look like Sarah Palin." Even unable to see an inch in front of my face, I can picture the gigantic, contagious grin plastered across Steve's face and I'm silently thrilled that I can't see the contorted half-smiles of everyone else at the table as they fight unsuccessfully to suppress their mirth. I yank the glasses off my nose and hand them back to Dani before snatching my own back up out of a growing puddle of condensation from my own Pepsi. I'm saved from any more Palin jokes for the moment as Dallas calls Dani and Melody up to sing 'Does He Love You', and I'm surprised to realize the Dani being called is the same one sitting next to me, as I only recall hearing Dani sing maybe once before. She easily matches Melody's own virtually flawless voice and the crowd claps appreciatively as they resume their seats.

"So, Sarah." Steve grins at me once more, all too happy to resume the previous conversation, "You going to be singing anything tonight?" I give him my goofiest smile and bob a fist as I giggle, "Darn tootin!"

The next two hours pass the same as always - more Sarah Palin jokes than I can possibly remember, some rather provocative dances from drunk patrons who are reminded more than once by their peers that they're as gifted in dance as they are vocally, and first-hand accounts of some of the most bizarre 911 cases experienced by Steve, including something about a 2x4, screaming, paramedic shears and '300 cops in 5 seconds.'

As I gather my things together to head home for the night, Katie taps me on the arm and holds up her cellphone, whose screen is shining with recent text messages crammed onto the two-inch screen in unfathomably small letters.

"You've seen this, right?" I glance over the message and laugh, nodding that yes, I have seen the song lyrics she's referring to, and it's still as dumb as it was the first time I saw it back in middle school, when I was still 200 lbs. with an unintentional fly-away, wannabe-straight-haired afro of sorts.

Do, I've gone and spilled my beer,
Re, the guy who pours my beer.
Mi, the one that drinks my beer,
Fa, a long way to the john.
So, I'll have another beer.
La, I'll have another beer.
Ti? No thanks, I'll have a beer.
And that brings us back to...

I wave goodbye to the small crowd clustered around our table and grin slightly as Cameron's mother shoots a wary sideways glance towards Katie's back, apparently still unsure what to make of Katie's recent redition of a popular song by a J-Pop singer.

I climb into my blue Volkswagen Beetle, feeling more than a little sleepy and slightly sad that the night has already come to an end. But there's always next Friday, and, observation assignment or not, I know my friends will be here, and so will I.

Cube'd

2008-10-06T18:16:00.003-05:00

1. What have I learned...

- Karaoke never fails to bring in the world's worst singers, but can also lure in some surprising future American Idols... who are only seven or eight years old.
- People have more fascinating stories to tell after a few drinks, either because the alcohol is starting to affect them or because they feel more comfortable telling stories knowing that half the people around them won't remember the night at all within a few hours.
- The best way to embarrass your seventeen year old son is to play the most toddler-associated song from his iPod you can find.
- Dark, quiet atmospheres with occasionally obnoxious singers are great places to meet with friends and just talk about whatever's going on in life. It can be a great stress-reliever, which I think is why most people go to karaoke - not to sing, but to find new people to talk and relate to.

2. An example of how karaoke can be a great stress-reliever would be a conversation I had with my friend's family friend Dani about the suicide of a childhood friend she'd been told about only that morning before karaoke.

3. I think karaoke places (the one I went to wasn't in a bar) can be compared to really any other kind of social gathering - only in this case, the thing bringing everyone together isn't just love of football or a specific kind of movie, though it can be. It's just a place to hang out with friends and unwind. The fact that karaoke is going on at all is really more of an excuse.

4. The fact that karaoke works so well at bringing all kinds of people together (regardless of whether you like them or not), even though a lot of the people who frequent the karaoke scene never actually sing shows that humans really can just sit and talk to others without any kind of prejudices - both parties want to talk to someone about their lives, and both are willing to listen to the other. An example of this would be when a family from outside Lincoln came in to support the opposing team in the game the next day - everyone acted as if they were wearing red and white like the rest of them, and no nasty words were exchanged. A few people even invited them to come back or go elsewhere with them at a later date.

