Claiming the most speakers of any Native American language north of the U.S.-Mexican border, Navajo is a significant, but often overlooked part of American culture. However, despite boasting a large number of speakers, Navajos fluent population amongst younger generations is in decline. With this in mind, the need to preserve this language and culture is urgent and needs to be recognized in order to help curtail this diminution. One way to help with this preservation would be to examine some of its unique linguistic aspects such as fourth-person point of view, or also known as polite speech. Moreover, the examination of polite speech will also evince some cultural aspects of Navajo, that are absent in the English-speaking culture. Here, by looking at Navajo in both linguistic and cultural contexts, we will demonstrate the uniqueness and significance of Navajo in American culture.
Once we were fully in, I was instantly overcome with the mustiness that the funeral home was saturated with, which upon first breath gave me a headache. Dylan’s parents were still talking to some people, so we stood back in the lobby to wait for them to finsih. About fifteen feet away from us was Dylan’s grandparents and aunt and uncle standing together. They were talking quietly and had the same despairing look on their face as Dylan’s mom did. The uncle, who was a husky man with a crew cut—reminiscent of a man in the military—, was the only one crying out of all four of them. He was pinching his tear ducts towards his nose with his thumb and index finger as though putting pressure on them would prevent the tears from coming out. “I should have spent more time with him”. He said, looking down, and sucking in short bursts of air through his nose so no snot would drip out. “I should have warned him about drugs and that you don’t mess around with them.” Then his wife started to rub him tenderly on the back “It’s ok honey, you didn’t know. There’s nothing you can do about it.”
Saturday, October 31, 2009
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
letters
You have demonstrated that you have done your research with this assignment. The empirical proofs that you have collected so far are most likely sufficient enough to satisfy the required amount. I like your first three paragraphs in that they provide quotes and descriptions, which helps me visualize the particular scene you are trying to describe.
I would suggest continuing this style of writing throughout the rest of your paper. Although you do need to include empirical evidence in this essay, I believe Jenna does not want it to be overpowering. You should somehow incorporate this evidence and statistics into creative scenes where you provide sensory descriptions and dialogue.
I know that you are probably journalism major and have gotten into the habit of writing one or two sentence paragraphs, but I think Jenna wants us to practice writing in normal essay paragraphs which are three to five sentences. If you do this, your essay will not be as choppy and will produce a smoother, more pleasant read for your audience. Another thing that might cost you points is citations. Jenna has mentioned before that she is a stickler about MLA format, and if you do not closely follow it the highest grade you will receive is a ‘C’. So, just for the sake of not automatically reducing your grade, I would suggest including MLA citations.
Good luck with the rest of your essay, I’m sure it will turn out fine!
So far I really like your essay. Your voice is well-developed, and your cadence
(I know your big on cadence) carries the essay smoothly and rhythmically. Your
sensory descriptions are nicely crafted and reveal your experience and style as
a writer. What you have written so far is a great foundation for developing and
finishing this essay and I think you?re off to a great start.
There were a couple minor things I noticed that I would suggest improving upon
however. Sometimes you have a tendency to use a certain word, multiple times
within close proximity of each other. An example would be ?manifest?.
Although this isn?t too big of a problem and you probably did it
subconsciously while you were in a rhythm, but it gives an impression to the
reader that this ?not-all-too-common? word is being overused. This in turn
could give mixed signals to your readers, possibly that you?re pretentious
(which you?re not) or that you?re just trying to sound smart in order to
impress them (which you?re not). Since these are not your intentions I would
suggest reconsidering a different word to put in one of its places to avoid
wrong implications.
Another thing I noticed occurred at the end of your first paragraph where you
stated ?When you think of libraries, that's what you imagine.? This phrase
sounds too forceful, and implies that every single one of your readers holds
the same opinion, or perspective (the one that you described prior to this
sentence) about libraries, when it is probably not the case. However, even if
it was so, this phrase still gives the impression to readers that you are
telling them what think, which in effect could cause them to get defensive and
disengage themselves from your story. I would suggest rewording this phrase
somehow, possibly not using the second person, or using it subtlety.
Overall, your story was great. Like a I mentioned before, I was really impressed
with your sensory descriptions and think you have a canny, natural ability as a
writer. Keep up the good work. Good Luck!
I would suggest continuing this style of writing throughout the rest of your paper. Although you do need to include empirical evidence in this essay, I believe Jenna does not want it to be overpowering. You should somehow incorporate this evidence and statistics into creative scenes where you provide sensory descriptions and dialogue.
I know that you are probably journalism major and have gotten into the habit of writing one or two sentence paragraphs, but I think Jenna wants us to practice writing in normal essay paragraphs which are three to five sentences. If you do this, your essay will not be as choppy and will produce a smoother, more pleasant read for your audience. Another thing that might cost you points is citations. Jenna has mentioned before that she is a stickler about MLA format, and if you do not closely follow it the highest grade you will receive is a ‘C’. So, just for the sake of not automatically reducing your grade, I would suggest including MLA citations.
Good luck with the rest of your essay, I’m sure it will turn out fine!
So far I really like your essay. Your voice is well-developed, and your cadence
(I know your big on cadence) carries the essay smoothly and rhythmically. Your
sensory descriptions are nicely crafted and reveal your experience and style as
a writer. What you have written so far is a great foundation for developing and
finishing this essay and I think you?re off to a great start.
There were a couple minor things I noticed that I would suggest improving upon
however. Sometimes you have a tendency to use a certain word, multiple times
within close proximity of each other. An example would be ?manifest?.
Although this isn?t too big of a problem and you probably did it
subconsciously while you were in a rhythm, but it gives an impression to the
reader that this ?not-all-too-common? word is being overused. This in turn
could give mixed signals to your readers, possibly that you?re pretentious
(which you?re not) or that you?re just trying to sound smart in order to
impress them (which you?re not). Since these are not your intentions I would
suggest reconsidering a different word to put in one of its places to avoid
wrong implications.
Another thing I noticed occurred at the end of your first paragraph where you
stated ?When you think of libraries, that's what you imagine.? This phrase
sounds too forceful, and implies that every single one of your readers holds
the same opinion, or perspective (the one that you described prior to this
sentence) about libraries, when it is probably not the case. However, even if
it was so, this phrase still gives the impression to readers that you are
telling them what think, which in effect could cause them to get defensive and
disengage themselves from your story. I would suggest rewording this phrase
somehow, possibly not using the second person, or using it subtlety.
Overall, your story was great. Like a I mentioned before, I was really impressed
with your sensory descriptions and think you have a canny, natural ability as a
writer. Keep up the good work. Good Luck!
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
blog post one letter, imnprovement of essay
This essay is a great improvement from your past essay! You have done a good job using your sensory details and have demonstrated a better understanding for Jenna’s “show versus tell” practice of writing. Your use of dialogue is also very strong in your essay, and serves as a nice foundation for the scenes you are trying to describe. Keep up the good work!
However, there are a few minor things that I found in the essay that I feel you can improve upon. A couple of times I noticed that when you were describing something you sometimes used words like “pretty” or “very”. Although these words aren’t bad, they just seem inconsistent with the rest of your writing, especially with some of your better descriptions. I would suggest focusing on these “weak” words, if you will, in order to strengthen these descriptions, and to ultimately strengthen your voice,
Also another thing would be to include research. I know you story isn’t yet fully developed, (as mine is too), but its something we have to figure out how to cleverly include. But your social issue, poverty I assume, wouldn’t be all that difficult to find sources for, so you don’t have to worry about it too much. Just something to bear in mind
Good luck with the rest of your writing, and I look forward to reading the rest of your paper!
“In the end, we will not remember the words of our enemies, but the silence of our friends”
“Why didn’t anybody tell us?” Lujan’s mom asked from the podium on the stage of the funeral home, her voice barely discernable and unstable from the trembles of anguish and devastation. She stood there glaring at the crowd—as a judge looks down from the bench at a convicted killer—listening to the somber murmur of sniffles and gentle weeping that hovered like a dense fog, above the hanging heads of people who couldn’t bear to look her in the face. “This didn’t have to happen” she continued pointing to the casket, her red eyes still fixated spitefully at them. “This didn’t have to hap--.” She repeated, this time rushing of the stage, unable to finish, and unable to confront the silent, weeping crowd. The people who were watching her, watched her walking hurriedly across the first row of chairs, striding faster and faster until reaching her seat, where she collapsed into herself, and exalted an abrupt wail that decrescendoed into a wheezing sob. And aside from these weeps, the room fell silent again in anticipation for the next person to trudge up to the podium and grieve to the crowd. But no one else went up, and anticipation grew into awkwardness. And the funeral director looked at the crowd intently and anxiously until finally deciding to take the stage for prayer. Then in a soothing, deep voice, he began; “Dear Lord in Heaven, Let us bow heads together in grievance of the death of Dylan Lujan…”
After the service, everyone stood outside in front of the funeral home, and formed into about ten circles of about ten people each. Outside, the overcast sky retained the same gloom that the sniffling murmurs held inside the funeral home and some people joked that “God was weeping too”. I didn’t laugh, because I knew it was monsoon season, and storms had been occurring all that week. And after about ten minutes of forced conversation, the sky exploded abruptly—warning everything on Earth about the oncoming storm—with the type of thunder that seems to resonate with a low rumble long after the initial strike. And at the resounding growl, everyone looked at the sky, taking heed of the warning and smelling in the redolent of creosote, then huddled together underneath the cramped shelter of the funeral’s home front patio. Then silence ensued and the people watched blankly as the rain fell from a timid trickle, to an opague color of violent downpour.
I was looking at everyone else that was gathered under the overhang, anticipating at least a gentle murmur of conversation; but it was mute, deafening and tense, as though the muteness was a tangible substance that was causing my nervous twitches to start up. Then as my focus was making its way to the back of the crowd, I looked through the window of the funeral home and saw Lujan’s mom inside with her husband, talking with an elderly couple. Her hair was pulled back into a tight, conservative bun, and she was wearing a well ironed solid black dress, which accentuated the sad despondence amongst her soft facial features. And as I watched this lady, I was overcome with guilt. “Why didn’t we tell her?” I thought, “We all should have,” If she would have known, maybe her son wouldn’t have died writhing on his bedroom floor with his eyes rolled back into his head, panicking, half-consciously, desperately. And maybe if we had told her, she wouldn’t have walked into his room in the morning—checking on him because he never got up to get breakfast, and finding his body, lifeless and forlorn, curled up painfully on his stained gray carpet. “But She should have known. How could she not have?” I thought. The burn marks on his hands, his constant running nose, his constant droned expression, and dropping out of school (ehow): it seems so obvious what he was doing.
