Kalamazoo collects people. The hodge podge of groups and eccentric individuals who collectively make up the populous attest to the claim that no one is out-of-place here. But to collect is not necessarily to accept. And not being out-of-place doesn’t mean that there is a place for everyone. As members of West Michigan Pulse are discovering, finding acceptance in any community starts from within.
At the intersection of Portage Road and Lay Boulevard, Kalamazoo’s Fire Gallery is the venue for a meeting of intersections between race, gender, and sexuality and West Michigan’s Pulse. If you are unfamiliar with its residence, you may drive right past it. A small signed stenciled out of rusted metal hangs without much notice above the rust-colored metal side door that is the gallery’s main entrance. If there is not an event at Fire, if there is not a collection of smokers hanging around outside, leaning against the tan brick side wall of the more than hundred year-old building, you may think the fire hose sits unused—the many boarded windows and the lack of signage indicate this. When there is an event at Fire, while there may not be enough of a crowd to surpass the fire code, what is lacking in numbers, is made up for in vocal volume.
This is the scene on a warm and clear Saturday night in late May. Fire’s website says that the monthly installment of Organic, the open mic performance component of Pulse—West Michigan’s “premiere” group for LGBT people of color—starts at eight o’oclock, but at 7:45 no one is here, not even to set up or unlock the door. When a few people do arrive, set up is casually underway but still there is no potential audience as eight o’clock comes and goes.
“It might just be us tonight,” says Denisse, one of the Fire’s co-owners and a founding member of Pulse, to Jan de la Torre, another founding member and the group’s unofficial spokesperson.
“I didn’t even bring anything to perform,” is his response.
If you’d attended Organic in its original conception last summer, the experience would have been one far different than this current inception. “It started out as the after-hours party, so when the bars closed everyone would migrate here and we’d have music and dancing; it was a very different atmosphere than now.” The continuation of Saturday night began after two and would continue until the pre-dawn hours of the morning. The evolution of Organic into a pre-bar or party venue was helped along by Fire’s neighbor, the Church of Christian Scientists, who complained about the late-night noise.
“I don’t know who is at church at four in the morning, though,” offers 44 year-old Matthew Barnes, who is technically, as a white gay male, an ally of the group and not a member.
“It’s okay to be gay on Saturday night but Sunday is God’s day,” comes a response from the small collection of members and allies now gathered outside. The crowd, all men, seem to be regular attendees of Organic and other pulse events. They all also, seem to have been previously affiliated before Pulse. They all officially or unofficially are part of other LGBT organizations in the area. After a dozen or so people have assembled and it appears that no one else is coming, the crowd moves inside where the same casual and comfortable informality continues as the event officially begins.
Against the backdrop of the white, curving gallery wall that extends to the stained bamboo ceiling 20 ft above, and where hangs various photos, paintings, and mixed-media art pieces—seemingly as random as the collection of individuals in the room, and with the soft groove of contemporary R&B stylings spun live from the DJ at his table behind “the stage,” Jan says some preliminary words of introduction and then begins the performance with his original poetry which he reads from a laptop poised on top a black metal music stand. The sun sets outside and Organic is underway.
Jan is not only an original member of Pulse and the MC for the evening, he is involved like everyone else, in the group in various and overlapping ways in the West Michigan LGBT community. At 26, Jan is one of the youngest members of Pulse (the other members range in age from late 20s to mid 40s). Jan first came to Kalamazoo a decade ago from the Philippines with his family. He has enjoyed, he will tell you, privileges and advantages that most first-generation immigrants to this country do not enjoy and never even dream of. While his accent is still distinguishable, his diction and speech are immaculate. He speaks about issues concerning sexuality, gender, race, nationality, and class with the proficiency and critical skill of a liberal arts professor. Jan attended MSU, majoring in Community Organizing and Development and went on to a master’s program at Western that took him to Sweden to learn the practical application of theory. He draws many similarities between Kalamazoo and the Arctic Circle. He now works at Kalamazoo Cares as an HIV Counselor and Prevention Specialist and is the director of PROJECT(!), a West Michigan group for gay males between the ages of 18 and 29.
Each of the two poems he reads at the Organic performance are inspired by the transition from life in the Philippines to life in America. “Mainstream gay culture in America, to the extent that it exists, is still very white-centric,” Jan believes. “Organic is about having a place to express all the layers of your individuality and experience with a receptive and supportive audience.” And the small audience sitting around the stage at metal café-style tables, in plastic folding chairs, is completely receptive. The performances consist of mostly poetry with a singer and guitar duo rounding out the night as the final performers. While from a critical standpoint, not every performer is a master of their art, each person has put time and thought and love into what they perform. And no one lacks personality, and strong individual voice; a testament to the night, to the event, and to the group is that no one, despite being any bit nervous, is afraid that their voice and opinion will be met with rejection or disrespect.
“While creating understanding and awareness is important, having the space and the confidence to express your voice and share your experience and knowing that everyone will respect the validity of that voice and your right to speech is most important,” says Michelle Johnson, the executive director of Fire and poetry performer at the event. Her joy in participating and being in the audience comes from the realization that both she and the other members “can be their full selves and identify with the voices and experiences of the others.”
As the performances conclude and the night winds down, everyone engages in small conversations and information about other events is exchanged. Jan announces the theme for next month’s salon discussion, (which also takes place at Fire) religion and spirituality in the LGBT community. The salons are a critical and personal way for big topic issues to be discussed as they are relevant and important to LGBT individuals of various racial and ethnic backgrounds.
Michelle would like to see more women involved in Pulse and Jan more individuals of different racial backgrounds; except for him, all the other performers this night were black. Both agree that no matter how many people are involved with Pulse or what their gender or racial identity, Pulse is about the individual having a place in a group of understanding friends and supporters.
“Performing is an external release and it can be loud and political and social but really it is about hearing one’s own voice affirmed and internally, carving out a place for yourself.”
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Monday, June 1, 2009
Responses to Final Pieces
Elizabeth,
I second Martin's question about wanting to know the details about the conflict with the BSO. To me it seems that their are two conflicts here that belong to separate stories: one with Andrew and the other with Tim. Somehow a general conflict for the security-student relationship is going to have to be united or you are going to have to pick one or the other. While you may not have the space to include full descriptions or quotes from every security guard, it might be worth giving a general description of who makes up the crew. I'd like to hear the voices of students who have dealt directly with security and hear a variety of opinions. There is a conflict that lies, it seems, in misconceptions on both sides. This seems to be the real conflict that is lurking in this piece.
Jackie,
I'm wondering about the audience for this piece? It seems that it is written for a national audience and if so then I'd like to get a better sense of how Kalamazoo is a microcosm for the state of higher education nationally. Getting at more specifics related to the academic programs at K and KVCC and including information about Western will be helpful, I think. That the city has these three different higher education institutions is interesting--delve into more analysis in this regard. If it's possible to acquire the information it might be telling to note from where geographically, students of each institution typically come and if this is changing. Also, how, specifically, is enrollment changing at K. You previously mentioned an article that proposed radical changes to the structure of a liberal arts education, what are those suggestions and what is your analysis of them; do you think they could be applied to K? It might be worth it to hear student voices from the various institutions and their opinions on their education and finding a job and how their goals and expectations have or have not changed over the course of their college years. The part about entitlement and class hierarchies is really interesting and, I think, speaks to an important part of the this current situation--get more feedback on this.
Martin,
While I personally understand that boozing is a significant part of any camping trip, I think you over-do it with the drinking references--it kind of discredits the author as a sober authority for a description of this place. I want to hear more voices and opinions of other people who visit the dunes, and give us Rodger's opinion on the subject. I'd like to see better how the dunes look during the day, describe the beauty of this place and show why it is unique and worth preserving. I like the "I" and the voice in this piece, it is personal and relatable. If you have the space, see if there is researchable information on what will happen to the dunes if these problems continue and why the preservation acts are not fulfilling their purpose.
Regis,
The topic and angle for this piece are really interesting. I would consider talking more (and earlier in the piece)about the impetus for this project and the grant/funding from NASA and how that came about and also, I'd like to know more about the internship. While I think the play-by-play of the actions is well written, it might be worth it to give less detail there and more backstory about the preparation for the experiment: how long the construction took, how Noah figured out the technical elements, and so forth. Also, I'd be interested to know about Noah's development as a scientist and what other experiments he has done (even as a kid) to make him a rounder character.
