I believe that I have a strong connection with the university. I have come to see this place as a second home to me. I do believe I belong here and that I fit in nicely and have many friends. I do believe that I have integrated myself into the social aspects of the campus as well. I feel that regardless I would have been involved in this campus in some shape or form but I was able to join a fraternity and this has helped me greatly. I have made a lot of friends due to this and have plenty of people to help me as my college career continues. I do not live on campus but I do live within walking distance and I live close enough to be able to walk there and experience campus life during the day as well. I live in the village and I do believe that even here there is a sense of community. I could pretty much call upon any neighbor to help me out in case something breaks or any other problems. I have made plenty of social connections in my two years at the campus. Being a part of a fraternity really helped me out socially but I also have been able to make connections with people not in my fraternity as well. I live with three people who are each part of a different social aspect in the university. One roommate is a part of my fraternity, one is a part of another fraternity, and one isnt part of a fraternity at all and I believe that all this social diversity really helps me keep a vast amount of friends on campus. I am very satisfied with the connections I have made on campus and wouldn't change a thing. I really don't know if I am connecting with the actual campus as much as I am with my friends. I probably could get more involved in the campus as it has given me so much already and I haven’t really given back to it at all. I don't really try to connect my in class experiences with my out of class experiences. I believe that its not good for me to mix work with pleasure. I do apply some of the things I learn but I also have learned that I don't get nearly enough done. I have thought about taking a class that interests me. It would be interesting to take a class that has to do with something that would affect my life and pick my interest. The only thing that is stopping me is the fact that it means I would have to spend more time on campus than I would like to. I get sick of it during my regular schedule. I do think that this is something I should get over because it is something that could potentially help me in the future. I really don't know what class I would take though. I would have to look at the class catalogue I guess and look for something that suits me correctly. I am not against taking an outside class at all but I just got to take the initiative and look for them and put myself out there.

I have many reasons for attending college. The most important one has to do with my future of course, that's a given. But I like to think I have more reasons than that. One important reason is simply that I’ve never done it before. I know it sounds funny but I like to experience new things and college seemed like a new frontier and I am always game for a change of pace. It is a new way to be independent and you have nothing to fall back on but yourself. I had a pretty good idea what I wanted to do with my future but I didn't want to limit myself to new ideas that I could come across. My parents were a big influence on my college career but I like to think that I got myself to actually commit to it. I wasn't forced to do this and it would have been treated the same had I not chosen to go but like I said before I wanted to try something new. What I want to gain from my experience is I want a new outlook on life. Despite the fact that I am almost 20 years old I still have a lot to learn in life and I feel going to a new state and a new environment will help me with this. My personal goals from this are to get more friends with people I never would have thought I would be friends with and to gain a better understanding of my future. My academic goals are simply not to fail out. If I don't fail out then I get to stay here and even though I have only spent a year here I have come to love it here. My academic goals greatly effect the way I study. I study hard for my tests. If I didn't care then I wouldn't study very hard but my desire to do well keeps me afloat. I have a few traits to offer this school. I love meeting new people and I love interacting in new environments. If there are new friends to be made I am there in a minute. I love to listen and love to debate on issues. I need to do a few things for research in order to be successful this year. I need to be able to locate all the outside help I can receive for classes. I also need to find out all my teachers office hours and emails to further help my participation in the class. What could potentially prevent me from doing well is the fact that I am in a fraternity I suppose. Being in a fraternity takes up a lot of time and not to mention the constant partying that takes place. Also I tend to over worry about little things and over analyze situations. This factor could also impair my ability to study and take tests. I also tend to get distracted and procrastinate easily. While the I just listed a lot of factors they are small and easy to overcome. I am hoping to have a lot of the experiences that I had the first year I attended here. I had so much fun and learned so much last year and I hope these experiences only continue. My major is creative writing so I am hoping to get more classes that help me in my writing career at school. I enjoy writing very much and the fact that all my classes have to do with writing in some shape or form only adds to my enjoyment.

I would have to say that my expectations about college were a little different than how I am actually living my college life right now. The first thing I had expected had to do with how fast I would make friends. I had expected it to be a little like high school. You have a group of people that you are thrown into and you make friends with some and with others you don't. This was NOTHING how it really was in college life. You have to make much more of an effort making friends. I am not very outgoing in meeting new people, luckily I joined a fraternity that really helped me through the friend making process. I can honestly say I would not have made nearly as many friends I do have now without the help of my fraternity. Another expectation I had about college had to do with professors in class. I really didn't have a great idea of how they would interact with the students. I didn't think they would be as close to me as my high school teachers were but I did think that they would be at least a little interested in their students. I was partly right with this. Yes the teachers do you want you to succeed (most of them) but you have to make that extra effort to go find the teachers and ask for their help personally. I have learned many important things since coming to the university. First off, you are always responsible for your actions, if you fail you have no one to blame but yourself. Another thing I learned is that you can not have too many friends. The more friends you have the more resources you have not only during the year but beyond your stay at the university as well. I also learned the valuable lesson of being independent. I had to do everything for myself and you learn new things that make your life a lot easier.
I believe I am a very different person than before I came to the university. I am definitely a lot more independent and I have discovered a new sense of confidence in myself due to the fact that everything that has come to me I has happened due to my own actions. That is a very liberating feeling. I don't think there are many thingsi would change if I were to do the school year over again. I am very happy with how things have been going and I don't want many things to change, but if they do I hope they change for the better. If I were to return to my high school and talk to the seniors there I would tell them a few things. First off that they should enjoy the fact that they don't have to live completely independently just yet and that they have parents to cook them meals. Second I would tell them that college is an awesome experience where you also experience many new things that you could never experience in high school. I would tell them to look forward to this with much enthusiasm. This has been a great experience for me and I am barely in my second year of it! I feel that it will only get better with time as I move toward my final years at the university.

There is one other story that is apparently very true unlike the other stories mentioned but like it was mentioned before, the point of the stories within this text isn’t whether or not they are true but rather they serve as an eye into the happenings of people in wartime. It explains the story of a man who’s friend was killed in the war and he wrote his friend’s girlfriend to explain why her boyfriend wont be coming home. He pours his heart into the letter, crying on numerous occasions. Months pass after the letter had been sent and still there has been no response. The soldier took it as hard as if he were the dead. He couldn’t believe that this girl wouldn’t write back to this kind of letter. She finds out her boyfriend is dead and sends no reply whatsoever. The soldier could not believe the audacity she had. Dead friend aside, he poured his heart and soul into that letter, but to get no sort of emotional feedback infuriated him. The effect that this story is supposed to have on the reader/listener is that after spending months on end in wartime, after a soldier asks for something simple such as a reply letter from someone who meant a whole lot to his fallen friend, he is denied it. After living in the horror that is war, people start to appreciate the little things that normal people take for granted every day like affection, the emotional attachment that forms when men form a brotherhood during wartime, or simply letters from a place where there isn’t gunfire or good friends getting torn apart by explosives.

People who weren’t there or didn’t experience any of these events that these soldiers told can not judge the validity of said stories. Regardless of whether or not these stories are true or not does not matter. What matters is the message that gets across. Without exaggerations in the story or emphasizing things in the story that may have not happened, the stories would not have as much of an impact as it would have if a boring story where nothing happened and no one died. The stories strike the listeners where it counts, in the heart. What matters the most is the message and the effect it has on one’s life after hearing it. “In other cases you cant even tell a true war story. Sometimes it’s just beyond telling.”

A person might find this hard to believe because the person who the story is being told to probably was not there during the war and thus is naïve. If the person does not know what actually happened a lot of the cruelness and savageness of the war may seem too extreme to be true. The narrator’s friend was in a state of happiness the second before he died. As he stepped on the trap, he was facing the narrator. When the trap exploded his face was illuminated, then torn apart. Without the added exaggerations the impact of the story would not have been as predominant. Then there is the question of if the story is not 100 percent true then does it matter is the impact is great? There is a mistake that people could make that the storyteller was deliberately misguiding the person who they were telling the story to. That may be so but in most cases, the story does not have to be true to the world but rather true to the people who it happened to and whoever is telling the story. What’s more important the truth or the impact it has on the people it affected.
There is another story that is told of a squad doing a listen in on enemy territory. This story also pertains to the idea that it doesn't matter how the story is told but rather that it is told and that the person listening gets the desired effect. They were supposed to be completely quiet and lay low for days and just listen. After a few days the soldiers started to hear noises, but they weren’t normal jungle noises. The soldiers heard concerts from rock shows, noises from cocktail parties. They got on their radios and called in a strike team against the area. After the area was torn up the officers asked the team that had stayed there what they had seen and heard. They knew that no one would believe they had heard noises from a rock concert so they said absolutely nothing. If the soldiers had told what had really happened, it would be easy to tell that they just experienced an episode of hysteria brought on by them staying in the jungle for days without moving. This is not what the storyteller wanted to get a across though. He didn’t want to make the soldiers look crazy, he made sure to explain that they knew that what they heard couldn’t have possibly have been heard in the jungle and that they didn’t tell anyone what really happened. The point of the story isn’t to portray these people as nuts soldiers but rather as victims of what type of effect the war can have on one’s psyche. The storytellers are trying to get this point across and on the way of accomplishing this, it is not wrong of them to change a detail here or there if the same point gets across.