“Kyle, remember that fight a couple months ago where that kid got jumped?” my friend Andrew asked quietly, and interrupting my focus on Lujan’s mom.
“Huh? Oh, yeah.” I responded, startled, then taking the deep breath that people take when transitioning from profound personal thought to social interaction. “Why?”
“That’s him, isn’t it?”
I squinted my eyes to where he was pointing and saw a kid with a neck brace on. “I’m not sure” I answer, trying bring myself back to that day, trying to remember if I saw that kid’s face. But I never did. I was standing across campus when I saw everyone in the court yard coalesce in a fury around a violent commotion. I remember standing back on my tip-toes trying to see over the crowds’ heads, but they wouldn’t move. They wouldn’t do anything—like a herd of moose watches their brother get mutilated by wolves as he thrashes and writhes his body in a last effort to survive—idle, indifferent, and unable to recognize the lethality of their silence and inaction. But I never saw his face, and after the paramedics came and lifted the kid onto a gurny, I was in class, straining to catch a snippet of hushed conversation of what had happened. (not done yet)
However, there are a few minor things that I found in the essay that I feel you can improve upon. A couple of times I noticed that when you were describing something you sometimes used words like “pretty” or “very”. Although these words aren’t bad, they just seem inconsistent with the rest of your writing, especially with some of your better descriptions. I would suggest focusing on these “weak” words, if you will, in order to strengthen these descriptions, and to ultimately strengthen your voice,
Also another thing would be to include research. I know you story isn’t yet fully developed, (as mine is too), but its something we have to figure out how to cleverly include. But your social issue, poverty I assume, wouldn’t be all that difficult to find sources for, so you don’t have to worry about it too much. Just something to bear in mind
Good luck with the rest of your writing, and I look forward to reading the rest of your paper!
“In the end, we will not remember the words of our enemies, but the silence of our friends”
“Why didn’t anybody tell us?” Lujan’s mom asked from the podium on the stage of the funeral home, her voice barely discernable and unstable from the trembles of anguish and devastation. She stood there glaring at the crowd—as a judge looks down from the bench at a convicted killer—listening to the somber murmur of sniffles and gentle weeping that hovered like a dense fog, above the hanging heads of people who couldn’t bear to look her in the face. “This didn’t have to happen” she continued pointing to the casket, her red eyes still fixated spitefully at them. “This didn’t have to hap--.” She repeated, this time rushing of the stage, unable to finish, and unable to confront the silent, weeping crowd. The people who were watching her, watched her walking hurriedly across the first row of chairs, striding faster and faster until reaching her seat, where she collapsed into herself, and exalted an abrupt wail that decrescendoed into a wheezing sob. And aside from these weeps, the room fell silent again in anticipation for the next person to trudge up to the podium and grieve to the crowd. But no one else went up, and anticipation grew into awkwardness. And the funeral director looked at the crowd intently and anxiously until finally deciding to take the stage for prayer. Then in a soothing, deep voice, he began; “Dear Lord in Heaven, Let us bow heads together in grievance of the death of Dylan Lujan…”
After the service, everyone stood outside in front of the funeral home, and formed into about ten circles of about ten people each. Outside, the overcast sky retained the same gloom that the sniffling murmurs held inside the funeral home and some people joked that “God was weeping too”. I didn’t laugh, because I knew it was monsoon season, and storms had been occurring all that week. And after about ten minutes of forced conversation, the sky exploded abruptly—warning everything on Earth about the oncoming storm—with the type of thunder that seems to resonate with a low rumble long after the initial strike. And at the resounding growl, everyone looked at the sky, taking heed of the warning and smelling in the redolent of creosote, then huddled together underneath the cramped shelter of the funeral’s home front patio. Then silence ensued and the people watched blankly as the rain fell from a timid trickle, to an opague color of violent downpour.
I was looking at everyone else that was gathered under the overhang, anticipating at least a gentle murmur of conversation; but it was mute, deafening and tense, as though the muteness was a tangible substance that was causing my nervous twitches to start up. Then as my focus was making its way to the back of the crowd, I looked through the window of the funeral home and saw Lujan’s mom inside with her husband, talking with an elderly couple. Her hair was pulled back into a tight, conservative bun, and she was wearing a well ironed solid black dress, which accentuated the sad despondence amongst her soft facial features. And as I watched this lady, I was overcome with guilt. “Why didn’t we tell her?” I thought, “We all should have,” If she would have known, maybe her son wouldn’t have died writhing on his bedroom floor with his eyes rolled back into his head, panicking, half-consciously, desperately. And maybe if we had told her, she wouldn’t have walked into his room in the morning—checking on him because he never got up to get breakfast, and finding his body, lifeless and forlorn, curled up painfully on his stained gray carpet. “But She should have known. How could she not have?” I thought. The burn marks on his hands, his constant running nose, his constant droned expression, and dropping out of school (ehow): it seems so obvious what he was doing.
“Kyle, remember that fight a couple months ago where that kid got jumped?” my friend Andrew asked quietly, and interrupting my focus on Lujan’s mom.
“Huh? Oh, yeah.” I responded, startled, then taking the deep breath that people take when transitioning from profound personal thought to social interaction. “Why?”
“That’s him, isn’t it?”
I squinted my eyes to where he was pointing and saw a kid with a neck brace on. “I’m not sure” I answer, trying bring myself back to that day, trying to remember if I saw that kid’s face. But I never did. I was standing across campus when I saw everyone in the court yard coalesce in a fury around a violent commotion. I remember standing back on my tip-toes trying to see over the crowds’ heads, but they wouldn’t move. They wouldn’t do anything—like a herd of moose watches their brother get mutilated by wolves as he thrashes and writhes his body in a last effort to survive—idle, indifferent, and unable to recognize the lethality of their silence and inaction. But I never saw his face, and after the paramedics came and lifted the kid onto a gurny, I was in class, straining to catch a snippet of hushed conversation of what had happened. (not done yet)
Saturday, October 24, 2009
a little better :)
“In the end, we will not remember the words of our enemies, but the silence of our friends”
“Why didn’t anybody tell us?” Lujan’s mom asked from the podium on the stage of the funeral home, her voice barely discernable and unstable from the trembles of anguish and devastation. She stood there glaring at the crowd—like a judge looks down from the bench at a convicted killer—listening to the somber murmur of sniffles and gentle weeping that hovered like a dense fog, above the hanging heads of people who couldn’t bear to look her in the face. “This didn’t have to happen” she continued pointing to the casket, her red eyes still fixated spitefully at them. “This didn’t have to hap--.” She repeated, this time rushing of the stage, unable to finish, and unable to confront the silent, weeping crowd. The people who were watching her, observed her walking hurriedly down the steps of the stage, striding faster and faster until reaching her seat, where she collapsed into herself, and exalted an abrupt wail that decrescendoed into a wheezing sob. And aside from these weeps, the room fell silent again in anticipation for the next person to trudge up to the podium and grieve to the crowd. But no one else went up, and anticipation grew into awkwardness. And the funeral director looked at the crowd intently and anxiously until deciding to take the stage for prayer. “Dear Lord in Heaven, Let us bow heads together in grievance of the death of Dylan Lujan…”
After the service, everyone stood outside in front of the funeral home, and formed into about ten circles of about ten people each. Outside, the overcast sky retained the same gloom that the sniffling murmurs held inside the funeral home and some people joked that “God was weeping too”. I didn’t laugh, because I knew it was monsoon season, and storms had been occuring all that week. And after about ten minutes of forced conversation, the sky exploded abruptly—warning everything on Earth about the oncoming storm—with the type of thunder that seems to resonate with a low rumble long after the initial strike. From the circle I was standing in, no one was talking, so I was looking at everyone else that was gathered outside, and saw Lujan’s mom. Her question was ringing loud in my ear, but she should have known. How could she not have? His burn marks on his hands, his constant running nose, his constant droned expression, dropping out of school (ehow): it seems to obvious what he was doing.
“Kyle remember that fight a couple months ago where that kid got jumped?” my friend Andrew asked, interupting my focus on Lujan’s mom’s ignorance.
“Yeah” I responded, taking the deep breath that people take when transitioning from profound personal thought to social interaction. “Why?” this time sounding interested, and noticing the encroaching smell of rain and
“That’s him, isn’t it?”
“I’m not sure” I answer, trying bring myself back to that day, trying to picture that kids face. But I couldn’t. I was standing across campus when I saw everyone in the court yard coalesce in a fury around a violent commation. I remember standing back on my tip-toes, trying to see over the silent crowds heads……
“Why didn’t anybody tell us?” Lujan’s mom asked from the podium on the stage of the funeral home, her voice barely discernable and unstable from the trembles of anguish and devastation. She stood there glaring at the crowd—like a judge looks down from the bench at a convicted killer—listening to the somber murmur of sniffles and gentle weeping that hovered like a dense fog, above the hanging heads of people who couldn’t bear to look her in the face. “This didn’t have to happen” she continued pointing to the casket, her red eyes still fixated spitefully at them. “This didn’t have to hap--.” She repeated, this time rushing of the stage, unable to finish, and unable to confront the silent, weeping crowd. The people who were watching her, observed her walking hurriedly down the steps of the stage, striding faster and faster until reaching her seat, where she collapsed into herself, and exalted an abrupt wail that decrescendoed into a wheezing sob. And aside from these weeps, the room fell silent again in anticipation for the next person to trudge up to the podium and grieve to the crowd. But no one else went up, and anticipation grew into awkwardness. And the funeral director looked at the crowd intently and anxiously until deciding to take the stage for prayer. “Dear Lord in Heaven, Let us bow heads together in grievance of the death of Dylan Lujan…”
After the service, everyone stood outside in front of the funeral home, and formed into about ten circles of about ten people each. Outside, the overcast sky retained the same gloom that the sniffling murmurs held inside the funeral home and some people joked that “God was weeping too”. I didn’t laugh, because I knew it was monsoon season, and storms had been occuring all that week. And after about ten minutes of forced conversation, the sky exploded abruptly—warning everything on Earth about the oncoming storm—with the type of thunder that seems to resonate with a low rumble long after the initial strike. From the circle I was standing in, no one was talking, so I was looking at everyone else that was gathered outside, and saw Lujan’s mom. Her question was ringing loud in my ear, but she should have known. How could she not have? His burn marks on his hands, his constant running nose, his constant droned expression, dropping out of school (ehow): it seems to obvious what he was doing.