Toni,
For the sake of revision I hope that someone has suggestions for you. I think this piece is well written, thorough, and engaging; it accomplishes the task. Nicely done.
I did think of one thing: to get a better sense of their neighbor's opinion of the winery, you could include quotes (if there are any) from locals so we here their actual voices and views.
I second Martin's question about wanting to know the details about the conflict with the BSO. To me it seems that their are two conflicts here that belong to separate stories: one with Andrew and the other with Tim. Somehow a general conflict for the security-student relationship is going to have to be united or you are going to have to pick one or the other. While you may not have the space to include full descriptions or quotes from every security guard, it might be worth giving a general description of who makes up the crew. I'd like to hear the voices of students who have dealt directly with security and hear a variety of opinions. There is a conflict that lies, it seems, in misconceptions on both sides. This seems to be the real conflict that is lurking in this piece.
Jackie,
I'm wondering about the audience for this piece? It seems that it is written for a national audience and if so then I'd like to get a better sense of how Kalamazoo is a microcosm for the state of higher education nationally. Getting at more specifics related to the academic programs at K and KVCC and including information about Western will be helpful, I think. That the city has these three different higher education institutions is interesting--delve into more analysis in this regard. If it's possible to acquire the information it might be telling to note from where geographically, students of each institution typically come and if this is changing. Also, how, specifically, is enrollment changing at K. You previously mentioned an article that proposed radical changes to the structure of a liberal arts education, what are those suggestions and what is your analysis of them; do you think they could be applied to K? It might be worth it to hear student voices from the various institutions and their opinions on their education and finding a job and how their goals and expectations have or have not changed over the course of their college years. The part about entitlement and class hierarchies is really interesting and, I think, speaks to an important part of the this current situation--get more feedback on this.
Martin,
While I personally understand that boozing is a significant part of any camping trip, I think you over-do it with the drinking references--it kind of discredits the author as a sober authority for a description of this place. I want to hear more voices and opinions of other people who visit the dunes, and give us Rodger's opinion on the subject. I'd like to see better how the dunes look during the day, describe the beauty of this place and show why it is unique and worth preserving. I like the "I" and the voice in this piece, it is personal and relatable. If you have the space, see if there is researchable information on what will happen to the dunes if these problems continue and why the preservation acts are not fulfilling their purpose.
Regis,
The topic and angle for this piece are really interesting. I would consider talking more (and earlier in the piece)about the impetus for this project and the grant/funding from NASA and how that came about and also, I'd like to know more about the internship. While I think the play-by-play of the actions is well written, it might be worth it to give less detail there and more backstory about the preparation for the experiment: how long the construction took, how Noah figured out the technical elements, and so forth. Also, I'd be interested to know about Noah's development as a scientist and what other experiments he has done (even as a kid) to make him a rounder character.
Toni,
For the sake of revision I hope that someone has suggestions for you. I think this piece is well written, thorough, and engaging; it accomplishes the task. Nicely done.
I did think of one thing: to get a better sense of their neighbor's opinion of the winery, you could include quotes (if there are any) from locals so we here their actual voices and views.
I know this is not a rough draft
Outline for Final Piece: A profile of Pulse
CONFLICT: HOW TO GET MORE PEOPLE INVOLVED, HOW TO MAKE THIS GROUP’S VOICE KNOWN TO A WIDER COMMUNITY?
I. A physical description of Fire Gallery and scene description of the open-mic performance held there and sponsored by Pulse.
i. A modern, multi-purpose space; housed inside a former fire station; the people and the conversations exchanged before the event.
ii.Quotes from Jan and Nathan and general comments and descriptions of the people.
II. Some background on Fire Gallery and Pulse; the overlap—how individuals and groups are connected by overlapping membership and roles.
III. The history and development of Pulse; a description and the words of Michelle—the executive director; where is stands now and the direction it is aiming to go; how Pulse spreads the word and tries to expand
IV. The event; who performed and what they performed; my unexpected, unplanned performance; reactions and responses
i.Jan’s performance
V. Jan’s story and his role in pulse and in other GLBT groups.
VI. In its current state of existence, the ways in which Pulse is a success
i. What does it provide for the community it was created by and exists for?
VII. My personal reactions to the event and thoughts on its goals and future directions
CONFLICT: HOW TO GET MORE PEOPLE INVOLVED, HOW TO MAKE THIS GROUP’S VOICE KNOWN TO A WIDER COMMUNITY?
I. A physical description of Fire Gallery and scene description of the open-mic performance held there and sponsored by Pulse.
i. A modern, multi-purpose space; housed inside a former fire station; the people and the conversations exchanged before the event.
ii.Quotes from Jan and Nathan and general comments and descriptions of the people.
II. Some background on Fire Gallery and Pulse; the overlap—how individuals and groups are connected by overlapping membership and roles.
III. The history and development of Pulse; a description and the words of Michelle—the executive director; where is stands now and the direction it is aiming to go; how Pulse spreads the word and tries to expand
IV. The event; who performed and what they performed; my unexpected, unplanned performance; reactions and responses
i.Jan’s performance
V. Jan’s story and his role in pulse and in other GLBT groups.
VI. In its current state of existence, the ways in which Pulse is a success
i. What does it provide for the community it was created by and exists for?
VII. My personal reactions to the event and thoughts on its goals and future directions
Monday, May 25, 2009
"Not Just Any One Thing"
Hussain Turk is not a terrorist. He does however, attack the way white America sees and reacts to Muslims in this country and in the world. The Kalamazoo College sophomore is resolute in his fight against bigotry and narrow mindedness. He wants to shake-up your world view. Hussain looks at the world through different lenses that make it hard to see in 20/20.
Turk, who was born in Champagne, Illinois and has lived most of his life in Portage, is (at least ostensibly) fully assimilated to the upper class suburban world in which he has been raised. He wears shoulder to toe Ralph Lauren; any one of various pairs of designer sunglasses block the sun and the critical look of the eyes behind them. He has at his disposal all the material privileges the kids of the Turk’s white, Christian, and (largely) conservative neighbors receive. Money has been both a shield from discrimination and has opened-up new forms of it.
When class was not a dividing line between Hussain and his peers, skin color was. “After 9/11 my locker at school was trashed; a lot of kids called me Saddam.” For Hussain, whose parents are from Pakistan, who speaks English at home, and who played in the American Youth Soccer Organization, the racial slurs directed at him have always been bewildering and frustrating.
Around the time that his peers at school made Hussain aware of his ethnic otherness, another minority identity was becoming a part of his young life. When he was 14 Hussain’s parents discovered gay porn on the computer and became immediately concerned with the corruption of their son. Hussain was sent to a Muslim psychiatrist with whom sessions focused on homosexuality as a sin and the righteousness and pleasure of having a wife and kids. Half therapist and half intervention facilitator, Hussain’s psychiatrist dealt with his being gay as an illness to be cured, not as an identity, and certainly not as something that could ever fit in the Islamic tradition.
After only a few months the sessions ended. “I told the psychiatrist and my parents that I was cured,” says Hussain. Knowing that he was gay and that it was not something that could be cured, he told the lie to be done with the treatments. He blamed his sexual confusion on the alcohol that he had been abusing at the time. Drinking and substance abuse during the teenage years would be a conflict that cemented Hussain’s struggles in the world of contemporary American familial life. It would take great inner struggle and two trips through rehab before the conquering of this demon could be turned into a meaningful symbol of personal identity and strength of character. In the meantime, it would be a copying device for the inner and outer battles Hussain simultaneously fought.
If you did not know him personally, you might assume that the Hussain Turk who today stands with other Kalamazoo Non-violent Opponents of War at protests, who sits in to silently protest pro-Israel forums, and whose opinions arouse great support and outrage in the Kalamazoo Gazette, is a young man who has had to abandon one identity to fight for another. But what Hussain has discovered is that reconciling two identities that are traditionally at odds means building an individual identity that is untraditional.