There is truth to the saying that you never know till you have walked a mile in a man’s shoes. To be more specific, I am referring to stories told by soldiers from the Vietnam War. Most of these stories are powerful and have a great impact even on today’s generation. The following story called, “How To Tell A True War Story”, by Tim O’Brien compiles a few war stories from soldiers during the Vietnam War that to some may seem a little too extreme to believe. Since these stories are filled with so much violence, so much emotion, one must wonder: were all the parts of the story true? So what really matters, the validity of each story or the impact it has on the person or persons it is being told to? The narrator states that, “You can tell a war story if…you don’t care for truth.” If you are to tell a war story the narrator thinks that you must be able to carelessly toss the truth aside and tell a story that carries an “allegiance to obscenity and evil” if that’s what it takes to get the point of the story across. What needs to be understood is that it doesn't matter if little details here or there are being changed to tell a story consciously or unconsciously, as long as the desired affect is reached. The people who the story is being told to usually weren’t involved in the war so these stories are there for these people who were lucky enough to not experience war’s horrors. These stories make it so they are able to if not fully then at least partially understand what these brave people went through.
The following story revolves around a soldier currently involved in the Vietnam War and the emphases isn’t on the war at hand but rather with the stories told by fellow soldiers, fabricated or not. It starts out with the narrator retelling the story of how his friend and fellow soldier was killed. When he finishes the story he reflects on the extremes of the story such as his friend stepping on a booby trap and being blown apart. As he examines the different parts of the story he admits how ridiculous it sounds that his friend could be spread across the trees with his own body but then he realizes that’s what war stories are all about.
After he tells them he focuses on the fact that the validity of the story could be questioned. When the narrator first tells the stories that he has either experienced or heard from a second source he tells them as if they are all 100 percent true. The way he described his friend’s death was the sun came down and threw him into the trees. He described it as, “His face was suddenly brown and shining…the sunlight came around him and lifted him up and sucked him high into a tree.” Now any reasonable person would think that the thought of the sun coming down and ripping a person apart sounds ridiculous. But He was there and all he is doing is recounting what he saw. He knows it sounds ridiculous and yes he knows that it didn’t actually happen that way but the way he described it added a certain amount of emotion that was able to emphasize the great light that was caused by the explosion.

The session that I sat in on was lucky enough to have been quite interesting and it happened to include an acquaintance that is now a friend. I decided to peak in on someone who was helping a young freshman rapper that wanted to make a mixtape of various songs with the rapper on them to put out to get his name out. I was lucky enough to be able to watch and learn things that I didn’t know before. It started out with the rapper telling the engineer in the small room which beats he wanted to use. The engineer decided first that he wanted to hear the beats first to see if the levels were correct and thus able to be recorded over easy since the protool sessions were not intact. Most of the tracks were usable but two for them were not able to be used much to the chagrin of the rapper. The engineer plugged in the microphone into the docks and placed a pop filter over the microphone. The rapper and the engineer tested the microphone and we were ready to go underway. The rapper had lyrics set aside for most of the songs but he wanted to freestyle first to see how it works out first try. I was amazed at the simplicity that the rapper was able to spit out such things at such a speed. It was like he was able to think of stories in three seconds flat, stories that rhymed.
Despite the fact that he was able to come out with rhymes so fast not all of them were gems. They sounded good but had very little to do with the song subject matter. I didn’t understand why this would effect the outcome of just a mixtape but I suppose I wasn’t one to question a project that was not my own. So some of the freestyling was saved while most of it was scrapped as the engineer, who now took on the job of a producer, explained to the rapper that he does his best work when he thinks his lyrics out beforehand. I happened to agree with this and was happy with this decision. They started to record the first song and the rapper put headphones on and the engineer placed the track in record and muted the speaker so that the only person who could hear the track was the rapper himself. I assumed that this was the case as his head was nodding heavily. I remember how strange the whole recording aspect sounded when you could not hear the music and the rapper would almost perform for a room of three people. The room itself was interesting as well. The room was fairly small and not like the studios I have seen in the past. The fact that it was only one room was the main difference as there was only a keyboard a computer and a monitor. The walls were properly muffled for a good sense of acoustics. They had foam on the walls witch muffled the echoes nicely. It wasn’t completely muffled but it was good enough for the room with the consol and the recording room were one in the same. This was an enjoyable experience for me and I was glad I was able to sit in on such a different type of recording session.

Jordan was disgusted at himself for letting someone talk in such a way about his close friends but his desire for fame and fortune was too strong and ignored his friends’ honor and listened intently. “But we DO see promise in you Jordan” Suit # 2 exclaimed. “You got a certain look, a grunginess we haven’t seen since the likes of Cobain.” “What we are basically trying to say…” interrupted Suit # 3, “is that we want you, and you alone. We are offering you a deal straight up. We know your talent and we know what you can do. We cant wait for very long for an answer so we will basically give you a week. You know how to find us let us know.” The answer was easy for Jordan. He was in, as much as it pained him in the stomach to tell his friends this, he knew he was on his way. His friends were not happy and rightfully so Jordan thought. The breakup of Starscream was not on good terms as the bandmates parted ways with Jordan. As a solo artist Jordan was able to find great success. The fans, especially the female aspect ate Jordan up. They saw a rebirth of the grunge movement of the nineties. Now we see Jordan blankly staring into an audience that had been supporting his every move up until a drunk fan decided to test the patience of the rock icon and hurled a bottle at his head. This couldn’t have come at a worse time. This was the first time he headlined a tour and this was an opening show. He was barely into his third song when it happened.
“Holy shit they aren’t moving. What the hell am I doing?! Just pick up the guitar and start playing! Its not hard, you know how! Michael would be laughing so hard right now I can already see it. There goes my chance with the blonde in section F. Where is my guitar anyway? What is it doing over near the drummer?! What is his name? Wow, is it bad that I cant remember my bandmate’s names? What did pop always used to say back in the pharmacy? If you want something done right you have to do it yourself. He wasn’t very creative with his wisdom, most of it sounded like he took it straight from television shows he used to watch, wow he loved television now that I think about it. Im bleeding, understandably. That was a Heineken bottle, those things are thick as hell! Maybe if I start strumming the single! No that wont work you idiot, you didn’t save it for last again. Your manager tells you over and over to save the hit single for last and you never listen. Now when you could really use a familiar song to save this runaway train of a show, you already played it! Wait did we play, “Sacred lie?” They love that song right? Wasn’t as big as “Bone” but hey, it got a great reaction in Chicago. We are in New York aren’t we? Don’t most east coaster think alike? How long have I been standing here thinking? They still haven’t moved, cant have been too long. Good Jordan, you finally got your guitar on. At least your motor skills still work. Play the opening licks! Ok great they recognize the song, that’s a good start. I just pray I remember the lyrics.Wait do I come in before or after the drums. I hate this band.”
After Jordan’s long battle with his inner thoughts he started playing a fan favorite that the fans did not expect…they were his again. He had recovered just in time. But the fact that he was not playing with the people who had helped get him where he was today, the people he cared for made the roar of the crowd all the more bitter.

A bottle bashes against his head as he falls to the floor. The bright spotlight above him starts to spin as if there were a million spot lights emphasizing the disaster that has just fell upon this young man. “Should I get up or just lay here till they all leave?” Aside from the gash on his head he seems to be in proper order. The young man gets up, wipes his long brown hair from his face and looks out into a still fuzzy crowd. They are silent, waiting, not knowing how to react. As he gazes out into a lifeless crowd and into what could potentially be the worst show of his life, he remembers a simpler time, a time where all he had to worry about was Robbie Thomas giving him a swirly in the high school bathroom. Rock and Roll was always seen as a way out for Jordan. School never panned out and he quickly failed out of college. Being the lenient father he was, Jordan’s dad let him work in the family pharmacy when he arrived back home in Milwaukee. Jordan had almost made it in the rock and roll lifestyle before. Jordan and his group, Starscream, had actually had a demo deal with a record label. They hit a hitch when their drummer, Keith had jumped back onto the wagon and started drinking again. Soon all the initial money that was given in the deal was spent and the band had gotten nothing done when the deadline for at least four songs had passed. Seeing no profit to be had with Starscream, the label immediately dropped them. Jordan went to college at the behest of his mother who had always wanted her son to graduate college. Jordan never found direction or a purpose in his college education and soon stopped attending classes. He failed out after his freshman year. After nearly a year in his father’s shop he was contacted by his bassist, Blake, and the urge to give this whole fame thing another shot struck back into Jordan’s brain. Enlisting the aid of a new drummer, the straightedge Michael (they didn’t want to take any chances) they contacted the company that had fired them in the first place. The company called Jordan back after many left messages. His wish had come true and they had asked to meet with him, but only with him. He didn’t tell his bandmates and secretly met with the suits in the building. They were blunt, painfully blunt. “We see no future in Starscream” suit #1 said. “Your band cant play, they are a liability since they have had drinking problems in the past, and to put it bluntly they are ugly.”

