This class was truly a 21st century experience. This class challenged me not only in the arena of writing, but also the arena of technology. I was forced to integrate the two, and this has made me a better writer for the modern day. Though I was never a fan of blogs (something about posting your feelings on the internet for the world to see), I really enjoy the fact that my collection of writing for this class is all in one place and easily accessible. As I put together this final portfolio, I enjoyed rereading the writings that I have done because they brought me to that exact moment in time during which I wrote those entries. There is something about the honesty and purity in which blogs are written that make reading them a more personal and enjoyable experience. Thanks for a great semester, and enjoy! - Puja
Two analyses of photographs
Still Running
Civilian War
Two creative pieces
Childhood Memories
Why War?
Two letters
Tainted Hands
Letter Home
Group effort
Black Water Bridge
Pushing the limits of blogging
Destruction of Humanity - Child Soldiers
Stripping Away Materialism
A post of my own creation
The Sound of War
Friday, May 9, 2008
Thursday, May 8, 2008
The Sound of War
This is a new post of my own design. Using Reason One software, I made a beat to exemplify the sounds of war entitled "War Torn". I chose sounds that symbolized war to me. For example, the base of the beat is a set of drums (snare, 808 kick bass drum) that exemplify soldiers marching and the mechanistic firing of guns. The two-note sound of the cello loops throughout the beat and this coupled with the subtle grand piano represents the heart beat of the soldiers. A war cry sample was chopped up, rearranged, and effected with reverb in order to represent the panic and fear inherent in soldiers going to war. This is the sound that is most prevalent in the beat, just as panic is also most prevalent in war. The high pitched sound that is at the surface of the beat is a synthesizer formed by an oscillator manipulating a digitally formed sound. This is representative of the excitement that exists in soldiers about to head to war. The summation of these individual instruments and digital sounds creates a beat that represents the emotions found in war.
Stripping Away Materialism
This is a new post that I have written from one of the ideas that we were provided in the last class. I chose this PostSecret postcard because it really identifies an issue that I think will be huge for our generation - materialism. All the money in the world won't make us happy, but we seldom realize this fact.
As I was looking through PostSecret with a friend, we came across this postcard. He didn’t understand it at all, while I got it perfectly. He asked, “How can they possibly be happy without all their belongings?” Materialism among the kids of our generation is rampant. Though it’s lessened a bit in college (or maybe I’ve just become less aware of it), I remember in high school where it was all about new shoes for each small occasion or the designer handbag that we “had” to have. Though not having these coveted “must-haves” may lead to unhappiness, this is only because we feel as though we need to have them. In fact, the acquisition of such material objects rarely leads to happiness. The anonymous writer of the postcard realizes this only after circumstance leads to the loss of all their materialistic possessions. Happiness is not about the objects that you have or want, but instead what you do with that which you do have. Sometimes removing those material desires strips life down to a more simple form. It allows you to notice and appreciate the happiness that still exists in your life. This is the happiness that is not dependent on material possessions, wealth, and status. This is the true form of happiness. The happiness that stems from simply being alive.
As I was looking through PostSecret with a friend, we came across this postcard. He didn’t understand it at all, while I got it perfectly. He asked, “How can they possibly be happy without all their belongings?” Materialism among the kids of our generation is rampant. Though it’s lessened a bit in college (or maybe I’ve just become less aware of it), I remember in high school where it was all about new shoes for each small occasion or the designer handbag that we “had” to have. Though not having these coveted “must-haves” may lead to unhappiness, this is only because we feel as though we need to have them. In fact, the acquisition of such material objects rarely leads to happiness. The anonymous writer of the postcard realizes this only after circumstance leads to the loss of all their materialistic possessions. Happiness is not about the objects that you have or want, but instead what you do with that which you do have. Sometimes removing those material desires strips life down to a more simple form. It allows you to notice and appreciate the happiness that still exists in your life. This is the happiness that is not dependent on material possessions, wealth, and status. This is the true form of happiness. The happiness that stems from simply being alive.
Why War?
This is a new creative piece that I have written. It is a short story narrative from the point of view of a thirteen year old girl on the day that World War III is declared.
My name is Cindy Walker and I am thirteen years old today. However, today, May 8th, 2018, will not be remembered as my birthday. It will be remembered as the day the United States and Israel declared war on the entire Middle East. Already, it’s different from the wars past that we’ve learned about in history class. According to my parents, this war began a long time ago. They claim that we’ve been at war with the Middle East since they were my age. They still remember the day the world changed – the day two planes were hijacked and flown into the Twin Towers. My parents took me there last summer, to the Freedom Tower and the World Trade Center Memorial that sits where the Twin Towers once stood. Sometimes As I stood there, on top of the 1,776 feet tall building, I tried to imagine the terror and fear that people must have felt on that day. The declaration of this war is the culmination of tensions that have been building since 9/11.