In a forthcoming Op/Ed piece for the Gazette, Turk reveals to readers that he is gay. In his previous appearances in the paper the author has left this identity out and focused on the identity of being a young Muslim in (what he views as) a anti-Muslim America. Hussain decided to out his essayist self to complicate the attacks of critics who view him as an un-American Islamic extremist. Having decided that he is one thing, Hussain was interested to see how these opponents would react to learning that his apparent one-sided viewpoint was more diverse and unique than they could have thought.
In Hussain’s experience, “to be Pakistani is to be Muslim,” there is no separation between the two; identifying as the former means identifying as the latter. Growing up, Hussain and his siblings attended Islamic Sunday school and were aware of the customs associated with diet, holidays, etc. of their religion. However, like many of their peers, (Muslim, Christian, Jewish, or other) the religious practices of their parents were lax and irregular customs in their lives. For Hussain it was only when his identity broke with a traditional Muslim identity did he become aware of the boundaries and conservative values of his religion. The struggle for finding and claiming an individual identity began with determining how to hold on to one identity without having to forfeit another.
It seemed that in order to survive Hussain would have to pick one or the other. The Muslim community which acts as one extended family in the Kalamazoo area did (and still doesn’t) have an accepted place for gays or lesbians. And where you might assume that the gay community—a community accustomed to marginalization—would be accepting to doubly marginalized individuals, Hussain often finds more discrimination. To gain acceptance, gays expect Hussain to reject his identity as a Muslim, believing that identity to be the antithesis and the enemy of the gay identity. It seems that for Kalamazoo, two minority identities are too many.
It is because there is no easily reconciled identity for a young gay Muslim man in Kalamazoo today, that Hussain Turk, to make his own identity, argues unapologetically for his right to weigh-in his opinion from multiple viewpoints. While many respond negatively to Turk’s unabashed defense of Palestine and Muslim rights, they do so from the security of having an accepted identity that legitimates their critical voice. It is not Hussain’s opinions that are the most radical part of his speech. It is that without an established community to support him he carves out a place for his voice. Whether you agree with his opinions or not, it’s a hard case to disprove the honesty of his thoughts that come from the singularity of his identity. His words explain their legitimacy best, “the truth of my experience is not just any one thing.”
Turk, who was born in Champagne, Illinois and has lived most of his life in Portage, is (at least ostensibly) fully assimilated to the upper class suburban world in which he has been raised. He wears shoulder to toe Ralph Lauren; any one of various pairs of designer sunglasses block the sun and the critical look of the eyes behind them. He has at his disposal all the material privileges the kids of the Turk’s white, Christian, and (largely) conservative neighbors receive. Money has been both a shield from discrimination and has opened-up new forms of it.
When class was not a dividing line between Hussain and his peers, skin color was. “After 9/11 my locker at school was trashed; a lot of kids called me Saddam.” For Hussain, whose parents are from Pakistan, who speaks English at home, and who played in the American Youth Soccer Organization, the racial slurs directed at him have always been bewildering and frustrating.
Around the time that his peers at school made Hussain aware of his ethnic otherness, another minority identity was becoming a part of his young life. When he was 14 Hussain’s parents discovered gay porn on the computer and became immediately concerned with the corruption of their son. Hussain was sent to a Muslim psychiatrist with whom sessions focused on homosexuality as a sin and the righteousness and pleasure of having a wife and kids. Half therapist and half intervention facilitator, Hussain’s psychiatrist dealt with his being gay as an illness to be cured, not as an identity, and certainly not as something that could ever fit in the Islamic tradition.
After only a few months the sessions ended. “I told the psychiatrist and my parents that I was cured,” says Hussain. Knowing that he was gay and that it was not something that could be cured, he told the lie to be done with the treatments. He blamed his sexual confusion on the alcohol that he had been abusing at the time. Drinking and substance abuse during the teenage years would be a conflict that cemented Hussain’s struggles in the world of contemporary American familial life. It would take great inner struggle and two trips through rehab before the conquering of this demon could be turned into a meaningful symbol of personal identity and strength of character. In the meantime, it would be a copying device for the inner and outer battles Hussain simultaneously fought.
If you did not know him personally, you might assume that the Hussain Turk who today stands with other Kalamazoo Non-violent Opponents of War at protests, who sits in to silently protest pro-Israel forums, and whose opinions arouse great support and outrage in the Kalamazoo Gazette, is a young man who has had to abandon one identity to fight for another. But what Hussain has discovered is that reconciling two identities that are traditionally at odds means building an individual identity that is untraditional.
In a forthcoming Op/Ed piece for the Gazette, Turk reveals to readers that he is gay. In his previous appearances in the paper the author has left this identity out and focused on the identity of being a young Muslim in (what he views as) a anti-Muslim America. Hussain decided to out his essayist self to complicate the attacks of critics who view him as an un-American Islamic extremist. Having decided that he is one thing, Hussain was interested to see how these opponents would react to learning that his apparent one-sided viewpoint was more diverse and unique than they could have thought.
In Hussain’s experience, “to be Pakistani is to be Muslim,” there is no separation between the two; identifying as the former means identifying as the latter. Growing up, Hussain and his siblings attended Islamic Sunday school and were aware of the customs associated with diet, holidays, etc. of their religion. However, like many of their peers, (Muslim, Christian, Jewish, or other) the religious practices of their parents were lax and irregular customs in their lives. For Hussain it was only when his identity broke with a traditional Muslim identity did he become aware of the boundaries and conservative values of his religion. The struggle for finding and claiming an individual identity began with determining how to hold on to one identity without having to forfeit another.
It seemed that in order to survive Hussain would have to pick one or the other. The Muslim community which acts as one extended family in the Kalamazoo area did (and still doesn’t) have an accepted place for gays or lesbians. And where you might assume that the gay community—a community accustomed to marginalization—would be accepting to doubly marginalized individuals, Hussain often finds more discrimination. To gain acceptance, gays expect Hussain to reject his identity as a Muslim, believing that identity to be the antithesis and the enemy of the gay identity. It seems that for Kalamazoo, two minority identities are too many.
It is because there is no easily reconciled identity for a young gay Muslim man in Kalamazoo today, that Hussain Turk, to make his own identity, argues unapologetically for his right to weigh-in his opinion from multiple viewpoints. While many respond negatively to Turk’s unabashed defense of Palestine and Muslim rights, they do so from the security of having an accepted identity that legitimates their critical voice. It is not Hussain’s opinions that are the most radical part of his speech. It is that without an established community to support him he carves out a place for his voice. Whether you agree with his opinions or not, it’s a hard case to disprove the honesty of his thoughts that come from the singularity of his identity. His words explain their legitimacy best, “the truth of my experience is not just any one thing.”
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Week 8 Reading Response
What I most wanted from the piece Marni selected, "The Purpose-Driven Wife," was for there to be more of it! I wanted to hear from audience members or women who have read Peace's books and hear their thoughts (if they're husbands allow them to have any). It ceases to amaze me that with all of the patriarchal walls still put in front of women, some put limitations (and blinders and dunce caps) on themselves AND preach the practice to other women! I really like how in this piece the narrator kept an objective voice yet still was able to show how absurd and FRIGHTENING this movement is. Also, I love that this woman's name is Martha "Peace"!! I think the piece provides enough context, but I could handle more. Has Peace ever encountered dissent from other women of the church? What beliefs do other Baptist women believe/lecture about a woman's role and rights? Are all Baptists this backward and masochistic? Maybe? I'm putting this article in my file marked "Proof that the South should be its own country."
I was at first disenchanted by the title of the piece Toni selected, "Truth and Consequences at Pregnancy High," believing that I had read this same story many times before. However, I think it tells a specific story that is topical and important. It is interesting to me that these teens saw early parenthood as an inevitable part of life in the place they live. The responsibility Grace takes for her daughter, even when the act of having a child was originally deemed selfish and irresponsible by her mother, shows that while becoming a mother at a young age was life-altering, it was not necessarily life-ending. The article does a good job of revealing the particularities of being a teenage mother: Lilah dances to hip hop videos, hangs out with the babies of other teen mothers at McDonalds, utters expressions mimicking the language of teens. The article paints a very thorough picture of time and place and how different environmental factors make traditionally non-normative situations normal and functional for the people there. What could have been a harsh critique or a pessimistic prophecy was actually an article that, by revealing the true character of the individuals, was hopeful and optimistic.
