When I started taking this class at the beginning of the quarter, I was worried about the course theme, "The Rhetoric of Desire in Popular Culture." I thought this was a confusing topic and would force me to wind up writing about something I had no interest in. This turned out to be the exact opposite. We were all given so much leeway choosing our topic that we could pretty much write about whatever we wanted. I was concerned at the beginning because I honestly didn't know what I should write about at all, but after the very first day, I hit on an idea that evolved into a broader theme that I've written quite a bit about by now. This was good because, not only was I able to develop a train of thought that I found to be very intriguing, but also the lack of constraints on my writing allowed me to experiment with different styles and improve my ability.
For any students taking this class in the future, I’d say the most important thing is to care. That is, don’t write because it’s part of an assignment, write because you have something to say. Don’t show up to class because attendance affects your grade, go to class because you don’t want to miss anything new. If you adopt a mindset where you feel that everything you do is worth doing well, you won’t have any problems with this class and will actually have a good time and look forward to going.
Other than that, be creative. As long as you keep the course theme in mind, you’re free to write about whatever you want. This is your chance to show yourself what you can do. Use the discussions and textbook to improve your skills and turn yourself into a better writer. Since most of the classes you’ll take in the future will require you to do some kind of writing, what you learn in this course will help you with the rest of your time in college. This isn’t just another class to pass and get credit for; it’s one of the building blocks for success, so an investment of hard work here will pay off until you graduate, regardless of your major.
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Friday, November 13, 2009
The Airplane Fiasco
Ok so, last year for Christmas, my sister got me a remote controlled airplane. It wasn’t very big, with only a 12” wingspan, and it was made of Styrofoam. It didn’t seem very appropriate because I’ve never flown a model airplane before and, even though technically I fall into the “eight years and above” age group, it was more of a toy for children. But it was meant to be a fun gift, and it’s the thought that counts, so I was happy to get it.
Ten months later I still hadn’t even opened the box and I was feeling a little guilty. A few weeks ago I was sitting around with nothing to do and thinking of how I could enjoy one of the last pleasant days of the year before winter sets in. I decided I would finally try to fly the airplane. I opened the box, read the instructions, gathered up the six AA batteries it took (yes, six!), and headed up to Whetstone Park, which is north of campus and along the river, because they have a big open field.
I got to the park and got started trying to fly this thing. You’re supposed to face the wind, start the propeller, toss it to get it going, and then steer with a remote control. After a couple practice take-offs (ok, I threw it onto the ground by mistake), I was airborne. Right away I noticed I was getting a few odd stares from the other people at the park, which was understandable; I must have looked like some kind of weirdo man-child spending the afternoon playing with his toys. Since I had already left my pride back at home in the same dusty corner where the plane had been, I didn’t let them bother me.
The plane was designed for eight year olds, so it pretty much flies itself. Press the throttle for ascent, release for descent. Balance the two to keep it at a steady height. Tilt the stick to turn the plane. If all that’s too much to remember and you crash, it’s durable enough not to fall apart. You’ll see by the end of this story why I was tempted to test this durability by running it over with my car.
After what couldn’t have been more than three minutes after I started, I had the plane flying high when a strong wind picked up and started carrying it towards the edge of the field; towards the trees. I let off the throttle so it could descend but it was too late. The problem wasn’t that it crashed into the tree; the problem was that it didn’t crash back down to the ground. It was stuck. It was stuck about thirty feet up, resting on the edge of a branch.
At this point I had three options: I could leave it, I could climb the tree, or I could toss something up to knock it out. I didn’t want to just leave it because, seriously, I had only flown it for three minutes. And it was a gift from my sister. My first thought was to climb up and get it, but I could see the headline: “OSU student dies in heroic attempt to salvage Styrofoam airplane.” So that was out. The only thing I could do then was to try to throw stuff at the plane until I hit it. I figured I’d either knock it out, or break it so I didn’t feel bad about leaving it behind.
There were a few sticks lying on the ground from fallen branches so I found one that was short, sturdy, and had some weight to it, but wasn’t too heavy to throw. It only took me a couple practice tosses to be able to get the stick close to the plane, but close is easy. Actually hitting a 12” target dead on from thirty feet away by throwing a stick straight up with enough force to knock it out of a tree is a bit tougher. Close just won’t cut it.
Forget looking like some immature guy playing with his toys; now I looked like a total crazy person. I’d throw a stick, pick it up, and throw again, over and over. I had an audience by the way. The tree my plane got stuck in was at the edge of the field and the local high school’s cross country team was having their practice there that afternoon; they were running laps around the edge of the field. They were running right under my tree. Every time they came around, I’d have to stop or else risk getting arrested for hitting some kid in the head with a stick.
After a while a couple in about their fifties came along and asked what I was doing. I explained my problem with the airplane and they offered to help, so I decided I’d try climbing the tree after all. I told them I could see the plane when I stepped back but it was hard to spot from the base of the tree. The plan was that I would climb up and they would point out to me where it was. Really, all I wanted was somebody there to call 911 if I fell out. I started to climb and then realized something very profound: trees are much higher once you’re actually in one. I climbed to the point where, if I wanted to go any further, I would have had to literally go out on a limb. Again I remembered that this airplane was not worth my life so I climbed back down. Then I looked back at where I had been (which seemed so high), and uh… it wasn’t high. Not even close.
