Thesis Proposal

Thesis Proposal for Essay Four: Persuasive Research Paper

I. General Research Topic: A satirical commentary on the climate crisis.

II. Thesis Statement and/or Proposal: The frontal lobotomy, an truly underrated procedure, is very well the answer to silencing the outrageous claims by scientists and politician that there exists truth in urban legend of "global warming".

III. What reasons and evidence support your position on this issue? No one has proved it. The Earth is just changing - who can say that it wasn't like this two thousand years ago?

IV. Imagine all the counter arguments your audience might make. Summarize the main arguments against your position. What are the flaws in the alternative points of view?

What about scientific research? What about tracking and correlating CO2 emissions to rising temperatures?

Law Times Ethics, Over the Sum of Common Good

All men are supposedly created equally, but what about other living organisms? Plants and animals of all shapes and sizes? Do they rank at the same level of human importance? Are the stimuli that are effected by human intervention in said plants and animals worth a cost? And for that matter, what is the cost, the object in peril, that equivocates human life? Have we, or at least a small percentage of the U.S. population reached so far into our souls for a steadfast compassion that they have lost sight of the common good?

During today's discussion it became very apparent that the issue of animal rights posed quite the challenge for our class. Deeply rooted in this matter is the subject of decency. It is my belief that with a constant consideration for the whole, a broad view of status, and the observation of actions and reactions, "the line" as we discussed, can be found.

In regards to my personal beliefs on the issue, I will state outright that I am neither for or against issues such as animal testing, and as a carnivore, I am unwilling to contest my case, except only on the bounds of the meat industry in today's business world.

The Laramie Project

The Laramie Project. This play by Moises Kaufman and the members of the Tectonic Theatre Project is based on the brutal beating of Matthew Shepard, a gay college student, that took place October 1998. The crime was motivated by hate. HATE.

I had the absolute privilege to be both part of the acting ensemble as well as the scenic designer in this recent U. Theatre production. I find it difficult to talk about this experience, sitting back trying to fill in the blanks in my mind about what the show meant to me, the magnitude of its ideas and meanings on my life and the knowledge that undoubtedly, we made people think. They might not necessarily think differently about the issues, but we made them think about them. We presented a story of hate, injustice, intolerance, but above all, hope. HOPE. We made them think about that. Hope, that the world might change some day, hope that the world is indeed changing for the better.

I would love to chat about how much I care for each and every member of the ensemble, but that's not why I'm here typing. Well, as a matter of fact, why the hell not? These people, some of whom I was already good friends with, have become family. When you spend any where from 2-4 hours a day with the same group of people for about a month and a half they begin to grow on you, and you on them. They become part of your lives, and I've previously mentioned in my essay, A Kind of Magic, this type of experience, this bonding, love and friendship, is all part of the magic of theatre. And in regards to that essay, I still asked Mr. Kelly if he would join me before every performance. And he was there. And he loved it.

Elliott Graber's Message

Throughout my childhood and as a matter of fact, my entire life to this very day, I have always been reminded to be ever-conscientious of other’s feelings as to never insult anyone for something that they cannot personally help or change. Having lived in different areas where significant populations of minorities were actually quite prominent, I had experience from a young age in being, what I was to later learn, politically correct. This term of ‘politically correct’ was something that due to it being instilled in me throughout my upbringing was, and still is, a rather intrinsic value to my personality and way of thinking. Not to judge by the color of someone’s skin, or to mock others for physical or mental defects went beyond the measures of kind tact, but to the power of words since I first started to speak.

“They’re called African Americans, Randy” Ms. Nelson told me in the third grade. This was in response to me mispronouncing the word, African, and with all the spite and piss and vinegar that woman ran on, oh yeah, I’m really sure it mattered to her. It was always so puzzling to me as a child that so many people had different title. There were Asian Americans, African Americans and Native Americans that I can remember going to school with. My first thoughts, even at a young age were wondering why some of my friends were put in special categories when they were just like me. We went to the same school, drank the same water, breathed the same air and yet because of the color of their skin and because their ancestors came from a different place than mine, they automatically had to be separated from me. Not physically, mind you but there was a line drawn, even at a young age that placed a buffer between the kids in my classrooms. All the while being taught there was no difference, the power of words drove a spade between us. In an attempt to unify and respect, a game of “us and them” was created.