I was at first disenchanted by the title of the piece Toni selected, "Truth and Consequences at Pregnancy High," believing that I had read this same story many times before. However, I think it tells a specific story that is topical and important. It is interesting to me that these teens saw early parenthood as an inevitable part of life in the place they live. The responsibility Grace takes for her daughter, even when the act of having a child was originally deemed selfish and irresponsible by her mother, shows that while becoming a mother at a young age was life-altering, it was not necessarily life-ending. The article does a good job of revealing the particularities of being a teenage mother: Lilah dances to hip hop videos, hangs out with the babies of other teen mothers at McDonalds, utters expressions mimicking the language of teens. The article paints a very thorough picture of time and place and how different environmental factors make traditionally non-normative situations normal and functional for the people there. What could have been a harsh critique or a pessimistic prophecy was actually an article that, by revealing the true character of the individuals, was hopeful and optimistic.
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Week 7 Reading Response
The two pieces from Literary Journalism, by Ted Conover and Mark Kramer, both do a really good job of framing a gigantic issue within a smaller context; both authors find a specific topic to employ as a synecdoche for a larger one. Both Conover and Kramer spend a lot of time in their pieces on descriptions of place- physical drescriptions of land, modes of transportation, and towns and cities. With innumerably layered issues like AIDS in Southern Africa and capitalization in the former Soviet Union, revealing the complexity of the issue and the problems that heed solution, are what I as a reader want to discern from reporting on the topic; Conover and Kramer meet the mark.
The personal and anecdotal stories that both authors weave into their larger pieces are really well placed,I think. They work as a bridge between reader and subject and reveal a lot about time and place, giving a context to the critical events of particular to both. Especially in the Conover piece, the attention the author pays to the characteristics of the lives of the men he travels with tells so much about the nature of AIDS in that place and makes a human connection to what could otherwise be a statistical study. By getting a sense of what the people involved with the larger issue eat; what their customs and beliefs are; how language and communication work; how government, industry, and foreign influence affect their survival, we get a sense of how the real issue the author is writing about is woven into their world and why it is such a complex issue.
Kramer and Conover are both present in their pieces; we see the story through their eyes. I think that this benefits both stories; it adds another human layer to the story and both are good guides through the stories. Even though the pieces are dated I think they were important readings as both prove that it is crucial to be able to revisit journalism to re-examine how things looked and worked at a particular place and time in order to see how things are similar and different today and what can be gleamed from the juxtaposition.
The personal and anecdotal stories that both authors weave into their larger pieces are really well placed,I think. They work as a bridge between reader and subject and reveal a lot about time and place, giving a context to the critical events of particular to both. Especially in the Conover piece, the attention the author pays to the characteristics of the lives of the men he travels with tells so much about the nature of AIDS in that place and makes a human connection to what could otherwise be a statistical study. By getting a sense of what the people involved with the larger issue eat; what their customs and beliefs are; how language and communication work; how government, industry, and foreign influence affect their survival, we get a sense of how the real issue the author is writing about is woven into their world and why it is such a complex issue.
Kramer and Conover are both present in their pieces; we see the story through their eyes. I think that this benefits both stories; it adds another human layer to the story and both are good guides through the stories. Even though the pieces are dated I think they were important readings as both prove that it is crucial to be able to revisit journalism to re-examine how things looked and worked at a particular place and time in order to see how things are similar and different today and what can be gleamed from the juxtaposition.
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
Profile Responses
Jackie-
I think that the subject of your profile necessitates there to be a conflict in the story; a debatable point or something that needs to be exposed and analyzed. If this is going to be about Lisa Ailstock then we need to see more of her and from more angles. I think the places where you have left room for quotes are good and will help build the content. If this is a profile and critique of the Health Center and the health services provided at K College, then there needs to be more observations and facts about them specifically. If you are going to be a character in this piece (where you mention missing the “old Health Center”) then I think we need to see more of you and get more of your opinions and experiences. I like the form you have chosen for the lede but I want more sensory details to get a better picture of the place and scene. Maybe go through your interview and find the most evocative quote or idea and build this profile around that.
Mae-
There is a great dichotomy in this piece between the patron’s of the bar and how the author feels in relation to them as the daughter of the bar owner. I’d like to see more of that. I like the opening sentence and the following one but the rest of the lede could relate information more pertinent to the rest of the piece. General descriptions give us a sense of the patrons but give more specific details about certain ones. Also, I’d like to see the owner of the bar better and hear his voice as well. Give us more about the location of the bar in Kalamazoo; what’s going on in the street outside at the concurrent time. You’ve done a really good job of letting the words of the characters show us who they are, rather than from subjective observations. This gives real authority to the experience and to the reporting. The end seems to be drawing together various elements but still seems unfinished. While I don’t think that the author has to have a definite final opinion, giving the reader a stronger sense of possible conclusions to draw would better resolve the many issues developed in the piece.
Regis-
This lede reads more like an opening to an essay rather than to a profile piece. Grab our attention and set the tone for the rest of the piece right from the start. With some slight tweaking the second paragraph is a good lede. I like that a history of skateboarding is included, although some of the background is unnecessary for the theme. On that note, the theme or central idea needs to be further developed; is this about the skate park or long boarding? The descriptions of the park are quite good, and I think should be the focus of the piece. Quotes from the kids at the park are used effectively to set the scene and give personality to this place. Also, the inclusion of your own experience there really gives authority to the writing and this is a good way in which to draw a final conclusion, by writing of your own experience at the park. The alternation from background information to observations at the park creates a strong, varied, and intriguing narration; keep this form.
Elizabeth-
I love that opening sentence! The things that I would like to see more of in this piece: 1) physical descriptions of Sandy and Kim, 2) more on why raising livestock is a better financial investment for the farm (a wider agricultural analysis, but briefly), and 3) a few more descriptors of Willie and the physical farm and house. You do a really good job of adding personal voice to this piece and getting at something larger than just “the problem of the gay pig.” This is fun to read and draws me in; the form is strong too. Work on the conclusion so as not to leave us conjecturing as much.
Toni-
I think this does a really good job of situating a specific local in a specific location and discussing how it fits in its environment, is part of its environment and interacts with the people there. I think it covers a lot and does so thoroughly. There are two areas I have noted for consideration: 1) I’d like to see more physical description of Juanita and Jamie, and 2) the author’s voice, to me, reads as too easily seeking a “good-hearted” story; paints too pretty a picture. I’d like to see more of the back-story behind the opening of the restaurant; struggles then and now; or any other areas in which business ownership and management have been troublesome. This will make the content more whole, I think. Nicely written.
Martin-
I really like that this piece takes a definite stand in regard to the establishment being profiled. I like the conversation style and the author’s personal voice in the piece. I’d like to see maybe one more strong character to emerge, but the two included now are well developed. I think this piece takes a unique perspective and delivers it in an engaging way; it offers a point and evocatively argues it.
I think that the subject of your profile necessitates there to be a conflict in the story; a debatable point or something that needs to be exposed and analyzed. If this is going to be about Lisa Ailstock then we need to see more of her and from more angles. I think the places where you have left room for quotes are good and will help build the content. If this is a profile and critique of the Health Center and the health services provided at K College, then there needs to be more observations and facts about them specifically. If you are going to be a character in this piece (where you mention missing the “old Health Center”) then I think we need to see more of you and get more of your opinions and experiences. I like the form you have chosen for the lede but I want more sensory details to get a better picture of the place and scene. Maybe go through your interview and find the most evocative quote or idea and build this profile around that.
Mae-
There is a great dichotomy in this piece between the patron’s of the bar and how the author feels in relation to them as the daughter of the bar owner. I’d like to see more of that. I like the opening sentence and the following one but the rest of the lede could relate information more pertinent to the rest of the piece. General descriptions give us a sense of the patrons but give more specific details about certain ones. Also, I’d like to see the owner of the bar better and hear his voice as well. Give us more about the location of the bar in Kalamazoo; what’s going on in the street outside at the concurrent time. You’ve done a really good job of letting the words of the characters show us who they are, rather than from subjective observations. This gives real authority to the experience and to the reporting. The end seems to be drawing together various elements but still seems unfinished. While I don’t think that the author has to have a definite final opinion, giving the reader a stronger sense of possible conclusions to draw would better resolve the many issues developed in the piece.