“Kyle remember that fight a couple months ago where that kid got jumped?” my friend Andrew asked, interupting my focus on Lujan’s mom’s ignorance.
“Yeah” I responded, taking the deep breath that people take when transitioning from profound personal thought to social interaction. “Why?” this time sounding interested, and noticing the encroaching smell of rain and
“That’s him, isn’t it?”
“I’m not sure” I answer, trying bring myself back to that day, trying to picture that kids face. But I couldn’t. I was standing across campus when I saw everyone in the court yard coalesce in a fury around a violent commation. I remember standing back on my tip-toes, trying to see over the silent crowds heads……
Friday, October 23, 2009
goddammit writers block
Social Issue: The choice of Silence in order to avoid ridicule
My friend died a couple of years ago. He died writhing on his bedroom floor with his eyes rolled back into his head, panicking, half-consciously—like an animal trying to reject ingested rat poison, or like an epileptic helplessly trying to overcome his convulsing debilitation. And once it was over, once his body laid lifeless and forlorn, failed from its last desperate attempt to flush out a surge of heroin, our attempts to forget his story, and bury it amongst the slew of hard memories began.
“Why didn’t anybody tell us?” his mom asks from the podium on the stage of the funeral home, her voice barely discernable from a mixture of anguish and devastation. A crowd of about two hundred people sitting before her, sounds of sniffles and gentle weeping arise from the hanging heads of people who can’t bear to look her in the face. “This didn’t have to happen” she continues pointing to the casket. “This didn’t have to hap--.” She says again, breaking into tears, rushing off stage and collapsing into her chair. And aside from the gentle whimper, the room falls silent again until
“His dad should just kick his ass” I would suggest to my friends as we stood by the tree we hung out at in CDO’s courtyard, talking just loud enough to make myself audible against the vibrant hum of the courtyard.
“Even then dude, Lujan wouldn’t quit, That shit is his life” Nick would always reply, dismissing my suggestion, and ultimately dismissing salvation for Lujan. Lujan’s mindless, droopy expression lost in a void, carelessly wandering and despondent.
“Are you high dude?” I ask in a numb disbelief
“Yeah” he giggles, bearing a foolish grin that reveals nearly all of his teeth. I shake my head, turning away and return back to the other conversations.
“Dylan’s fucking crazy guys” I say, to the new guys.
“Dude I heard he did meth yesterday” one kid
“What the fuck” I exclaim, blurted out in the form of passive rage, and in shock, I look over at the rest of our friends and see Dylan alone, strung out in a dense trance, showing interest in nothing.
My friend died a couple of years ago. He died writhing on his bedroom floor with his eyes rolled back into his head, panicking, half-consciously—like an animal trying to reject ingested rat poison, or like an epileptic helplessly trying to overcome his convulsing debilitation. And once it was over, once his body laid lifeless and forlorn, failed from its last desperate attempt to flush out a surge of heroin, our attempts to forget his story, and bury it amongst the slew of hard memories began.
“Why didn’t anybody tell us?” his mom asks from the podium on the stage of the funeral home, her voice barely discernable from a mixture of anguish and devastation. A crowd of about two hundred people sitting before her, sounds of sniffles and gentle weeping arise from the hanging heads of people who can’t bear to look her in the face. “This didn’t have to happen” she continues pointing to the casket. “This didn’t have to hap--.” She says again, breaking into tears, rushing off stage and collapsing into her chair. And aside from the gentle whimper, the room falls silent again until
“His dad should just kick his ass” I would suggest to my friends as we stood by the tree we hung out at in CDO’s courtyard, talking just loud enough to make myself audible against the vibrant hum of the courtyard.
“Even then dude, Lujan wouldn’t quit, That shit is his life” Nick would always reply, dismissing my suggestion, and ultimately dismissing salvation for Lujan. Lujan’s mindless, droopy expression lost in a void, carelessly wandering and despondent.
“Are you high dude?” I ask in a numb disbelief
“Yeah” he giggles, bearing a foolish grin that reveals nearly all of his teeth. I shake my head, turning away and return back to the other conversations.
“Dylan’s fucking crazy guys” I say, to the new guys.
“Dude I heard he did meth yesterday” one kid
“What the fuck” I exclaim, blurted out in the form of passive rage, and in shock, I look over at the rest of our friends and see Dylan alone, strung out in a dense trance, showing interest in nothing.
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
start of social witness
Since the assignment sheet was given out a couple of weeks ago, I have periodically been thinking about what I was going to write about in my Social Witness essay. And throughout most of that time, up until yesterday, I had no idea what that was going to be. Then yesterday, Jenna mentioned to write about something that you had experienced within your community. So I started thinking about my community, and my age group, and I thought about what defined me, or made me feel ashamed, proud, angry, helpless, or sad. But I couldn’t think of anything. Up until yesterday when I was with one of my friends at a subway, and we saw a kid that we recognized, who bore resemblance to a face we had tried to forget about. I looked over to that get, and motioned with my head, “that kid looks like dylan”. When I said that, my friend beamed at me for a split second, and responded with a one-word utterance of “yeah” for the mere purpose of acknowledging that he had heard me. I could tell it was still a tender subject for a lot of my friends, even after almost two years.
Then I hit me. I could talk about dylan. I could talk about what had happened to him and what our response to him was, and not just us. But everyone who knew about him and his problems. I could talk about how desensitization caused a kid his life. How we literally watched a kid self-destruct without saying anything at all.
I had a friend who died a couple of years ago. He died convulsing on his bedroom floor with his eyes rolled back into his head—like a despondent dog about to get uthanized—only conscious enough to realize that time was slowing along with his failing heart as it desperately tried to flush out a its last surge of heroin. I wasn’t there the day he died—I hadn’t been for about a year—for I had made a decision, along with most of my friends, to distance myself from him, to turn a blind eye, and to accept the fact that my admonishments were useless. Unfortunately, that misconception cost a young man his life.
Then I hit me. I could talk about dylan. I could talk about what had happened to him and what our response to him was, and not just us. But everyone who knew about him and his problems. I could talk about how desensitization caused a kid his life. How we literally watched a kid self-destruct without saying anything at all.
I had a friend who died a couple of years ago. He died convulsing on his bedroom floor with his eyes rolled back into his head—like a despondent dog about to get uthanized—only conscious enough to realize that time was slowing along with his failing heart as it desperately tried to flush out a its last surge of heroin. I wasn’t there the day he died—I hadn’t been for about a year—for I had made a decision, along with most of my friends, to distance myself from him, to turn a blind eye, and to accept the fact that my admonishments were useless. Unfortunately, that misconception cost a young man his life.
Monday, October 19, 2009
essay
Considered to be a major American short story writer of the 20th century, Raymond Carver’s stories often depict struggles of blue-collar America and have been acclaimed for their clear, hard language and accurate representation of human behavior during a point of nadir or recovery. Carver’s voice and accurate depictions can be accredited to his own life experiences as a working class male, which he often employs into his characters, such as in the narrator in “Where I’m Calling From.” Here, Carver writes in first person, through the point of view of a man recovering from alcoholism at a “drying-out facility”. Along with his life experiences, Carver also utilizes various literary approaches such as, vernacular, grammatical person, and verb tense, in order to further authenticate and legitimatize his story. Through the use of these devices and his personal experiences in “Where I’m Calling From”, Carver demonstrates strong invented ethos as a writer, which thus produces an accurate and authentic testimony of alcoholism recovery among working class Americans.
Probably the most captivating aspect of “Where I’m Calling From” is the amount of personal experience Carver draws from in order to construct his characters and their behaviors. As a working class father who struggled with alcoholism throughout most of his adult life, Carver is able to include minor details about alcohol recovery such as paranoia and short attention span into the story. While conversing with another recovering man, the narrator interrupts the conversation with his inner thoughts about how he’s worried about a twitch in his shoulder and how he “knows something’s about to happen and (I) want to head it off” (Carver 278). Although this is just a minor detail in the story, it demonstrates an aspect about alcohol recovery that may be alien to people who had not experienced alcohol recovery. Therefore, the inclusion of these details not only provides a more accurate character portrayal, but also indicates that Carver may have experienced these symptoms himself. Here, Carver’s personal experiences help strengthen his invented ethos by suggesting to readers that the symptoms, or on a larger scale, character behaviors, are not fictional, but actual substantive aspects of alcohol recovery, allowing them to trust Carver as an author.
Carver further demonstrates his intelligence on the attitudes and psychology of working-class males recovering from alcoholism through his consistent use of their vernacular. Had for instance Carver used a more scientific, or a more sophisticated tone, his audience would have rejected him as a voice for working-class males and alcohol recovery, however, Carver’s cultured, gruff language, indicates that he may be an insider to this particular culture or lifestyle. Not only does this style of voice demonstrate Carver’s intelligence on this subject, but it also establishes his goodwill as an author. Here instead a using a sophisticated, extravagant voice, which could be misleading or seem equivocating to people who are unaware of this subject, Carver’s use of the vernacular attempts to portray the attitudes of those who are recovering from alcoholism as accurately and honestly as possible. This attempt at honesty and authenticity, in effect gives the audience the impression that the character portrayals and issues in the story are most likely authentic and honest, establishing Carver’s goodwill as an honest writer to his readers.