The news claims that the terror and fear of that day will not compare to what we are about to feel. They claim that the repercussions of the war will be felt not only in this country, but across the world. This war will surpass the casualties of World War II and the nuclear tensions felt in the Cold War. Everyone – the politicians, the news reports, the articles – keeps talking about how bad this is going to be. What I don’t understand is why the war has to happen. In Mrs. Gould’s history class last year, we learned that World War II happened because of Hitler and that the Civil War happened because of disagreement on the issue of slavery. All of the other wars had a direct cause, so then why doesn’t anyone mention why we are going to war? I asked my mom today, and she just shrugged her shoulders and said that as long as she can remember, we’ve been at war with the Middle East. To her, the official declaration doesn’t change anything. But I’m scared. I keep hearing words like “biological warfare” and “nuclear technology” on the news. In class, we learned that the world essentially has the capacity to destroy itself with this war. If this is true, then why are we at war? Doesn’t the President understand that he has put the entire world at risk with this declaration? I wish I could talk to the President and understand what issue was so important that he felt it necessary to risk the lives of billions of innocent citizens. But the fact is, that the world is at war and nobody really knows why.
Letter Home
This is a new post in which I write a letter from the point of view of a soldier who is writing home to his family. Though, I can't say I have any experience in the military, nor do I personally know someone who does, I have tried to take what I learned from the readings and movies that we watched in class and apply it to this fictional letter.
Dear Mom and Dad,
It’s about 1 o’clock at night and I’m sitting outside the barracks unable to sleep. I’ve been coming out here a lot lately, staring at the sky and thinking. It’s oddly peaceful at this time of night. It’s ironic that peace exists at all in this country. If only the insurgents of this country and the government of ours could come out here in the dark of the night and appreciate the peace. Maybe then, this war might be a little closer to being done. I’m finding it harder and harder to keep up my strength and morale lately. I’ve been here for exactly eleven months and nine days and I don’t feel as though I’ve accomplished anything. I came here full of idealism, but now it’s as though cynicism occupies most of my thoughts. I remember I thought that this life would be exciting, full of achievement and glory. I remember thrill and adrenaline I felt as my hands first held that sleek rifle. I remember the sense of purpose that came from the power I received with the rifle. I remember the optimism with which I entered the army. It’s different now. My hands feel heavy with the blood of those that I’ve killed. My heart feels angst as I realize that I have no purpose here. All I can think about is home. Mom, I remember the last time that I talked to you. I remember the melody that rang from your voice, as you chided me for not writing more often. The truth is that I write you every night, but I seldom send the letters. This is probably another one that I won’t actually send. I can’t bring myself to send letters from a man that I’m no longer proud of being. I don’t want you to know the man that I’ve become.
Love,
John
Dear Mom and Dad,
It’s about 1 o’clock at night and I’m sitting outside the barracks unable to sleep. I’ve been coming out here a lot lately, staring at the sky and thinking. It’s oddly peaceful at this time of night. It’s ironic that peace exists at all in this country. If only the insurgents of this country and the government of ours could come out here in the dark of the night and appreciate the peace. Maybe then, this war might be a little closer to being done. I’m finding it harder and harder to keep up my strength and morale lately. I’ve been here for exactly eleven months and nine days and I don’t feel as though I’ve accomplished anything. I came here full of idealism, but now it’s as though cynicism occupies most of my thoughts. I remember I thought that this life would be exciting, full of achievement and glory. I remember thrill and adrenaline I felt as my hands first held that sleek rifle. I remember the sense of purpose that came from the power I received with the rifle. I remember the optimism with which I entered the army. It’s different now. My hands feel heavy with the blood of those that I’ve killed. My heart feels angst as I realize that I have no purpose here. All I can think about is home. Mom, I remember the last time that I talked to you. I remember the melody that rang from your voice, as you chided me for not writing more often. The truth is that I write you every night, but I seldom send the letters. This is probably another one that I won’t actually send. I can’t bring myself to send letters from a man that I’m no longer proud of being. I don’t want you to know the man that I’ve become.
Love,
John
Destruction of Humanity - Child Soldiers
This is a new post based on one of the ideas we came up with in the last class. This interview and subsequent blog entry pushes the medium of the blog because it allows the reader to see the humanity in Beah’s eyes and the emotion in his voice before reading my analysis. We can see Beah’s youth, and it makes the reality of his experiences even more shocking. The transcript of the interview or an excerpt of the novel would not have had nearly the same effect.