Regis-
This lede reads more like an opening to an essay rather than to a profile piece. Grab our attention and set the tone for the rest of the piece right from the start. With some slight tweaking the second paragraph is a good lede. I like that a history of skateboarding is included, although some of the background is unnecessary for the theme. On that note, the theme or central idea needs to be further developed; is this about the skate park or long boarding? The descriptions of the park are quite good, and I think should be the focus of the piece. Quotes from the kids at the park are used effectively to set the scene and give personality to this place. Also, the inclusion of your own experience there really gives authority to the writing and this is a good way in which to draw a final conclusion, by writing of your own experience at the park. The alternation from background information to observations at the park creates a strong, varied, and intriguing narration; keep this form.
Elizabeth-
I love that opening sentence! The things that I would like to see more of in this piece: 1) physical descriptions of Sandy and Kim, 2) more on why raising livestock is a better financial investment for the farm (a wider agricultural analysis, but briefly), and 3) a few more descriptors of Willie and the physical farm and house. You do a really good job of adding personal voice to this piece and getting at something larger than just “the problem of the gay pig.” This is fun to read and draws me in; the form is strong too. Work on the conclusion so as not to leave us conjecturing as much.
Toni-
I think this does a really good job of situating a specific local in a specific location and discussing how it fits in its environment, is part of its environment and interacts with the people there. I think it covers a lot and does so thoroughly. There are two areas I have noted for consideration: 1) I’d like to see more physical description of Juanita and Jamie, and 2) the author’s voice, to me, reads as too easily seeking a “good-hearted” story; paints too pretty a picture. I’d like to see more of the back-story behind the opening of the restaurant; struggles then and now; or any other areas in which business ownership and management have been troublesome. This will make the content more whole, I think. Nicely written.
Martin-
I really like that this piece takes a definite stand in regard to the establishment being profiled. I like the conversation style and the author’s personal voice in the piece. I’d like to see maybe one more strong character to emerge, but the two included now are well developed. I think this piece takes a unique perspective and delivers it in an engaging way; it offers a point and evocatively argues it.
Monday, May 4, 2009
Profile Rough Draft
“Oh, look! We can have a swim after breakfast.” This, the observation and half-serious suggestion of Leslie, my friend and the conspirator of this surreal adventure. She is referring to the pool of gray-green, murky water occupying the entirety of the gravel parking lot behind the one-story, rusted brown wood paneled building. It appears to be as naturally formed as the Dead Sea, if only a little less awe-inspiring. So large in fact, is this holy sea that it has its own gentle tide and looked to reach a depth of several feet at its center. It appears also to have existed eternally in this location—the cool breeze blowing over the waters and the luminous reflection of the early morning sun upon the surface such a sacrosanct presence that the proprietors and patrons did not consider it an inconvenience but rather a gift from the divine bestowed on this diner as reward for the deed of serving sausage gravy to the weak and weary. The pool was testimony of its righteousness.
For me, the appeal of country biscuits and a live bluegrass band was instant. Having to arrive at the diner at 9 a.m. was not. A Saturday meal schedule, for me, ideally goes like this: breakfast—consisting of a cup (or 7) of coffee and something hearty (eggs, toast, potatoes shaved and fried)—between 11 and 1, when sane people begin the day. Lunch is simple—a turkey sandwich, or an orange, some cashews—something easily prepared after a 4 hour post-breakfast nap. Dinner is not so much a meal but a causal grazing—a few saltines, left-over cake, cereal straight from the box—a hodge-podge of flavors and ingredients that necessitate another nap afterward; this siesta leading into a full night’s sleep by 10:30. A 9 a.m. breakfast completely disrupts this otherwise natural schedule.
For me, the appeal of country biscuits and a live bluegrass band was instant. Having to arrive at the diner at 9 a.m. was not. A Saturday meal schedule, for me, ideally goes like this: breakfast—consisting of a cup (or 7) of coffee and something hearty (eggs, toast, potatoes shaved and fried)—between 11 and 1, when sane people begin the day. Lunch is simple—a turkey sandwich, or an orange, some cashews—something easily prepared after a 4 hour post-breakfast nap. Dinner is not so much a meal but a causal grazing—a few saltines, left-over cake, cereal straight from the box—a hodge-podge of flavors and ingredients that necessitate another nap afterward; this siesta leading into a full night’s sleep by 10:30. A 9 a.m. breakfast completely disrupts this otherwise natural schedule.
Saturday, May 2, 2009
Flower Boys and Ring Girls
“The master’s tools will never dismantle the master’s house.”
–Audre Lorde
“The birds all sing as if they knew, today’s the day we’ll say “I do,” and we’ll never be lonely anymore.”
--The Shirelles
I imagined myself taking a nap at the altar, my head resting on the white satin pillow, divine light illuminating my olive complexion and cherub face. At five years-old I was the ring-bearer in the wedding of an older cousin. The traditions involved in a Catholic wedding ceremony—the long version, not the modern abbreviated one—perplexed me. Months before, while being fitted for my miniature white tuxedo, my mother explained to me the solemn responsibilities of my job, “Well, you’ll follow the flower girl down the aisle; you’ll carry a pillow on which rest the wedding rings; when you get to the altar the groom will take one, place it on the finger of the bride, she in turn, will do the same.”
“Will I have to wear a bear costume under this tuxedo?”
“No, Austin. It’s not that kind of bear.”
“What about a bear mask?”
“No, Austin.”
This was the first conversation my mother and I shared before the wedding, where I, confused by my own half imagined, half reasoned conclusions, would be set straight by my mother’s mature knowledge on the subject.
The afternoon my mother told me that the following Saturday she would be attending a bridal shower, that it was only for women, and that I would be left under the watch of my brother, my incredulity and protests began immediately and continued until the afternoon of the shower.
“What are you and Aunt Leenie and those other ladies going to do in the shower?”
“It’s not that kind of shower, Austin. We are going to give gifts to the bride and have tea and chat.”
“But won’t the gifts get wet?”
“No, Austin.”
I pictured my mother in her two-piece bathing suit, holding a cup and saucer from the china my Aunt Leenie washed every week and never used. I imagined my slim, fair-skinned, permed mother chatting in a crowded shower with other ladies, with stacks of presents, and all of them trying not to get their hair wet. “Why can’t I go?”
“It’s not for little boys, Austin.”
“I won’t look I promise.”
“No, Austin.”
I sulked the whole afternoon. When my mother returned I made her pick me up and sit me on her hip so that I could examine her hair for dampness. Her hair was as perfectly set as when she had left; although she did bring back a pink bag filled with soaps and perfumes and other ladies frivolities. My confusion overwhelmed me.
When the day of the wedding came, I was still baffled by the traditions of marriage, but as we arrived at St. Anthony’s Cathedral—the St. Paul’s of Des Moines, Iowa—I resigned myself to decorum and a perfunctory performance of my duties. I followed the flower girl in timed steps, presented two gold bands on a white satin pillow, and didn’t lie down for a nap.
The epic ceremony was complete, but I was not relieved of my obligations. “After the wedding there will be a reception,” my mother had previously warned me. “And the ring-bearer dances with the flower girl,” horror crept across my face as she continued to reveal my awful fate.
“What kind of dancing? Do we have to touch hands?”
“Yes, Austin, you have to touch hands.”
A kind of dread I had never before been aware of overtook me. Ladies in the shower might have seemed weird, but this new revelation was just cruel.
After the dinner, I listed out my futile excuses. “Austin, I think it’s time for the dance,” my mother said to me from across the table with a naturalness that made it sound as if she wasn’t sending me to my hanging.
“I think I’m sick from the cake.”
“Austin.”
“My foot’s broken.”
“Austin.”
I hid behind my father; I asked my brother (age 18) to take my place.
“Austin, now.” My mother took my trembling hand and lead me to awaiting misery in the form of a brown-haired, blue-eyed, five year-old girl.