death

It is cold. It don’t only feel cold but it looks cold as well. Dead leaves lie on the concrete streets. The wind is picking up. As it blows the flames of the many lit candles placed around a certain street corner flicker. More than the majority of them are out but a select few continue to burn as the afternoon starts to turn to evening. Next to the candles lies flowers, long dead due to lack of water and moisture as the cold had dried it up days ago. In the middle of the candles and flowers lies a picture, as if the flowers and candles grew from the picture itself. This nucleus of these objects is a picture of a boy, not much older than 16 by the looks of him. The sun goes down a lot earlier than usual today, as if to say that it doesn’t see the point in trying to warm up the planet anymore for today. As the sun sets a woman wrapped in a black overcoat approaches the street corner, flowers in hand. She stops at the corner where the flowers lay. Her facial expression hasn’t changed one bit. As she takes out a solitary rose from her coat another figure enters the scene. A man this time, draped in gray. The man walks down the street to the same corner and abruptly stops as he spies the woman. He continues after the woman has spotted him and they meet eye to eye at the corner. “Lorraine, its been 6 times already today you have been here, you need to go home and rest. This isn’t healthy” advises the man. “I know, I just like to see the flowers, it makes me feel like I am here, you know, with him. Like I still haven’t left his side” states Lorraine. The man kisses Lorraine on the forehead as her eyes start to tear up just a little for a teardrop to run down her cheek. “He wouldn’t like you worrying about him you know. I am sure he’s watching us and I am sure he doesn’t like seeing us like this” says the man. “I remember when he passed his driving test. He was so happy, all he wanted to do was drive. Every day he would ask me if I needed to run any errands just so he could drive me around town. I often wonder why we let him drive at night at such an early age.” Lorraine wipes another tear as she remembers why her son is no longer with her. The man looks at the picture of his only son and thinks about all the times he let him back out of the driveway growing up. There is a long pause between the two as they hold hands and look upon the scene of that fateful day when their son was taken from them. Words can’t describe the pain they feel as they remember the day they had to bury their only child. They look into each other’s eyes and they cant help but smile a little. They embrace and hold for what seems like years to them. They are deeply pained but their love only grows stronger from each embrace. They lay their flowers down and walk down the street hand in hand. They came separate but they leave as one.

end

I usually wouldn’t care about the life of someone else but there was something about this child. The fear in her eyes, like someone was about to whip her with a belt for not stealing enough money from other businessmen’s jacket pockets. The next thing I know I am up on my feet creeping up on this kid. I jump him. I don’t care what happens. He will not harm this child. We fall to the floor and I hit my head. I feel the heat as the blood drops down my head but I don’t care. I smack the gun away from the man's hand and the child runs to her mother. I am still wrestling the kid when the cops finally burst into the car and jump on us. I get up and look at the mother who hides her child from me and turns runs away from me screaming. As I see someone who should be thanking me look at me in disgust I am tackled as well. I am cuffed and thrown beside the kid with the gun. We are both on the floor next to each other and I am forced to look in the face of the kid I just disarmed. I didn’t think there was any way the kid could get any more scared than he was before but the kid was literally pissing himself. I am still bleeding and the train starts to spin. I pass out.
I wake up later at the police station with a blanket over me. The cuffs are no longer on my hands. An officer comes into the room where I woke up and offers me coffee. Coffee is one of the million things that I hate, but I still take it considering I have had nothing in my stomach for a while now. He explains to me that the mother eventually explained to the officers on the scene that I was actually trying to help them. This must have been after she got it through her thick skull that I rescued her daughter from getting her head blasted off by an itchy trigger finger teenager. I am released after answering a few more useless questions. They ask if I wanted to press charges myself for the cut on my head. I decline, what’s the point, ill spend it on things I probably should not be spending it on. I am freed and let on my way. It is a long walk. I for some reason am able to notice most of the people still in cuffs staring at me as I walk down the hall. “What you think you’re better than me? You’ll be right back here in a week tops!” As I hear one random punk scream this at me, I want to break every bone in his body but then I realize something. He’s right. I am no better if not worse in some cases. I reach in my pocket and the money I made earlier this morning is gone. I do not even bother to ask if the cops had seen it. they would not have given it back anyway. I am now broke and walking out into the cold world, all because of a sudden lack of judgment and rescuing a snotty child. What was I thinking? I’ll never make that mistake.

cont

I wake up a half hour later and still find myself on the subway. I am nowhere near my stop and this only makes my day worse, as if I had any inkling that it would get better. As I started to pass out again I am woken up by screams and yelling. I guess that they are from punk college kids and try to get back to sleep when all of a sudden I hear gunfire. It sounds like it is coming from the next car. I hear a single shot then muffled screams that I am now sure are coming fron the other car. Most things don’t surprise me, gunfire is something else altogether. Gunfire isn’t a new thing to my life and when I gather my bearings and calm myself down. I tell myself that if I just stay in this car and don’t say anything the gunman will go away and I can continue my slumber and get to my house eventually. The gunman all of a sudden bursts into our car and apparently decides that robbing one car isn’t enough; he wants to go two for two. “Nobody fucking move” he screams. The people in my car were understandably terrified and were screaming shielding themselves as if their hands could stop the bullets. He was demanding their money and whatever they had. I can see what type of person the gunman is, I have seen the type many times before. He is young, no more than seventeen years old. He is scared too, you can tell that because he is constantly screaming with occasional cracks in the voice. He’s moving and twitching, almost as if he is expecting someone to jump him from behind at any second. I know if I stay still and don’t move I’ll be fine. This wasn’t my first rodeo and I know how to be inconspicuous and stay out of trouble. All of a sudden the train comes to a sudden stop. A few people fall over and the gunman almost loses his balance. Out of the corner of my eye I see a child huddled behind her mother. And not just a child, it was a little girl. This punkass kid eyes her almost at the same time I do and grabs her. He needed leverage as the fuzz had just stopped the car and were most likely on their way. This scared punk knew that he was done and needed something to hold onto. This little girl was a teddy bear of sorts to this scared, coward of a teenager. He must feel that as long as he holds on to this tiny creature and threatens her tiny head with a gun then he could maybe, just maybe get away by the hairs on his neck. The mother cries out to her daughter and the daughter screams back. I am positioned right now behind the gunman as he must have passed me assuming I had nothing, but at the same time, I had nothing to lose.

cont

He would search me every time after we returned still drunk if not drunker than when we had first arrived. If he found nothing then the belt came off then I was a lot sorer going to bed. If he did find something, it wasn’t enough and I was beaten anyway. My mother knew about the beatings, she happened to be one of the victims, but she did not know about how I was forced to be a thief most of the time. After years of wondering where her husband and son went every Tuesday and Thursday night, my mother decided to do a little detective work. Not much was needed as being inconspicuous was not one of my father’s strong suits. This, for some reason or other and not the beatings, was all my mother’s heart could take. Maybe she was mad that she didn’t get any cut, but whatever the case may be this was it, we were gone. The reason she took me with her still escapes me to this day. My original suspicion is that this was a great way to weasel herself into whoever we were forcing ourselves upon. I mean who could turn away a poor child with a distressed mother right?
I remember being shaken violently as I was sleeping with my mother standing over my bed scaring the piss out of me. I could smell the familiar scent of alcohol that I smelt on my father’s breath on my mother’s breath as well. She obviously needed some liquid courage to up and leave her husband with her only son as her only companion. She had my suitcase already packed which shocked me because this was the first time she had done anything for me. I even think it was the first time she had folded my clothes for me. We went into the Cadillac and off we went into the night. We ended up at my aunt Becca’s house and stayed there for what seemed like lifetimes. I hated it there. All my friends were back home and this place was an old person’s home. With all the useless ceramic figurines everywhere and the pillows that stack up on the couch so much that you can only sit on half of the couch. Everything smelled horrible of that old people smell. We would remain there well until my 18th birthday. I could tell my aunt Becca did not want us there as we were obviously mooching off of her, even I could tell at my young age. My family never was all that close with her and I feel that the only thing that was keeping us there was the fact that people would look down upon her for throwing her own blood out on the street. I think the fact that I decided to run one day spared her the awkwardness of kicking her own family out of her house. My mother never came looking for me, and I don’t think that I cared much at the time. I still don’t think I care today. Memories of my parents don’t cross my mind all that often. If I ever ran into my parents I don’t know how Id react. I don’t think that I would have to worry about that because I don’t think that they would even be able to recognize me anyway.