Ishmael Beah Interview
This CBS interview with Ishmael Beah describes his experience as a child soldier in Sierra Leone and his motivation for writing the New York Times bestseller, A Long Way Gone. In the interview, he describes that his participation in the war “destroyed his humanity” and resulted in a “loss of self”. Beah was forced into the army when he was only fourteen years old, the age that we were as freshman in high school. Though I know that we felt powerful, mature, and even a bit “cool” as we entered high school, I doubt I would have felt capable of yielding a gun and taking the lives of others. The child soldiers of Sierra Leone, however, had to do just that. Even more disconcerting, the child soldiers became attached to the power of wrecking havoc on those that had done the same to them and their families. The army supplied drugs – further entrapping Beah and his fellow child soldiers into the violent and dehumanizing military lifestyle.
Beah writes his memoir in order to describe how humanity can be regained. The process is by no means simple; in fact, Beah describes days where he saw blood pouring out of showers and water taps. However, Beah seeks that readers understand that the process is not impossible. All that it requires is for someone, to remind the boy soldiers that they are still children - to look at them, not as murderers and insurgents that they might have been, but instead as the children that they are.
Three Questions I would have liked to ask:
1.) When the process of rehabilitation became difficult, what made you continue?
2.) The army gradually became your family and you state that you were addicted to the power and the drugs. So what were your feelings when UNICEF came to rescue the child soldiers? Were you at all disappointed to be leaving the lifestyle that you had become accustomed to, and if so, what made you come to the realization that it was for the better?
3.) What did you hope to accomplish by writing this novel? Do you feel that you have been successful in achieving this goal?
Ishmael Beah Interview
This CBS interview with Ishmael Beah describes his experience as a child soldier in Sierra Leone and his motivation for writing the New York Times bestseller, A Long Way Gone. In the interview, he describes that his participation in the war “destroyed his humanity” and resulted in a “loss of self”. Beah was forced into the army when he was only fourteen years old, the age that we were as freshman in high school. Though I know that we felt powerful, mature, and even a bit “cool” as we entered high school, I doubt I would have felt capable of yielding a gun and taking the lives of others. The child soldiers of Sierra Leone, however, had to do just that. Even more disconcerting, the child soldiers became attached to the power of wrecking havoc on those that had done the same to them and their families. The army supplied drugs – further entrapping Beah and his fellow child soldiers into the violent and dehumanizing military lifestyle.
Beah writes his memoir in order to describe how humanity can be regained. The process is by no means simple; in fact, Beah describes days where he saw blood pouring out of showers and water taps. However, Beah seeks that readers understand that the process is not impossible. All that it requires is for someone, to remind the boy soldiers that they are still children - to look at them, not as murderers and insurgents that they might have been, but instead as the children that they are.
Three Questions I would have liked to ask:
1.) When the process of rehabilitation became difficult, what made you continue?
2.) The army gradually became your family and you state that you were addicted to the power and the drugs. So what were your feelings when UNICEF came to rescue the child soldiers? Were you at all disappointed to be leaving the lifestyle that you had become accustomed to, and if so, what made you come to the realization that it was for the better?
3.) What did you hope to accomplish by writing this novel? Do you feel that you have been successful in achieving this goal?
Thursday, May 1, 2008
Apathy
It's hard to win the war on apathy. It's much easier to retreat into the mindless completion of mundane tasks that need to be checked off of a list that seems only to grow. It's hard to keep caring about assignments that seem to get you nowhere, and classes that seem so far removed from a tangible purpose. It's hard to keep any semblance of a real life when each day has a new test, a fifty-minute period of stress that has the ability to determine a grade. It's hard to remember the greater purpose for why we are here – the idealism and hope with which we entered this school. Yet, if we stop caring and stop believing that we are here for something more than just tests and grades and a diploma, we face merely the unhappiness that stems from apathy. It’s easy to think that apathy ends with school. That once we are out there, in the real world, doing the career of our choice, that all will be right in the world. That once we are doctors or lawyers or businessmen, we will actually care. We forget that apathy exists everywhere and in everyone. It’s waiting – and when a list of patients piles up waiting to be cured of petty coughs and runny noses, we will remember the college planner of assignments that never ceased - and apathy will reemerge. Time does not cure apathy, so what does?
Thursday, April 24, 2008
How To Kill
How To Kill
Under the parabola of a ball,
a child turning into a man,
I looked into the air too long.
The ball fell in my hand, it sang
in the closed fist: Open Open
Behold a gift designed to kill.
Now in my dial of glass appears
the soldier who is going to die.
He smiles, and moves about in ways
his mother knows, habits of his.
The wires touch his face: I cry
NOW. Death, like a familiar, hears
and look, has made a man of dust
of a man of flesh. This sorcery
I do. Being damned, I am amused
to see the centre of love diffused
and the wave of love travel into vacancy.
How easy it is to make a ghost.
The weightless mosquito touches
her tiny shadow on the stone,
and with how like, how infinite
a lightness, man and shadow meet.
