This semester has gone by so incredibly fast. Yes, I realize that I began my final reflection with a cliche, but the truth is that our welcome week feels like it barely just ended, and now we are taking finals.
And now we have to reflect on all of this stuff. Sheesh. Well, here goes-
In the Explorations seminar, I found the readings to be secondary to interaction with my peers in learning our class objectives. I learned more about myself when I was talking with my classmates than I did from Goffman or Bellah. In these interactions with my friends, I had actual inspiration to analyze who I am, who I was, and what I believe. Learning the stories of my classmates and hearing their opinions made me think of my own. In turn, I would think of how I want to spend my future.
That's not to say I didn't learn anything from the course itself. The books were informative. Goffman gave a vocabulary to those known but unnamed aspects of social interaction. Augustine shed life on one man's logic in the 5th century. Heinlen presented an interesting view of the military's interaction with society. The only problem for me is that these were not flesh and blood examples. Although they actually happened, as in the cases of Goffman and Augustine, the stories of my classmates seemed more relevant to me as one in a similar situation to their own.
If I had the choice, I would choose Explorations again for my first semester UC seminar. Ultimately, as a class exploring identity, I learned the most from those around me. I have never had such an amazing mix of classmates, and I probably won't again.
Showing posts with label Allie Cat (Allison Porambo). Show all posts
Showing posts with label Allie Cat (Allison Porambo). Show all posts
Saturday, December 5, 2009
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
Community Choice
Interestingly enough, the question of which community I would like to join has been one that has bothered me throughout my life. I've always been on the hunt for my place in the world, whether it be with religion, politics, subculture, or other areas of society.
One community that I have not changed my desire to join, however, is the music scene. I don't want to be in a band, or a producer, or a record executive, but something more humble. I would prefer to be part of a band's road crew, or work at a venue. I would have access to both the musicians and the fans, which would allow a personal relationship with the two greatest parts of the music scene: the talents and personalities of the artists, and the enthusiasm and creativity of their fans. For one who considers music to be a sort of personal religion, a therapy that has never failed me, membership in such a community would be extremely fulfilling.
Ultimately, before I can join any new community, I still need to find out exactly where I stand in the communities I am already a part of. Although I am certain of the overall substance of my identity, I still need to clarify its form. I know my family, my religion, my opinions, my dreams, etc., but I have yet to define them with certainty. Before I can be a roadie, a venue worker, or a member of any new community, I must figure this out.
One community that I have not changed my desire to join, however, is the music scene. I don't want to be in a band, or a producer, or a record executive, but something more humble. I would prefer to be part of a band's road crew, or work at a venue. I would have access to both the musicians and the fans, which would allow a personal relationship with the two greatest parts of the music scene: the talents and personalities of the artists, and the enthusiasm and creativity of their fans. For one who considers music to be a sort of personal religion, a therapy that has never failed me, membership in such a community would be extremely fulfilling.
Ultimately, before I can join any new community, I still need to find out exactly where I stand in the communities I am already a part of. Although I am certain of the overall substance of my identity, I still need to clarify its form. I know my family, my religion, my opinions, my dreams, etc., but I have yet to define them with certainty. Before I can be a roadie, a venue worker, or a member of any new community, I must figure this out.
Sunday, November 29, 2009
"What is this, Middle School?"
Over the past few months, like the rest of us freshman, I've been settling into my study and work routine. I plop down in front of my computer, check my email and facebook, put on some music, and get to work. The routine has served me well, with satisfactory results.
One point of note in my routine is the type of music that I play to help me along in my studies. For some reason, a lot of the old, angry punk rock that I listened to in high school and middle school. Back then, I listened to that music from a sense of alienation and a lack of self-respect. Now, for some reason, I drown out the angry ( and often horribly sung and horribly written lyrics) and focus on the punishing guitars and fast drums like an army listens for the drums to set their pace.
If I look at my routine this way, it would seem that I look at schoolwork as a sort of a battle. With every assignment, I fight to earn my degree and keep my scholarship.
It would seem that my attitude towards my work is manifesting itself in my manner of completing it. While the facebook and email checking are daily events, my choice of music serves as a means of keeping up my morale.
One point of note in my routine is the type of music that I play to help me along in my studies. For some reason, a lot of the old, angry punk rock that I listened to in high school and middle school. Back then, I listened to that music from a sense of alienation and a lack of self-respect. Now, for some reason, I drown out the angry ( and often horribly sung and horribly written lyrics) and focus on the punishing guitars and fast drums like an army listens for the drums to set their pace.
If I look at my routine this way, it would seem that I look at schoolwork as a sort of a battle. With every assignment, I fight to earn my degree and keep my scholarship.
It would seem that my attitude towards my work is manifesting itself in my manner of completing it. While the facebook and email checking are daily events, my choice of music serves as a means of keeping up my morale.
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
Response on Military
For any sort of community to survive, it needs a mechanism of defense against harm. Whether it is an army defending a country, or a police force defending a neighborhood, it would be difficult for a community to thrive if it had no way to prevent damage. A community may have a strong structure, it members completely united in purpose, and its powers to complete that purpose strong, but if it is unable to defend itself against any form of attack, it will quickly find itself destroyed.
Think of a person holding a weapon: a knight with a sword, a man with a gun, or even a jedi with a light saber. They are a united body (quite literally in this metaphor) with a single purpose, and a power to enforce that purpose. But if they don't have armor or bullet proof vests, they have little chance of survival in combat. A strongly-united community is much the same if they do not have a means of defense.