The blunt misuse of language and the clear prejudices that exist in today’s society will at times enrage me as they do for many. I have seen a variety of people from different walks of life speak in many ways that are not “politically correct”, but where do I draw the line? Where do we as a society draw the line? I realize that I tend to focus on the issue of race because that is the most prominent issue in regards to political correctness from my viewpoint. However, it is necessary to examine the roots of these deep-seated feelings. What really drives us as a society to be so damn stupid at times as to think that we can make a permanent boundary between right and wrong? I mean, I’ve seen some real humdingers in my seemingly short life thus far, but let’s all take a breath and calm the fuck down for a moment before I start my rant. That’s right, calm it down, you’re flying off the goddamn handle. And you’re a racist. And you’re a bigot. You are the majority of Americans. Oh wait, are you? Am I for that matter?

The fact that our very thoughts exist and persist through time even with the conditioning of open-minded considerations in public situations, remain the trigger of our fear. When we have studied or experienced something in anyway, there is a comfort that is sought. That comfort allows as individuals to them further judgments based off of previous experiences. But what if our thoughts mislead us into thoughts of prejudice because the only things we know are stereotypes? Is this the source of our fear of others that are different? What we don’t know scares us. As a safeguard to prevent feelings of uneasiness, we place an invisible fence around topics of great sensitivity. Instead of digging into the issue and learning more, we place more and more boundaries in our way for our “own good”. These boundaries are constantly being built to shut out interaction that lends to understanding, and why? Again, because we fear what we don’t know. The fact is that all of us possess these intrinsic prejudice dispositions, but how we act and communicate defines our personality and our effect on our surrounding environment and our little chunk of the world.

My early social interactions, as I previously mentioned, involved many people, mostly classmates and such that were of a different race. There’s a certain fragile innocence to a child’s mind that must be nurtured and taught well at that young and accepting stage to ensure that the personality of that child will grow into one that manifests respect for their respect for others. To be boastful of my parents is an understatement. I do not have one memory that was not in support of open-mindedness and respect for others. Treat others the way you want to be treated. The Golden Fucking Rule. Decent, but not that great. This respect boils down to words and actions. How do we as a society communicate with one another? Through the use of the English language. This powerful instrument has been around and has evolved in its use and continues to do so to this day. The immense power that is exhibited by the relatively small portion of words in our language, or in one’s vocabulary, can convey more than a thousand words and the close-minded feelings of many more. These words of hate, prejudice, injustice, intolerance, and bigotry plague, I mean absolutely plague our society. So is that why we use the term ‘politically correct’ to stamp out, a more less blanket effect over any word or term that might have a slight, tiny, incy wincy chance of offending anyone of any sort of minority or race or gender? Is that why there is so much strife amongst our classes?

Now, are we to define and restrict this term that is supposed to protect others from scrutiny to just race? How about gender? How about handicap? Don’t we need some common thread to say, “Hey, since these words hurt others, just use a different word to replace that one to make others magically think that you’re really not thinking the bad word in the first place” Shouldn’t that be common sense or perhaps even human decency rather than ‘political correctness’? That, my friend, is a fuck. We use words to communicate. If a word offends someone, don’t use it. Go to the root of things, search for the common sense, the decency, the tact to place yourself in the shoes of others everyday with every word and every action. Don’t even think the goddamn word because when you do, oh whoa, you’re now just as bad as the other guy. You’re now the prick standing in the grocery check out aisle going, “Hey, what the fuck is this, you call these bagels you little Jew, this is bullshit! Well, fuck you, asshole!” And then people are watching this thinking, “Well, SOMEONE forgot their meds today.”