Another prominent literary feature of “Where I’m Calling From” is Carver’s choice of grammatical person and verb tense. Throughout the story Carver writes in first person through the point of view of the narrator, who often oscillates between his present stay at the “drying-out facility” and telling past stories about himself as well as other men’s stories (third person) as he’s heard them. With his choice of grammatical person and verb tense coupled with his use of informal vernacular, Carver’s voice in “Where I’m Calling From” has a substantial presence to it, as if he’s in the room casually reciting his story. This voice, in effect lessens the distance between Carver and his readers, allowing them to be more engaged in his story and to hold more sympathy for his characters. Moreover, Carver’s strong presence in his stories also enables him to establish good character by portraying himself as a raconteur. This raconteuristic status then allows Carver to build up reverence as a storyteller from his audience, causing the audience to hold his stories at a higher regard than if he had used third person and past tense—or a less formal tone throughout. In other words, Carver was able to establish good character by approaching the story as if he is telling it one on one in order to gain respect as a writer from his audience.
In conclusion, although Carver intended to focus on the characters in “Where I’m Calling From” in order to examine human behavior at the point of nadir or recovery, his ethos still come out through his story. His indications at personal experience and use various literary devices such as cultural vernacular, multiple grammatical persons, and verb tenses all help demonstrate his intelligence, establish goodwill, and set up good character as a storyteller. With these aspects of ethos secure, Carver successfully appeals to his audience as an insightful, adept author. However, although these aspects work to Carver’s advantage in his literary genre dirty realism, it would be interesting to see how a writer like Carver constructs ethos in a genre such as science fiction, where personal experiences and vernacular are not so prominent. This thought can then be applied to a broader scale: rhetors and authors need to understand what rhetorical approaches are appropriate and successful for different rhetorical situations.
Probably the most captivating aspect of “Where I’m Calling From” is the amount of personal experience Carver draws from in order to construct his characters and their behaviors. As a working class father who struggled with alcoholism throughout most of his adult life, Carver is able to include minor details about alcohol recovery such as paranoia and short attention span into the story. While conversing with another recovering man, the narrator interrupts the conversation with his inner thoughts about how he’s worried about a twitch in his shoulder and how he “knows something’s about to happen and (I) want to head it off” (Carver 278). Although this is just a minor detail in the story, it demonstrates an aspect about alcohol recovery that may be alien to people who had not experienced alcohol recovery. Therefore, the inclusion of these details not only provides a more accurate character portrayal, but also indicates that Carver may have experienced these symptoms himself. Here, Carver’s personal experiences help strengthen his invented ethos by suggesting to readers that the symptoms, or on a larger scale, character behaviors, are not fictional, but actual substantive aspects of alcohol recovery, allowing them to trust Carver as an author.
Carver further demonstrates his intelligence on the attitudes and psychology of working-class males recovering from alcoholism through his consistent use of their vernacular. Had for instance Carver used a more scientific, or a more sophisticated tone, his audience would have rejected him as a voice for working-class males and alcohol recovery, however, Carver’s cultured, gruff language, indicates that he may be an insider to this particular culture or lifestyle. Not only does this style of voice demonstrate Carver’s intelligence on this subject, but it also establishes his goodwill as an author. Here instead a using a sophisticated, extravagant voice, which could be misleading or seem equivocating to people who are unaware of this subject, Carver’s use of the vernacular attempts to portray the attitudes of those who are recovering from alcoholism as accurately and honestly as possible. This attempt at honesty and authenticity, in effect gives the audience the impression that the character portrayals and issues in the story are most likely authentic and honest, establishing Carver’s goodwill as an honest writer to his readers.
Another prominent literary feature of “Where I’m Calling From” is Carver’s choice of grammatical person and verb tense. Throughout the story Carver writes in first person through the point of view of the narrator, who often oscillates between his present stay at the “drying-out facility” and telling past stories about himself as well as other men’s stories (third person) as he’s heard them. With his choice of grammatical person and verb tense coupled with his use of informal vernacular, Carver’s voice in “Where I’m Calling From” has a substantial presence to it, as if he’s in the room casually reciting his story. This voice, in effect lessens the distance between Carver and his readers, allowing them to be more engaged in his story and to hold more sympathy for his characters. Moreover, Carver’s strong presence in his stories also enables him to establish good character by portraying himself as a raconteur. This raconteuristic status then allows Carver to build up reverence as a storyteller from his audience, causing the audience to hold his stories at a higher regard than if he had used third person and past tense—or a less formal tone throughout. In other words, Carver was able to establish good character by approaching the story as if he is telling it one on one in order to gain respect as a writer from his audience.
In conclusion, although Carver intended to focus on the characters in “Where I’m Calling From” in order to examine human behavior at the point of nadir or recovery, his ethos still come out through his story. His indications at personal experience and use various literary devices such as cultural vernacular, multiple grammatical persons, and verb tenses all help demonstrate his intelligence, establish goodwill, and set up good character as a storyteller. With these aspects of ethos secure, Carver successfully appeals to his audience as an insightful, adept author. However, although these aspects work to Carver’s advantage in his literary genre dirty realism, it would be interesting to see how a writer like Carver constructs ethos in a genre such as science fiction, where personal experiences and vernacular are not so prominent. This thought can then be applied to a broader scale: rhetors and authors need to understand what rhetorical approaches are appropriate and successful for different rhetorical situations.
Saturday, October 17, 2009
abstract, precis on clovis technologies
Abstract
The article, “Redefining the Age of Clovis: Implications for the peopling of Americas” attempts to identify a specific time range for the Clovis technology utilization of the Americas. The article provides a myriad of carbon dating data collected from Clovis artifacts in order to support their theory of approximate utilization period. Although an approximate timeline is agreed upon by researches of this field, the article introduces various theories as to why Clovis technologies appeared “synchronously across the United States” those being: Clovis was the first technology of the Americas, or it was developed in situ with pre-existing technologies (Stafford. Waters 1124).
Precis
Throughout the article, ample carbon dating data, extracted from unique Clovis technologies such as, bone and ivory tools, is given in order to provide a strong foundation of scientific evidence which indicates that the rapid growth of peoples’ utilization of Clovis technologies, began approximately 13,125 to 12, 925 years ago. The article then acknowledges scientific exceptions, such as artifacts found in the Sheaman, Wyoming site, that would refute their theory of approximate utilization. The article then goes on to dismiss these exceptions as intangible evidence by suggesting that they were probably contaminated and mixed with younger cultural materials. However, the article does acknowledge that peoples, who utilized Clovis technologies, had predecessors, which used more primitive style of tools, and provides evidence in support of this notion. The article then uses these people to explain their theory of rapid Clovis utilization by suggesting that Clovis technologies “developed in situ” from the primitive style of tools, and that the Clovis technologies were so pragmatic and effective that it rapidly spread by means social interaction and trade. The spontaneous and omnipresent growth is significant because it indicates cultural unification among prehistoric Indians, and suggests the presence of a trade system within the pre-Columbian Americas.
The article, “Redefining the Age of Clovis: Implications for the peopling of Americas” attempts to identify a specific time range for the Clovis technology utilization of the Americas. The article provides a myriad of carbon dating data collected from Clovis artifacts in order to support their theory of approximate utilization period. Although an approximate timeline is agreed upon by researches of this field, the article introduces various theories as to why Clovis technologies appeared “synchronously across the United States” those being: Clovis was the first technology of the Americas, or it was developed in situ with pre-existing technologies (Stafford. Waters 1124).
Precis
Throughout the article, ample carbon dating data, extracted from unique Clovis technologies such as, bone and ivory tools, is given in order to provide a strong foundation of scientific evidence which indicates that the rapid growth of peoples’ utilization of Clovis technologies, began approximately 13,125 to 12, 925 years ago. The article then acknowledges scientific exceptions, such as artifacts found in the Sheaman, Wyoming site, that would refute their theory of approximate utilization. The article then goes on to dismiss these exceptions as intangible evidence by suggesting that they were probably contaminated and mixed with younger cultural materials. However, the article does acknowledge that peoples, who utilized Clovis technologies, had predecessors, which used more primitive style of tools, and provides evidence in support of this notion. The article then uses these people to explain their theory of rapid Clovis utilization by suggesting that Clovis technologies “developed in situ” from the primitive style of tools, and that the Clovis technologies were so pragmatic and effective that it rapidly spread by means social interaction and trade. The spontaneous and omnipresent growth is significant because it indicates cultural unification among prehistoric Indians, and suggests the presence of a trade system within the pre-Columbian Americas.
Friday, October 16, 2009
raw emotions on a raw deal
Today I had to swallow down a raw deal; no gagging it up, no jamming a finger down my throat, just clinching my eyes and waiting for the lump to drop into my stomach. And when it hit my stomach it was heavy and it was the kind of heavy that keeps on falling and is so vast that it obliterates everything into vacancy, ultimately leaving me unable to register any emotional reaction from it. This was shock, and I was phlegmatic when I was supposed to be punching walls and inventing new swear words in a primordial rage.
And it was this shock, this vacancy, which has now been partially filled with pride that helped me to overcome my explosive rage. However, the pride is only a partial feeling. The other portion of vacancy has been filled with disclosure invoking a retrospect that I should have released a rage.
And now I find myself asking is this a sign of myself maturing? Or is it a sign that I am becoming more passive aggressive, where I am repressing my emotions until one day I explode into an even more volatile rage? I would like to think its maturity. But the disclosure is indicative of the passive aggressiveness. If it were maturity, true maturity, there would be no feeling of unresolved emotions, because true maturity would have already resolved the emotions. So the shock must have only equivocated the emotions.
Now that I think more about the raw deal, the more my testosterone starts to bubble. Now that I think about how I may fail a test --that I know I would have gotten an ‘A’ on--because I didn’t turn in the blank question sheet. Now that I just wrote that I want to slam the screen part of my lab top against the side of the table and yell “fuck” as loud and as long as I can until my vocal chords start to throb in pain. But I know that would be silly, so I am going to handle the matter like I should: talk with the teacher, admit my mistake, but ask her a second chance; implore redemption. However, if redemption fails, my true test of character will be how I react or cope in the absence of redemption.
And it was this shock, this vacancy, which has now been partially filled with pride that helped me to overcome my explosive rage. However, the pride is only a partial feeling. The other portion of vacancy has been filled with disclosure invoking a retrospect that I should have released a rage.