cont

I look at the clock on the wall just as I do the train pulls up. Finally something convenient happened today. I notice that the bum has left. He probably was bored of me more than I was of him. As I get on the train I see a seat available next to a woman who is probably the same age as the girl that I left only an hour and a half ago. If you gave this woman only an 8 ball she wouldn’t be that different from this woman. I start to walk over to the chair to sit down and I can feel her eyes follow me each step of the way. She is obviously disgusted. She gets up practically the second I sit down. Gee I guess being even a little subtle was out of the question for this girl. She does not take the time to look for a new seat and just stands. All right, more room for me. I’m repulsive I know this, do I care? NO absolutely not. I have lived this long without a soul and I believe I can die without one. Heaven or hell wouldn’t want me.
The subway continues down the tracks as I pass in and out of sleep. My stop is the last so this is where I catch most of my sleep after a hard days work, if that’s even what you can call it. I peruse the train and I come to a familiar sight. I find that my usual spot was still intact. I move to a corner that I always crash in. No one ever sits in it, as it has become well known that it is my spot. Sort of reserved for my seniority of sin. I laugh to myself at the thought that the only plus side to my existence is an empty seat in the corner of a smelly subway to come home to. Father would be proud of his beloved Christopher. I was always his favorite. Ha! Who am I kidding? He loved me just as much as people love kanker sores. But when he drank, that was when it was my time to shine. We would go around back behind his work office in the alley during the middle of the night and he would go in to play cards and I would wait outside, sometimes for hours and hours on end. I wasn’t there so he could keep an eye on me but rather so that I could use my small size to his advantage. Coat checks were always a must in these back alley gambling rings and I would often go through the pockets of my father’s fellow gamblers. No one would pay attention to the small child of a drunken accountant. Most days I scored big, a Rolex here, credit card there, but there was some days where the businessmen would not have much on them. That’s when I got it. I got it good when I didn’t find anythin

cont

This case is no different. I shake the girl. I ask for payment, 300 dollars is my normal fee. She hands over the cash and I can already tell she is short. “The number we discussed was 300” I explain. “You need to give me 100 more.” She tries to put on this sexy look which is not impossible to her due to the fact that she is still high and has slept for a total of probably 2 hours (not that she was going to win any beauty contests anytime soon). “You will get it, plus 100 more if you decide to stay a little while longer” she koos. 400 dollars is 400 dollars, but I decline. I probably couldn’t go again anyway. It’s a wonder I am able to perform most of the time when I do. She offers more blow but I decline once again and asked for the money again. She pays and I leave, as fast as I can. I notice that every time I leave, it seems to be in a hurry. I guess I should feel sorry for the girl. As sorry as you can be for a forty year old cokehead that pays for sex. Then I realize that this would be a normal human being feeling and of course being the sympathetic person I am I walk right out the door. I try to hail a cab. Each one speeds past me obviously showing the fact that they don’t pick up homeless looking people. This is probably for the best considering the fact that I need to spend as little of this money on anything but food. I decide to take the train.
I’m an hour early for the train. I am now soaking wet at the station waiting for this stupid subway. I am freezing, and probably should have stayed in the woman’s room till the conditions improved. Even though this sounds like the rational thing to do I simply cannot and will not stay. If I did it would become personal and this is something that I cannot afford to do. My contacts are still dry. They are still retaining the little bit of moisture they have from the tears in my eyes. A homeless man sits next to me. He offers me a drink. He thinks I am one of them, not that I blame him, I certainly look the part. I take a swig of the oddly colored stuff, its warm. I drink the horrible shit anyway as he starts to blabber. He talks to me in a way that astounds me. He acts like we have known each other for a long time and that I know the punchline of every inside joke he has every had. It’s very obvious that I am not listening. I don’t think he cares. At least I am someone to talk to, another ear for him I guess. Ill humor the old man for a while before I ride the subway home.

story

I wake up at about three o’clock in the afternoon, head throbbing as always. My eyes can’t focus. I can see five feet in front of me. I remember that I probably left my contacts in again. This wouldn’t have been the first time I did this. I test my theory by poking my eyeball with my dry finger. Lo and behold there they were. I don’t know where I am. The bed that I am currently sitting on is unfamiliar. The bed is facing the window. It is raining, still. It’s always fucking raining. My mouth is extremely dry and I need water bad. The only liquid I can find is the Jack that was leftover from the other night. It will have to do I suppose. I walk over to the vanity table in the room and take a look at myself. It is a surprise to me that the mirror doesn’t crack instantly. As I peruse the cratered planet that is my face (mother always said don’t pick your acne scabs) I find dried blood on my nose. This is most likely due to the coke. I have grown to hate coke. It doesn’t do anything for me anymore. I look at the glass top bedside table. About three lines left, I don’t even hesitate as I grab the rolled up dollar bill and place it to my nostril. I wipe my nose after another few hits. As expected it does little to how I feel, which is great because my head is still in an invisible vise grip. I start to feel a little something as I go on. Each one makes the light from that lamp at the end of the room a little less bright. I look next to me. The girl, unfamiliar as well. She’s nothing special. Curly hair, flat as a board and she is snoring. Should I feel sick that the fact that I do not recognize this girl doesn’t surprise me? It would a rational human being I suppose. This does not apply to me.
I put on what I think are my clothes, though they could be anyone’s. My head hurts, a lot. I have come to notice that it’s only when I have a headache that I remember home. I started drinking at a very early age and hangovers were as part of my high school career as calices were to knitters. I had learned how to deal with the minor ones very early in my life but as I got older, they got worse and worse. This is when I discovered that drugs could fix this problem; nothing really was able to do the trick for me in terms of hangovers besides drugs.

In order to further understand this poem we must further delve into the life of Mr. Hughes and his views on the world that surrounded him. Hughes drew upon many aspects of his own life when he wrote his pieces. His own relationship with his father may have actually been a huge inspiration for the poem itself. In a brief biography I found on the website redhotjazz.com, I learned that, “His father didn’t think he [Langston] would be able to make a living as a writer” (Jackson). The outer premise of the poem is to keep perusing your dreams no matter what they go through. It does not get much harder to keep your eye on the prize when your own father says that what your doing is a waste of time. In other online biography on Hughes found on the website, notablebiographies.com, I learned that many of the works he submitted, “were all rejected” when he first started out writing (Notable Biographies). Hughes dealt with oppression and negativity from very early in his life and this is obviously a huge reason why he wrote this poem. He found much success later on in his career due to his perseverance and he never lost sight of his goals and his dream, which is what he tries to portray in this poem. Hughes also was very proud of his race and did not let racial prejudice and inequality in America hinder his dream to write. Hughes was a strong believer in equality and did not think that people should change due to social constraints. “Harlem” serves as a letter telling people not to give up. He himself serves as an example of someone who can overcome racial and social restraints to become successful. Hughes tells readers that if he can make it, well, and then so can they. Now that we have discussed the writer of the poem we must also examine his other works that could have influenced or have been influenced by this poem.
Hughes has the same feelings that are expressed in this work as another piece that he wrote entitled, “Mulatto” which was written in the 1930’s. In this poem Hughes does not pull any punches. He emphasizes a lot of African-American stereotypes and also speaks as stereotypical, uneducated, black man would. This drew a lot of negative feedback upon Hughes as many of his peers saw this as a mockery of his own race, which after further analyses is not the case at all. In the very first line he declares, “I am your son white man” (Hughes, pp. 1)! This starts off the poem in a tone that is not only sarcastic but also angry. Hughes is portraying the ignorant black man to point out the injustices and the prejudice that the African-American race has to go through. Using irony he states that white people think that black people owe them for bringing them into civilization and civilizing them. He uses the ignorant thought that the civilized, mildly educated black man is a product of the white man and that they should be thankful. While playing the ignorant black man Hughes also at the same time shows his separation from such stereotypes and that he can persevere through tough racism. In one stanza he says “niggers aint my brother” (Hughes, pp. 28) this refers to his separation from racism. Fellow African Americans may be his brothers but he will never claim association with a “nigger”. He separates himself from hate and prejudice, which is also what he wants the reader to do in “Harlem”. There is nothing beyond your reach even if you are born a different color.

essay draft

To really grasp this poem one must look at the poem itself first. The wording in this poem helps support the subject that this poem isn’t just Hughes telling people not to give up, but more importantly, a plea to an entire race to not give up when someone keeps you down. The wording in this poem reflects very negative and disgusting things. In most of the poem words such as “fester”, or “stink” come up quite often. Hughes chooses such words to reflect and describe a situation that he was put in along with many others during his life. Hughes uses the worst descriptions and words possible in this poem because he wants the reader to feel downtrodden and disgusted, but still able to come through and work towards their goal. One line that really stresses this emotion is near the end of the poem, “Maybe it just sags/like a heavy load (Booth, pp. 9-10). This line drives it all home for what the writer is trying to get across. Hughes uses the phrases “sags” and “heavy load” to try and further bring the reader down and put them in a world that tries to bring them down as well. It is a warning almost, that says when you try to succeed in this world and try to accomplish your dream, you will face hardships and prejudices before you can accomplish it. But then the question arises, why does Hughes feel this way? Why does he feel that the world he lives in would try and deter a person from gaining success? For that we must look into the timeframe in which Mr. Hughes lived.
Langston Hughes grew up in a time of segregation and prejudice against blacks. He lived in many places that had racism but the one that struck him the most was the city Harlem in New York. In a piece I found online “The Harvest of Race Prejudice” (http://etext.virginia.edu) written by Kelly Miller, she stresses that Harlem was one of the biggest examples of a state driven by segregation. “The Most gigantic instance of racial segregation in the United States is seen in Harlem. There is no local law prescribing it. There does not have to be” (Miller). This shows that despite being one of the more populated cities in New York, it is a location that has a deep history of prejudice against other races. Hughes made the title of his poem “Harlem” because he has chosen this city as the ultimate testing grounds of one’s true devotion to their goal. If you can make it Harlem then you can make it anywhere, to turn a phrase. Harlem is not mentioned anywhere else in the poem but the reason it is chosen as the title is because the timeframe and the world that was Harlem back in the 1950’s. When you read the poem you are made to think about Harlem and you are put into that location. Hughes thinks of Harlem as a place where your dreams are often differed, but even if this is so, he asks the question, do you let it beat you or do you “explode” (Booth, pp. 11)? Hughes may have become a successful writer but he had to have experienced some difficulties growing up to want to express such frustrations in “Harlem”. To find out such motives behind this poem we must dive into the life of the writer himself.