A country without a military would come to a similar fate. It has a government, a set of laws, a culture, and a people, but if there is no military, than another country can sweep in at any time they wish to destroy it.
That said, a military is not the only single thing that guarantees the survival of a community. It needs a strong structure and citizens dedicated to maintaining it. Without these, there would be no community to defend. If the citizens are unsatisfied with their community, there is no need to have a military to defend the community. It is interesting to note that many of the famous revolutions of history involve a dissolution and later reorganization of their country's military, including the French and Russian. Military and society are tied together- if one falls, so will the other.
Think of a person holding a weapon: a knight with a sword, a man with a gun, or even a jedi with a light saber. They are a united body (quite literally in this metaphor) with a single purpose, and a power to enforce that purpose. But if they don't have armor or bullet proof vests, they have little chance of survival in combat. A strongly-united community is much the same if they do not have a means of defense.
A country without a military would come to a similar fate. It has a government, a set of laws, a culture, and a people, but if there is no military, than another country can sweep in at any time they wish to destroy it.
That said, a military is not the only single thing that guarantees the survival of a community. It needs a strong structure and citizens dedicated to maintaining it. Without these, there would be no community to defend. If the citizens are unsatisfied with their community, there is no need to have a military to defend the community. It is interesting to note that many of the famous revolutions of history involve a dissolution and later reorganization of their country's military, including the French and Russian. Military and society are tied together- if one falls, so will the other.
Sunday, November 22, 2009
Reflection on the upcoming Thanksgiving break
As I finish up my homework for this week and read up on my assignments, I think of the coming week of rest and relaxation. And food. Lots and lots of food. Though I would much rather stay at home and meet up with friends I haven't seen in three months, I recently learned that I would be going on a little journey to the middle of nowhere for most of my vacation.
As soon as I get home, my family is heading up to my grandparents, who live in an economically-depressed former immigrant mining town in the Appalachian Mountains in Pennsylvania called Summit Hill. Almost every one in ten residents lives below the poverty line. Unlike my hometown of Bowie, where half of the population are minorities, Summit Hill is almost 100% white. While Bowie is largely culturally integrated, Summit Hill is still divided by ethnicity. The Irish, the Polish, the Welsh, the Italians, the Hungarians, and the Czechs still worship in their own churches, hang out in their own bars, and are buried in their own cemeteries.
In places like Summit Hill, the culture has not changed much since the 19th century. Although the ethnic groups do not fight as they did back then (my grandfather held a dislike for the Irish after an Irishman stole his wages in the 40s), one stills views the others are foreigners, even if they have been living in the country for over a century. If you are not even from Summit Hill, you are easily spotted from your lack of an accent, and viewed in much the same way as a Southerner would view a Yankee. They are highly traditional and highly religious people- Summit Hill, according to Ripley's Believe It or Not, is the only town with a block that has a church on each corner.
Somethings, however, did change with time. With the closing of the mines around the end of the century, job opportunities in the area are becoming increasingly scarce. There is a palpable dissatisfaction that one can feel in the air while walking or driving though the town. Visiting the town this summer, one could especially sense a feeling of bitterness after Obama's election in this extremely conservative town. For the first time in my life, I saw a Neo-Nazi flag displayed publicly on a resident's front porch. It was an extremely frightening experience for a Jewish girl who associates the town with the warmth and love of her grandparents.
Ultimately, I love going up to Summit Hill. I love seeing my grandparents, who I only get to see two or three times each year. I love to sit on their front porch and read as the townspeople walk slowly by. I love to walk through the surrounding forests and mountains. Every time I visit, I learn something new: about my father, about my family, and about the town that made them. When I return to Bowie (or in this case, AU) I always end up learning about myself in the contrasts.
As soon as I get home, my family is heading up to my grandparents, who live in an economically-depressed former immigrant mining town in the Appalachian Mountains in Pennsylvania called Summit Hill. Almost every one in ten residents lives below the poverty line. Unlike my hometown of Bowie, where half of the population are minorities, Summit Hill is almost 100% white. While Bowie is largely culturally integrated, Summit Hill is still divided by ethnicity. The Irish, the Polish, the Welsh, the Italians, the Hungarians, and the Czechs still worship in their own churches, hang out in their own bars, and are buried in their own cemeteries.
In places like Summit Hill, the culture has not changed much since the 19th century. Although the ethnic groups do not fight as they did back then (my grandfather held a dislike for the Irish after an Irishman stole his wages in the 40s), one stills views the others are foreigners, even if they have been living in the country for over a century. If you are not even from Summit Hill, you are easily spotted from your lack of an accent, and viewed in much the same way as a Southerner would view a Yankee. They are highly traditional and highly religious people- Summit Hill, according to Ripley's Believe It or Not, is the only town with a block that has a church on each corner.
Somethings, however, did change with time. With the closing of the mines around the end of the century, job opportunities in the area are becoming increasingly scarce. There is a palpable dissatisfaction that one can feel in the air while walking or driving though the town. Visiting the town this summer, one could especially sense a feeling of bitterness after Obama's election in this extremely conservative town. For the first time in my life, I saw a Neo-Nazi flag displayed publicly on a resident's front porch. It was an extremely frightening experience for a Jewish girl who associates the town with the warmth and love of her grandparents.
Ultimately, I love going up to Summit Hill. I love seeing my grandparents, who I only get to see two or three times each year. I love to sit on their front porch and read as the townspeople walk slowly by. I love to walk through the surrounding forests and mountains. Every time I visit, I learn something new: about my father, about my family, and about the town that made them. When I return to Bowie (or in this case, AU) I always end up learning about myself in the contrasts.