As I approached her on the wood laminate dance floor, the lights of the disco ball overhead danced in her eyes like a kaleidoscope—she was a woman possessed. My mother placed my hand in the girl’s and then abandoned me to my executioner. This girl was from the groom’s side, but to me she was from Pluto. She smiled with nervous excitement. I scowled with nervous fear. Quickly, I scanned the room and sunk in horror upon seeing every eye focused on the two of us locked in this death dance. I began to get the sense that this girl believed that this was her wedding or at least a practice run for the one she would one day have.
Without warning, she moved in and laid her head on my shoulder. My feet stopped; I recoiled as if a bucket of hot puke had been set there instead—I wanted it off, immediately. With great force I pulled her upright again. I noticed my mother with sipping champagne, my father laughing too loudly with his uncles, and my brother flirting with a girl who was probably our second cousin. How unfair it was that they could enjoy themselves while I was being eaten alive by this forty-pound beast.
When my despair could take no more, it happened. The creature in white and lace and satin closed her eyes, pursed her lips, and made a lunge for mine. My reaction was instantaneous; I locked my arms straight out and threw my head back with my lips resolutely sealed. Possessed by the passion of her delusions, the girl tried to fight her way around my defense. With the determination and superhuman strength particular to females in satin white dresses, she succeeded in getting her wish. Her cherry smacked lips stung mine and in her moment of bliss she relaxed her iron will. I being a young gentleman pushed her and ran. I ran past my father who had missed the scene, too engaged in his conversations. I ran past my brother who laughed and teased me as I continued by. I ran past my mother who in her crème colored knee-length dress with lace embroidery offered a hand in consolation. I ran to the table and hid below it until the dancing was done and it was time to go home.
When my mother told me within a year of that scarring day that my cousin and her husband were divorcing, I was irate. Had I suffered through all of those bizarre traditions for nothing? Did I sweat to exhaustion in that stupid white suit in the July heat for no reason? Did I have to live with the residual taste of cherry chapstick on my lips forever while the bride and groom just got to call it quits so easily? My opinion of marriage was decidedly set in the negative.
As a young gay man, my opinion of marriage remained largely unchanged: it was a series of empty traditions that ended in false promises and was shaded by pretended morality. I believed that gays and lesbians, instead of seeking the legal right to marry, should seek their own practice and traditions—something separate from the exclusionary and destructive hetero-normative ceremony. To me, marriage was a quickly crumbling institution and we gays and lesbians should be glad to be free of its walls when the roof fell. The rejection of archaic practices was the best means of progressive action.
The morning that the State of Iowa Supreme Court ruled unanimously to end the constitutional amendment that limited marriage to one man and one woman, legalizing marriage for gay and lesbian couples, I read the news from my computer, at my desk, with a cup of coffee. I was ecstatic. A new reasoning had been developing inside me for the previous year or so. While equality under the law was not the end of the fight for understanding and acceptance, it was a major and necessary step along the way.
It is absolutely important for progress that changes are made to the fundamental laws and systems that unjustly and immorally limit individual freedom to whole classes of people. Marriage does not work for every straight individual or couple and certainly, it won’t for every gay and lesbian person or couple. By removing the false pretenses from the institution of marriage we begin to reinvent an out-dated tradition to fit our own time. It is time that marriage is defined by what individuals expect of it, not by what marriage expects of them.
At my wedding, whatever form the ceremony takes, no little boy will have to dance with a little girl if he doesn’t want to.
–Audre Lorde
“The birds all sing as if they knew, today’s the day we’ll say “I do,” and we’ll never be lonely anymore.”
--The Shirelles
I imagined myself taking a nap at the altar, my head resting on the white satin pillow, divine light illuminating my olive complexion and cherub face. At five years-old I was the ring-bearer in the wedding of an older cousin. The traditions involved in a Catholic wedding ceremony—the long version, not the modern abbreviated one—perplexed me. Months before, while being fitted for my miniature white tuxedo, my mother explained to me the solemn responsibilities of my job, “Well, you’ll follow the flower girl down the aisle; you’ll carry a pillow on which rest the wedding rings; when you get to the altar the groom will take one, place it on the finger of the bride, she in turn, will do the same.”
“Will I have to wear a bear costume under this tuxedo?”
“No, Austin. It’s not that kind of bear.”
“What about a bear mask?”
“No, Austin.”
This was the first conversation my mother and I shared before the wedding, where I, confused by my own half imagined, half reasoned conclusions, would be set straight by my mother’s mature knowledge on the subject.
The afternoon my mother told me that the following Saturday she would be attending a bridal shower, that it was only for women, and that I would be left under the watch of my brother, my incredulity and protests began immediately and continued until the afternoon of the shower.
“What are you and Aunt Leenie and those other ladies going to do in the shower?”
“It’s not that kind of shower, Austin. We are going to give gifts to the bride and have tea and chat.”
“But won’t the gifts get wet?”
“No, Austin.”
I pictured my mother in her two-piece bathing suit, holding a cup and saucer from the china my Aunt Leenie washed every week and never used. I imagined my slim, fair-skinned, permed mother chatting in a crowded shower with other ladies, with stacks of presents, and all of them trying not to get their hair wet. “Why can’t I go?”
“It’s not for little boys, Austin.”
“I won’t look I promise.”
“No, Austin.”
I sulked the whole afternoon. When my mother returned I made her pick me up and sit me on her hip so that I could examine her hair for dampness. Her hair was as perfectly set as when she had left; although she did bring back a pink bag filled with soaps and perfumes and other ladies frivolities. My confusion overwhelmed me.
When the day of the wedding came, I was still baffled by the traditions of marriage, but as we arrived at St. Anthony’s Cathedral—the St. Paul’s of Des Moines, Iowa—I resigned myself to decorum and a perfunctory performance of my duties. I followed the flower girl in timed steps, presented two gold bands on a white satin pillow, and didn’t lie down for a nap.
The epic ceremony was complete, but I was not relieved of my obligations. “After the wedding there will be a reception,” my mother had previously warned me. “And the ring-bearer dances with the flower girl,” horror crept across my face as she continued to reveal my awful fate.
“What kind of dancing? Do we have to touch hands?”
“Yes, Austin, you have to touch hands.”
A kind of dread I had never before been aware of overtook me. Ladies in the shower might have seemed weird, but this new revelation was just cruel.
After the dinner, I listed out my futile excuses. “Austin, I think it’s time for the dance,” my mother said to me from across the table with a naturalness that made it sound as if she wasn’t sending me to my hanging.
“I think I’m sick from the cake.”
“Austin.”
“My foot’s broken.”
“Austin.”
I hid behind my father; I asked my brother (age 18) to take my place.
“Austin, now.” My mother took my trembling hand and lead me to awaiting misery in the form of a brown-haired, blue-eyed, five year-old girl.
As I approached her on the wood laminate dance floor, the lights of the disco ball overhead danced in her eyes like a kaleidoscope—she was a woman possessed. My mother placed my hand in the girl’s and then abandoned me to my executioner. This girl was from the groom’s side, but to me she was from Pluto. She smiled with nervous excitement. I scowled with nervous fear. Quickly, I scanned the room and sunk in horror upon seeing every eye focused on the two of us locked in this death dance. I began to get the sense that this girl believed that this was her wedding or at least a practice run for the one she would one day have.
Without warning, she moved in and laid her head on my shoulder. My feet stopped; I recoiled as if a bucket of hot puke had been set there instead—I wanted it off, immediately. With great force I pulled her upright again. I noticed my mother with sipping champagne, my father laughing too loudly with his uncles, and my brother flirting with a girl who was probably our second cousin. How unfair it was that they could enjoy themselves while I was being eaten alive by this forty-pound beast.
When my despair could take no more, it happened. The creature in white and lace and satin closed her eyes, pursed her lips, and made a lunge for mine. My reaction was instantaneous; I locked my arms straight out and threw my head back with my lips resolutely sealed. Possessed by the passion of her delusions, the girl tried to fight her way around my defense. With the determination and superhuman strength particular to females in satin white dresses, she succeeded in getting her wish. Her cherry smacked lips stung mine and in her moment of bliss she relaxed her iron will. I being a young gentleman pushed her and ran. I ran past my father who had missed the scene, too engaged in his conversations. I ran past my brother who laughed and teased me as I continued by. I ran past my mother who in her crème colored knee-length dress with lace embroidery offered a hand in consolation. I ran to the table and hid below it until the dancing was done and it was time to go home.