essay

Dreams or goals are not just mere ideas thought up on a boring day. A dream is the epitome of ones intentions to better their lives. The American Dream is something that comes to mind when one thinks of a goal or a standard dream of the common man but it is in America that these dreams are often squandered and dashed to the floor. This proves odd to most, and it should. After all, is this not the land of opportunity? Is this country not the place where you can make a better life for you and your family? This may be the common presumption but this country has a vast history of keeping people down and making this, “American Dream” very difficult to achieve, but I digress. What America is lucky enough to have are people who are able to voice such frustrations into beautiful forms of art. People like, writer, Langston Hughes. Hughes was a writer who voiced the frustrations of an entire race because he was one of them and experienced much prejudice and hardship in his life. Out of all his works I chose his short but powerful poem entitled “Harlem” written in 1951 (Booth, pp. 592). I chose this poem for a few important reasons that had a rather large impact on me emotionally as well as mentally. When one reads the poem it has a rather dark and depressing tone to it. Each line in a way drives your heart and morale deeper into the ground until the very last line which gives you hope that your dream still has the possibility to come to fruition. The initial theme of this poem is one of determination. The dream of the reader goes through a lot of problems and obstacles before the last line where we learn that we can still do it! We can still accomplish our dreams despite our dreams being obliterated. There is a deeper meaning to this poem I only learned after delving into not only the timeframe that this poem was written but into the personal history and other works of the writer himself. The deeper meaning is one of prejudice and a reflection of a time where a race of people was treated less than human. The true theme to this poem is the reflection of a time when African Americans were still not treated as equals to whites. The pain is seen when you delve deeper into not only the poem but into other works and the life of Langston Hughes.

writing

All my life has in some shape or form revolved around music. As far back as I can remember I was raised around an environment that encouraged creative and musical input as well as output. My family emphasized the act of putting your feelings into something that you cared heavily for and using music or some other creative facet to express yourself. The result of such an upbringing has caused me to think on life with a brain that is quite different than others. It is not a better outlook but not the same as others to say the least. After a childhood of music lessons from multiple instruments and a vast library of different artists and genres I believe that I have developed a better understanding of the music that surrounds our world, and the impact this culture has on each and every person that inhabits this earth.
After I graduated high school I decided that this was as good a time as ever to enter the business world. I knew that I would want to enter the business aspect of the entertainment world but in what genre? I decided to go with what I know best and the Music industry was calling my name. I got my first job at a recording studio not too far from where I lived. I have heard that the best way to start off in this business is to start from the bottom, as the information that you learn from the bottom up is immeasurable, I realized soon after what starting at the bottom meant. I had to wake up at 8 every morning and get to the studio to clean the sound boards, swabbing each and every knob with a Q-Tip. The hours were long and the work was very tedious, but what better way to learn your way around a soundboard than to clean each and every fader and knob every morning? I kept at this job for years eventually working my way up to assistant engineer, learning how this world works from behind the scenes as I went along.
I pride myself in being a vey hard worker, especially in fields that I love and treasure greatly. It is my belief that if you work at a job that you love, then you really have reached the big time. I am a diligent worker and I do not rest until a task that is asked is completed, and the best way to do this is with a team. I work very well with others and am looking forward to interacting with my co-workers to develop new ideas and find new ways to search for and advertise. I believe that the music world is ever changing and that the format and way people listen and get their music is entering the digital world and that in a few years, the music business will not be anywhere near how it used to be. That is where Myspace Records enters the game. Myspace has been the premiere social networking site for years and continues to grow more and more popular, especially with musicians. Myspace has discovered a brand new way to discovering new music and talent altogether. Now aspiring artists do not have to go to great lengths to get in contact with executives and scouts from record labels. Because of Myspace and the creation of Myspace Records, it is now possible for more musicians to get their voices heard. This is a future for music that I wish to be a part of.

Another matter I want to address is the Dipset/Skullgang issue. Now I know that this issue is kind of old but I still wanted to voice my opinion. I am all for the creation of Skullgang and the fact that Juelz Santana and Jim Jones have left Camro’n and Dipset. In my opinion the star caliber that Jimmy and Santana have has started to overshadow Cam and I feel that if they had stayed with him he would have only held them back. I have never really been a fan of Cam save a few songs such as: Oh Boy, Hey Ma, and Touch It Or Not (which Wayne totally obliterates him on). I just never thought that Cam’s lyrical prowess was there and I generally just found him loud and foolish. I think that given enough time Jim Jones and Juelz Santana will strike Gold once again.
I just want to express how awesome I think Lady Gaga is. I know it may sound weird but I think that girl is the fucking shit! Her album The Fame is one of the best albums I have heard of 08-09. She is Gwen Stefani if Gwen still had an edge. Her new sound is exactly where music is going these days in my opinion. This new electric sound is quickly becoming a mainstay and I believe that you will notice this if you haven’t in the very near future. She is a definite mainstay in my opinion and really cant wait to see what she does next!
On a random not how funny was seeing a very pregnant M.I.A. perform at the Grammy’s. If you didn’t know that girl was due THAT DAY. The baby could have fallen out at any time haha! I personally commend her on her work ethic. That girl has guts!
I am currently on a plane bound back home to Los Angeles for my bday weekend. I am very stoked that I get to spend my birthday with my family this year and that it happens to also land on a very interesting holiday to me, which of course is Valentines Day. Readers, if you have a special someone then you are lucky. Show that someone that you really care this year. Doesn’t matter how big or how small the act, the simple fact that you care is more than enough to drive your girl/guy wild. And please do not take your person for granted, take it from someone who has fucked up his share of relationships, never ever lose sight of what really matters in a relationship. And for those of you who do not have a Valentine that’s just as good because you are in the same boat as your boy Jay Eye. Take this night to go out and meet people or to simply just do you! That’s what I am going to do anyway. Valentine’s day doesn’t have to be depressing! GO out there and make it YOUR DAY!
And with that sappiness I end a rather long blog entry.
Until Next Time
-JAY EYE

writing

Now the previous entry may have seemed like I was venting a little and perhaps I was, but I still stand by my statements that you have read. Chris Brown may be a punk but I kind of pity the poor kid. He’s a boy of 19 years old and his whole entire world just go turned upside- down. These next months are going to be absolute hell for him and lets all just hope that he becomes a better person, and role model after this ordeal. ANYWAY now on to usual business. There have been quite a few happenings that I wanted to voice my opinion on. Take it how you want it.
The beef between Rick Ross and 50 Cent is probably one of the funniest feuds I have seen in a very long time. Now you may have differing opinions on who is the better rapper or who is winning this feud. Personally, I am going to side with 50 Cent, and Ill tell you why. And Ricky I hope you are reading this because hopefully this gets you to start thinking clearly about the whole matter. The first reason (and probably the most important reason) is that you are simply outmatched and outseasoned. THIS IS WHAT 50 DOES! 50 Cent has built practically his whole career with beefs. Each record he has put out has coincided with a different rapper he has buried. When he put out Get Rich Or Die Tryin he buried Ja Rule. When he put out The Massacre, he buried Fat Joe, and finally when he feuded with Camro’n around the time of the release of Curtis, the win most definitely went with 50. The only time he has ever been defeated was with the release date battle with Kanye West, but I don’t think this counts because the two never actually had a legitimate beef to begin with. They appeared on the cover of Rolling Stone with each other for fuck’s sake. Rick Ross needs to realize when he has been beat. Ross you are a talented rapper and you certainly have a future in this business but there are times when you just have to admit that the dude got you! The fact that you just barely got away with your credibility still intact from the whole fact you lied about being a corrections officer is a miracle, and now you want to keep going toe-to-toe with someone who Beefs FOR FUN?! Do what Wayne did. 50 is like a shark. If you do not provoke him or just ignore him he will eventually leave you alone. Wayne and 50 almost had a problem on their hands with each other but after 1 song out from both camps Wayne stopped talking about 50, and what did 50 do? He let Wayne alone. Now im not saying that 50 would have beat Wayne but Im pointing out how easy it is to avoid a 50 cent feud. HE WILL DESTROY YOU RICKY! Look what he already did! He got your baby’s mother on camera dissin your ass plus he went to go find your mother at her work place. HE HAS ENOUGH MONEY TO DO THESE THINGS! Be smart and just let it die.

part 2

Conceptualizing Consumer-Brand Relationship Strength
Love and Passion. “Informants in strong brand relationships felt that “something was missing” when they had not used their brands for a while” (Fournier 1998). This statement proves correct with Madison and her Iphone. This strongly held Mac brand is characterized as inimitable and unique to the point that if Madison does not have her Iphone with her during the day she feels “separation anxiety.” This sort of brand loyalty behavior can be described as obsessive dependency.

Self-connection. Madison buys very specific prayer candles from CVS to express the significant aspect of her. These candles symbolize an expression of her Catholic religion and the role that these prayer brand candles share with her self-connection to them when she is in need of guidance. This strong self-connection is her emotional crutch when necessary.

Interdependence. Madison’s rituals are “woven into the fabric of daily life” (Fournier 1998). She routinely uses her Aveda sensitive skin face wash, when she wakes up in the morning and when she is getting ready for bed in the evening. She depends on the brand to keep her face clean yet moisturized day and day out.

Commitment. Madison is very loyal and sticks to the contact brand name Acuve. In the past, when Madison ran out of her prescription to Acuve and did not have contacts to wear for the next few days, she refused to try daily focus or any other contact brands. She wore her glasses till her prescription was sent.