And now I find myself asking is this a sign of myself maturing? Or is it a sign that I am becoming more passive aggressive, where I am repressing my emotions until one day I explode into an even more volatile rage? I would like to think its maturity. But the disclosure is indicative of the passive aggressiveness. If it were maturity, true maturity, there would be no feeling of unresolved emotions, because true maturity would have already resolved the emotions. So the shock must have only equivocated the emotions.
Now that I think more about the raw deal, the more my testosterone starts to bubble. Now that I think about how I may fail a test --that I know I would have gotten an ‘A’ on--because I didn’t turn in the blank question sheet. Now that I just wrote that I want to slam the screen part of my lab top against the side of the table and yell “fuck” as loud and as long as I can until my vocal chords start to throb in pain. But I know that would be silly, so I am going to handle the matter like I should: talk with the teacher, admit my mistake, but ask her a second chance; implore redemption. However, if redemption fails, my true test of character will be how I react or cope in the absence of redemption.
Thursday, October 15, 2009
beginings of ethos analysis
Considered to be a major American short story writer of the 20th century, Raymond Carver’s stories often depict struggles of blue-collar America and have been acclaimed for their clear, hard language and accurate representation of human behavior during a point of nadir or recovery. Carver’s voice and accurate depictions can be accredited to his own life experiences as a working class male, which he often employs into his characters, such as the narrator in “Where I’m Calling From.” Here, Carver writes in first person, through the point of view of a man recovering from alcoholism at a “drying-out facility”. Along with his life experiences, Carver also utilizes various literary approaches such as contextual meaning, vernacular, metaphor, and allusions, in order to further authenticate and legitimatize his story. Through the use of these devices and his personal experiences in “Where I’m Calling From”, Carver demonstrates strong ethos as a writer, which thus produces an accurate and authentic testimony of alcoholism recovery among working class Americans.
Probably the most captivating aspect of “Where I’m Calling From” is the amount of personal experience Carver draws from in order to construct his characters and their behaviors. As a working class father who struggled with alcoholism throughout his adult life, Carver is able to include minor details about alcohol recovery such as paranoia and short attention span into the story. While conversing with another recovering man, the narrator interrupts the conversation with his inner thoughts about how he’s worried about a twitch in his shoulder and how he “knows something’s about to happen and (I) want to head it off” (Carver 278). Although this is just a minor detail in the story, it demonstrates an aspect about alcohol recovery that may be alien to people who had not experienced alcohol recovery. Therefore, the inclusion of these details not only provides a more accurate character portrayal, but also indicates that Carver may have experienced these symptoms himself. Here, Carver’s personal experiences help strengthen his ethos by suggesting to readers that the symptoms, or on a larger scale, character behaviors, are not invented, but actual substantive aspects of alcohol recovery, allowing them to trust Carver as an author.
Probably the most captivating aspect of “Where I’m Calling From” is the amount of personal experience Carver draws from in order to construct his characters and their behaviors. As a working class father who struggled with alcoholism throughout his adult life, Carver is able to include minor details about alcohol recovery such as paranoia and short attention span into the story. While conversing with another recovering man, the narrator interrupts the conversation with his inner thoughts about how he’s worried about a twitch in his shoulder and how he “knows something’s about to happen and (I) want to head it off” (Carver 278). Although this is just a minor detail in the story, it demonstrates an aspect about alcohol recovery that may be alien to people who had not experienced alcohol recovery. Therefore, the inclusion of these details not only provides a more accurate character portrayal, but also indicates that Carver may have experienced these symptoms himself. Here, Carver’s personal experiences help strengthen his ethos by suggesting to readers that the symptoms, or on a larger scale, character behaviors, are not invented, but actual substantive aspects of alcohol recovery, allowing them to trust Carver as an author.
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
rough creative story
Bill and I are sitting across from each other holding our hands up to the fire. We’re sitting on a couple rocks, staring, and listening to the cracks of the wood.
“What you suppose we should do about ‘em?” I ask him. He doesn’t look up. I can tell his nerves are starting to get to him. Usually he’s a talker, but tonight he I know he’s scared, edgy. He’s still staring at the fire. I look back down and put my hands deep in my pockets and shudder. Goddamn fire isn’t hot enough yet. I knew we should have gotten more wood, but I’m know sure as hell Bill isn’t going out there again, and I’m not going out there alone, not after seeing that. I turn my head toward the black woods where we found him laying, but its too heavy, so I turn my head back to Bill. He’s still staring at the fire “Fuck man. How you think he died?”
“Don’t know.” I answered, rubbing my hands together to get warm.
“He was just a kid wasn’t he. Couldn’t have been more than sixteen.”
“Yup” I say and look down at my phone; still no bars. I knew it was a lost cause, but I had to check anyway. “Well we can’t call it in.”
“Fuck man. You think we should check if he has a wallet or something? Just to see who he is.” Bill asks. I can hear his voice start to tremble. He’s not hiding it anymore. I shake my head, but I don’t know if he sees me or not.
“Well, in any case we need some wood. Lets just got out that way” he motions his head opposite of where we found the kid laying. I give him a look of agreement, and I know he can see me this time because we both get up at the same time.
When we found him, it was just before sunset. We had set up camp late and were scrambling to find some wood before it got dark. Right away I could smell it. I yelled over to Bill and asked if he smelled it too and said “a little bit”. At first I didn’t think much of it, but as I walked further from camp, the smell got stronger.
“You don’t think there will be any bears around to do you?” I said. Then just as I fiinshed asking, I saw Bill flinch and then hover over something.
“Holy fuck man. Dude it’s a body. He’s dead. Holy Fuck.” He said, panicking, stepping back from the body, but positioning his head so not to loose site of it.
I ran up to him stopping just short of where he was and craned my neck to look at it. About ten feet from me was this kid. He had a bad head wound and was already decomposed pretty bad. I started gagging, and threw up a little bit then turned back to camp. When I left, Bill was still staring at the kid, and when he came back I already had the fire started.
“What you suppose we should do about ‘em?” I ask him. He doesn’t look up. I can tell his nerves are starting to get to him. Usually he’s a talker, but tonight he I know he’s scared, edgy. He’s still staring at the fire. I look back down and put my hands deep in my pockets and shudder. Goddamn fire isn’t hot enough yet. I knew we should have gotten more wood, but I’m know sure as hell Bill isn’t going out there again, and I’m not going out there alone, not after seeing that. I turn my head toward the black woods where we found him laying, but its too heavy, so I turn my head back to Bill. He’s still staring at the fire “Fuck man. How you think he died?”
“Don’t know.” I answered, rubbing my hands together to get warm.
“He was just a kid wasn’t he. Couldn’t have been more than sixteen.”
“Yup” I say and look down at my phone; still no bars. I knew it was a lost cause, but I had to check anyway. “Well we can’t call it in.”
“Fuck man. You think we should check if he has a wallet or something? Just to see who he is.” Bill asks. I can hear his voice start to tremble. He’s not hiding it anymore. I shake my head, but I don’t know if he sees me or not.
“Well, in any case we need some wood. Lets just got out that way” he motions his head opposite of where we found the kid laying. I give him a look of agreement, and I know he can see me this time because we both get up at the same time.
When we found him, it was just before sunset. We had set up camp late and were scrambling to find some wood before it got dark. Right away I could smell it. I yelled over to Bill and asked if he smelled it too and said “a little bit”. At first I didn’t think much of it, but as I walked further from camp, the smell got stronger.
“You don’t think there will be any bears around to do you?” I said. Then just as I fiinshed asking, I saw Bill flinch and then hover over something.
“Holy fuck man. Dude it’s a body. He’s dead. Holy Fuck.” He said, panicking, stepping back from the body, but positioning his head so not to loose site of it.
I ran up to him stopping just short of where he was and craned my neck to look at it. About ten feet from me was this kid. He had a bad head wound and was already decomposed pretty bad. I started gagging, and threw up a little bit then turned back to camp. When I left, Bill was still staring at the kid, and when he came back I already had the fire started.
Sunday, October 11, 2009
odysseus essay
Translating into ‘one who causes and/or receives grief’, the meaning of Odysseus’s name functions as an integral role for a major theme in Homer’s The Odyssey. The relationship between Odysseus’s name and Odysseus’s character traits, are in a sense, ironic, in that Odysseus’s courage and guile are at times overshadowed by the grief he induces upon himself and also the people/beings he encounters. Here, nearly all of this grief can be traced back to Odysseus’s desire for glory. Through the use of Odysseus’s name and character traits, Homer demonstrates how grief is consequential of glory seeking.
Odysseus lives up to his name by causing grief to himself and to his men when he chooses to remain in Polyphemus’s lair. Overriding his men’s plan to quickly raid the beast’s cave and then “put out to sea at once”, Odysseus resists, and requests that they wait until the beast comes back. (Homer 307). Instead of choosing the most pragmatic and innocuous path, Odysseus daringly yearns to meet the infamous Cyclops in order to test how much the “ruthless brute” would afford over to him (Homer 308). In other words, Odysseus’s reasoning (or lack of reasoning) is driven by the glory to announce how he had bartered with an uncivilized beast. However, Odysseus’s plan backfired. Polyphemus rejected Odysseus’s plea for hospitality, and as a result, not only were he and his men trapped in the cave, but also, a number of men died. By seeking glory over safety, Odysseus caused much grief to himself, and to the men in his party.
Odysseus’s desire for glory further endangers himself and his men when they have finally set sail after escaping from the Cyclops. Upon using his adored cunning to defeat a beast with strength comparable to the Gods, Odysseus and his men nearly escape home unscathed. However, when he and his men are on the ship sailing away, Odysseus decides to taunt the beast proclaiming,
“Cyclops—if any man on the face of the earth should ask you who blinded you, shamed you so—say Odysseus” (Homer 313).
Here, Odysseus reveals himself to Polyphemus in order to brag about who had truly blinded and outwitted him. This is ultimately an attempt by Odysseus to glorify his name and to establish himself as a dominant persona throughout the Homeric world. This glorification however, works against Odysseus in that Poseidon (Polyphemus’s father) now knows that Odysseus was the blinder of his son and wages his wrath in return, which will be suffered by the Acheans. Again, it is through Odysseus’s desire for glory that causes grief and suffering among others.