5. Karaoke really only consists of a bunch of tired people looking to unwind from the stresses of the work/school week, some guy with a karaoke machine, and the occasional 'HAY LOOK I'M 21 NOW LET'S DRINK', though those, thankfully, don't pop up too horribly often. The karaoke itself is like glue - without it, the 'regulars' would rarely see each other, if at all, since the common interest (aka excuse to go talk to a bunch of usually pretty cool strangers) wouldn't exist. Without the people, there would be no karaoke. ~~And without the drunk 21 year old, my friend's stepdad wouldn't have a job as a 911 dispatcher.~~

6. I use it to have an excuse to see a number of people I wouldn't normally hang out with, as some of them, including Dani, are a fair bit older than me, but it doesn't really seem to matter when we're all together - everyone wants to just hang out and have fun, no strings attached. Without it, I think me and the rest of the 'regulars' would have a lot less entertainment and company in our lives.

Head of Skate

2008-10-05T10:36:00.005-05:00

"Did she just slapshot the U.S. Constitution?"
"It's just the Bill of Rights, sir."

Brought to you by CollegeHumor, I almost feel depressed knowing this isn't an actual movie. Actually, I do feel depressed knowing this isn't an actual movie.

I was impressed by how official the creators were able to make this video look. I actually did a double take to make sure it wasn't a real movie trailer (and sadly, it wasn't). As Matt Damon so accurately put it, the plot line of the trailer and of this year's election is that of a typical Disney movie - an everyday hockey mom gets an impossible offer, and ends up marrying the prince and saving the planet from nuclear disaster while still managing to make dinner for the entire Senate and attend her daughter's ballet recital.

The sad part is how accurately this trailer portrays what could happen if McCain is actually elected and dies in office, considering both his age and health records. The only difference between real-life and the trailer would then be that Palin would probably fail miserably as a president, as opposed to the trailer's Betty Norindorf, who apparently kicks everyone's assets, including Putin's, albeit on a skating rink. Palin's only defense tactics seem to be to rely heavily on giggling stupidly while opening admitting to the nation that she has almost no political experience and doesn't even know what the V.P. does, while giving the camera a cutesy smile.

Mind you, it worked for Bush for the last eight years, yes/no?

Possibly the Strangest Music Video... Ever

2008-09-27T19:57:00.004-05:00

Part 1:

There is a large, old building, a mansion or some sort of school.

There is a woman, presumably Bonnie Tyler, standing and looking out a window.

There is a ... robot bursting into the mansion/school.

There are several open doors with red curtains flying out of them.

There are students at desks.

There is an angel in a chair, holding a dove.

There are a bunch of students wearing swimming goggles and getting splashed with water.

There are ninjas practicing ... ninja. In the middle of the school.

There are a bunch of men having a really splashy toast in the same room as the ninjas.

There are two people practicing fencing in the same place as the ninjas and the splashy dinnerpeople.

Bonnie is out on a balcony thing.

The gang from 'Grease' is practicing for the sequal on the stairs leading up to the level under where Bonnie is singing.

There are a number of football players running into each other in another part of the school. In the dark.

One of the open doorways just lost its curtain.

Bonnie is running down the stairs of the school.

Hercules is practicing cartwheels/ninjitsu in the ... somewhere in the school.

The curtained doorways are blowing open in sync.

Bonnie is running down the suddenly really bright hallway.

Hercules guy is attempting to seduce the video watchers.

The splashy dinnerguests are throwing the food, cutlery, etc. around.

Bonnie is still running down the hallway.

The dinner people are still throwing things.

The curtained doors are blowing open again. Even though they were still open, like, thirty seconds ago.

Bonnie is still runnning.

Dinner people are still throwing things.

Bonnie. Running.

One of the fencers is pouring sweat out of his mask. Amount appears to be equal to half the contents of Niagara Falls.

Bonnie has finally stopped running, and is now facing fifteen or sixteen demonic robot choirboy Damien things.

One of the DRCBD things has decided to pirouette-fly towards Bonnie.

Bonnie is completely unfased.

The angel with the dove gets a close-up and appears to be the younger sibling of Marilyn Manson or Jessica Simpson with no make-up.