So what good is a word that only replaces one that is intended to hurt? If there exists anything in my soul that I absolutely hate, it is the string of terrible terms of racism, prejudice and bigotry. Why the hell don’t we just get rid of those words? Then we find the common argument that ‘If blacks can call themselves niggers, if gays can call themselves fags, then why can’t I?’ I’m a straight man with Scandinavian roots, so boy oh boy, I’m really fucked out of that deal! I can’t call myself anything but whitey. Well, shit. So what do I say that can be culturally acceptable to my friends? “Say there my fair skinned friend, how’s about you and me go out back and drink us some koskov, mo-fucka?” No, I can’t say shit like that. I am by all means the mass-consumer-white-man. Go ahead and mock me and my ‘group’ for that and see if that makes you feel more comfortable about your place in the world, relating to everyone else. But that insult is limited to mild banter over vernacular. Enough of that bullshit. Seriously, there exists an undefined line of what is and what is not politically correct. The deeper root problem that I’m getting at is the location of the eminent ‘line’. Where and when do we cross it? I don’t have a goddamn clue. I like to think that I have a great sense of tact and respect for others, but well, actually, I think I do now know where the line is. It is undefined by normal standards. There is no billboard on the side of the interstate saying, “You are about to cross the line of tact, and the almighty politically correct”. Nope. Nada. You my friend, if you have not experienced either a life of respectful treatment of others, or are not from a diverse background, or perhaps even both, are fucked. Best of luck.

Strongly-Spoken Satirist

Swift's essay, "A Modest Proposal", was a strong statement of the social injustices of the destitute Irish Catholics of the time and the treatment of them by English high brows. I happen to love satire and I was also familiar with this piece from a brief reading we did, I think, in high school. I could be mistaken. The point being, I was familiar with it and I appreciated the voice he gives his essay even more now that I've read many other works since then and have learned a great deal about society and its classes, injustices and the system as a whole. When reading this, I can really hear his voice speaking. It's not just words on a page, it's a man telling the people of his time, and now, us, to wake up and to realize how we treat people less fortunate than the majority. With our audience today, I think this essay is easily applicable to our standards. Let's look at the way we treat our poor sometimes. Pretty rotten. That's not to say that there isn't a good amount of people and organizations out there to improve the lives of many, it's just that is the relatively small percentage of the population that scoffs the lower-class. But every once in a while there is hope and that hope may manifest in a variety of forms. With today's changing social norms and crises of all sorts we have voices of reason and warning, and in the case of Kurt Vonnegut, one of my favorite satirists, strong views conveyed by biting satire. In this case, it manifested in Swift. Too bad they were all too stubborn to listen to him. He was rather clever.

Divorce, bankruptcy, suicide? You're fuckin' losers!

Little Miss Sunshine, a story of a little girl drawing a family back together and rediscovering what truly matters in life, is a film that easily could have easily taken a wicked turn for the worse, but instead presents one of the best films of 2006. It also presents a story that is applicable to most any theme you can possibly imagine.

So many themes are explored in this brilliantly simple film – intolerance, drug abuse, compassion, love, life, and death to name a few. The film takes us aboard the yellow VW bus across the southwest and into the character’s lives with their direct interactions, but also with the family’s experience as a whole.

Let’s take a moment and explore the characters. We have a man whose own self-inflated ego has taken driven his family into bankruptcy, a mom who is divorced, a heroin-addict grandfather, an anti-social son, and a suicidal homosexual uncle. And in the middle of those flaws is the beautiful Olive, played by the talented Abigail Breslin.

From the first few frames, we witness a man struggling to give an intended motivational speech, a young man striving to become physically fit, an old man doing drugs, a sister picking up her brother from the hospital, and a little girl idolizing beauty pageants. Talk about malcontent. And the only thing to save this family from the depths of their own sorrow, the Little Miss Sunshine contest on the coast.

Who Shot Johnny?

Debra Dickerson expresses her anger that has came from her sixteen year old nephew being shot and paralyzed in her essay, Who Shot Johnny?

There is a clear sense of hostility towards the way her nephew is now forced to live. From the pain that he is forced to deal with everyday such as catheterizing himself to being limited to playing board and card games, to the pain felt by the family struggling to figure out how to afford accessible housing. Her voice is spiteful and in anguish.

Her language, the last line in particular truly speaks her feelings. "Fuck you, asshole. he's fine from the waist up. You just can't do anything right, can you?" Wow. To begin with, that speaks volumes that she would say something like that in essay form, and on top of that, her conclusion.

Dickerson expresses her hatred toward "the brother", meaning African American man, that shot Johnny. The same man that turned her nice neighborhood into a ghetto, turned peace into crime, and innocent young women into unwanted mothers. This pattern from good to bad, pure to corruption, carries through her writing.