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
Veterans Day
Having come back from Arlington National Cemetery on this Veteran's Day, I've come to realize just how genuine some fronts can be. We walked out of the Cemetery Metro stop with the cold rain beating down on our heads. On a day where families from around the country come to pay respect to their fallen loved ones, you would think the weather would give the visitors to the cemetery a break today- but that's how things work. As we began to walk through the cemetery, it was easy to note that there was an unusually small amount of people visiting today for such a holiday that is intimately connected to the site. Of course the rain acted as a deterrent, but it was still a bit depressing to see such a small turnout on a day when the country comes together to mourn our collective war dead. I was also shocked to find few genuine tourists, visitors who came because one "had to" when visiting DC, just like visitors to Paris "have to" see the Eiffel Tower.
The visitors that did come, however, were not just there to gawk at fancy tombstones. Many wore the traditional poppy on their jackets, and some wore the jackets and caps of their or their fallen relative's unit. The most genuine displays of honor and grief came from those there to visit their actual relatives. They never seemed to cry, but just stared, as if their gaze could resurrect their loved one. They were not there to perform an act of patriotism as some of the other visitors were, but genuinely sought to honor their loved ones. Viewing such honest acts of grief makes one appreciate human resilience to complete what for some are simply acts of maintaining front, but for others are acts of honor or love.
The visitors that did come, however, were not just there to gawk at fancy tombstones. Many wore the traditional poppy on their jackets, and some wore the jackets and caps of their or their fallen relative's unit. The most genuine displays of honor and grief came from those there to visit their actual relatives. They never seemed to cry, but just stared, as if their gaze could resurrect their loved one. They were not there to perform an act of patriotism as some of the other visitors were, but genuinely sought to honor their loved ones. Viewing such honest acts of grief makes one appreciate human resilience to complete what for some are simply acts of maintaining front, but for others are acts of honor or love.
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
Poverty and community
According to Webster's dictionary, a community is, at its most basic, a "a unified body of individuals". As defined, every member of a community is tied to each other in some way or another. What that tie is exactly depends on the type of community examined. Communities are made to serve some sort of purpose, either for themselves or the rest of society.
In order to examine the health of a community, one must analyze it on these facts. The way members of a community treat their fellow community members and how they treat those outside of their community is the main criteria for how well a community is serving its purpose.
If the community examined is residential in nature and large in size, such as a city, region, or country, then one of the criteria for "assaying the health of a society" is how it "deals with the problem of wealth and poverty" (Bellah et al, 285). This, however, would not be the best, or the only, basis to judge such a community. There are questions of how they deal with outsiders, how to punish those who have offended the community rules, and how they deal with the health of their members, among others. Poverty and wealth may be an important part of any residential litmus test, but it does not paint a complete picture.
In order to examine the health of a community, one must analyze it on these facts. The way members of a community treat their fellow community members and how they treat those outside of their community is the main criteria for how well a community is serving its purpose.
If the community examined is residential in nature and large in size, such as a city, region, or country, then one of the criteria for "assaying the health of a society" is how it "deals with the problem of wealth and poverty" (Bellah et al, 285). This, however, would not be the best, or the only, basis to judge such a community. There are questions of how they deal with outsiders, how to punish those who have offended the community rules, and how they deal with the health of their members, among others. Poverty and wealth may be an important part of any residential litmus test, but it does not paint a complete picture.
Sunday, November 1, 2009
Honesty and fronts
At a recent party, my sister's boyfriend was complimented on his "cool Seth Rogen costume". The fact is that he wasn't dressed up at all.
Although cases of mistaken intent happen around Halloween, when everyone is meant to be someone that they are not, during the rest of the year, such situations could be a bit more awkward. If one is trying to be honest in your demeanor, misinterpretation could lead to an erosion of your identity. Your true self is no longer a viable front, but what others see in it. You are no longer yourself, but, well, a costume.
Such misinterpretations often arise from interactions between individuals from two different cultures or personalities. What may be offensive to some may be humorous to others, what is appropriate to one may be repulsive to another.
While this Halloween and its craziness is all just a memory now, the awkward cases of mistaken identity that come with it will continue to occur, not just on next Halloween.
Although cases of mistaken intent happen around Halloween, when everyone is meant to be someone that they are not, during the rest of the year, such situations could be a bit more awkward. If one is trying to be honest in your demeanor, misinterpretation could lead to an erosion of your identity. Your true self is no longer a viable front, but what others see in it. You are no longer yourself, but, well, a costume.
Such misinterpretations often arise from interactions between individuals from two different cultures or personalities. What may be offensive to some may be humorous to others, what is appropriate to one may be repulsive to another.
While this Halloween and its craziness is all just a memory now, the awkward cases of mistaken identity that come with it will continue to occur, not just on next Halloween.
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Individualism
Bellah and the other authors of "Habits of the Heart" assert that true individualism is neither "individually nor socially viable", and that the only alternative would be a return to "intolerable discrimination and oppression". In the book, such a loss of individualism is seen as something to dread and mourn.
Although as an American I value individualism highly amongst my ideals, I find complete individualism unattractive. Complete individuality would harm one's ability to interact with others in your society. If one did not share a common tie with others on the planet, one would be unable to relate to those around them. You would be unable to properly communicate with the rest of humanity, thus losing your status as a member of humanity itself. As social creatures, we crave contact and connections with others like us.