A bunch of guys wearing what looks to be track outfits and indian war paint are running up some stairs to the school.

Half-dressed students are singing.

Track Indians run up the stairs and start doing interpretive dance around Bonnie, who is still singing and apparently totally used to having crazy shit like this happen.

DRCBD things are moving closer to Bonnie and seriously starting to creep me out.

Bonnie is back in the middle of the Interpretive-Dancing Track Indians, who are still dancing.

The DRCBD things are doing a much slower and uninteresting version of the iterpretive dance by the Track Indians.

The Track Indians are apparently also part-time S&M slaves, as made apparent by some of their outfits.

DRCBD things still doing their 'dance'.

Bonnie is overwhelmed by the weirdness and collapses. Still singing.

Some other angel-like person thing is flapping their wings in Bonnie's face.

Bonnie is outside shaking the hands of some of the students. One of them is a DRCBD thing that apparently only NOW freaks out Bonnie, and it sings at her before everyone goes back inside the building, leaving Bonnie alone in a bad version of the Men In Black uniforms.

(Note: I've decided the only school weird enough to have all this going on at the same time and have it be considered perfectly normal is Hogwarts.)

Part 2:

I tried to write my observations in the same way as the video seems to have been made: in completely random segments, with only the recurring theme of Bonnie singing, students doing different activities and Demonic Robot ChoirBoy Damien (TM) things holding the video all together. I also deliberately made my observations fairly undescriptive, as the video has quite a bit of fog and extremely dark lighting, making it hard to see a lot of the details, especially in the case of the Track SexSlave Indians, whose complete outfits aren't entirely clear until you've seen them five or six times.

"Dear Sister..."

2008-09-21T21:09:00.007-05:00

CAUTION: This song WILL be stuck in your head for the next twenty mins.

This Saturday Night Live skit, based on this semi-recent episode of 'The OC', made me laugh a lot more than it should've over the weekend. During my search for the fabled 'Dear Sister' skit, I encountered multiple spoofs before finally finding the above version, seemingly the only one on YouTube that wasn't recorded on someone's cellphone and therefore isn't horribly pixelated (though, admittedly, the 'Evaluation Copy' does get a little annoying). Among the spoofs generated by 'Dear Sister' fans was this 'The Office' version, and this '300' version, which is decidedly shorter than the SNL version (above) though still just as funny.

The 'Lion King' version was just plain funny. Come on, you know it is.

The 'Pocahontas' version actually surprised me when I saw it - not only is it funny, it's also almost completely move-for-move identical to the choreography of the fight between the two guys in the 'OC' version.

There were multiple 'Lord of the Rings' versions, which wasn't surprising considering what ample room for spoofing Boromir's death scene offers up. In this case, the maker of the spoof added their own twist using well-chosen clips of Legolas shooting his own arrows seemingly at Boromir as he's being attacked by the orcs.

I'm not entirely sure why I found 'Dear Sister' so funny in the first place - people shooting each other obviously isn't funny, but the repetition of having each person get shot, apparently die, then suddenly start shooting their attacker or whoever happens to walk in the room next does start to hold humor, especially when the next person walking in is all 'HAAAY GUESS WHAT OH SNAP', or picks up a note written by the first victim that lists an impossible and ironic sequence of events that viewers know has already and actually come true, and also reveals yet another ironic and mildly sequence of events that then proceeds to play out, complete with the world's strangest and possibly catchiest techno music.

But, no, really... that song's going to be stuck in your head for like, the next twenty, thirty minutes. Good luck getting it out.

This might help a bit: 'Muppets' Bloopers

Have Your Brains and Eat Them, too

2008-09-21T17:27:00.003-05:00

If anyone was downtown Saturday night, they probably got more entertainment in their evening than they'd intended as over 260 zombies streaked down the sidewalks of Lincoln.

Starting at the State Theater on 14th and O Street and marching our way through UNL campus, the Haymarket, and, in one zombie's case, some unfortunate bystander's dinner, it was two and a half hours to remember.