Hallmark Commercial

In the most recent Hallmark commercial they push a new product that can not only impress your honey with a nice, touchy feely card, but it now sings to your loved one. The commercial opens to an African American man and woman looking at each other from across the office, waiting for the other’s reaction. When the card is opened ‘Wild Thing’ starts playing, and at that very moment more and more people stand above their cubicles to see what the ruckus is all about. The refreshing thing was that the producer of the commercial didn’t find it necessary to match the genre of music to common misconceptions tied to minorities when it comes to music. Also, it was fairly odd timing because the commercial before was cast with almost all Caucasians and the premise was a perfect world. I have no doubt that wasn’t their intention and I’m also sure that if you look closely, you can see people of another race in the commercial, it’s just that it didn’t stand out.

Under the Influence of Memories Past

I can relate to Sanders' essay in that I can look back to the part of my childhood that I don't like to think about. My childhood was by no means lacking in love from my family, however lacking monetarily we were. At the age of four we had a tightly-knit family with me being the only child. Then, rather suddenly, my life as well as my mother's life, took a dramatic change with the passing of my father. It was unexpected and left us with a lifelong appreciation of life. Further down the road the years passed and my mother remarried. He seemed like a nice man and right now I have no doubt that I am revealing him in a dark and dreary light, though I am reluctant to remember his more pleasant attributes as a person.

When I was about twelve years old my mother and I noticed a change in his general disposition and his involvement with family activities was reflective of that. It wasn't before long that he would start to unload his burdens from the workday at home which did not make for pleasant dinner conversation to say the least. As Sanders' father did, I saw my step-father follow a similar downward spiral in his stress effecting his mental health.

A Kind of Magic

A Kind of Magic

By the end of my senior year at Aberdeen Central High, I was not only involved in some technical aspect, but I had acted in every possibly show that had occurred my three years of being there. From two big-name musicals to forgotten straight plays, all the way to terrible one-acts, I had done them all. Now when I mention ‘all’ I should probably stipulate that this was a minor taste of theatre with a grand total of eight shows going into the spring of 2004. The capstone of my work onstage came in the form of the comedy by Mary Chase, Harvey. The story about a delightful man (Elwood) whose best friend was a six and a half foot rabbit named Harvey. My audition came and went as most of them did with me burbling out enough words for me to get a role, however this time I surpassed my own expectations and got the lead role of Elwood P. Dowd. I was honored that the last time I would be taking to the Stage, my second home for the two preceding years, in such a role. The cast was set at eight players and with the size of the school and those involved in theatre, we all knew each other going into rehearsals which I foresaw giving me the same feeling as removing a band-aid with a good firm tug, stings each time, but the pain subsides. However, I was very surprised of what came to be. There was a bittersweet quality that made them feel like family. Whether it be the small cast size or the warm-hearted nature of the play, I don’t know but we remarkably gathered our talents, set aside personal vendettas and worked together to make something wonderful. Given, nothing came easy and it took many hours of hard work though we had the companionship and laughter with others to give us the support we needed.

Going into this production, Aberdeen had recently lost one its treasured members, Mr. Tom Kelly. He was an educator of theatre, speech and English for thirty years. He was the man who introduced me to the notion that there was a ‘magic’ in theatre. That winter we were having trouble with our one-act play so I turned for personal advice for my performance. I asked the man what I could do to make it a better performance and to do my best. He turned to me with a knowing grin and then gave me very valuable advice that ended up earning me an award at the state contest. “Randy, you have to make it big.” However insignificant that may have sounded to anyone else was of no consequence to me because I understood him. It wasn’t intended to be taken literally but something that had a deeper meaning, something that still lives with me today. What he was telling me was that as an actor, you have to truly ‘be’ that something, that state, quality, whatever you are trying to do, and you must fully encapsulate it. Then and only then will you ‘be’ it. Opening night came upon us without a hitch and it was before I knew it that I looked up to the heavens of the stage and asked, “Well Mr. Kelly, shall we make it big?” To this day, right before my first entrance, I ask him if we would like to join me on stage and ‘make it big’.