Intimacy. Madison most intimate and strong brand relationship roots back to eating “Tony the Tiger” frosted flakes with her father in the morning before e had work and she had school. This brand meaning “was sometimes further embellished through advertising cues” (Fournier 1998). For example, Madison reenacted the frosted flakes commercials when Tony the Tiger says, “Theyyyyy’re Gggrrreeaat!” This intimate brand relationship evokes personal memories and experiences that revert back to her childhood, culture, and family.

Brand Partner Quality. Madison has been going to Wildcat Washwell for the past 3 years. They have always respected her washing requests, and dry cleaning requirements. She said that about 4 months ago, one of her white shirts still had stains on it when it was returned. She was upset at first, but knew their policy and that this company that she had depended on for so long had not made any mistakes before this. Madison returned to the Wildcat Wash with her white shirt expecting them to fix it and not charge her for their mistake because they are accountable. Her relationship with the owners because she had been loyal to the Wildcat Wash for so long, ensured her that all her customer needs would be met if they were unsatisfied. The shirt was washed and returned stain-free and free of charge and Madison’s relationship with the Wildcat Wash Company stays strong.

Summary. Significant brand and consumer behavior inspires the growth and development of brand relationship quality based off the “reciprocity principal,” that all of Madison’s relationships are solid. Madison’s actions can both improve and weaken brand relationship quality. The various brands and brand dimensions within the confines of her bedroom, bathroom, and closet each play a role in her everyday life. The meaning differentiations of Madison’s brand relationships determine the type of emotional, social, personal, or physical connection she shares with her products day by day.

writing

Madison Lewis lives in four-bedroom house with 3 girls. She has a room, bathroom, and closet of consumer-brand relationships. Of the voluntary (deliberately chosen) item’s with in her room, Madison uses bathroom towels, wash clothes, rugs, and has a bedroom rug from Bed, Bath, and Beyond because she also shares a preference-driven attraction to purchasing products in her bathroom and room that share the same brand name, pattern, and color. Some of her imposed items include her mattress from Bedmart because her parents were able to purchase the product at a discount price. When Madison first moved into her room, she shared a negative brand relationship with her showerhead. Madison has always trusted and been a loyal customer to Bed, Bath, and Beyond because her parents have raised her on Bed-Bath’s products and this has impacted her decision as a consumer to purchase a Bed-Bath showerhead so she is able to share a positive relationship experience with her shower.
Some of Madison’s existing intense products, which she feels are essential to her health and well being, are her Colgate toothbrush and Colgate toothpaste. Madison has been in a loyal, dependent consumer-brand relationship with Colgate for the past seven years since her doctor recommended the brand when she was suffering from gingivitis. To Madison, body wash is an intense product because she must shower before class and refuses to use bar soap because of her highly sensitive skin, yet she has never maintained a consistent commitment to a particular brand of body wash. She does have a wide brand variety of superficial product brand makeup. Her bronzers and eye pencils are conveniently and casually bought at CVS with no brand loyalty. The ladder products are solely chosen based on current bundle pricing and discounted cost versus her eye shadows, which she will only purchase from the brand name MAC, which her older sister introduced to her in 9th grade and has been an enduring relationship. One of Madison’s public products is her car, a BMW X5. Her father influenced this purchase decision unlike one of Madison’s private brands, her Epi-pen, that has been a secret companion in her purse ever since she discovered she was allergic to nuts. Madison has always been a messy eater and has shared a formal (task related) relationship with her tide pen, ever since she discovered it 2nd semester of freshman year. When Madison makes a sandwich, she always uses Wonder bread because she shares an (informal) personal relationship with the brand because it reminds her of the sandwich’s in elementary school her grandmother used to make her in elementary school before she passed away. One asymmetric brand that Madison shares a symbiotic relationship with is Yogi tea because every time she purchases the tea packets, part of her money is donated to the breast cancer society.

writing pt 2

I feel we had so many volunteers, that we almost had too many. Because I we had enough volunteers managing tours, I was able to be a tour guide, which was my favorite experience the entire time. I literally got chills in the many different rooms and it was a completely different experience than going through the practice rehearsal. The lighting and emotion of the actors really impacted all the viewers and me. From watching the participants through the tunnel and listening to their feeling on the overall experience in the processing room, I saw how great the influence of the Tunnel was on so many individuals by their changed perspective and emotions from before and after the tour.
This class and the Tunnel has been a beneficial experience for me. I loved the discussions and would not change a thing, as to how regular class was run. The discussions were one of the most influential aspects of this class for me, because I got to participate and listen to all the different opinions our class shared on the many controversial topics we covered. For once in my life, I felt I was in a safe environment to speak my mind and say whatever I wanted without feeking I was being judged. The Tunnel of Oppression class should definitely keep the discussion portion of the class next year.
Consequently, my perspectives and interests were remodeled to see the world through less superficial lenses, and I realized how much society needs to be more aware of the issues of oppression and the importance of social juctice and human rights. I have gained such a greator appreciation of how fortunate I am to be the person I am today and because of that I have so much to offer society. This class has taught me that it is my choice to be a leader and that it is my right to have the opportunity to make a positive difference and better society.

writing

Social justice is the concept of a society in which justice is present in every feature of that society. It can not be administered by law like legal justice only afforded by the community. When I think of this term I think of individuals and groups given just treatment and an equal share of the benefits of society by society. Social justice is such a problem today, because there are many ambiguous, gray areas unlike legal justice whose proponents are one interpretation. Because different people have different interpretations and political ideologies of what defines just treatment and a fair share, that is the reason social justice branches many controversies. In politics, religion, and in domestic society there resides social justice issues
From my experience the majority of individuals desire to live in a just society. In addition, the majority of individuals can concur on the importance of rule of law, human rights, and a model of a welfare safety net, yet it is the political stance one has that determines which element should have the most support. For this, I think is one of the reasons human rights has not received more attention than it deserves.
Thanks to this class, I have affixed a further definition of social justice. This abstraction can be a movement on the basis of equality and human rights toward a socially just world. The Tunnel of Oppression, in my eyes has the concept of social justice at heart. This class takes a step towards making participants aware of the many issues of oppression and why social justice is so important to society.
In this class, I have faced many unique challenges and opportunities not only in my budgeting and reservations event planning group but as a observer, and tour guide in the Tunnel. Kara, Sierra, and I were in charge of creating the sponsorship proposal. We successfully wrote proposals to sparkelets, and the Panhellic Coucil. In additon, we proposed and secured funding from RHA and UAB. In addition we tracked program expenditures and shared our budget reports with the other event planning groups along the way. Creating a rservation system and managing reservation requests and confirmations were key to ensuring the Tunnel would be run in an orderly fashion. Finally, during the actual program, our job was to manage tour groups and in the end, I got to be a tour guide one day and work in the processing room.
Honestly, what I learned this semester is something I can take with me and it’s a great feeling knowing, that something you have worked so hard on, actually made a difference. A major lesson that struck me was not the issues of oppression, but the stories and information obtained on the many faces of oppression. I really gained a broader perspective when we read about the five faces of oppression; exploitation, marginalization, powerlessness, cultural imperialism, and violence. A few of these terms I had never heard of , and at this point in the class, I really began to question myself on how involved and aware I was of the world around me.
The three days of the Tunnel went better than expected. I know at first we had initial problems finding volunteer actors and actresses but everything turned out perfect.

Mandatory Blog Entry 3

I found this piece very interesting and even more interesting is the perspective the writer takes on women and women's rights. To call this piece a simple take on the abuse of women is to cut this piece short. I believe that this collection serves a bigger purpose than just simply telling a story. The perspective this piece takes is what sets it apart from other stories. This collection of works is a cry from a person who has seen the suffering of women for far too long. The main focus of the stories surrounds that of single women either trying to make their way in the world or raise a child by themselves with very low income. Perhaps by telling these stories then she will be able to raise awareness of these poor women's situations and possibly start a movement of sorts to further better these women. Of course helping a specific woman is difficult but hopefully with her words published people will rethink the treatment of these women and how they can possibly find ways to change and help them. I am choosing to analyze the direction the author takes and how she thinks that she is bettering women around the world. At first I was a bit put off by this piece. The emotion that the author portrays is very aggressive and seemed to be attacking the reader as opposed to educating him or her. I feel that the author put a lot of emotion into this piece, which makes for good writing, but if she is planning on educating the people on this particular subject and hopes to inspire change, I dont feel that she is going about this all the right ways. While the stories are heartwrenching and the readers do end up feeling sorry for the main characters and their problems, I dont feel that the message gets across properly. While we feel for the characters we end up getting a lot of that sympathy taken away due to the woman's tone. She seems a bit condescending and I may be the only one who thinks so, but I dont feel that her attacking society and at times, the reader, really helps her cause all that much.
If it were not for these heartbreaking stories and the problems these women face, then the entire message I feel would have been lost. This does not mean that the stories do not serve their purpose. We read about women who encounter poverty and abuse, anyone with a soul would pity these women greatly. Although the attacks are mostly aimed at the government, after reading this you cant help but feel a little guilty after the wording of the piece really sinks into your mind. You feel guilty that you did not know about these problems many women face, and also you feel guilty due to the fact that now you know about these problems and you dont know how to stop it, or if you did, you did nothing to help these women in the first place.