They fuse. A shadow is a man
when the mosquito death approaches.
Keith Douglas
The narrative of the poem is slow and seems like the person is breathing heavily, in a dangerous place, and in the moment. There is a feeling of calm which we do not usually associate with killing. However, there seems to be panic and confusion beneath the calm of the poem, which becomes apparent through the sentence structure of the poem. Many of the stanzas include single run-on sentences. The confusion by this speaker is meant to evoke a similar feeling in the reader. The place where this person finds himself is not natural, and he wants the audience to know this. The speaker wants the reader to understand that there is an uncomfortable ease with which we now engage in war and killing. In the beginning of the poem, the man talks about a ball being in his hands. This ball seems symbolize the fact that it is his turn to kill. The person in the poem does not seem to want the power to kill, which he realizes he has when he talks about glass balls and sorcery. This gives the impression that he is in control of a man's fate. The poem ends with a statement about the ease at which life becomes death. The speaker ends the poem with a sense of reflection, looking back at his action, and just how easy it was.
Under the parabola of a ball,
a child turning into a man,
I looked into the air too long.
The ball fell in my hand, it sang
in the closed fist: Open Open
Behold a gift designed to kill.
Now in my dial of glass appears
the soldier who is going to die.
He smiles, and moves about in ways
his mother knows, habits of his.
The wires touch his face: I cry
NOW. Death, like a familiar, hears
and look, has made a man of dust
of a man of flesh. This sorcery
I do. Being damned, I am amused
to see the centre of love diffused
and the wave of love travel into vacancy.
How easy it is to make a ghost.
The weightless mosquito touches
her tiny shadow on the stone,
and with how like, how infinite
a lightness, man and shadow meet.
They fuse. A shadow is a man
when the mosquito death approaches.
Keith Douglas
The narrative of the poem is slow and seems like the person is breathing heavily, in a dangerous place, and in the moment. There is a feeling of calm which we do not usually associate with killing. However, there seems to be panic and confusion beneath the calm of the poem, which becomes apparent through the sentence structure of the poem. Many of the stanzas include single run-on sentences. The confusion by this speaker is meant to evoke a similar feeling in the reader. The place where this person finds himself is not natural, and he wants the audience to know this. The speaker wants the reader to understand that there is an uncomfortable ease with which we now engage in war and killing. In the beginning of the poem, the man talks about a ball being in his hands. This ball seems symbolize the fact that it is his turn to kill. The person in the poem does not seem to want the power to kill, which he realizes he has when he talks about glass balls and sorcery. This gives the impression that he is in control of a man's fate. The poem ends with a statement about the ease at which life becomes death. The speaker ends the poem with a sense of reflection, looking back at his action, and just how easy it was.
Civilian War
This post was done as a group effort by Jenny and I. we picked two photographs that showed the effects of war on people other than soldiers and each analyzed one. I really enjoyed doing this analysis because the photographs that we picked were striking and full of emotion.
[Top]Croatian boy at his father's funeral and the [Bottom] second of Bosnian prisoners. These are two examples of what happens to civililians who are not directly involved with the war. We often see photos of exhausted soldiers and destroyed buildings, yet these are the effects on bystanders
The most obvious thing in the first photograph is undoubtedly the boy crying. Not only is his face contorted in anguish by the idea of his father being gone, but he is wearing a white shirt that starkly contrasts the black all the adults are wearing. White is often associated with purity or peace, and for the young boy to be wearing this color represents his innocence. Also, the elderly woman has a white handkerchief in her hands that she is crying into. This small square of fabric is offering some peace to her pain in this moment. The building behind these people once lent perfect lines and shapes to any background, but is now crumbling on this sad day.
Sometimes we forget that the repercussions of war are widespread and far-reaching. Beyond the soldiers that fight the war, and the leadership that instigates war, there are those that had no choice in the war - the mothers, the sisters, the husbands, the wives, the children, the citizens of a country at war who have no choice but to live the life of a country at war. The Bosnian prisoners shown in the second picture may or may not have had a choice to participate in the war; the caption is unclear. However, the effects of war on these prisoners is undoubtedly clear. Eyes are first drawn to the ribs of the man at the center of the photograph; you can count every single rib easily. The visibility of the bones adds a chaotic structure to photograph. It accentuates the panic and fear of the prisoners, disconcerting the viewer. The sharpness and rigidity contrasts greatly with the peace of the sky in the background. The man's hip bones jut out in a manner that girls at the gym would be envious of, but I doubt that was the look he was going for. For him, it is a look of circumstance. A look that speaks of days without food and proper nourishment, days of craving home cooked meals and comfortable conditions, days of illness and insanity. The angles of the bodies in this picture contrast with the smooth blue sky in the background, leaving the focus solely on the bones. The bones of skeletons still alive.