A return to a "intolerable discrimination and oppression" not only sounds undesirable, but it sounds like an unlikely remedy. The "individualism" of the past seems more like conformity: while one was encouraged to make decisions for yourself, you were punished or outcast if you chose to disagree.
Though such methods of maintaining conformity still exist today in our laws, cultures, and religions, such restrictions are much looser than they are today. Though I do sometimes find myself feeling nostalgia for an unrealistic golden past, I know deep down that I have more freedom to be myself today.
Although as an American I value individualism highly amongst my ideals, I find complete individualism unattractive. Complete individuality would harm one's ability to interact with others in your society. If one did not share a common tie with others on the planet, one would be unable to relate to those around them. You would be unable to properly communicate with the rest of humanity, thus losing your status as a member of humanity itself. As social creatures, we crave contact and connections with others like us.
A return to a "intolerable discrimination and oppression" not only sounds undesirable, but it sounds like an unlikely remedy. The "individualism" of the past seems more like conformity: while one was encouraged to make decisions for yourself, you were punished or outcast if you chose to disagree.
Though such methods of maintaining conformity still exist today in our laws, cultures, and religions, such restrictions are much looser than they are today. Though I do sometimes find myself feeling nostalgia for an unrealistic golden past, I know deep down that I have more freedom to be myself today.
Saturday, October 24, 2009
Parents Weekend- a front??? (I know this sounds cheesy, just bear with me)
As I sat down with my friends at TDR last night, I noticed something unusual- The food there was not bland. The pasta and risotto served was actually pretty good. I thought it was one of those days where the TDR cooks do a good job, but then I noticed a few new diners in the cafeteria with us- parents.
Parent's weekend, this weekend, seems like a week of leisure activities for students to spend time with their families, some of whom they have not seen in months. But if one looks at the schedule of events planned for this weekend for our visiting families, it seems like a repeat of the events planned for parents during orientation. The University seems to want to further reassure Eagle parents in their kid's choice of school. As my friend Annie said, "No, really, you made a good choice, just keep paying the bills".
Such an attempt to console our parents takes on further importance when one considers the scandals of previous heads of the University. The school wants to let our parents know that their kid's school has improved from previous years, and that they do not have to worry about further scandal. Possibly, they may want to encourage future endowments.
This years parent's weekend is an excellent example of a group front. Whether or not the school rises to make this front the truth, we will soon see.
Parent's weekend, this weekend, seems like a week of leisure activities for students to spend time with their families, some of whom they have not seen in months. But if one looks at the schedule of events planned for this weekend for our visiting families, it seems like a repeat of the events planned for parents during orientation. The University seems to want to further reassure Eagle parents in their kid's choice of school. As my friend Annie said, "No, really, you made a good choice, just keep paying the bills".
Such an attempt to console our parents takes on further importance when one considers the scandals of previous heads of the University. The school wants to let our parents know that their kid's school has improved from previous years, and that they do not have to worry about further scandal. Possibly, they may want to encourage future endowments.
This years parent's weekend is an excellent example of a group front. Whether or not the school rises to make this front the truth, we will soon see.
Friday, October 16, 2009
"P.G. Chillin'"*
So as I rode down route 50 (New York Avenue to all of you AU folks) in our family's humorously dilapidated Saturn (a car driving by had knocked off the right side-view mirror), I couldn't help but think of the catching up with the friends and family that will ensue. How exactly I should get around to doing this, I still don't know.
At American, it's difficult to explain my home life and my former school without making it sound either ghetto, trashy, or bland. I went to the largest public school in the state of Maryland. It was (and still is) so overcrowded, that we had to annex an old former middle school down the street for exclusive use of the freshman class alone. While many schools have problems with diversity, our school's population was split 60% black and 40% white. While the school is set in the massive suburb that is Bowie, Maryland, it has a reputation for gang activity, drug use, and, since my freshman year, prostitution. The students can be rowdy, violent, and vulgar.
All the same, I loved my experience there. The teachers I had made me truly enjoy learning. Some of these teachers have become my friends. Although many of the students at the school were ridiculous and some were violent, if you were nice to them, they were nice to you. We used the ridiculous things that we heard or saw around the school as therapy- in my English class, we even had a wall of ridiculous quotes. While others were uncomfortable discussing racism, in my English class we often went off on tangents discussing and laughing about stereotypes. At the end of Junior year, we even had a cultural stereotype food day. As a Jew, I brought in potato latkes.
At Bowie High School, we valued humor, whether it was clever, simple, or just plain vulgar. The latest work of David Sedaris delighted us with the same intensity as the 'Ballad of Maliha', a two-part epic poem on a bathroom stall calling Maliha "a ho". A classmate's semi-erotic poetic ode to fried chicken, "Golden Brown", was possibly the highlight of my Junior year after a class trip to Europe. We took delight in the little things, even if we should be disgusted by them instead of fascinated with them. Bowie High School was a place I felt comfortable being out-of-the-ordinary and still get a good education.
Such a surreal place as Bowie High School deserves more than a comment here or there, but that is all I can give my classmates at AU. I don't feel I'm doing it justice.
At the same time, describing AU to my old friends and family has become a bit of a hassle itself. Some joke that I might become a "pretentious asshole". When I try to tell them about my fellow Eagles, they laugh about "those stuck up private school kids" and their wealth. I felt offended by these remarks about my friends. Even if some of them went to private schools, and even if some of their families are wealthy, they are anything but stuck up. They are proud of their backgrounds and the
schools they went to, but they do not act like they are better than others. I don't feel like I'm giving my fellow Eagles justice to my family and friends at home.