At first, I wasn't even sure if I wanted to go. I wasn't sure how to get there, didn't know if the people I'd been invited by were still planning to go almost two months after the initial invitation. With almost two hours to the Walk's start, I got onto facebook and immediately found five of my friends had decided to go - in fact, they'd been at the Theater for quite a while already. My mind made up, I grabbed the most obnoxious colored make-ups I could find and smeared blood (aka lipstick) across my face and arms, as well as some green and black eyeshadow for a mildy-decayed look. Once I emerged from the bathroom, my mom simply looked at me as if to say 'Where did I go wrong?'.

Having bribed one of my other friends into accompanying me, I picked her up and we promptly headed for Burger King, where we found we were just in time to not only scare some of the customers, but also eat with my mom and brothers, who had no idea we were there. Sadly, we really only recieved strange looks from an ex-cowoker who cheerfully called, 'Have fun!' as we headed out the door.

After two years of being able to drive on my own, I still have an abysmally small amount of knowledge as far as the streets of Lincoln. Once we finally managed to reach the right intersection, we were at a loss as to where to go.

"Where do you think we should park? Do you see the theater?" I asked, trying to navigate through downtown Lincoln's hellish maze of one-way streets. My friend Katie simply pointed straight ahead, where a newly-eaten bride and groom were making their way across the street from the nearest parking lot. Question one answered, anyway.

Inside the State Theater, we were told to sign a large list of participants, supposedly so we could be tracked down if we caused any trouble during the walk. After signing in, we made our way to the back of the theater, where we were immediately swamped by over 300 zombies who made my own make-up look like a bit of over-done lipstick.

We were soon told to 'sit down and shaddap' by a rather gruesome victim of the un-dead, who explained the three simple rules of the walk: no attacking bystanders who had no giant duct-tape X's on their person (the signature of a wanna-be zombie), no scaring small children, and no touching or entering establishments.

"Also," a slightly shorter, rotund zombie announced amid the murmers of excitement, "I don't want to see any of this." He quickly slunk across the stage in a rather creepy manner, stopped, straightened, and suddenly began smiling his face off and waving frantically to an imaginary audience.

After massive amounts of fake blood had been thrown on/at us (I was covered up to my elbows in the stuff before we even left the building), we made our way outside into a back alley, where more volunteers were waiting to spray us with blood before we took off into the street. Cameramen were lined up, running shoes ready for the chase. With a cry of 'BRAIIIIINS', we were off.

At first, most people were slinking along, occasionally doing a well-timed stumble or screech at bystanders and attacking duct-tape bystanders every fifteen minutes or so, covering them in massive amounts of blood. By the time we reached UNL campus, many had started to speed up and were now jogging along ala '28 Days Later'.

"Oh my God." I laughed, grabbing one of my fellow zombie-friends and dragging her over to look. "Pirates."

Against every concievable law of coincidence, our pack of 300 zombies had stumbled straight into the middle of a Frat party, where 100 or so 'Pirates' were loading onto three buses. Most of them flew straight onto the buses, with only a handful staying out on the lawn to wave flimsy 'ages 3 and up' swords at us at full arm's length. Deciding buses didn't count as establishments, many started flailing at the windows, screaming for 'brains', 'beer', and, in one apparent Vegan zombie's case, 'GRRRAIIINSSS!'.

Once past the pirate buses, our party picked up, streaking down into the Haymarket after a short break in the commons so the rest of the group could catch up (zombies are still prone to obeying traffic laws, apparently.) We made our way down into the Farmer's Market area, passing by several bars and one overly-confident, 300 lb. woman who decided to flash the party her 'goods'.

"We said 'brains', not 'breasts'!" Came from all sides as many of the zombies suddenly became more nauseas at the sight of her own exposed flesh than our festering wound-covered own.

As our party ground down to a close, we passed the formerly-known-as-Douglas Theatres, where the Christian Dude With the Giant Cross (tm) seized his opportunity to scream about 'servants of Satan', while more than one zombie considered crossing over to him simply for kicks. As we reached our final destination, 300 bodies collapsed onto the sidewalk amid cheers of triumph and calls of 'where the hell did my ride go? Damnit!'.