In conclusion, Homer portrays glory-seeking as a character flaw in which grief and suffering is it consequence. Homer cleverly depicts this theme by awarding this flaw to a hero whose name translates to ‘one who causes grief’. It can be then drawn that grief is characteristic of glory in the Odyssey. Whenever glory was sought after by Odysseus, grief never failed to follow. In other words, Odysseus established himself as ‘a man of constant sorrow.’
Odysseus lives up to his name by causing grief to himself and to his men when he chooses to remain in Polyphemus’s lair. Overriding his men’s plan to quickly raid the beast’s cave and then “put out to sea at once”, Odysseus resists, and requests that they wait until the beast comes back. (Homer 307). Instead of choosing the most pragmatic and innocuous path, Odysseus daringly yearns to meet the infamous Cyclops in order to test how much the “ruthless brute” would afford over to him (Homer 308). In other words, Odysseus’s reasoning (or lack of reasoning) is driven by the glory to announce how he had bartered with an uncivilized beast. However, Odysseus’s plan backfired. Polyphemus rejected Odysseus’s plea for hospitality, and as a result, not only were he and his men trapped in the cave, but also, a number of men died. By seeking glory over safety, Odysseus caused much grief to himself, and to the men in his party.
Odysseus’s desire for glory further endangers himself and his men when they have finally set sail after escaping from the Cyclops. Upon using his adored cunning to defeat a beast with strength comparable to the Gods, Odysseus and his men nearly escape home unscathed. However, when he and his men are on the ship sailing away, Odysseus decides to taunt the beast proclaiming,
“Cyclops—if any man on the face of the earth should ask you who blinded you, shamed you so—say Odysseus” (Homer 313).
Here, Odysseus reveals himself to Polyphemus in order to brag about who had truly blinded and outwitted him. This is ultimately an attempt by Odysseus to glorify his name and to establish himself as a dominant persona throughout the Homeric world. This glorification however, works against Odysseus in that Poseidon (Polyphemus’s father) now knows that Odysseus was the blinder of his son and wages his wrath in return, which will be suffered by the Acheans. Again, it is through Odysseus’s desire for glory that causes grief and suffering among others.
In conclusion, Homer portrays glory-seeking as a character flaw in which grief and suffering is it consequence. Homer cleverly depicts this theme by awarding this flaw to a hero whose name translates to ‘one who causes grief’. It can be then drawn that grief is characteristic of glory in the Odyssey. Whenever glory was sought after by Odysseus, grief never failed to follow. In other words, Odysseus established himself as ‘a man of constant sorrow.’
Saturday, October 10, 2009
Confronting My Manager
I have been working in produce now for about 15 months, and for the most part enhoy my job. I get along with all of the other produce employees and have become friends with most of them. Most of the guys I work with are parttimers, who either have another carreer, own their own bussiness, or are students, like me who because of hard economic times were forced to take up another job. So being that we all are preoccupied oustide of our parttime side job, we all have something in common and can relate to each others situation.
But there’s one person I have a problem with. I don’t like my new manager. She transferred over to produce manager about a month ago from being the cashier manager because of the slight pay increase. So naturally having no previous background working with produce, she is completely clueless. Normally I would have no objection taking the time to help familiarize her with the department and make her transition less difficult, but her attitude is abrasive.
This morning my manager came into work hungover. She did nothing but gripe all morning and didn’t bother to help us fill the holes or unload the load. She was angry that she had to work a Saturday morning and swore that this one would be the last time. Throughout the morning as I would scurry back and forth between the backroom and the sales floor I would catch snickets of emotional phone conversations she was having with her husband or be confided with complaints about how sick she was feeling. After about five hours of her not doing one thing, I got fed up.
“You shouldn’t get drunk the night before you have to go into work early” I said, confronting after an hour long debate with myself.
“Excuse me?”
“All you’ve done all morning is sit back here and talk about how sick you are. If you’re not feeling well, just go home.”
She then retreated into herself, the way a person does when they lose all form of justification for a disgraceful behavior, and sulks idly until they find something to retaliate with. And inside herself, after a seemingly interminable ten seconds, she was able to recover a counter that cowards often abuse; power. Instead of accepting that she was wrong, she retaliated against me by attacking my disrespect for authority.
“You don’t talk to a manager like that. I’m going to talk to Jeff about this.”
“Good. I’ll walk there with you.” I said forcing my stare upon her timid, yet authoritative eyes, until she broke the tension-bound stare. Her eyes were blinking at intervals and had raised her eyebrows so that her forehead was furrowed with six or seven jagged lines.
“Look I just want some respect from you guys.”
“How have we disrespected you? You are the one who came in hungover and hasn’t worked at all this morning. What the fuck is that. Just because you’re a manager doesn’t—“
“Look, I have a lot of shit going on in my life right now dude. I don’t need shit from my employees to complicate it.” She said interrupting me.
“If you can’t separate your personal life with your job, then your unfit for being a manager. Go home take care of your shit.”
“This is so fucked up.” She said briskly walking past me.
I waited until Jeff asked me into his office and told him departmental concerns, and admitted my in-house attempts to resolve an issue was somewhat unorthodox.
“Transfer her back. She has no business leading anybody.”
But there’s one person I have a problem with. I don’t like my new manager. She transferred over to produce manager about a month ago from being the cashier manager because of the slight pay increase. So naturally having no previous background working with produce, she is completely clueless. Normally I would have no objection taking the time to help familiarize her with the department and make her transition less difficult, but her attitude is abrasive.
This morning my manager came into work hungover. She did nothing but gripe all morning and didn’t bother to help us fill the holes or unload the load. She was angry that she had to work a Saturday morning and swore that this one would be the last time. Throughout the morning as I would scurry back and forth between the backroom and the sales floor I would catch snickets of emotional phone conversations she was having with her husband or be confided with complaints about how sick she was feeling. After about five hours of her not doing one thing, I got fed up.
“You shouldn’t get drunk the night before you have to go into work early” I said, confronting after an hour long debate with myself.
“Excuse me?”
“All you’ve done all morning is sit back here and talk about how sick you are. If you’re not feeling well, just go home.”
She then retreated into herself, the way a person does when they lose all form of justification for a disgraceful behavior, and sulks idly until they find something to retaliate with. And inside herself, after a seemingly interminable ten seconds, she was able to recover a counter that cowards often abuse; power. Instead of accepting that she was wrong, she retaliated against me by attacking my disrespect for authority.
“You don’t talk to a manager like that. I’m going to talk to Jeff about this.”
“Good. I’ll walk there with you.” I said forcing my stare upon her timid, yet authoritative eyes, until she broke the tension-bound stare. Her eyes were blinking at intervals and had raised her eyebrows so that her forehead was furrowed with six or seven jagged lines.
“Look I just want some respect from you guys.”
“How have we disrespected you? You are the one who came in hungover and hasn’t worked at all this morning. What the fuck is that. Just because you’re a manager doesn’t—“
“Look, I have a lot of shit going on in my life right now dude. I don’t need shit from my employees to complicate it.” She said interrupting me.
“If you can’t separate your personal life with your job, then your unfit for being a manager. Go home take care of your shit.”
“This is so fucked up.” She said briskly walking past me.
I waited until Jeff asked me into his office and told him departmental concerns, and admitted my in-house attempts to resolve an issue was somewhat unorthodox.
“Transfer her back. She has no business leading anybody.”
Friday, October 9, 2009
Documentary
It was interesting how the narrator, being both an eastern Kentucky resident and a film journalist stayed somewhat standoffish throughout the documentary. She did this, I think because she understood both of the cultures and wanted to portray their point of view equally and fairly. Probably the most shocking aspect of the documentary, to me was the sentencing of Hobart. Although I myself would be outraged if someone from a different culture came to my community to film a documentary on how horribly I lived, and intended on showing it to people only of their culture, I don’t think I would be angry enough to shoot him. I think Hobart probably should have received a harsher sentence, or at least should have served his full ten years.
To me, the epicenter of the culture clash, was how the filmmakers blamed the degree of poverty in Eastern Kentucky on the flaws of the American Dream. Then to counter this mindset the narrator juxtaposed it with a poor coal miner stating that he had lived the American Dream and was happy with his life. This is interesting, and somewhat ironic because it shows that those who are disavowing the American Dream were those who were secure in it (to their standards). The filmmakers had standardized to what constituted the American Dream to their lifestyle, and when they saw a community living outside those boundaries, they decried that lifestyle that the people were content with. However, in a way, the filmmakers were using the poor coal miners, just as corporations had, in order to capitalize on a product, which in their case was a documentary about poverty. But I don’t think the filmmakers had any band intentions with making their film. However, I do think they were arrogant and ignorant to other lifestyles. Although obviously the filmmakers were aware of other lifestyles and cultures, they were ignorant to the peoples’ attitudes towards them. And this ignorance, I believe is what started the culture clash.
To answer question number three, members of a community should tell the community story, or at least approve of some one else to do it. I think the narrator recognized her community’s obligation to document their way of life and social problems and felt it was necessary to document it being both a resident and a journalist. I believe she did this to protect her communities reputation, so they would be portrayed as a bunch of savage hill-billies and also to expose the dangers of ignorance, which was present on both the filmmakers side as well the Kentucians side.
To me, the epicenter of the culture clash, was how the filmmakers blamed the degree of poverty in Eastern Kentucky on the flaws of the American Dream. Then to counter this mindset the narrator juxtaposed it with a poor coal miner stating that he had lived the American Dream and was happy with his life. This is interesting, and somewhat ironic because it shows that those who are disavowing the American Dream were those who were secure in it (to their standards). The filmmakers had standardized to what constituted the American Dream to their lifestyle, and when they saw a community living outside those boundaries, they decried that lifestyle that the people were content with. However, in a way, the filmmakers were using the poor coal miners, just as corporations had, in order to capitalize on a product, which in their case was a documentary about poverty. But I don’t think the filmmakers had any band intentions with making their film. However, I do think they were arrogant and ignorant to other lifestyles. Although obviously the filmmakers were aware of other lifestyles and cultures, they were ignorant to the peoples’ attitudes towards them. And this ignorance, I believe is what started the culture clash.