Being a part of the worlds of American University and of Bowie, Maryland are two of my greatest points of pride. Relating them and explaining them to each other, however, is not my favorite thing to do. Still, I must try my best.
*Yes, I am quoting Wale.
At American, it's difficult to explain my home life and my former school without making it sound either ghetto, trashy, or bland. I went to the largest public school in the state of Maryland. It was (and still is) so overcrowded, that we had to annex an old former middle school down the street for exclusive use of the freshman class alone. While many schools have problems with diversity, our school's population was split 60% black and 40% white. While the school is set in the massive suburb that is Bowie, Maryland, it has a reputation for gang activity, drug use, and, since my freshman year, prostitution. The students can be rowdy, violent, and vulgar.
All the same, I loved my experience there. The teachers I had made me truly enjoy learning. Some of these teachers have become my friends. Although many of the students at the school were ridiculous and some were violent, if you were nice to them, they were nice to you. We used the ridiculous things that we heard or saw around the school as therapy- in my English class, we even had a wall of ridiculous quotes. While others were uncomfortable discussing racism, in my English class we often went off on tangents discussing and laughing about stereotypes. At the end of Junior year, we even had a cultural stereotype food day. As a Jew, I brought in potato latkes.
At Bowie High School, we valued humor, whether it was clever, simple, or just plain vulgar. The latest work of David Sedaris delighted us with the same intensity as the 'Ballad of Maliha', a two-part epic poem on a bathroom stall calling Maliha "a ho". A classmate's semi-erotic poetic ode to fried chicken, "Golden Brown", was possibly the highlight of my Junior year after a class trip to Europe. We took delight in the little things, even if we should be disgusted by them instead of fascinated with them. Bowie High School was a place I felt comfortable being out-of-the-ordinary and still get a good education.
Such a surreal place as Bowie High School deserves more than a comment here or there, but that is all I can give my classmates at AU. I don't feel I'm doing it justice.
At the same time, describing AU to my old friends and family has become a bit of a hassle itself. Some joke that I might become a "pretentious asshole". When I try to tell them about my fellow Eagles, they laugh about "those stuck up private school kids" and their wealth. I felt offended by these remarks about my friends. Even if some of them went to private schools, and even if some of their families are wealthy, they are anything but stuck up. They are proud of their backgrounds and the
schools they went to, but they do not act like they are better than others. I don't feel like I'm giving my fellow Eagles justice to my family and friends at home.
Being a part of the worlds of American University and of Bowie, Maryland are two of my greatest points of pride. Relating them and explaining them to each other, however, is not my favorite thing to do. Still, I must try my best.
*Yes, I am quoting Wale.
Saturday, October 10, 2009
Identity and 'Truth or Dare'
After talking to a childhood friend of mine over the internet lately, I couldn't help but think of the fun times I had in my childhood- the schoolyard antics, the hobbies, the places I went, and the games I played. During my reminiscing, I remembered I game I played often with my friends, and realized it's relevance to our focus on identity in this course- Truth or Dare.
When one was asked a 'truth', one's front was, in effect, challenged. If your answer does not meet expectations based on your front, that front has been undermined. The individual asking for the 'truth' serves as a sort of moral watchdog, checking a person's front to see if they are being 'honest'- as honest as a front can be, that is. When an individual rises to the challenge raised by the 'truth', however, this temporary identity of the interrogator is damaged.
'Dares' serve a related, but different effect. The 'dare' is meant to force the individual to undermine their front themselves, or risk alienation from the group for your lack of trust in them. As a result, thought you may undermine one front, you maintain your identity as a member of their group for going along with their fun. In this challenge, the 'darer' is in a similar situation to that of those who ask for 'truths'.
Although it has been years since I've played this game, I've always felt some sort of intuition as to the social purpose of this game. It is only now, with some understanding of sociology, that I can articulate what I've felt.
When one was asked a 'truth', one's front was, in effect, challenged. If your answer does not meet expectations based on your front, that front has been undermined. The individual asking for the 'truth' serves as a sort of moral watchdog, checking a person's front to see if they are being 'honest'- as honest as a front can be, that is. When an individual rises to the challenge raised by the 'truth', however, this temporary identity of the interrogator is damaged.
'Dares' serve a related, but different effect. The 'dare' is meant to force the individual to undermine their front themselves, or risk alienation from the group for your lack of trust in them. As a result, thought you may undermine one front, you maintain your identity as a member of their group for going along with their fun. In this challenge, the 'darer' is in a similar situation to that of those who ask for 'truths'.
Although it has been years since I've played this game, I've always felt some sort of intuition as to the social purpose of this game. It is only now, with some understanding of sociology, that I can articulate what I've felt.
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
"I'm invisible! I'm invisible! Can you see me?"*
The opening chapter of the 'Battle Royale' serves as an excellent example of invisibility along general and racial lines in Ralph Ellison's novel, Invisible Man. In this passage, young black men are invited to a local banquet attended by local prominent white men, only to be set up against each other for the entertainment of these prominent figures.
On one level, such a scene of cruel sport speaks to all the disenfranchised. Whether you work in a factory, a restaurant, or at a post office, one may feel that you have lost your identity in the demands of your job. You are no longer Susan or Steve, but the labor that makes easier for those you are serving. You become the shirt on the rack, the menu laid gingerly in front of your customer, or the letter in the mailbox. All that concerns those who benefit from your labor is the outcome, not the fact that a human being did it. In this sense, the loss of identity experienced by the narrator, and the other 'fighters' at the banquet that night can be felt by anyone who has felt unappreciated and taken for granted.