When my mother told me within a year of that scarring day that my cousin and her husband were divorcing, I was irate. Had I suffered through all of those bizarre traditions for nothing? Did I sweat to exhaustion in that stupid white suit in the July heat for no reason? Did I have to live with the residual taste of cherry chapstick on my lips forever while the bride and groom just got to call it quits so easily? My opinion of marriage was decidedly set in the negative.
As a young gay man, my opinion of marriage remained largely unchanged: it was a series of empty traditions that ended in false promises and was shaded by pretended morality. I believed that gays and lesbians, instead of seeking the legal right to marry, should seek their own practice and traditions—something separate from the exclusionary and destructive hetero-normative ceremony. To me, marriage was a quickly crumbling institution and we gays and lesbians should be glad to be free of its walls when the roof fell. The rejection of archaic practices was the best means of progressive action.
The morning that the State of Iowa Supreme Court ruled unanimously to end the constitutional amendment that limited marriage to one man and one woman, legalizing marriage for gay and lesbian couples, I read the news from my computer, at my desk, with a cup of coffee. I was ecstatic. A new reasoning had been developing inside me for the previous year or so. While equality under the law was not the end of the fight for understanding and acceptance, it was a major and necessary step along the way.
It is absolutely important for progress that changes are made to the fundamental laws and systems that unjustly and immorally limit individual freedom to whole classes of people. Marriage does not work for every straight individual or couple and certainly, it won’t for every gay and lesbian person or couple. By removing the false pretenses from the institution of marriage we begin to reinvent an out-dated tradition to fit our own time. It is time that marriage is defined by what individuals expect of it, not by what marriage expects of them.
At my wedding, whatever form the ceremony takes, no little boy will have to dance with a little girl if he doesn’t want to.
Monday, April 20, 2009
"Suicides of Bridgend County" Response
Again, my apologies for choosing such a morbid piece. I selected this article from Vanity Fair because I think it provides an interesting perspective in profiling a particular place and people. Also, there are things about the writing style to both praise and critique. I think Alex Shoumatoff does a nice job of giving the reader a varied scope that narrowly focuses on the stories of individuals and more broadly addresses the issue of of suicide and young people. The author describes the physical place well- situating the reader in the environment where this epidemic is occurring. In a strategically placed order, the history and current state of this place--Bridgend county--is revealed as to provide context and circumstantial evidence for this tragedy. Shoumatoff gives us statistics and facts as well as his personal observations and sentiments, informing and engaging the reader. He makes connections and draws comparisons between each of the individuals and at the same time regards them as individuals with unique stories; to me, the balance between these two depictions is the aim of narrative journalism.
I think Shoumatoff does well to include the voices of those he interviews to provide the reader with the words in which the those most affected speak of these circumstances. Also, contextualizing this situation within the tradition of domestic and social institutions in Britain as a whole provides the reader a lens with which to view the scene.
While I think the piece is comprehensive, I wonder how structural adjustments could change the narration. If the author began with the story of one of the victims instead of his introduction to the geography of the place, would the reader feel more connected from the beginning or more detached? There is a point in the narration where Shoumatoff lists in rapid succession a number of the suicide victims. While this approach increases the sense the reader gets about how suddenly these events began and how frequently they continued, does it also desensitize and depersonalize?
I think, overall, Shoumatoff distances himself well enough to write objectively and yet, still is able to connect to these people and relate personal inflections that humanize the story.
I think Shoumatoff does well to include the voices of those he interviews to provide the reader with the words in which the those most affected speak of these circumstances. Also, contextualizing this situation within the tradition of domestic and social institutions in Britain as a whole provides the reader a lens with which to view the scene.
While I think the piece is comprehensive, I wonder how structural adjustments could change the narration. If the author began with the story of one of the victims instead of his introduction to the geography of the place, would the reader feel more connected from the beginning or more detached? There is a point in the narration where Shoumatoff lists in rapid succession a number of the suicide victims. While this approach increases the sense the reader gets about how suddenly these events began and how frequently they continued, does it also desensitize and depersonalize?
I think, overall, Shoumatoff distances himself well enough to write objectively and yet, still is able to connect to these people and relate personal inflections that humanize the story.
Sunday, April 19, 2009
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Week 3 Profile Response
What I most enjoyed about the pieces selected by Jackie, Joseph, and Elizabeth for this week was that they all told the story of individual people framed in a larger context. In particular "Rajas and Rollers" and "Notes from Rio," describe the current climate of particular cities in relation to specific individuals who represent one side of the story. In this way we get a look at how persons interact within a larger environment and through their words and actions we get a sense of how the greater society operates. All three pieces weave personal stories into a larger and more significant context well.
In "Rajas and Rollers," A.A. Gill establishes authority in his writing and also (through the writing) shows the reader that he is a foreigner in a place that is always a little foreign no matter how often he visits. The author does a good job of setting us in a scene (a Bombay traffic jam) and relating this struggle to contemporary class issues in India--cars become a synecdoche for the larger issues of capitalism and shifts in class structure. The portrait that Gill paints of Pranlal Bhogilal depicts him as a symbol of the old, imperial India--aloof, unconscious of his own extravagance, and intentionally naive of the changes in the world around him. Gill has eloquently weaves the story of one out-dated individual into the story of the progress and struggle of an emerging middle class. The boy selling the Vogue magazine--the symbolic pinnacle of Western material culture-- to middle class motorists in Bombay juxtaposed with Bhogilal--the owner of more cars than he could count--brings together three classes of people and shows how each stands in relation to the others: with upward mobility the thread connecting the three.
"Notes from Rio" works similarly, I think. We see a picture of a place through the lens of the people who live there and the way that those people interact with each other and with outsiders. This approach to reveals some of the many layers that all at once are at play in any given location. It also enables American readers to see how our influence effects other places and people. It is a slice through a people and place rather than an overhead view.
In all three articles, quotations from the interviewees are used effectively to expose the personal and emotional impact of larger events; humanization makes the pieces relatable. This approach to narrative journalism provides the reader with both a general and narrow scope of individuals within a larger society--which is essentially what we all are.
In "Rajas and Rollers," A.A. Gill establishes authority in his writing and also (through the writing) shows the reader that he is a foreigner in a place that is always a little foreign no matter how often he visits. The author does a good job of setting us in a scene (a Bombay traffic jam) and relating this struggle to contemporary class issues in India--cars become a synecdoche for the larger issues of capitalism and shifts in class structure. The portrait that Gill paints of Pranlal Bhogilal depicts him as a symbol of the old, imperial India--aloof, unconscious of his own extravagance, and intentionally naive of the changes in the world around him. Gill has eloquently weaves the story of one out-dated individual into the story of the progress and struggle of an emerging middle class. The boy selling the Vogue magazine--the symbolic pinnacle of Western material culture-- to middle class motorists in Bombay juxtaposed with Bhogilal--the owner of more cars than he could count--brings together three classes of people and shows how each stands in relation to the others: with upward mobility the thread connecting the three.
"Notes from Rio" works similarly, I think. We see a picture of a place through the lens of the people who live there and the way that those people interact with each other and with outsiders. This approach to reveals some of the many layers that all at once are at play in any given location. It also enables American readers to see how our influence effects other places and people. It is a slice through a people and place rather than an overhead view.
In all three articles, quotations from the interviewees are used effectively to expose the personal and emotional impact of larger events; humanization makes the pieces relatable. This approach to narrative journalism provides the reader with both a general and narrow scope of individuals within a larger society--which is essentially what we all are.
Monday, April 6, 2009
Personal Essay (so far untitled)
I first went on a date with a guy when I was 16. Although I had already come out to my friends and had thoroughly homosexualized my wardrobe, being openly gay at school, or in most public settings, was not something I was comfortable with.
His name was David and he was in my zoology class; we were partners for the fetal pig dissection lab. David exemplified every gay stereotype to perfection (or as I saw it, imperfection). I did the grunt work of the dissection, as David “certainly wasn’t going to touch that thing.” He had just had a manicure. We were writing our lab report, when David asked me if I wanted to hang out sometime, go to a movie or something.