[Top]Croatian boy at his father's funeral and the [Bottom] second of Bosnian prisoners. These are two examples of what happens to civililians who are not directly involved with the war. We often see photos of exhausted soldiers and destroyed buildings, yet these are the effects on bystanders
The most obvious thing in the first photograph is undoubtedly the boy crying. Not only is his face contorted in anguish by the idea of his father being gone, but he is wearing a white shirt that starkly contrasts the black all the adults are wearing. White is often associated with purity or peace, and for the young boy to be wearing this color represents his innocence. Also, the elderly woman has a white handkerchief in her hands that she is crying into. This small square of fabric is offering some peace to her pain in this moment. The building behind these people once lent perfect lines and shapes to any background, but is now crumbling on this sad day.
Sometimes we forget that the repercussions of war are widespread and far-reaching. Beyond the soldiers that fight the war, and the leadership that instigates war, there are those that had no choice in the war - the mothers, the sisters, the husbands, the wives, the children, the citizens of a country at war who have no choice but to live the life of a country at war. The Bosnian prisoners shown in the second picture may or may not have had a choice to participate in the war; the caption is unclear. However, the effects of war on these prisoners is undoubtedly clear. Eyes are first drawn to the ribs of the man at the center of the photograph; you can count every single rib easily. The visibility of the bones adds a chaotic structure to photograph. It accentuates the panic and fear of the prisoners, disconcerting the viewer. The sharpness and rigidity contrasts greatly with the peace of the sky in the background. The man's hip bones jut out in a manner that girls at the gym would be envious of, but I doubt that was the look he was going for. For him, it is a look of circumstance. A look that speaks of days without food and proper nourishment, days of craving home cooked meals and comfortable conditions, days of illness and insanity. The angles of the bodies in this picture contrast with the smooth blue sky in the background, leaving the focus solely on the bones. The bones of skeletons still alive.
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
Alive Day
There are so many soldiers that now have the ability to recover from a tremendous degree of injury and readjust to civilian life thanks to the evolution of modern medicine. Doctors have the ability to synthesize new muscles and bone structures to the point that people can basically come back from the dead. The question that comes to my mind is are they better off? Are they better than the soldiers in Civil War who had the 1/4 chance of not surviving? Sure, the soldiers today survive the horrors of war and live to talk about it, but do they want to? I remember the soldier in the movie Alive Day who had lost both legs and an arm, and said that had he lost one more arm, life would no longer be worth living. I wonder how many of the soldiers that survive the war wish that they hadn't. It can't be easy, to live with the memories of death and fighting, to live with the guilt of surviving when so many others do not. To live with the recollection of war fresh in your mind every single day of your life. To know that there is no forgetting. These soldiers must live with the physical pain remnant of their injuries and the psychological pain associated with the memory of war.
What happened?
I woke up in the morning to an ordinary day of seventh grade. Brushed my teeth, took a shower, and ate some Captain Crunch (my breakfast of choice since elementary school). As I got ready to get into the passenger seat of my father’s car so that he could drive me to school, my mom pulled back into the driveway. I figured that she has forgotten something and thought nothing more of it. As I sat back and fiddled with the radio, I saw my mom silently enter the house and turn on the TV. That’s when I saw it. A plane zooming directly, ominously, towards the World Trade Center. I stood there on the cold floor tile watching the recording of events already passed, and I could not help but think that it was a joke. I’m sure we all did. But then it crashed. As the flames burst, my only thought was that this had to be a terrible accident. In my naive thirteen year old mind, the fact that this could be a purposeful, premeditated act of terrorism was unfathomable. I remember school that day, the television was turned to a news station in every single class. Teachers were torn between their own grief and confusion and the need to educate. We went from class period to class period, watching the collapse of the Twin Towers over and over again while hearing foreign words about places and people we did not know.
I woke up the next day to a country changed. Flags showed up in the grocery stores, in the driveways, in the newspapers. 9/11 became a phrase, a symbol, a fighting chant. The day became a symbol of our country’s strength. Ribbons decorated our cars and windows, emblematic of a country bound together by a common desire to find those who had so easily entered, without regret, to maliciously undermine the lives of this country’s citizens.
What happened to that passion? The determination and willpower with which our country united. What happened to the days when our soldiers were considered heroes. The days when the people of this country eagerly watched the news and read the papers. The days when there was daily discourse on the events occurring abroad. The days these events were a part of our own lives. The days when people knew, and wanted to know.
Why have we stopped talking?
Why have we stopped caring?