I thanked the couple that had helped me and went back to throwing sticks (except now I was covered in dirt and bits of tree bark). Still not much luck. One of the more frustrating moments was when I actually hit the plane dead on, but it wouldn’t budge. At one point, my stick got stuck in the tree. I was actually getting more things stuck in the tree rather than the other way around. I had to get a new stick, but this one wasn’t sturdy and it broke the first time it hit the ground. Eventually I had to go deeper into the woods to find more sticks because I had either lost or broken all the others at the base of the tree.
Finally, forty-five minutes after the plane got stuck in the tree (I checked my watch), I finally knocked it out. I threw a stick and hit it hard, dead center, and it came loose from the branch. The plane dove, then the air caught the wings and it glided, gracefully, into another tree. It got stuck in another tree. I just fell to my knees and started laughing. Think maniacal, super villain type laughter. Fortunately all the runners had gone home by then or I’m sure I would have scared them.
This time though, it wasn’t as high up, and after forty-five minutes of practice throwing sticks thirty feet in the air, ten feet was no problem and I got it out again after the second throw. It actually came to the ground then. After all this trouble I went through, I decided that I ought to fly it again. So I went back to the center of the field to start over, but by this time, the batteries had died.
I haven’t touched it since.
Ten months later I still hadn’t even opened the box and I was feeling a little guilty. A few weeks ago I was sitting around with nothing to do and thinking of how I could enjoy one of the last pleasant days of the year before winter sets in. I decided I would finally try to fly the airplane. I opened the box, read the instructions, gathered up the six AA batteries it took (yes, six!), and headed up to Whetstone Park, which is north of campus and along the river, because they have a big open field.
I got to the park and got started trying to fly this thing. You’re supposed to face the wind, start the propeller, toss it to get it going, and then steer with a remote control. After a couple practice take-offs (ok, I threw it onto the ground by mistake), I was airborne. Right away I noticed I was getting a few odd stares from the other people at the park, which was understandable; I must have looked like some kind of weirdo man-child spending the afternoon playing with his toys. Since I had already left my pride back at home in the same dusty corner where the plane had been, I didn’t let them bother me.
The plane was designed for eight year olds, so it pretty much flies itself. Press the throttle for ascent, release for descent. Balance the two to keep it at a steady height. Tilt the stick to turn the plane. If all that’s too much to remember and you crash, it’s durable enough not to fall apart. You’ll see by the end of this story why I was tempted to test this durability by running it over with my car.
After what couldn’t have been more than three minutes after I started, I had the plane flying high when a strong wind picked up and started carrying it towards the edge of the field; towards the trees. I let off the throttle so it could descend but it was too late. The problem wasn’t that it crashed into the tree; the problem was that it didn’t crash back down to the ground. It was stuck. It was stuck about thirty feet up, resting on the edge of a branch.
At this point I had three options: I could leave it, I could climb the tree, or I could toss something up to knock it out. I didn’t want to just leave it because, seriously, I had only flown it for three minutes. And it was a gift from my sister. My first thought was to climb up and get it, but I could see the headline: “OSU student dies in heroic attempt to salvage Styrofoam airplane.” So that was out. The only thing I could do then was to try to throw stuff at the plane until I hit it. I figured I’d either knock it out, or break it so I didn’t feel bad about leaving it behind.
There were a few sticks lying on the ground from fallen branches so I found one that was short, sturdy, and had some weight to it, but wasn’t too heavy to throw. It only took me a couple practice tosses to be able to get the stick close to the plane, but close is easy. Actually hitting a 12” target dead on from thirty feet away by throwing a stick straight up with enough force to knock it out of a tree is a bit tougher. Close just won’t cut it.
Forget looking like some immature guy playing with his toys; now I looked like a total crazy person. I’d throw a stick, pick it up, and throw again, over and over. I had an audience by the way. The tree my plane got stuck in was at the edge of the field and the local high school’s cross country team was having their practice there that afternoon; they were running laps around the edge of the field. They were running right under my tree. Every time they came around, I’d have to stop or else risk getting arrested for hitting some kid in the head with a stick.
After a while a couple in about their fifties came along and asked what I was doing. I explained my problem with the airplane and they offered to help, so I decided I’d try climbing the tree after all. I told them I could see the plane when I stepped back but it was hard to spot from the base of the tree. The plan was that I would climb up and they would point out to me where it was. Really, all I wanted was somebody there to call 911 if I fell out. I started to climb and then realized something very profound: trees are much higher once you’re actually in one. I climbed to the point where, if I wanted to go any further, I would have had to literally go out on a limb. Again I remembered that this airplane was not worth my life so I climbed back down. Then I looked back at where I had been (which seemed so high), and uh… it wasn’t high. Not even close.