To answer question number three, members of a community should tell the community story, or at least approve of some one else to do it. I think the narrator recognized her community’s obligation to document their way of life and social problems and felt it was necessary to document it being both a resident and a journalist. I believe she did this to protect her communities reputation, so they would be portrayed as a bunch of savage hill-billies and also to expose the dangers of ignorance, which was present on both the filmmakers side as well the Kentucians side.
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
brain storming about ethical analysis paper
For the ethical analysis paper, I am thinking about analyzing the narration of a short story. Since I am English major, I think short stories qualify for my “field of work”. However, for a back up paper to analyze, I will probably choose to analyze the narration of a literary analysis paper. But as of right now, I have chosen to analyze the narration of Raymond Carver’s “where I'm calling from”. I am choosing to analyze the narration of this piece for a variety of reasons. The first is that I really enjoy reading his stories. I find it very impressive and fascinating with how he is able to convey deep messages through a very minimalistic voice. The second reason I am choosing to analyze the narration of a Raymond Carver story is because I want to start writing short stories. By writing an ethical analysis essay on one, I will be able to better understand what writing mechanisms go into establishing good ethos in a short story. The third, and final reason I want to analyze a Raymond carver narration/voice is because I think it would be more interesting and engaging to analyze a composition I like rather than to analyze a composition that is dry or doesn’t hold my interest as much. These aspects will reflect in the voice of my essay. In other words, if I am writing about a piece I don’t like so much my voice will sound dull and to some extent mundane and vice versa.
What to look for when analyzing the narration of a short story: first I should probably distinguish the story’s theme. With this established I can start analyzing the writing mechanisms the author used to arrive at this them, and reflect these mechanisms were successful or not. I can examine word choice, dialogue, descriptions, character portrayals, setting, metaphors, allusions, and voice. Another aspect I can look at is the brevity of the story and analyze how/what the author utilized or did to convey a message in such a compact manner. I can analyze the story’s brevity as part of the ethos and discuss whether this aspect of the story was successful for how the piece was conceived by readers. I also feel the intended audience is crucial in analyzing the ethos in that understanding the audience’s background or expectations of the story will allow me to look at how the author (Carver) composed his writing with this audience in mind.
What to look for when analyzing the narration of a short story: first I should probably distinguish the story’s theme. With this established I can start analyzing the writing mechanisms the author used to arrive at this them, and reflect these mechanisms were successful or not. I can examine word choice, dialogue, descriptions, character portrayals, setting, metaphors, allusions, and voice. Another aspect I can look at is the brevity of the story and analyze how/what the author utilized or did to convey a message in such a compact manner. I can analyze the story’s brevity as part of the ethos and discuss whether this aspect of the story was successful for how the piece was conceived by readers. I also feel the intended audience is crucial in analyzing the ethos in that understanding the audience’s background or expectations of the story will allow me to look at how the author (Carver) composed his writing with this audience in mind.
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
in class writing 10/06
I would like to talk about political issues that I feel very strongly about like gu control and limited government. I want to talk about these issues because I am very interested in them and feel that this interest will reflect positively in my writing as opposed to if I was writing about an issue I was interesting in.
An Issue I feel I need to talk about is the American Dream and to advocate how working hard and being shrewd and savvy allows people to transpose classes. Many times people who oppose capitalism or the American way of life often incite a false portrayal or it, establishing it to be a plutocracy, where people are more or less cemented in their socio-economic status. I would like to disrupt this false portrayal.
I think I should talk about the American dream to refute a common trend amongst many people in the Academic community, who tend to demonize it and portray it as seriously flawed. I feel it is much easier to disavow a lifestyle or economic structure when people are secure in it.
I can address these issues (the American dream) by telling the story of my family and how they were able to rise up from poverty through the means of hard work and determination, ultimately establishing a comfortable life for themselves and their family. I could also use my life how I am working full time and going to school full time to help set up a more financially comfortable future. I look up to my dad’s quote “Those who take the easy route first always end up leaving the hard way”
Lack of power
Explain how technology has somewhat rendered society powerless. Talk about how the all Seeing Eye so to speak, and how all of its good intentions has led to some inconvenient consequences. I can talk about how I have gotten in trouble with the police before and my experiences with them. I can explore my latest run in with the law and how the police used technology to their advantage in order to track me down. Also I can refute the intrusion of speed cameras and red light cameras on public roadways, and how even though they are on publicly funded infrastructures, their presence was never legally voted in. I’m not sure how I can tie this in with being technology rendering society powerless, other than talk about the ticket I got from the cameras last year
Cinematic scene
I need to talk about the night this summer when I was lighting off fireworks with my friends, and ran away from the cops (3 miles) and finally got home, only to find the cops arrive at my house 30 minutes later. I need to talk about how the police were able to use technology to track me down, exposing me, and my feelings towards it.
An Issue I feel I need to talk about is the American Dream and to advocate how working hard and being shrewd and savvy allows people to transpose classes. Many times people who oppose capitalism or the American way of life often incite a false portrayal or it, establishing it to be a plutocracy, where people are more or less cemented in their socio-economic status. I would like to disrupt this false portrayal.
I think I should talk about the American dream to refute a common trend amongst many people in the Academic community, who tend to demonize it and portray it as seriously flawed. I feel it is much easier to disavow a lifestyle or economic structure when people are secure in it.
I can address these issues (the American dream) by telling the story of my family and how they were able to rise up from poverty through the means of hard work and determination, ultimately establishing a comfortable life for themselves and their family. I could also use my life how I am working full time and going to school full time to help set up a more financially comfortable future. I look up to my dad’s quote “Those who take the easy route first always end up leaving the hard way”
Lack of power
Explain how technology has somewhat rendered society powerless. Talk about how the all Seeing Eye so to speak, and how all of its good intentions has led to some inconvenient consequences. I can talk about how I have gotten in trouble with the police before and my experiences with them. I can explore my latest run in with the law and how the police used technology to their advantage in order to track me down. Also I can refute the intrusion of speed cameras and red light cameras on public roadways, and how even though they are on publicly funded infrastructures, their presence was never legally voted in. I’m not sure how I can tie this in with being technology rendering society powerless, other than talk about the ticket I got from the cameras last year
Cinematic scene
I need to talk about the night this summer when I was lighting off fireworks with my friends, and ran away from the cops (3 miles) and finally got home, only to find the cops arrive at my house 30 minutes later. I need to talk about how the police were able to use technology to track me down, exposing me, and my feelings towards it.
Monday, October 5, 2009
minutemen
Are they enforcers of death that practice racist hatred? Or are they a vigilante group that is comprised of citizens concerned about homeland security? Since the recent hike in security along the Mexican-American border, there has been a polarization among U.S. citizens regarding the correct way to handle border issues. Those who are against the heightened security and enforcement groups such as the Minutemen contend that their tactics are “inhumane” and their efforts reflect actions of a “fascist nativist movement” (Zamora). However, those who agree with the heightened border security and have taken the initiative to join groups such as the Minutemen argue that they are patriots who seek “proactive enforcement of national security protections and the immigration legal code” (minutementproject.com). The Minutemen also contend that they welcome people of all ethnicity and take influence from iconic figures such as Ceaser Chavez.
Considering the strong presence of U.S. border patrol along the Mexican-American border, some people argue that the Minutemens’ efforts are unnecessary and may have even created unforeseen consequences along the border such as increased migrant deaths. Although there has been an increase in deaths along the border (4000 total since 1994), it is hard to pinpoint the direct cause (Zamora). Many people agree however, that it is a combination of the increased number of illegal immigrants and the presence of the border wall in remote parts of the desert that is the leading cause in the increased death count.
In my opinion, taking into consideration that the membership of the Minutemen group throughout the country is below 1000, their efforts are relatively insignificant compared to the dominating presence and militarization of the border patrol. Rather, the Minutemen act as a symbol of America’s First Amendment; that being that Americans can take the initiative, unite and take a stand for what they believe in.
Considering the strong presence of U.S. border patrol along the Mexican-American border, some people argue that the Minutemens’ efforts are unnecessary and may have even created unforeseen consequences along the border such as increased migrant deaths. Although there has been an increase in deaths along the border (4000 total since 1994), it is hard to pinpoint the direct cause (Zamora). Many people agree however, that it is a combination of the increased number of illegal immigrants and the presence of the border wall in remote parts of the desert that is the leading cause in the increased death count.
In my opinion, taking into consideration that the membership of the Minutemen group throughout the country is below 1000, their efforts are relatively insignificant compared to the dominating presence and militarization of the border patrol. Rather, the Minutemen act as a symbol of America’s First Amendment; that being that Americans can take the initiative, unite and take a stand for what they believe in.
Saturday, October 3, 2009
Considered to be one of the most controversial Amendments of the Bill of Rights, the arguments on how to regulate and approach the second amendment have proved to be acutely polarized, yielding viewpoints that span from the minimization of gun regulation to absolute gun prohibition. Those who support gun prohibition or strict gun regulations, often emphasize the danger of firearms in society, which is derived from the commonplace, “availability to firearms increases crime rate.” Depending on the ideological perception, this commonplace functions in multiple ways. Those who oppose this commonplace, primarily gun advocates, many conservatives, and libertarians, view it as a way to simplify complicated social issues like crime, by reducing it to a gun-based phenomenon. While those who retain this commonplace, typically democrats and moderate conservatives, use it to standardize (what they perceive as) agents of crime in order to establish a focal point when administering laws aimed at reducing crime and increasing public safety. The origins of this commonplace typically stem from highly concentrated urban areas, whose politicians tend to favor social welfare and safety over individual freedoms. My experiences as a gun owner, as well as crime rate statistics complicate this commonplace by showing that availability to firearms has little effect on crime rate.
Crime (I will define it as murder, robbery, assault, and rape) is a chronic social issue, and has existed since the beginnings of civilization. Since that time, governments have employed various mechanisms such as speech limitation, and weapon bans, which aimed to curtail crime. However, considering firearms are a relatively recent technology, the controversy on how to regulate them is also of recent emergence, especially in the United States. Nevertheless, the principles, or commonplaces utilized to uphold past civilizations’ efforts to curtail crime, correlate to the principles or commonplaces used to support American efforts to curtail crime through gun bans.