"Everyone," the crowd fell silent as the head zombie stood up for a head count. "Thank you all for coming out here tonight. The final count for this year's zombie walk..." There was a general intake of breath. "... Is 261!" We all burst into applause as the Walk organizers exchanged hugs and high-fives in congratulations. The first zombie walk, organized fall 2007 to promote a downtown haunted-house, had only been 131. The numbers had almost completely doubled.

Looking back, I definitely should have gotten there sooner in order to get completely zombied-up. But who knows, maybe next year....

LOL @ Swedish Idol

2008-09-10T16:10:00.017-05:00

... ... ... THIS JUST IN! ... ... ...

And now, onto today's post.

I think this movie is hilarious both with and without sound. The auditioner is not only making some of the strangest and most entertaining faces ever seen on planet Earth, but is also jumping around the room and contortioning into odd poses. A good example of this is when he wraps both of his arms around the back of his head and starts wiggling his fingers at the judges as he leaps around the room. As far as the audio component, the audition is made even more entertaining by the fact that the auditioner is also singing in an extremely high-pitched, nasally voice that should never, ever be heard coming from a guy unless intentionally. (Even then, it's iffy.)

Those responsible for editing the audition recording made the video even more entertaining by not only (and most likely) cutting out the less entertaining parts of the audition and keeping only the more humorous clips. They also included well-timed shots of the judges and their own reactions to the auditioner's bizarre behavior, which were clearly expressed through their own incredulous facial expressions. Absolutely no narrative or captions are needed to express how completely abnormal this audition was.

There are three things that could have made this video better. First off, there seems to be a momentary lag in the recording, due to fault by the original recorder of the person who posted the video, that causes a small segment of the video to be lost and which also serves to momentarily agitate the viewer as they wonder if the video is going to correct itself or not. I also think that whoever posted this video could have made this audition even more entertaining to the viewer by including the rest of the audition, since the video obviously cuts the audition off mid-sentence. More humor could have been added by even just including the judges' commentary on the audition, though of course, the fact that the judges apparently spoke no English might not have contributed much to the overall experience, after all.

Previously known as the Transcontinental Pussy... The Monorail Cat!

2008-09-10T15:33:00.006-05:00

What are the ramifications of diagramming while writing in a virtual environment? How do diagrams function, in general, as well as within the context of writing and on the web? How does the diagram you selected function as a learning device? What was the original context of the diagram? How does the meaning of the diagram alter now that it has been extricated from the original context? What our your responsibilities as a writer when removing a diagram from its original context? What details are important within the diagram? How are they labeled? Are they labeled? How would you have labeled them differently? How could you label them differently? What the heck does any of this have to do with writing anyway? ~~How the hell are we supposed to answer all this in only 300 words?~~

Using diagrams on the web, as opposed to on paper, allows the diagram to be shown to massive amounts of people much faster.

How diagrams function: Diagrams are used to "accompany and illustrate a geometrical theorem, mathematical demonstration, etc.". In this case, the diagram depicts the future of transportation: the monorail cat.

This diagram can function as a learning device because it shows us exactly what the future of transportation will look like. It also shows us that this method of transportation will be extrememly bad-tempered and will not move unless it damn well feels like it. Or unless it's fed.

The diagram was originally being used to demonstrate the efficiency of Monorail Cats next to Monorail Pandas or Monorail Dogs. (I'm only partially making that up.)

"How did the meaning of the diagram alter now that it has been extricated from the original context?" It really didn't. It's still a spoof diagram meant for entertainment purposes.

Responsibilities as a writer when removing a diagram from its original context include citing the original source (see hyperlink above), and explaining the diagram to your new audience that probably hasn't seen the diagram in context before now.

Details important within the diagram are the location of the cat (it appears to be slung over a thin ledge, much like a monorail) and the text within the diagram, which ... well, explain that it's a Monorail Cat.

Yes, the diagram is labeled, with the words 'Monorail Cat Technical Diagram'. This explains that the object shown is in fact a Monorail Cat. If I had labeled the Monorail Cat, I probably would've included more details, such as door location, etc. Much like this:

What the heck does any of this have to do with writing anyway?

Diagrams can make writing more interesting, and can also show exactly what someone is attempting very poorly to describe to you. For instance, posting a diagram of a Monorail Cat explains more to the reader/viewer than just posting "It's a cat. .... That you ride in.......... Did I mention it's really REALLY cute?"