“Yeah, sure . . . .sometime,” I hesitated in response. While I wasn’t sure what kind of homosexual I was or wanted to be, I knew what kind I didn’t want to be or be with.
At 16, like at 22, I maintained exacting standards concerning the kind of guys I presumed I was compatible with. It was a list of qualities, characteristics, and idiosyncrasies absurdly specific and idealistic. In my imagination the perfect candidate would be no less than two inches shorter than me, and no more than 4 inches taller. He would be slim but not more so than me. God forbid. Mr. perfect would be well versed in the cult classics of literature, film, and music; would share my love of Capote, Heathers, and The Smiths. At the same time that he would be intelligent and confidently well spoken, he would be elusive, irreverent, and walk with a mysterious air. He would possess mannerisms that were gentle and smooth but not feminine. This god among mortals would dress casually chic; have an effortless, sleek style. He would wear threadbare vintage t-shirts that hugged his torso and when with arms raised, reveal a glimpse of pale midriff. His kiss would sting sweetly, would paralyze my lips when it fell away. His scent would be so subtle but so alluring that its intoxication would make the girls wish he were theirs’. He would be strong, impenetrable to slurs and slander; he would be his own protector and mine.
David possessed none of these qualities. While he was in reality only an inch or two taller than me, the ridiculous shiny black leather boots he wore (a disqualifier in their own right) put him well above my height limit. He was painfully thin, and intentionally so. His preferred Nsync to Robert Smith, was ignorant of Winona Ryder’s oeuvre, and didn’t really read much. His etiquette and mannerisms made Emily Post look like Jabba the Hut. David only wore black and, I believe, used the same facial crème that my great aunt did and that Avon had produced the entire quantity of in 1974 and now continues to sell the remaining supply to elderly olive-skinned ladies and homosexuals who both seek its firming and lifting properties. David was not the kind of homosexual I was, nor the kind I wanted to be with.
I reluctantly gave David my phone number and secretly hoped he’d never call. It was not entirely out of pity that I wrote down my number. I did want to move what was up until that point, my strictly theoretical homosexuality into a practicing approach.
David called that Friday night when I was hanging out with my friends. I didn’t answer. I didn’t answer his call the next night either.
“What happened to you this weekend?” he asked me in class on Monday. I gave him a poorly fabricated excuse about my parents taking my phone away. When he asked me again on Friday if I was free that weekend, I concocted the excuse of being out of town visiting relatives. My series of lies and excuses continued for several more weeks until once David called and one of my friends answered the phone before I could silence the call. She handed the phone to me suddenly and I had no time for excuses; we would go to a movie the next night.
(this is as much as I have so far)
His name was David and he was in my zoology class; we were partners for the fetal pig dissection lab. David exemplified every gay stereotype to perfection (or as I saw it, imperfection). I did the grunt work of the dissection, as David “certainly wasn’t going to touch that thing.” He had just had a manicure. We were writing our lab report, when David asked me if I wanted to hang out sometime, go to a movie or something.
“Yeah, sure . . . .sometime,” I hesitated in response. While I wasn’t sure what kind of homosexual I was or wanted to be, I knew what kind I didn’t want to be or be with.
At 16, like at 22, I maintained exacting standards concerning the kind of guys I presumed I was compatible with. It was a list of qualities, characteristics, and idiosyncrasies absurdly specific and idealistic. In my imagination the perfect candidate would be no less than two inches shorter than me, and no more than 4 inches taller. He would be slim but not more so than me. God forbid. Mr. perfect would be well versed in the cult classics of literature, film, and music; would share my love of Capote, Heathers, and The Smiths. At the same time that he would be intelligent and confidently well spoken, he would be elusive, irreverent, and walk with a mysterious air. He would possess mannerisms that were gentle and smooth but not feminine. This god among mortals would dress casually chic; have an effortless, sleek style. He would wear threadbare vintage t-shirts that hugged his torso and when with arms raised, reveal a glimpse of pale midriff. His kiss would sting sweetly, would paralyze my lips when it fell away. His scent would be so subtle but so alluring that its intoxication would make the girls wish he were theirs’. He would be strong, impenetrable to slurs and slander; he would be his own protector and mine.
David possessed none of these qualities. While he was in reality only an inch or two taller than me, the ridiculous shiny black leather boots he wore (a disqualifier in their own right) put him well above my height limit. He was painfully thin, and intentionally so. His preferred Nsync to Robert Smith, was ignorant of Winona Ryder’s oeuvre, and didn’t really read much. His etiquette and mannerisms made Emily Post look like Jabba the Hut. David only wore black and, I believe, used the same facial crème that my great aunt did and that Avon had produced the entire quantity of in 1974 and now continues to sell the remaining supply to elderly olive-skinned ladies and homosexuals who both seek its firming and lifting properties. David was not the kind of homosexual I was, nor the kind I wanted to be with.
I reluctantly gave David my phone number and secretly hoped he’d never call. It was not entirely out of pity that I wrote down my number. I did want to move what was up until that point, my strictly theoretical homosexuality into a practicing approach.
David called that Friday night when I was hanging out with my friends. I didn’t answer. I didn’t answer his call the next night either.
“What happened to you this weekend?” he asked me in class on Monday. I gave him a poorly fabricated excuse about my parents taking my phone away. When he asked me again on Friday if I was free that weekend, I concocted the excuse of being out of town visiting relatives. My series of lies and excuses continued for several more weeks until once David called and one of my friends answered the phone before I could silence the call. She handed the phone to me suddenly and I had no time for excuses; we would go to a movie the next night.
(this is as much as I have so far)
The Personal Essay and the Writing Process
Pondering a topic to write about for the personal essay, I was immediately struck with (or by) an idea. Last Friday morning I was at my computer going through my morning routine of email, Facebook, and weather. I then went to the MSNBC website, feeling confident enough in my to-do list, social interactions, and the forecast for that day that I could handle whatever horrific events were occurring in the world concurrently. The main blurb at the top of the page was something predictably disheartening about the economy and I quickly scrolled down. When I came across the text-only lede I had to read it three times before I could comprehend what it said. The supreme court of the state of Iowa had ruled unanimously to overturn the state's restriction of marriage one man and one woman; finding that the law was in violation of the state's constitution that guarantees equal rights to all classes of citizens.
I then went to the Des Moines Register homepage where the news was confirmed and with much more attention. I remembered the brief attention the lawsuit filed to the state supreme court had garnered when it was filed some months ago. I also remembered thinking at the time that it would be another lifetime before anything became of it. I was utterly amazed and somewhat incredulous. I remembered past feelings of frustration over the ignorance and prejudice of others and feeling so bewildered that anyone could even think that there still needed to be a debate over the issue: that justice and equality were still rights that could be reserved and denied.
What I want to share in my essay is that as a gay man and as an Iowan, I have myself had prejudiced ideas about the gay and lesbian community and that I can understand how people can make judgments based not on reason but on their own personal beliefs (and often, their own ignorance). I want to get at the importance of everyone voicing their opinion and being comfortable with themselves to demonstrate the diversity within groups that are still seen as uniform and homogeneous. If we are to continue to make progress and to gain equal rights for everyone then we cannot be afraid to make share our commonalities with people from other groups. We can no longer (and this goes for the gay community as well) make distinctions between "us and them."
I then went to the Des Moines Register homepage where the news was confirmed and with much more attention. I remembered the brief attention the lawsuit filed to the state supreme court had garnered when it was filed some months ago. I also remembered thinking at the time that it would be another lifetime before anything became of it. I was utterly amazed and somewhat incredulous. I remembered past feelings of frustration over the ignorance and prejudice of others and feeling so bewildered that anyone could even think that there still needed to be a debate over the issue: that justice and equality were still rights that could be reserved and denied.
What I want to share in my essay is that as a gay man and as an Iowan, I have myself had prejudiced ideas about the gay and lesbian community and that I can understand how people can make judgments based not on reason but on their own personal beliefs (and often, their own ignorance). I want to get at the importance of everyone voicing their opinion and being comfortable with themselves to demonstrate the diversity within groups that are still seen as uniform and homogeneous. If we are to continue to make progress and to gain equal rights for everyone then we cannot be afraid to make share our commonalities with people from other groups. We can no longer (and this goes for the gay community as well) make distinctions between "us and them."
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