Thursday, April 17, 2008
Civil War Ambulances
This photograph depicts civil war ambulance wagons arranged in a line that appears never ending. The Civil War was the first war to make use of ambulance wagons and the method was devised due to the vast number of casualties left on the battlefield after the First Battle of Bull Run in 1861. Both the Union and Confederacy lost a vast number of men simply due to the inefficiency in getting them off the field and treated. The civil war ambulance wagon was designed to expediate the process and prevent further death and injury due to massive numbers of bodies left in the field. The ambulance wagons proved their worth in the Battle of Gettysburg where 1000 ambulance wagons were able to evacuate about 20,000 casualties with not a single one remaining on the battlefield. The lines of the photograph – both of the arrangement of the ambulance wagons and the symmetry of the wheels – brings a sharp focus to the photograph. The calm and peace that the photograph exudes sharply contrasts the chaos and turmoil in which the ambulances operate during the time of war. Furthermore, the angle at which the photograph is shot which arranges the seemingly endless line of ambulance wagons against the white of the sky makes the war and its causalities seem endless as well - as if they too have not end in sight.
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
Black Water Bridge
This is a group analysis of a photograph chosen by Jenny, Erin, and I. We were excited because this was the first photograph that we had seen in color. The color in this picture only makes the hanging bodies seem more brutal and real to the viewer. We each added our insight and helped to type the post. I was particularly drawn to the background of the image, which depicts a scene that seems almost vacation-like.
This picture is outrageous. Everyone is celebrating the bodies they have destroyed and hung from this bridge. It's hard to even tell they are humans dangling there. The angle of the shot makes the man with his arm up look as big as the massive structure behind him. This gives the feeling that he is larger than his surroundings and more than human to have the power to steal away life. The shapes of the metal bridge columns give the photo structure while utter pandemonium goes on all throughout. When first looking at this picture, it's hard to decide what to look at first. The man off to the right clinging to the steel column looks animalistic. Below him, another man holds a piece of paper, undoubtedly including some sort of anti-American sentiment. Far off in the distance, you can see palm trees. These are out of focus, and this is likely intentional to not give emphasis to objects that are normally associated with vacations on the beach. This situation is neither calm nor relaxing and the photographer portrays that perfectly.
This picture is outrageous. Everyone is celebrating the bodies they have destroyed and hung from this bridge. It's hard to even tell they are humans dangling there. The angle of the shot makes the man with his arm up look as big as the massive structure behind him. This gives the feeling that he is larger than his surroundings and more than human to have the power to steal away life. The shapes of the metal bridge columns give the photo structure while utter pandemonium goes on all throughout. When first looking at this picture, it's hard to decide what to look at first. The man off to the right clinging to the steel column looks animalistic. Below him, another man holds a piece of paper, undoubtedly including some sort of anti-American sentiment. Far off in the distance, you can see palm trees. These are out of focus, and this is likely intentional to not give emphasis to objects that are normally associated with vacations on the beach. This situation is neither calm nor relaxing and the photographer portrays that perfectly.
Still Running
This is the first photographic analysis that we were asked to do. I picked this photograph because the raw determination in the face of the leading soldier drew me in.
The photograph depicts three soldiers running, guns in hand, towards an unknown destination that they are all facing. The photograph is able to capture the motion in a still frame, giving the photograph more depth than it might typically have. It allows the viewer to enter the narrative of the photograph, evoking a larger emotional response than if the photograph had merely captured the men standing and waiting to run. The angle from which the photograph is taken exaggerates the height of the soldiers in the photograph and the distance between each of the three soldiers in the photograph. The photographer frames it so that the frontmost soldier takes up the entire length of the photograph and is the central focus, while the other two are relative to the position of this one. Each soldier is facing his destination as he runs towards it – this is the only goal in mind. The photographer further conveys this mindset through the contrast he creates between the soldiers and the background of the photograph. The dark uniform of the soldiers against the white of the clouds allows the reader to focus only on the soldiers, as they focus only on their destination. The photographer’s intention is to take an expressive photograph, one that takes this scene from war and brings it to society. He does so in a more subtle manner than other wartime photographers; there is no bloodshed or death in the frame. Instead, he focuses on the persistence with which soldiers do their duty and hopes that the viewers can appreciate this through the photograph.
The photograph depicts three soldiers running, guns in hand, towards an unknown destination that they are all facing. The photograph is able to capture the motion in a still frame, giving the photograph more depth than it might typically have. It allows the viewer to enter the narrative of the photograph, evoking a larger emotional response than if the photograph had merely captured the men standing and waiting to run. The angle from which the photograph is taken exaggerates the height of the soldiers in the photograph and the distance between each of the three soldiers in the photograph. The photographer frames it so that the frontmost soldier takes up the entire length of the photograph and is the central focus, while the other two are relative to the position of this one. Each soldier is facing his destination as he runs towards it – this is the only goal in mind. The photographer further conveys this mindset through the contrast he creates between the soldiers and the background of the photograph. The dark uniform of the soldiers against the white of the clouds allows the reader to focus only on the soldiers, as they focus only on their destination. The photographer’s intention is to take an expressive photograph, one that takes this scene from war and brings it to society. He does so in a more subtle manner than other wartime photographers; there is no bloodshed or death in the frame. Instead, he focuses on the persistence with which soldiers do their duty and hopes that the viewers can appreciate this through the photograph.