Mandatory Blog Entry 2

While reading this specific chapter in our book I came to find that a specific rhetoric term was repeated numerous times throughout chapter 2. This specific term is known as Kairos. When I first heard of this interesting sounding term, I immediately thought Greek. Maybe it could be an old Greek God or monster of some sort. This was my initial assumption. Turns out I was not too far off. In ancient Greek, the word Kairos means the right or opportune moment." The greeks used this word to describe a special event that would happen in a random period of time. In rhetoric, the definition is not all that different. Kairos is specifically used to identify a speaker or writer's ability to adapt with his surroundings and change with the events that change around him. A rhetor is not always going to be able to predict how the circumstances of his or her work will be so they must be able to become accustomed to whatever change they encounter and prosper all the same. Another definition this term has in the world of rhetoric is it refers to the people who are recieving the rhetoric such as an audience. More specifically, the current state of the audience and their process of thought before they recieve the specific piece. In Aristotle's form of rhetoric, the definition of the word is used to represent the space and time context in which a piece is delivered to an audience. I didnt really understand all these different definitions but the one that is mostly focused on is the term that relates to the time and space in which the piece is given. As I read more and thought about this, the latter definition is a lot easier to comprehend to me. fI feel that kairos is an important rhetoric tool for speakers, writers, artists etc. It is especially important to a speaker or a writer who is hoping to make a difference in this world. Kairos will be a very important thing to take into consideration as we are working on our next assignment. We will be presenting a topic that we wish to change and possible ways to start that change but also we will have an audience that must be convinced. It is important that we pay attention to the kairos in which we present our assignment because it is highly possible for a controversial topic to be taken out of context or misconstrued. While we are presenting our specific topics we must pay attention to the environnment we are presenting. If this topic is a hostile one that is attacking a way of life or a predetermined method of thought, then the reader must be prepared for that. Being prepared is a reference to an earlier definition of Kairos. It seems to me that Kairos is more commonly used during the presentation aspect of a piece rather than the early or predevelopmental stage. It mostly comes into play when the presenter must be prepared and ready for what they could encounter when giving a specific piece. It could also theoretically be used when preparing the piece for example, altering words or sentences to be more politically correct or sympathetic to a time, place of environment.

The Grocery Store

She enters the store with her oversized purse clinging to her shoulder clutching a squirreling child. Even though she looks flustered, she maintains a smile on her face as she ends her conversation, placing her cell phone and child into the orange Fry’s grocery cart. Taking a deep breath, she proceeds to the closest isle, the frozen foods section. Family size frozen pizza, broccoli, and Ben and Jerry’s Cherry Garcia icecream begin to occupy the empty cart. Some of her favorite lean cuisines and sugar free popsicles join the basket as she continues to the fresh meat deli department. A pound of ground beef for her husbands grill on game days and ten already prepared chicken tenders with macaroni salad and fries are crucial to her family’s survival.
The little girl who has sat so well behaved in the cart reaches into the newly added goody bad and helps herself to one of the chicken fingers. Ordering a few more deli products for the children’s lunchtime sandwiches, the women reaches into her bag and checks off some items on her list. Turning her cart towards the chips and beverage isle, she wonders why she always chooses the cart with the crooked, unaligned wheels that perpetually drives sideways no matter how hard you try to direct it in a straight line. Reduced fat ruffles, ranch dip, salsa, and two, twelve packs of a diet soda are added to the cart as she advances to the fresh fruit and vegetables.
Her daughters little hands reach for the shiny, red apples beneath her as she helps her mom toss them into the clear plastic bag. A few more items are added on the way as she presses on with her crooked cart towards the front of the market. Refraining from the self-checkout, which she has always found to be more of a hassle than meets the eye, she begins to unload her grocery items. Pulling out her visa and entering in her home telephone number in hopes of a discount, she signs her name, places her receipt in her oversize bag and exchanges a smile with her daughter who still sat content in the cart grasping yet another chicken finger in those bite-size hands.

part 2

I remember reading about this huge fire that keeps spreading destroying almost two thousand homes. I did not really pay attention to this devastating news until I read it was in Malibu, San diego, and Santa Barbara which is near where I live and basically all my friends from home live and go to school. The fact that I did not really care until I found out it affected me really scared me and made me rethink how I take things in. I should try to read the paper and I got up from my comfy share grabbed the paper and wiped off the leftover dirty napkins. I tried to read about elections and political issues but found myself grazing through the text. I didn’t stop until something caught my eye.
Starting this September, Arizona passed the law that a if you are charged with a first offense of driving under the influence you will immediately be sent to 30 days in jail. This law was made to try and lower the drunk driving rate and decrease the number of accidents, injuries, and death each year. I recalled this past Saturday, my friends and I were being driven home in a taxi and came across a dui check on Euclid and we passed thought, got checked and continued on our way home but it was really surprising to see all the people on the sides of the road that were doing the sobriety test, being put in cuffs, and some already in cuffs loaded into a van. I knew at that moment that bad choices are reactive choices because once you face the consequences of your actions your proactive lifestyle is over and your fate is in the hands of others. I knew the fate of all those people in that police van and that they would be in jail for the next thirty days paying for their mistake. Sitting there by myself, I wanted to call all my friends and tell them but I figured they were in class and that I should probably be in class soon too. I scrunched up my trash, refilled my drink and left the newspaper on the page about the new Arizona law for someone else to read.

New Thoughts

I was in the union today sitting down and having lunch. I soon found myself people watching, observing the behavior and tendencies of my fellow piers. I realized something while I sat there watching everyone mingling during prime time lunch hour. Maybe it was because I was oblivious to it before or just never really paid attention but our campus really does have the tendency to segregate itself. I do not think it is a bad thing at all but it gave me a different impression on how young adults our age first seek out friendships. I feel that most people seek to befriend and feel more comfortable with strangers who look, talk, and dress similar to themselves before they proceed to get to know the person further. I do not think this is a prejudice just more of a tendency that also find myself doing. When I thought about the elementary school here in Tucson, I remembered seeing all the kids playing together and a definite lack of racial segregation. I then thought about in high school and also in college as I stared though the clean window that students tend to be more segregated by their race, socioeconomic status, and outward appearance because they feel insecure with unfamiliar people and feel vulnerable out of their familiar comfort zone and environment.
Eleven minutes had passed and my sandwich was finally brought to the cushioned table and my drink already was in dire need of a refill. I gazed out the window wondering whether I should get up to satiate my thirst instead of lazily stare at an empty cup and noticed something again I never really noticed before. It was very interesting watching people walk the hallway. Everyone was walking on the right side of the hallway as they passed one another. This pattern of walking behavior made me wonder if it was because we are conditioned to drive on the right hand side of the road in order for traffic to function. I then wondered if it was a comfort thing again, knowing which side to walk on to avoid bumping into people you might not just want to bump into. My sandwich was missing and I was happy I wasn’t dining with everyone because the soggy mayonnaised lettuce kept clinging onto my chin as if it didn’t want to be eaten and I am pretty sure the army pepper shaken in excess on my turkey waged a war in my teeth which I could only remove with floss when I got home. The sandwich could have been enjoyed more if I had not been distracted by the outside traffic of people hustling by and my own homework that sat half done next to empty cup.
The couple next to me had finished their meal and got up from their seats leaving the newspaper. I tried to think about the last time I had read the news and it was when I had realized how easy it is to be disconnected with the world.

part 2

When our plan of escape was complete and the day of commencement had finally 
arrived, westuffed our sox with cheezits in the utter most 
secrecy and caution during our thirty-minute lunch period. It was time for
action and the bell of our mid-afternoon break sounded as we marched to its
beat as if we were off to battle. Meeting at our station in the sand, we
stuffed Sevy?s pockets with our rations of cheezits and issued forth into the
grass tundra, making sure not to look suspicious.
During the time spent on our camp, we had observed that the teachers on recess
duty were often too engaged in supervising the dangerous sport of dodge ball,
so their backs were often turned towards the fence and we were in the clear.
Proceeding with caution, we sprinted, running between the swing-set and the 
rainbow wall as the fence got closer and closer. Our school uniforms seemed
 destined to camouflage to that ivied fence, as we searched for the lock in the
gate to discover that the toothpicks we had. To our
surprise, the lock was purely for show to us jail breakers.
In contrast to his glasses, Sevy?s tiny frame squeezed perfectly between the
gates of the locked fence. Turning toward us, Sevy waved goodbye from the other
side and we responded in the same before edging our way back to camp. Sitting
once again in the sandbox surrounded by my fellow bureau rather than
accomplices, I remember feeling better about our victory than any little league game, which now seemed petty and frivolous.
        We never saw Sevy again. I remember returning from recess and Mrs. Denny
noticing one of her pupils absent following a series of many phone calls to and
from our classroom. As Mrs. Denny ran frantically back and forth from her wooden
chestnut desk that oddly matched her now frazzled hair, I sat proudly gleaming
in my chair. Two cop cars graced the parking lot of the pickup zone but 
after school tutoring retained me and my bureau from further
investigation as to the where abouts of Sevy Anton.
The day that Sevy and his little white paper bags did not come to school was the
day a change occurred in my lieutenant of a teacher. The harsh engraved lines on
her face now drooped with heavy eyes as if her own guilt was anchoring them to
the floor. That empty chair was so silent behind me, yet to Mrs. Denny it 
appeared to be a screaming reminder of her cruelty.