One another level, the sense of invisibility felt by the narrator are specific to those who have been marginalized for their race. The narrator and the other young black men are invited as entertainment for powerful white men, and they entertain them by playing to the stereotypes their 'audience' hold of them. The fights and subsequent struggle for payment in coin were meant to reinforce the view popular among whites at the time that blacks were violent, mindless, and greedy. This was not just a sporting event where one could bet on the outcome of a match, but a ceremony by which the powerful white men of the community asserted their dominance. In all of this, there was no place for any of the boys to be individuals. They were forced into being the stereotypes the white community wanted them to be. When racial stereotypes dominate, as they do in the 'Battle Royale', then one truly becomes invisible.
*Quote from the amazing film, Mystery Men. I know I'm dealing with a serious subject, but I'm just happy for the moment that I did a non-generic title for once.
On one level, such a scene of cruel sport speaks to all the disenfranchised. Whether you work in a factory, a restaurant, or at a post office, one may feel that you have lost your identity in the demands of your job. You are no longer Susan or Steve, but the labor that makes easier for those you are serving. You become the shirt on the rack, the menu laid gingerly in front of your customer, or the letter in the mailbox. All that concerns those who benefit from your labor is the outcome, not the fact that a human being did it. In this sense, the loss of identity experienced by the narrator, and the other 'fighters' at the banquet that night can be felt by anyone who has felt unappreciated and taken for granted.
One another level, the sense of invisibility felt by the narrator are specific to those who have been marginalized for their race. The narrator and the other young black men are invited as entertainment for powerful white men, and they entertain them by playing to the stereotypes their 'audience' hold of them. The fights and subsequent struggle for payment in coin were meant to reinforce the view popular among whites at the time that blacks were violent, mindless, and greedy. This was not just a sporting event where one could bet on the outcome of a match, but a ceremony by which the powerful white men of the community asserted their dominance. In all of this, there was no place for any of the boys to be individuals. They were forced into being the stereotypes the white community wanted them to be. When racial stereotypes dominate, as they do in the 'Battle Royale', then one truly becomes invisible.
*Quote from the amazing film, Mystery Men. I know I'm dealing with a serious subject, but I'm just happy for the moment that I did a non-generic title for once.
Saturday, October 3, 2009
Future/Career Crisis AaaAAAaagGGhHHH!!!
Today I went to a craft fair in Adams Morgan, called Crafty Bastards. The tiny Reed Community Park was packed full of the young, the old, the hip, and those are aren't hip but just don't care. The heat of the day did little to deter them from their mission: to buy cute handmade products.
I originally came exclusively to buy the wares of these crafty folks, but I left with more than just a brooch and two barrettes. For the last few weeks, I've been in a bit of a state over what I should major in, what I should do with my life, etc. For a while, a wanted to get a career in art conservation, but now I'm not so sure. Should I take advantage of the international character of AU and become an International Studies major? But I would be a horrible worker in politics!!!! Should I just go through with Art History? But what would I do with that degree?!! I like the radio show; should I study journalism? But I'm horrible with interviews!!!
At the craft fair, the people sitting behind their wares were friendly, enthusiastic, and happy. None were condescending to their customers, how one would expect an 'artiste' to act. One vendor even offered me a discount at her online store of a product that had run out earlier that day!
Although I may not have an idea of what I want to do with my life, the infectious enthusiasm of these craft sellers inspired me to do something that made me smile every day that I did it. Even if it is being a "bastard".
I originally came exclusively to buy the wares of these crafty folks, but I left with more than just a brooch and two barrettes. For the last few weeks, I've been in a bit of a state over what I should major in, what I should do with my life, etc. For a while, a wanted to get a career in art conservation, but now I'm not so sure. Should I take advantage of the international character of AU and become an International Studies major? But I would be a horrible worker in politics!!!! Should I just go through with Art History? But what would I do with that degree?!! I like the radio show; should I study journalism? But I'm horrible with interviews!!!
At the craft fair, the people sitting behind their wares were friendly, enthusiastic, and happy. None were condescending to their customers, how one would expect an 'artiste' to act. One vendor even offered me a discount at her online store of a product that had run out earlier that day!
Although I may not have an idea of what I want to do with my life, the infectious enthusiasm of these craft sellers inspired me to do something that made me smile every day that I did it. Even if it is being a "bastard".
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
'Factual' versus 'fictional' memoir
The type of memoir that a person writes- either fictional or factual- effects how we perceive the events in the work. If, for example, Augustine's Confessions was changed from fact to fiction, his modern audience would have much less sympathy for and understanding with the narrator. It is hard enough for members of a modern, secular society to completely relate to Augustine's religious struggles, heavy on rhetoric and light on detail as it is. With the lack of a story and more philosophical monologues, few readers looking for a fictional account of the 4th century Roman Empire will find an enjoyable read.
If modern readers would find a lack of enjoyment in Augustine's 'fictional' memoir, they would find a jarring account of segregation and racism in early 20th century America in Ralph Ellison's 'factual' Invisible Man. Ellison's prolific use of detail, showing the human race with all of its flaws but deserving of redemption, creates a picture of America under Jim Crow that rings true to those who have learned American history at the end of the 20th century. Even if the story did not actually happen, its reads to be true enough for those with a basic knowledge of American social history to earn plausibility.