That was my first experience in the theatre where I felt like I was part of an ensemble. For once we weren’t competing, but being equally valued members of a team, and for those six weeks we were more than a team, we were family. Of course, years later I would find that the deeply-rooted theatrical connection necessary for a successful ensemble wasn’t even there, but that’s beside the point. What mattered was the warmth of the play and how it affected everyone like no other way that life presents. That is the magic of theatre. I realized that was what Mr. Kelly was talking about all along. That spirit of camaraderie and imagination that buzzes in the air during a good rehearsal to the pre-show jitters. The man’s words echoed in my mind as I realized their significance.

As I thought more and more about it, I realized one of the greatest parts of theatre is the relationships you form. It brings people from different walks of life together to unify their efforts on one common project with one vision. The beauty of collaboration is something I wouldn’t really learn about for a few years as my director didn’t collaborate the best with designers, or the actors at times for that matter. There is a very serious side to theatre, and very fun side to theatre. The great news is that if done professionally they can go hand in hand. Inside jokes have made my world go round for years and this show was no exception to the rule. For example, this buddy of mine, Dirk, was also in the show and played the naysayer orderly by the name of Wilson. To put it bluntly, it was his job to throw people around and given that Dirk was a football player, the role was perfect for him. He had been one of my good friends since the third grade so we went way back. Unlike any other of my theatre comrades, Dirk was the only one whom I had done a variety of sports with. I think it was that appreciation and eclecticism that we shared that wound a bond that lasts to this day. We had this joke about ‘Naked Tuesdays”. We, as in the guys in the cast, would do this ‘zipper dance’. I can’t remember where we got it from, but when all of the sudden four guys starting walking around playing with their zippers at a fast rate, it’s bound to get some laughs. There was one time, on a Naked Tuesday, when we were hanging out backstage where there was big box of winter clothes that were being discarded from the costume shop. So as we dug through the box that reeked of mothballs Dirk slowly tried different coats and hats on, then removing the previous hat for a new and even more absurd one. When we were done, he emerged with his favorite combo of a red flannel hat with a down parka, no doubt both items were at least thirty years old, and the sheer absurdity of his image was priceless. The only thing we could think of to make it even better was to have him go onstage with it. Little did we know he was going to one-up us all. We never for the life of us thought for one second that Dirk was going to do it, but then the unimaginable happened, he went onstage with no pants, sporting a goofy winter hat and coat. At that moment in time I feel to knees laughing so hard, I may or may not have soiled myself. The man’s completely nonchalant, perfectly deadpan delivery of his lines the moment he hit the stage was hysterical.

Now, betwixt the moments of hyperactivity of rushing to get a set piece painted in time for rehearsal or cramming lines, there were calmer moments when whoever was backstage with me would just hang out, chit chat and relax. As we sat backstage during rehearsals for Harvey talking about our plans we had no idea of where we would actually be four years from now. We sat back there and shared that common threat that the world might just get the best of us and all we could do was to try our best to make the most of it. But in the comfort of sour Stage we knew that we would get through it. I looked down for a moment at the chipped and paint-splotched Stage and I saw the beauty of the oak and I could imagine its shine thirty years before, glowing under the lights. I imagined how many people have tread its boards and their experiences. I think of the memory of the Stage, being witness and mother to years and years of friendship, theatre and magic.

Your Birthdate: November 10

How ridiculous are these things? Independent and dominant, you tend to be the alpha dog in most situations. You're very confident, and hardly anything ever shakes you. Mundane tasks tend to drain you - you prefer to be making great plans. You are quite original. When people don't "get" you, it bothers you a lot. Your strength: Your ability to gain respect Your weakness: Caring too much what others think Your power color: Orange-red Your power symbol: Letter X Your power month: October

What Does Your Birth Date Mean?

A Meaningless Home

In Joan Didion’s On Going Home the author reveals the troublesome distinction between her home in Los Angeles with her husband and their baby live, and the sense of her real home, where her family lives in Central Valley California. The polar differences between her husband (symbolizing her new life) and her nuclear family (old life) create a strong conflict in her life. Salt is rubbed in the wound when she realizes that the more she is around her old family, the more she acts like them, the way her husband dislikes. ‘Home is where the heart is’. That is a common phrase used yet presents a paradox for Joan. Everything that she once knew in her old hometown has changed. Nothing is as she had left it, physically, and in her mind. Degradation had happened and she was at a loss. Although her meanings were implicitly stated in the text, the reader can feel her sense of meaninglessness with the loss of home, family, and ID all through the use of her images. Take for example the passage about the broken monuments. Something that is representing someone once living and it is there to symbolize their life and “the monuments are broken, overturned in the dry grass”.