The first significant form of firearm prohibition was the NFA (National Firearms Act), which was enacted during the great depression, and was designed to curtail the purchases and abuse of “gangster weapons”, which included, machine guns, and short barreled rifles. Initially the act intended to criminalize these firearms, but Attorney General Homer Cummings deemed it unconstitutional to completely ban firearms, so instead, exorbitant taxes were imposed on these targeted weapons, and the means of legal obtainment became strenuous.
Although the NFA was successful in only partially banning these firearms (later in 1986 these weapons were criminalized), it did succeed in establishing a viewpoint, typically among people who retain leftist ideals, that certain weapons are responsible for crime. The connotation here was that, machine guns and rifles with sawed off barrels were responsible for “gangster” type crimes (murder and trafficking). This viewpoint was later advanced upon by other gun bans, such as the Assault Weapons Ban (AWB), which held that a certain class of semi-automatic rifles, deemed “assault weapons”, were responsible for heinous “battlefield” style murders. Furthermore, the legislators and those who supported this ban anticipated that the banishment of “assault weapons” would reduce the national murder rates. Here, this anticipation demonstrates a popular mindset that “availability to firearms increases crime rate” and if availability is restricted, crime rates will decrease.
However, this was not the case. Although almost no person can deny the lethality of firearms, many people, including gun advocates, many conservatives, and libertarians do refute the AWB and similar government gun bans’ commonplace that “availability to firearms increases crime rate.” The basis of this refutation is often derived from statistics produced by the gun bans themselves. They site that before the AWB was initiated in 1994, “assualt weapons” “represented 3.57 percent of all crime guns recovered from crimes” (Feinstien). And since the AWB was lifted in 2004, allowing five years for “assualt weapons” to circulate amongst the people, “the nation’s murder rate is at a 43-year low” (NRA). Despite these weapons’ availability prior to and subsequent to the Assault Weapons Ban, their effect on crime and murder in the U.S., can be considered negligible.
An explanation for why the AWB was so widely accepted, could be indicated by
Crime (I will define it as murder, robbery, assault, and rape) is a chronic social issue, and has existed since the beginnings of civilization. Since that time, governments have employed various mechanisms such as speech limitation, and weapon bans, which aimed to curtail crime. However, considering firearms are a relatively recent technology, the controversy on how to regulate them is also of recent emergence, especially in the United States. Nevertheless, the principles, or commonplaces utilized to uphold past civilizations’ efforts to curtail crime, correlate to the principles or commonplaces used to support American efforts to curtail crime through gun bans.
The first significant form of firearm prohibition was the NFA (National Firearms Act), which was enacted during the great depression, and was designed to curtail the purchases and abuse of “gangster weapons”, which included, machine guns, and short barreled rifles. Initially the act intended to criminalize these firearms, but Attorney General Homer Cummings deemed it unconstitutional to completely ban firearms, so instead, exorbitant taxes were imposed on these targeted weapons, and the means of legal obtainment became strenuous.
Although the NFA was successful in only partially banning these firearms (later in 1986 these weapons were criminalized), it did succeed in establishing a viewpoint, typically among people who retain leftist ideals, that certain weapons are responsible for crime. The connotation here was that, machine guns and rifles with sawed off barrels were responsible for “gangster” type crimes (murder and trafficking). This viewpoint was later advanced upon by other gun bans, such as the Assault Weapons Ban (AWB), which held that a certain class of semi-automatic rifles, deemed “assault weapons”, were responsible for heinous “battlefield” style murders. Furthermore, the legislators and those who supported this ban anticipated that the banishment of “assault weapons” would reduce the national murder rates. Here, this anticipation demonstrates a popular mindset that “availability to firearms increases crime rate” and if availability is restricted, crime rates will decrease.
However, this was not the case. Although almost no person can deny the lethality of firearms, many people, including gun advocates, many conservatives, and libertarians do refute the AWB and similar government gun bans’ commonplace that “availability to firearms increases crime rate.” The basis of this refutation is often derived from statistics produced by the gun bans themselves. They site that before the AWB was initiated in 1994, “assualt weapons” “represented 3.57 percent of all crime guns recovered from crimes” (Feinstien). And since the AWB was lifted in 2004, allowing five years for “assualt weapons” to circulate amongst the people, “the nation’s murder rate is at a 43-year low” (NRA). Despite these weapons’ availability prior to and subsequent to the Assault Weapons Ban, their effect on crime and murder in the U.S., can be considered negligible.
An explanation for why the AWB was so widely accepted, could be indicated by
Thursday, October 1, 2009
commonplace anaylsis thus far
Considered to be one of the most controversial Amendments of the Bill of Rights, the arguments on how to regulate and approach the second amendment have proved to be acutely polarized, yielding viewpoints that span from the minimization of gun regulation to absolute gun banishment. Those who support gun prohibition often invoke that firearms are often used in violent crimes, which is derived from the commonplace, “availability to firearms increases crime rate.” This commonplace functions to simplify complicated social issues like crime, by reducing it to a gun-based phenomenon. The origins of this commonplace typically stem from far-left democrats who tend to favor sacrificing individual liberties in order to improve social welfare. My experiences as a gun owner, as well as crime rate statistics complicate this commonplace by showing that availability to firearms has little effect on crime rate.
Crime (I will define it as murder, robbery, assault, and rape) is a chronic social issue, and has existed since the beginnings of civilization. Since that time, governments have deployed various mechanisms such as speech limitation, and weapon bans whose criminalization were aimed at curtailing crime rates. However, considering firearms are a relatively recent technology, the controversy on how to regulate them is also of recent emergence, especially in the United States. The first significant form of firearm prohibition was the NFA (National Firearms Act), which was enacted during the great depression, and was designed to curtail the purchases and abuse of “gangster weapons”, which included, machine guns, and short barreled rifles. Initially the act intended to criminalize these firearms, but Attorney General Homer Cummings deemed it unconstitutional to completely ban firearms, so instead, exorbitant taxes were imposed on these targeted weapons, and the means of legal obtainment became strenuous. Although the NFA was successful in only partially banning certain firearms (later in 1986 these weapons were criminalized), it did succeed in establishing a viewpoint, typically among people who retain leftist ideals, that certain weapons are responsible for crime. The connotation here was that, machine guns and rifles with sawed off barrels were responsible for “gangster” type crimes (murder and trafficking). This ideal was later advanced upon by other gun bans, such as the Assault Weapons Ban (AWB), which held “assault rifles” accountable for heinous battlefield crimes. Similarly to past civilizations’ efforts to curtail crime, American weapons bans such as the NFA and the AWB, have been based on scapegoats, in which “availability to firearms are directly proportional to crime rates.”
Passed into law under the Clinton Administration, the AWB banned a class of firearms, deemed “assault weapons”, which were arbitrarily defined by the bill itself, and were distinguished solely by cosmetic qualities. Those who supported this ban retained a common misconception that these weapons are used on battlefields and are used by deranged criminals to “kill policemen or go to a school or workplace to see how many victims can accumulate” (Carter). However, the guns banned under the AWB are not the same AK-47’s used on “battlefields” or “massacres”, where a myriad of men are met with a torrent of bullets. Instead, these firearms are semi-automatic versions of their full-automatic archetype, no different from typical hunting rifles save for cosmetic details. This Assault Weapons Ban was sustained by a misconception depicted by leftist politicians, who retained the commonplace, “availability to firearms increases crime rate.” With this commonplace in mind, before the Assault Weapons Ban in 1994, the semi-automatic weapons ban “represented 3.57 percent of all crime guns recovered from crimes” (Feinstien). Despite these menacing weapons’ availability prior to the Assault Weapons Ban, they still only represented a fraction of all murders by firearms, not to mention total murders.
An explanation for why the AWB was so widely accepted, could be indicated by
Crime (I will define it as murder, robbery, assault, and rape) is a chronic social issue, and has existed since the beginnings of civilization. Since that time, governments have deployed various mechanisms such as speech limitation, and weapon bans whose criminalization were aimed at curtailing crime rates. However, considering firearms are a relatively recent technology, the controversy on how to regulate them is also of recent emergence, especially in the United States. The first significant form of firearm prohibition was the NFA (National Firearms Act), which was enacted during the great depression, and was designed to curtail the purchases and abuse of “gangster weapons”, which included, machine guns, and short barreled rifles. Initially the act intended to criminalize these firearms, but Attorney General Homer Cummings deemed it unconstitutional to completely ban firearms, so instead, exorbitant taxes were imposed on these targeted weapons, and the means of legal obtainment became strenuous. Although the NFA was successful in only partially banning certain firearms (later in 1986 these weapons were criminalized), it did succeed in establishing a viewpoint, typically among people who retain leftist ideals, that certain weapons are responsible for crime. The connotation here was that, machine guns and rifles with sawed off barrels were responsible for “gangster” type crimes (murder and trafficking). This ideal was later advanced upon by other gun bans, such as the Assault Weapons Ban (AWB), which held “assault rifles” accountable for heinous battlefield crimes. Similarly to past civilizations’ efforts to curtail crime, American weapons bans such as the NFA and the AWB, have been based on scapegoats, in which “availability to firearms are directly proportional to crime rates.”
Passed into law under the Clinton Administration, the AWB banned a class of firearms, deemed “assault weapons”, which were arbitrarily defined by the bill itself, and were distinguished solely by cosmetic qualities. Those who supported this ban retained a common misconception that these weapons are used on battlefields and are used by deranged criminals to “kill policemen or go to a school or workplace to see how many victims can accumulate” (Carter). However, the guns banned under the AWB are not the same AK-47’s used on “battlefields” or “massacres”, where a myriad of men are met with a torrent of bullets. Instead, these firearms are semi-automatic versions of their full-automatic archetype, no different from typical hunting rifles save for cosmetic details. This Assault Weapons Ban was sustained by a misconception depicted by leftist politicians, who retained the commonplace, “availability to firearms increases crime rate.” With this commonplace in mind, before the Assault Weapons Ban in 1994, the semi-automatic weapons ban “represented 3.57 percent of all crime guns recovered from crimes” (Feinstien). Despite these menacing weapons’ availability prior to the Assault Weapons Ban, they still only represented a fraction of all murders by firearms, not to mention total murders.
An explanation for why the AWB was so widely accepted, could be indicated by
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