Thursday, April 10, 2008
Tainted Hands
This is the open letter to America that we wrote as one of of our class assignments. We had just watched Jarhead, and I was inspired by the opening voice-over, so I decided to use it in my letter.
Dear American citizens,
The protagonist of Jarhead opens and ends the film with the narration, “A man fires a rifle for many years, and he goes to war. And afterward he turns the rifle in at the armory, and he believes he’s finished with the rifle. But no matter what else he might do with his hands, love a woman, build a house, change his son’s diaper; his hands remember the rifle” (Jarhead 2005).
Though a fictional character, Swofford is an adequate representation of our men at war. They fight there, with rifles in hand, so that we can be safe here. Yet do we realize the great sacrifice that they make for us? The rifle leaves them tainted, scathed, and wartorn as most of us failed to realize that the fifth anniversary of the invasion in Iraq passed yesterday. Never before has our country been at war, and its citizens so ignorant of the fact. Most of our generation cannot remember a time without Iraq; yet most of us can also not name the significant events that have occurred in this war. We face the very real danger that our children will know more about this war from their history lessons, than we do currently living through it.
We read articles and watch the news, but we’ve become desensitized to the death toll counts and explosions reported daily. We’ve accepted war as a fact of our daily lives and this must change. We can no longer continue to live our ignorant lives as rifles continue to taint more and more of our soldiers. We must speak up, speak out, and speak with the other members of our generation. Start a dialogue anywhere, with anyone, and talk about the war. Make it the issue that it is. The war is in our hands, and we cannot let it continue to taint them.
Dear American citizens,
The protagonist of Jarhead opens and ends the film with the narration, “A man fires a rifle for many years, and he goes to war. And afterward he turns the rifle in at the armory, and he believes he’s finished with the rifle. But no matter what else he might do with his hands, love a woman, build a house, change his son’s diaper; his hands remember the rifle” (Jarhead 2005).
Though a fictional character, Swofford is an adequate representation of our men at war. They fight there, with rifles in hand, so that we can be safe here. Yet do we realize the great sacrifice that they make for us? The rifle leaves them tainted, scathed, and wartorn as most of us failed to realize that the fifth anniversary of the invasion in Iraq passed yesterday. Never before has our country been at war, and its citizens so ignorant of the fact. Most of our generation cannot remember a time without Iraq; yet most of us can also not name the significant events that have occurred in this war. We face the very real danger that our children will know more about this war from their history lessons, than we do currently living through it.
We read articles and watch the news, but we’ve become desensitized to the death toll counts and explosions reported daily. We’ve accepted war as a fact of our daily lives and this must change. We can no longer continue to live our ignorant lives as rifles continue to taint more and more of our soldiers. We must speak up, speak out, and speak with the other members of our generation. Start a dialogue anywhere, with anyone, and talk about the war. Make it the issue that it is. The war is in our hands, and we cannot let it continue to taint them.
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
“Sperm of soldier killed in Iraq frozen for widow”
http://www.cnn.com/2008/US/04/07/soldier.sperm.ap/index.html#cnnSTCText
Summary
This article describes an incidence in which a war widow from Iraq has had the sperm of her late husband frozen four days after his death. Sgt. Dayne Darren Dhanoolal died on March 31st in Baghdad and his widow requested a temporary restraint on the embalmation of his body by the military until sperm could be extracted so that she could still bear his children. Though the mother of the sergeant did not agree with this wish, the request was granted and the widow has acquired the sperm. The widow’s justification is that the couple had always talked about having children, and children were very important to her late husband. She seeks to fulfill his wish by being inseminated with his sperm, though doctors say it is unlikely the sperm is still viable.
Analysis
Though this article could have been an emotional piece on the humanistic side of the war in Iraq, the author writes it in a dry and informative manner. This may have to do with the fact that it appears as an article on CNN, but I feel that the widow’s actions should receive a better storytelling. In a war that has taken so many lives, the article focuses on the people who are against a woman trying to add one more life to the world in memory of the one that she has lost. The concept is both romantic and eccentric: a war widow who wants to fulfill her husband’s last wish of having children by preserving her late husband’s sperm. The author, however, is not effective at capturing this side of the story and instead focuses strictly on logos and ignores the pathos and ethos that I feel the topic requires.