"Because you told me to, Drill Sergeant"

If anyone else happens to bump along this blog and wonder where exactly I'm getting my source material, I'll tell you. The essays are from the Norton's Reader, Eleventh Edition. To go one step further, if you are wondering why I'm writing mostly about essays instead of my personal life, it's because I started this for my ENGL 201 course. Well contented.

In The Kitchen

Gates connects with his audience with his conversational tone throughout this slice of nostalgia, reaching back to the days of Nat King Cole and Sammy Davis Jr. This memoir is based on a thread of not only his personal past but his race’s history, ‘the very kinky bit of hair at the back of your heard, where your neck meets your shirt collar’, the kitchen. The kitchen to him wasn’t just a hairstyle or a daily hassle. It was his history, a trademark for his people, a sign of dissimilation from white culture. He states that the kitchen ‘was permanent, irredeemable, irresistible, kink'.
This memoir hits the reader with dose of nostalgia as well as a taste of his upbringing with mentions of the old fashioned ways that they were accustomed to such as a gas stove, Colgate toothpaste, and Walter Cronkite. Add baseball and Coca-Cola, you’ve got an All-American lineup. These were elements of the kitchen, but of the strongest of memories, is the hot comb, that was used to straighten hair. It was placed in the gas stove to heat up until it was red hot. He can remember how soothing that smell was to him because it meant his mother was in the kitchen doing her hair or somebody else’s. That was home for him. The smell of the grease being fried by the hot comb was indicative of the kind of day he was going to have. It was therapeutic in nature because the hair would change from the kink of hair into something truly wonderful.
While I cannot connect with Gates’ ethnic background, I can however relate to the value he places on home and the history of it. We each have our own little nuggets of nostalgia that point a magic compass at our soft spots. It’s a beautiful thing that makes us human.

Viciously Deadpan

In the second season of NBC’s Emmy award-winning sitcom, The Office, starring Steve Carell, the efforts of the writing team focus on sexual harassment and the blind eye that is given to it by corporate business. The show’s satire focuses on the dominant male chauvinistic role of Michael Scott (Carell), Regional Manager of Dunder Mifflin Paper Company whose constant ego-driven tendencies in the workplace spring him into the most awkward of situations with his employees as well as higher-ups. He represents male dominance in the common day work place while poking fun at the abilities of the under-privileged being suffocated by the incompetent social elitists. Today’s audience, and U.S. culture as a whole, is very familiar with the plight mediocre worker, trying to make it through day by day and this show gives the audience an escape from reality and the opportunity to see karma make its way, however slow and indiscreet, to those who have it coming.

In this particular episode one of Michael’s old buddies, Todd Packer, the epitome of a male chauvinism, makes an appearance in the office to tell Michael about a raunchy story of why the CFO resigned. Todd not only tells Michael, but decides to tell the story loud and clear in front of all the employees, both mean and women. This prompts the head of Human Relations, Toby (a voice of reason), to tell Michael that due to recent events corporate headquarters is doing a mandatory refresher course on the company’s sexual harassment policy. Toby represents your mediocre, middle-aged, level-headed employee that is constantly brought down by Michael, who flies off the handle when he hears this news that he can no longer forward these idiotic emails. The absurd exaggerated fashion in which Michael acts in front everyone is laughable to say the least. And what could make the boss of an entire office so upset about a lawyer coming in to talk about sexual harassment? Email forwards: “the multimedia (sic) of our generation”. These almost always perverted, very inappropriate emails are forwarded to everyone in the office by him and that is his way of creating a ‘friendly atmosphere’. He not only doesn’t create a friendly atmosphere, he makes most of his employees feel uncomfortable, the exact opposite of his goal. It should also be noted that Michael uses most of his time at work forwarding said emails instead of doing vital work to prevent his branch of the from downsizing. This clear obliviousness to what is really important is at the heart of this comedy. Today's audience can relate the office workers of Dunder Mifflin whether it be because they have worked from someone like that or they know someone like that, maybe they even are that person and that's why they enjoy the show so much. Most people in today’s society have to sit back and laugh at such absurdity. Such is life.