If modern readers would find a lack of enjoyment in Augustine's 'fictional' memoir, they would find a jarring account of segregation and racism in early 20th century America in Ralph Ellison's 'factual' Invisible Man. Ellison's prolific use of detail, showing the human race with all of its flaws but deserving of redemption, creates a picture of America under Jim Crow that rings true to those who have learned American history at the end of the 20th century. Even if the story did not actually happen, its reads to be true enough for those with a basic knowledge of American social history to earn plausibility.
Sunday, September 27, 2009
Bookstore politics
On a visit to Dupont Circle this week, I passed by several bookstores, and visited a few. What struck me more than the selection of the books, however, was how the political views of the management were expressed in the layout of the stores.
While entering Books-A-Million, I was immediately struck by a large pile of Glen Beck's latest book, Arguing with Idiots. Among the 'recommended titles' was Jonah Goldberg's Liberal Fascism. I did not see the tables full of Obama paraphernalia that I was used to in the local Borders or Barnes and Noble in my hometown, Bowie, which had a majority African American population. It was quite subtle, but easily noticed.
Others were not so subtle in their political viewpoints. One gay bookshop made their disdain for social conservatism blatant, filling their window display with signs condemning the passage of Proposition 8 in California, mannequins with t-shirts reading "legalize gay", and various political books supporting gay marriage. I couldn't help but smile at their honesty. There was no use of the subtilties seen in Books-A-Million; they wore their hearts on their sleeves.
In a town that runs on politics, it is not hard to believe that the great issues fought over in Congress could flow over into the city's public life. During these book store visits, it became quite clear to me just how extensive it can be.
While entering Books-A-Million, I was immediately struck by a large pile of Glen Beck's latest book, Arguing with Idiots. Among the 'recommended titles' was Jonah Goldberg's Liberal Fascism. I did not see the tables full of Obama paraphernalia that I was used to in the local Borders or Barnes and Noble in my hometown, Bowie, which had a majority African American population. It was quite subtle, but easily noticed.
Others were not so subtle in their political viewpoints. One gay bookshop made their disdain for social conservatism blatant, filling their window display with signs condemning the passage of Proposition 8 in California, mannequins with t-shirts reading "legalize gay", and various political books supporting gay marriage. I couldn't help but smile at their honesty. There was no use of the subtilties seen in Books-A-Million; they wore their hearts on their sleeves.
In a town that runs on politics, it is not hard to believe that the great issues fought over in Congress could flow over into the city's public life. During these book store visits, it became quite clear to me just how extensive it can be.
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Structured Response 9.23
According to some of our classmates, only an important life merits an autobiography. According to Saint Augustine, only a life where one undergoes a profound experience is worth recording. Neither are completely right.
For our classmates to be entirely correct, on must assume that one wants the entire world to read your autobiography and possibly make money off of it. This may not always be the case. One could write an autobiography to for purely personal reasons. If I should ever have children, I would want to write a completely honest autobiography for them to read after my death, so that they can truly know their mother. Others write them just to keep track of their lives if they should forget small, yet significant details. They may not want the world to know their stories, but they want their stories recorded none the less.
Augustine is not entirely correct because his definition applies to every human being. We all experience the first time we disagreed with our parents, those who have been our moral compass since birth. We all take our first great risk, and wither bask in the glow of success or wallow in the shadows of defeat. We all experience our first love, and are all briefly devastated when we realize does not last forever. We all have experiences that have changed our views or altered our behavior. We may not instill our experiences with the profundity that Augustine has given his own, but that does not mean we do not have these experiences.
To put it briefly, a biography is what you make of it. If you want to change the world with your story, or just to make money off of it, you should at least fashion yourself with a sort of importance. If your motives are more modest, than this restriction does not apply.
For our classmates to be entirely correct, on must assume that one wants the entire world to read your autobiography and possibly make money off of it. This may not always be the case. One could write an autobiography to for purely personal reasons. If I should ever have children, I would want to write a completely honest autobiography for them to read after my death, so that they can truly know their mother. Others write them just to keep track of their lives if they should forget small, yet significant details. They may not want the world to know their stories, but they want their stories recorded none the less.
Augustine is not entirely correct because his definition applies to every human being. We all experience the first time we disagreed with our parents, those who have been our moral compass since birth. We all take our first great risk, and wither bask in the glow of success or wallow in the shadows of defeat. We all experience our first love, and are all briefly devastated when we realize does not last forever. We all have experiences that have changed our views or altered our behavior. We may not instill our experiences with the profundity that Augustine has given his own, but that does not mean we do not have these experiences.
To put it briefly, a biography is what you make of it. If you want to change the world with your story, or just to make money off of it, you should at least fashion yourself with a sort of importance. If your motives are more modest, than this restriction does not apply.
Saturday, September 19, 2009
Reflection on District 9
Last night, my friend Annie and I saw the new Peter Jackson film District 9 in Bethesda. The situation portrayed in the movie brought up several questions in my mind about human behavior and the true nature of evil. I know it sounds like I'm reading a bit too into a sci-fi movie, but I will explain.
The plot of the movie focuses on the actions of Wikus Van der Merwe, an average and mundane desk worker in a company called the MNU, which is hired by the South African government to clear District 9, an area of Johannesburg, of a group of aliens that have been stranded in the city for almost two decades. Through a bit of nepotism, Wirkus is chosen to lead the operation to clear out the aliens and force them into a smaller compound farther away from the city.
Wirkus is probably the most striking aspect of the movie. In the first moments of the film, we see little clips of him with a wide, unthreatening smile, dressed properly if unfashionable, and cracking a few jokes. He comes off as an optimistic, friendly, and straight-laced bureaucrat, the guy who unexpectedly brightens up your trip to the DMV or the Post Office. You are automatically trapped into liking him.