part 1

She haunted the students of her fifth grade classroom. We all lived in fear of our teacher on the days when her nicotine patches could not satiate her cravings. Even worse, were the Mondays and Wednesdays, when her diet coke and Slimfast shakes still made her stomach growl over the quiet of her classroom. Her inner frustrations with herself and her obvious weight issues seemed to fuel her anger with the innocent students that sat before her.
Ironically, the more she sought for control in her life, the more she lost her temper behind the closed doors of our classroom prison. She would take pleasure in marching down every tight-fitted row pinching the shoulders of the tiny soldiers beneath her, whom had strayed their gaze from their tedious cursive worksheets. Mrs. Denny clutched her standard 12-inch ruler by her side on her many marches down the isles, as if she held a gun in her belt locked, loaded, and ready to be fired at any perpetrators who dare disrupt her orders.
I will never forget Sevy, the boy who sat behind me everyday in the assigned seating chart. His oversized glasses buried his face, which often blushed when Mrs. Denny found time to embarrass him. Sevy suffered from a rare illness, where he had uncontrollable gag reflex issues that sometimes were so sever to the point of throw up. I had never met anyone with a sickness like Sevy’s and will never forget the regurgitating sounds that echoed in my ears. Mrs. Denny shared no pity or understanding and would grab Sevy by the sleeve removing him outside till his gag spells ended. Looking back, I think she was more repulsed by the idea of not being able to control the situation.
Two of my friends and I knew how upset Sevy would be to the point that hopscotch and dodgeball couldn’t heal his sad little heart from the constant infliction of embarrassment and harassment he received day after day during class. We would find him isolated in the sand box pretending to keep himself occupied to hold back the tears behind the large frames of his outsized lenses. We couldnt take it anymore, we had to act.
From that day forth the sandbox was no longer a playground, but a magically transformed super secret fort. With the sand serving as our blueprints to Sevy’s freedom, we devised an escape route beneath the very jungle gym of our school. Yonder the black asphalt lay what seemed to be an acre of grass and swing-sets stretching to a barrier of ivied fence separating us from the rest of the world. Mrs. Denny did not know it at the time, but her own assigned reading of the Secret Garden fueled our imaginations to infiltrate the inaccessible and get Sevy to the other side of that fence.

From that day forth the sandbox was no longer a playground, but a magically transformed super secret fort. With the sand serving as our blueprints to Sevy’s freedom, we devised an escape route beneath the very jungle gym of our school. Yonder the black asphalt lay what seemed to be an acre of grass and swing-sets stretching to a barrier of ivied fence separating us from the rest of the world. Mrs. Denny did not know it at the time, but her own assigned reading of the Secret Garden fueled our imaginations to infiltrate the inaccessible and get Sevy to the other side of that fence.
end of part 1

Pin Me Pay Me

I relish this part, it is pretty much the only part that makes me feel like a star. I worked for what sems to be many years in this business and during the the hard work and daily flights, you learn to relish the little. things. My music sounds and I approach the curtain. "God of Thunder?!" What the hell?! I asked for "Seek and Destroy!" You'd thing ring techs in the wrestling business would know the difference between Kiss and Metallica. Now my entrance is ruined. On national television for christ sake! First impressions are everything in this business and some fat, ponytailed bastard ruined mine. I break through the curtain arms raised in the air, as I am greeted with a chorus of boos. Good that was easier than I thought. I am a "heel" or in lamence terms, a bad guy, and getting heat is sometimes difficult. There's a difference between people hating your character and people hating you because you look like you dont know the difference betwen a wristlock and a wristwatch. I enter the ring and blow a few feigned snot shots into the crowd for added heat. I rest in my corner awaiting my opponent, or the guy Im supposed to make look good tonight. He breaks through the curtain, perfect music, perfect pyro. Someday Id love to have that happen to me. The crowd erupts and begins to chant his name as he steps through the rings ropes. I jump out of the ring as soon as he enters. This technique is great. Makes me look scared and adds more power to the champ. I step back in and approach the champ. He offers me a handshake. I put my hand out but instead drop to my knees and bring my forearm up between his legs. He drops to his knees as well holding his groin in pain, great opener, and now we are off. I get up and face the crowd laughing. The champ gets up and preforms a backdrop driving me onto the mat. I lie on my back grimacing. He then grabs me by the hair bringing me to my feet. He signals for his signature move, which is also my signal! He turns to face me then I poke him in the eye Stooges style! I hate it when this move is done on me, the pain he is feeling is real, another sacrifice for this business. I bounce of the ropes and lay him out with a clothesline. Being the coward that I am I exit the ring and grab a steel chair that "happens" to be under the ring apron. The crowd is really letting me have it now! I run in preparing to deliver to my foe a crushing blow that will surely end the match. As I enter the ring holding the chair the champ summons his strength from deep down and delivers a jumping roundhouse to the chair which in then connects with my face dropping me to the mat. As he appeals to the crowd to celebrate his "cunning" I reach into my wristband and pull out razorblade and make the small incision in my forehead. DAMN that stings. Not a big cut but the blood makes it look a lot worse than it actually is. I stumble to my feet and am immediately met with a diving suplex. 1, 2, 3! The champ gets his arm raised tonight. Good has vanquished evil and I head back into the backstage area holding my head and ducking food and beer being thrown at me. I take the proverbial "psycho shower" as the blood washes from me and goes down the drain. I cant help but feel each time that my years in this business are slowly going down the same drain as my blood.

New Writing

What was I to do. this was new to me and I had about zero clue how to proceed. I was just diagnosed a week ago. I walk into the dark crowded waiting room. its underground and lead lined so there was absolutely no way any light could have entered this room whatsoever. The whole fact that I was sick was still a very fresh thought for me. I didnt know what to think. I questioned if I even would be able to live to see my 20th birthday. I entered the cold dark room. I had to take my shrit off and lie on a cold slab it seemed like. I felt just how Frankenstein's monster felt. Did I mention it was really, really cold? I looked up at what looked like a giant flashlight combined with a dentist mirror. I sat there for about a half hour and felt a heating sensation on my upper chest. When it was over, I sat up, put my shirt on, and walked out of the room. "That was it?" I thought. I guess the whole procedure had not taken very long at all. I sat in the car, and was on my way back home, even before 11 o'clock. I was back to go to sleep and wake up with the rest of my siblings. I found myself thinking what to do next with myself. This was something I would have to get used to for the next few months. Same treatment every day, same time, same place. It wasnt long before I started to feel the effects of the radiation. First the part of the body that the radiation was being exposed to lost all of the hair covering it. I still haven't been able to re-grow hair in that spot to this day. I also started to feel a lot more tired than I used to be. I was told that I would feel all of these side effects but the tiresome part was a lot more extreme than I thought it would be. I literally did not want to do anything at all. I would wake up, and go back to bed. Even after the treament stopped the side effects would still continue for many months. They eventually went away as did my cancer as well. Radiation did the trick when it seemed to be usually on one of many tricks to other survivors as well I was very happy but I will never forget that long year of recovery that I had to go through on my way to better health. It was a very scary, yet humbling and interesting experience to say the least. It was not one that I would like to experience but is it weird to say that in a way, Im glad I did experience it? I can certainly say that I am not the same person I was when I started out on this road to recovery. I am wiser I believe and humbled. I have a second lease on life now. I look at things a lot more different than before and make sure every day to laugh and enjoy the little things.

Writer's Blog Reflection

My status as a writer right now would be very very muddled and concerned. I have given this class a very bumpy start to say the least. I believe it is more than possible to pull myself out of this slump that I have created for myself but so far I find that I am very frustrated with myself.

I have been using my writer's blog appropriately and innaporopriatelly it seems. I was confused at the length of each blog and to say I have kept up with the blog would be a complete lie.

Alone

The noises surround me
I feel nothing but everything at the same time.

Time goes by slowly here,
as the ground gets colder and colder.

My feet are bare,
I feel the fallen leaves crunch beneath me.

I look around me and I see nothing,
but at the same time more than I will see on a normal basis.

Answers For Stranger With A Camera

1. I believe the conflicts and themes of this documentary involved cultural differences and stereotypical perspectives. People dont want to be viewed as somehting they are not, especially if the view is a sterotype and a very unflattering one at that. The locals are viewed as hillbillys and hicks. The proposed documenting of this town was very worrisome to the townspeople and they feared that the documentary would only perpetuate the hillbilly stereotype. Unfortunately the actions of one would only make matters worse.

2. I believe that Barret wanted to present herself as elaborating on both possible perspectives with the events that transpired involving the murder. She has previous ties to the town but she wants to present why both parties could possibly be at fault in what led to the tragic event. She seems to be very aware of the crimes that were committed but she wants to also portray why the people of this town may have been provoked in a way and how they are misunderstood.

3. I believe at the end of the documentary I believe the community tells its own story. We get to hear a lot of perspectives and even though we still feel sorry for the man who was murdered we feel sorry for the community as a whole who got the bad rap due to one person's actions.

4. They differ drastically. The major media had a set idea of what Appalachia was like before they even went there it seems. I believe that since Barret has a better understanding of the culture that surrounds her she is able to properly portray Appalachia without the hick stereotypes.