Blog Post 3 - 'The Diagram'

2008-09-04T15:22:00.004-05:00

I did not view ''Encountering the Essay" as an actual essay, for one reason: there was no point. Let me clarify that: There was a point, as the 'author' clearly has a conclusion at the end of the video - that humans will have to redefine authorship, friendship, family, etc, due to the evolution of the internet and how the exchange of information has changed over the years to become more technologically centered.

My question is, 'Why?' While the author gave us a nicely manufactured YouTube video detailing the history of the internet and its role in information exchange, the author did not give us an evidence as to why anything outside of the internet will need to be redefined. Last time I checked, my family still consists of actual people, whether I communicate with them in person or using one of various Instant Messengers available these days.

Therefore, this is the only diagram I can come up with:

[The internet has changed how we communicate and exchange information.]

[ERROR 456B: PLEASE REFRESH PAGE OR CHECK INTERNET CONNECTION]

[We will now have to rethink our definiations of 'family', 'community', etc...]

Or, if you prefer:

0100010111010001001111001010111010101010.

e-NJOY.

Blog Post 1 - Why This Quote?

2008-09-04T14:19:00.007-05:00

The Importance of Being Edited

A few years ago, the author of an autobiographical essay I was planning to publish in The American Scholar - a very fine writer - died suddenly. The writer had no immediate relatives, so I asked his longtime editor at The New Yorker if he would read the edited piece, hoping he might be able to guess which of my minor changes the writer would have been likely to accept and whish he would have disliked. Certainly, said the editor. Two days later, he sent the piece back to me with comments on my edits and some additional editing of his own. "My suggestions are all small sentence tweaks," he wrote. "I could hear ------'s voice in my head as I did them and I'm pretty sure they would have met with his approval - most of them, anyway." Some examples: "A man who looked unmusical" became "a man so seemingly unmusical." "They made a swift escape to their different homes" became "They scattered swiftly to their various homes." "I felt that that solidity had been fostered by his profession" became "That solidity, I felt, had been fostered by his profession." These were, indeed, only small tweaks, but their precision filled me with awe. Of course you couldn't look unmusical. Of course I should have caught "that that". I faxed the piece to my entire staff because editors rarely get a chance to see the work of other editors; we see only its results. This was like having a front-row seat at the Editing Olympics.

Five days later, the editor sent the piece back to us, covered with a second round of marginalia. "No doubt this is more than you bargained for," he wrote. "It's just that when the more noticeable imperfections have been taken care of, smaller ones come into view... I've even edited some of my own edits - e.g., on page 25, where I've changed 'dour', which I inserted in the last go-round, to 'glowering.' This is because 'dour' is too much like 'piched', which I'm also suggesting."

If you're not a writer, this sort of compulsiveness may seem well night pathological. You may even be thinking, "What's the difference?" But if you are a writer, you'll realize what a gift the editor gave his old friend. Had not a word been changed, the essay would still have been excellent. Each of these "tweaks" - there were perhaps a hundred, none more earthshaking than the nes I've quoted - made it a little better, and their aggregate effect was to transform an excellent essay into a superb one.

- Anne Fadiman

I chose ''The Importance of Being Edited" because unlike the other quotes in this section of reading, Fadiman's quote included a personal experience that made her quote much more fascinating and memorable than the other quotes had been. A friend of mine and myself used to frequent a LiveJournal community that specializes in editing* fan-based stories (also known as 'fanfiction'). I loved that Fadiman included examples of how small sentence tweaks can mean the difference between a final product like Stephanie Meyer's god-awful piece of fantasy fiction "Twilight", and J.R.R. Tolkien's 'The Lord of the Rings'. A few simple word changes can instantly change what was merely a poor piece of writing built on good ideas into a full-fledged piece of entertainment, information, etc. *Members of this community view 'editing' as not only fixing grammatical and canonical errors, but also as a chance to blast the hell out of the story's writer and tear the characters and situations of the story into shreds before dancing about on their graves. This tends to be fairly humorous.

Test Post

2008-08-28T14:47:00.000-05:00

Test Post yay.