When he sets off into District 9, however, a less likable side of Wirkus is unveiled. He lies to residents, coerces them with cat food (which these aliens love), and exploits ridiculous loopholes all in order to evict the aliens from their ratty dwellings. He jokes about "aborting" the incubating alien young with the same lilt in his voice and charming smile as when he showed off a picture of his wife.
As one watches the scene, it remains difficult to believe that the same charming man who we met in the office is the same man who is heartlessly forcing the aliens from their shanties. Such behavior is no surprise coming from the rough military men, but not from this slight, kindly desk worker. These cruel actions seem all the more inhuman when they are done by an average, even pleasant man.
This performance in the film made me think of human nature. We all to some degree put on performances and have backstages, as they are called by Erving Goffman. In the character of Wirkus, however, the front and backstage blend in a subtle way. His efficiency, dedication towards his job, and disarming manner become tools of evil when put toward his cruel, heartless work. Although his front may not have changed, his impression most definitely alters.
The plot of the movie focuses on the actions of Wikus Van der Merwe, an average and mundane desk worker in a company called the MNU, which is hired by the South African government to clear District 9, an area of Johannesburg, of a group of aliens that have been stranded in the city for almost two decades. Through a bit of nepotism, Wirkus is chosen to lead the operation to clear out the aliens and force them into a smaller compound farther away from the city.
Wirkus is probably the most striking aspect of the movie. In the first moments of the film, we see little clips of him with a wide, unthreatening smile, dressed properly if unfashionable, and cracking a few jokes. He comes off as an optimistic, friendly, and straight-laced bureaucrat, the guy who unexpectedly brightens up your trip to the DMV or the Post Office. You are automatically trapped into liking him.
When he sets off into District 9, however, a less likable side of Wirkus is unveiled. He lies to residents, coerces them with cat food (which these aliens love), and exploits ridiculous loopholes all in order to evict the aliens from their ratty dwellings. He jokes about "aborting" the incubating alien young with the same lilt in his voice and charming smile as when he showed off a picture of his wife.
As one watches the scene, it remains difficult to believe that the same charming man who we met in the office is the same man who is heartlessly forcing the aliens from their shanties. Such behavior is no surprise coming from the rough military men, but not from this slight, kindly desk worker. These cruel actions seem all the more inhuman when they are done by an average, even pleasant man.
This performance in the film made me think of human nature. We all to some degree put on performances and have backstages, as they are called by Erving Goffman. In the character of Wirkus, however, the front and backstage blend in a subtle way. His efficiency, dedication towards his job, and disarming manner become tools of evil when put toward his cruel, heartless work. Although his front may not have changed, his impression most definitely alters.
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Structured Response 9.16- 4b
The loss of memory that results from Alzheimer's most definitely effects one's identity. You know longer retain the experiences and feelings. Your opinions and sentiments are gone from you. All those things which contributed to the definition of who you were vanishes within one's decline.
When one has Alzheimers, however, one does not completely lose their identity. You still have your character and personality intact. You will behave in a similar manner as when you still had your facilities intact. When one loses one's memory in the first place, it only effects one's own view of your identity that was effected by memory. Your friends and family will remember who you were before your Alzheimer's long after you do. Though you will lose your past, your loved ones will preserve you for the future.
When one has Alzheimers, however, one does not completely lose their identity. You still have your character and personality intact. You will behave in a similar manner as when you still had your facilities intact. When one loses one's memory in the first place, it only effects one's own view of your identity that was effected by memory. Your friends and family will remember who you were before your Alzheimer's long after you do. Though you will lose your past, your loved ones will preserve you for the future.
Sunday, September 13, 2009
Reflection on Portrait Gallery Painting
Before we left for the National Portrait Gallery, we were given a list of questions to ponder as we visited the museum. One asked us to choose a portrait, and if there was anything striking about how the subject is portrayed. As I browsed the collection, the portrait of George Washington Carver struck me in particular.
The style of the work was not outstanding; it even seemed dull compared to the nearby sculpture of Rosa Parks and silkscreen of Marylin Monroe. What really piqued my interest was how he was portrayed. Rather than staring at the viewer with a confident stare, posed in a heroic manner, Dr. Carver was standing over a table in an outdoor garden, carefully examining a potted flower. His face was calm and serene, yet loving, like a grandparent helping their grandchild learn how to read. He was holding one of the flowers of the plant gently in the palm of his hand, not slicing it to bits or ripping it apart for an experiment, as he most likely would in his actual work.
Although George Washington Carver was a pioneer in plant science, an American "great", he is not depicted heroically, an inaccessible giant. He is the kind neighbor, the loving father, the friendly gardener. He is a normal American that achieved greatness. This painting serves to underscore that point.
The style of the work was not outstanding; it even seemed dull compared to the nearby sculpture of Rosa Parks and silkscreen of Marylin Monroe. What really piqued my interest was how he was portrayed. Rather than staring at the viewer with a confident stare, posed in a heroic manner, Dr. Carver was standing over a table in an outdoor garden, carefully examining a potted flower. His face was calm and serene, yet loving, like a grandparent helping their grandchild learn how to read. He was holding one of the flowers of the plant gently in the palm of his hand, not slicing it to bits or ripping it apart for an experiment, as he most likely would in his actual work.
Although George Washington Carver was a pioneer in plant science, an American "great", he is not depicted heroically, an inaccessible giant. He is the kind neighbor, the loving father, the friendly gardener. He is a normal American that achieved greatness. This painting serves to underscore that point.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)