I thanked the couple that had helped me and went back to throwing sticks (except now I was covered in dirt and bits of tree bark). Still not much luck. One of the more frustrating moments was when I actually hit the plane dead on, but it wouldn’t budge. At one point, my stick got stuck in the tree. I was actually getting more things stuck in the tree rather than the other way around. I had to get a new stick, but this one wasn’t sturdy and it broke the first time it hit the ground. Eventually I had to go deeper into the woods to find more sticks because I had either lost or broken all the others at the base of the tree.
Finally, forty-five minutes after the plane got stuck in the tree (I checked my watch), I finally knocked it out. I threw a stick and hit it hard, dead center, and it came loose from the branch. The plane dove, then the air caught the wings and it glided, gracefully, into another tree. It got stuck in another tree. I just fell to my knees and started laughing. Think maniacal, super villain type laughter. Fortunately all the runners had gone home by then or I’m sure I would have scared them.
This time though, it wasn’t as high up, and after forty-five minutes of practice throwing sticks thirty feet in the air, ten feet was no problem and I got it out again after the second throw. It actually came to the ground then. After all this trouble I went through, I decided that I ought to fly it again. So I went back to the center of the field to start over, but by this time, the batteries had died.
I haven’t touched it since.
Thursday, November 5, 2009
Customs & Courtesies
When I was in the Army, it was very important to know who I was talking to, how they related to me, and how I should interact with them. Rank is important in the military; it determines who leads and who follows. There’s a set of rules that determines how you’re supposed to treat other soldiers, superior and subordinate alike. The key is respect. These rules help to maintain discipline and boost morale. Showing respect is something that most soldiers learn to do very quickly.
When a superior would speak to me, I had to be very deferential. I was required to stand a certain way while they talked to me. I had to listen to what I was told without interruption, responding only when prompted, and if I was told to do anything, I had to act on it. When I spoke, I had to use polite language; no slang, no profanity. I was required to address officers as either sir or ma’am and refer to others by their rank. If I disagreed with something they said, I could try to respectfully give them my point of view, but ultimately, their decision was final.
It was different among soldiers of the same rank; the rules didn’t really apply. These were the people I worked with and saw every day; they’d been through the same things I had. We could joke and make fun of each other. We could use slang and profanity (most soldiers tend to use a lot of profanity). It was much more casual. This was good because being in the Army can be stressful so it helps to have some kind of release. They were like a support group. We would complain to each other all the time too, mainly about things like the weather, waking up early, or getting stuck on guard duty over the weekend. Soldiers love to complain; it’s their favorite pastime. Complaining about little things somehow makes bigger hardships easier to tolerate.
Sometimes the line blurs between superior and friend. This can happen when the experiences shared by a commander and his soldiers bring them closer together, or when a soldier gets promoted over his friends. This is not necessarily a bad thing, but it can be if it makes a commander unwilling to order his friends to do something difficult or if a group of soldiers don’t respect their chain of command anymore. For these reasons, the Army tries to discourage this and maintain these distinctions between how different ranks interact.
Adjusting my behavior around different people isn’t something I picked up exclusively from the Army, though. It’s something everyone does all the time because people have different expectations from everyone else. Someone who consistently treats people the wrong way may become a social outcast, so it’s important to be able to pick up on cues such as body language, tone of voice, and how others react to you. Knowing the proper way to act in different situations is a skill most people learn early and those who master it can do very well for themselves.
When a superior would speak to me, I had to be very deferential. I was required to stand a certain way while they talked to me. I had to listen to what I was told without interruption, responding only when prompted, and if I was told to do anything, I had to act on it. When I spoke, I had to use polite language; no slang, no profanity. I was required to address officers as either sir or ma’am and refer to others by their rank. If I disagreed with something they said, I could try to respectfully give them my point of view, but ultimately, their decision was final.
It was different among soldiers of the same rank; the rules didn’t really apply. These were the people I worked with and saw every day; they’d been through the same things I had. We could joke and make fun of each other. We could use slang and profanity (most soldiers tend to use a lot of profanity). It was much more casual. This was good because being in the Army can be stressful so it helps to have some kind of release. They were like a support group. We would complain to each other all the time too, mainly about things like the weather, waking up early, or getting stuck on guard duty over the weekend. Soldiers love to complain; it’s their favorite pastime. Complaining about little things somehow makes bigger hardships easier to tolerate.
Sometimes the line blurs between superior and friend. This can happen when the experiences shared by a commander and his soldiers bring them closer together, or when a soldier gets promoted over his friends. This is not necessarily a bad thing, but it can be if it makes a commander unwilling to order his friends to do something difficult or if a group of soldiers don’t respect their chain of command anymore. For these reasons, the Army tries to discourage this and maintain these distinctions between how different ranks interact.
Adjusting my behavior around different people isn’t something I picked up exclusively from the Army, though. It’s something everyone does all the time because people have different expectations from everyone else. Someone who consistently treats people the wrong way may become a social outcast, so it’s important to be able to pick up on cues such as body language, tone of voice, and how others react to you. Knowing the proper way to act in different situations is a skill most people learn early and those who master it can do very well for themselves.
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