Summary
This article describes an incidence in which a war widow from Iraq has had the sperm of her late husband frozen four days after his death. Sgt. Dayne Darren Dhanoolal died on March 31st in Baghdad and his widow requested a temporary restraint on the embalmation of his body by the military until sperm could be extracted so that she could still bear his children. Though the mother of the sergeant did not agree with this wish, the request was granted and the widow has acquired the sperm. The widow’s justification is that the couple had always talked about having children, and children were very important to her late husband. She seeks to fulfill his wish by being inseminated with his sperm, though doctors say it is unlikely the sperm is still viable.
Analysis
Though this article could have been an emotional piece on the humanistic side of the war in Iraq, the author writes it in a dry and informative manner. This may have to do with the fact that it appears as an article on CNN, but I feel that the widow’s actions should receive a better storytelling. In a war that has taken so many lives, the article focuses on the people who are against a woman trying to add one more life to the world in memory of the one that she has lost. The concept is both romantic and eccentric: a war widow who wants to fulfill her husband’s last wish of having children by preserving her late husband’s sperm. The author, however, is not effective at capturing this side of the story and instead focuses strictly on logos and ignores the pathos and ethos that I feel the topic requires.
Thursday, April 3, 2008
I don't remember
I don't remember the person I used to be anymore. It scares me. I don't remember the determination and persistence. I don't remember the accolades, the grades, the scores. I don't remember this week exactly 1 year ago, by far the best week of my life. The culmination of four years of hard work that ended in the "large" envelopes, those of acceptance. I don't remember the paid visits to schools across the country. I don't remember the school in North Carolina, the school that I fell in love with. I don't remember making friends with people with amazing stories, the vegan girl who had lived in Africa for a year, the boy from South Dakota who worked on Obama's campaign trail, the girl who had actually been on the show Laguna Beach. I don't remember the visits, the entire month of April spend touring schools. I don't remember the school in Palo Alto, the school that had been my dream school, the school that I thought I would be going to for sure. I don't remember the night of April 30th, I don't remember the tears as I filled out declination cards for all those schools. I don't remember sending all ten of those cards out in the mail. I don't remember regretting that decision the moment I slipped those cards into the outbox. I don't remember the regret with which I came here, I don't remember the apathy with which I have lived this year. I don't remember the nights spent wondering "what if". What if I had gone to one of those schools, what if I was still the person I was in high school. The girl that knew she would go to a good school, the girl who wanted to make something of herself. What if my parents had agreed to pay the 200k tuition. What if at this very moment in time I would be ending my first year at the school in Durham or Palo Alto. What if...
Childhood Memories
This post was the "I remember" free write that we did as one of our first entries. I looked outside the window and was reminded of my childhood. For some reason, the free write came out as a poem and I just went with it. I have not edited anything in this post, because I really like the honesty with which I wrote that day
I remember days like this one
in a different state
bright and sunny
with just the right amount of clouds
and a light breeze bringing the smell of the water and fresh grass with it
days where we biked and hiked
picking dandelions and blowing their fuzz into the air
carefree and lighthearted
just as we were
days of laying in the grass
ladybugs crawling around
playing in the sprinklers
I remember days like this one
in even another state
days on the pier
watching the sealions
make their characteristic noises
days spent watching the waves
Alcatraz looming in the distance
watching the street shows
like the silver painted man
driving down crooked street
and wandering China Town
and then I remember days in this state
where days like this are rare
a couple in march
a few in april
days spent walking around campus
sitting by the turtle pond
and eating ice cream on university
I remember days like this one
in a different state
bright and sunny
with just the right amount of clouds
and a light breeze bringing the smell of the water and fresh grass with it
days where we biked and hiked
picking dandelions and blowing their fuzz into the air
carefree and lighthearted
just as we were
days of laying in the grass
ladybugs crawling around
playing in the sprinklers
I remember days like this one
in even another state
days on the pier
watching the sealions
make their characteristic noises
days spent watching the waves
Alcatraz looming in the distance
watching the street shows
like the silver painted man
driving down crooked street
and wandering China Town
and then I remember days in this state
where days like this are rare
a couple in march
a few in april
days spent walking around campus
sitting by the turtle pond
and eating ice cream on university
Tuesday, April 1, 2008
Homophonic Translation
Lee Mall
Tan this kay less crackers rugs dull my trail
Stiff lend tout leisure pair infinity do seal blue
You careless overt press do reckless rail
Cruel and less batallions in mass dance leaf you
Tan this keen folly above and able bro
Eat fate descent Millie errs the hommies untasteful meant
-Power is more! Dance Lee eat, dance Lee herb, dance to joy
Nature! oh toy cue fist says hommies sain tea meant
Ill is tan Duke right ox naps the mass is
Distraught else a lense in ox grangs calluses door
Key dance leper cement this hose anna's end art
It's every veil kay and this marries raises
Dan slang hoist blur and so us
Law your vex bonnet no air
Louis don and ungross so you life dance, lay your mock o air!
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