Response to Final Presidential Debate

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

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

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

((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

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.