Wednesday, September 24, 2008

"No Name Woman Critique" by Matt Duncan

I found the story, "No Name Woman" to be a very intriguing story. Although, the telling of the mother's story had me confused at first; I am not quite sure why, but I thought that the mother's story was being told from Kingston's perspective. After realizing that it was Kingston's mother telling the story, the story made a lot more sense. My interpretation of the story is that Kingston's mother was brought up in a time filled with Chinese traditions, many of which are looked upon as criminal acts today. I was a little appalled by the fact in this Chinese village, the villagers somehow believe that breaking and entering, murder, and overall just being intolerant is somehow better than adultery. Adultery, in this day and age, happens everyday and this is not a good enough reason to drown an infant and it's mother in a well. From the text we are unable to tell whether or not the story about Kingston's "Aunt" was indeed factual, or if it was just another scare tactic to keep young girls from having pre-marital sex. However, it is erroneous whether or not the story is true because the message that Kingston's mother wanted to get across to her was received and she definitely did not end up like the No Name Woman. I feel like I grasped the concepts of the story, however, after finishing reading I had to go back once or twice just to really comprehend what had happened.

No Name Woman Critique by Dora Barnhill

No Name Woman by Maxine Hong Kingston was a very interesting book and can be interpreted in many different ways. My interpretation was that her mother was just telling her a false story about a Aunt that was fictional to teach her daughter about the ways of the Chinese people and what is right and wrong. I feel like that from the story that she made up what she thought had happened to her "Aunt" and why her aunt did what she did.
This story was difficult to understand for me and I felt that if it was told in a more factual way it would have been more effective. At the end of the story I was left feeling a bit confused and I wasn't sure what had actually happened. 

Tuesday, September 23, 2008

Essay Critique" No Name Woman" by Peggie Mcneil

I found the story, of her aunt, and the Chinese traditions she mentioned, intriguing. She presented the story with very explicit detailing, making it easy to visualize. You could see everything that was going on as she told it. I'm not really sure if those things happen to her aunt, or even if she had an aunt, and I somehow get the feeling that she even questions the validity of the story. She pointed out many holes in the story that could have made the story a fallacy. Such as, " growing up stories" , it kinda seems like the story was told to her because she was turning into a young woman, and her mom didn't want her to get pregnant because that would bring disgrace on the family. She also stated that the aunt's name was never mentioned, and that , if the aunt was married, why wasn't she living with her husband's family?. It disturbed her to believe that they held adultery in such strong regard, and approved ,to some degree of incest. The traditions seemed hypocritical. How could adultery be considered worse than killing her off ,forever? It appeared to her that the traditions were even more severe than the adulterous act. Further more, the story could never be confirmed , because she could not get any other information on it. She was told never to speak of it. But if the story is true, to give her aunt some dignity, she imagined how and why this might have happened. This was her way of speaking for her aunt who were not allowed to present her side of the story ,due to the way Chinese women of that era were treated. So, if the story is actually true , she put it out in the open for her. She broke the silence, and spoke for her aunt.

Peggie McNeil

Wednesday, September 17, 2008

Essay Critique "Talking Back" by Matt Duncan

After reading the essay "Talking Back", by bell hooks I realized how in a country where everyone is allowed to speak freely and write whatever comes to mind, we as Americans take speaking for granted. Growing up in the 50s, 60s, and 70s bell hooks was mistreated and discriminated against for not only being a woman, but for being a black woman who was trying to grow and prosper in a time of racial charged discrimination. Hooks states thats, "To speak then when one was not spoken to was a courageous act--an act of risk and daring." I can not even fathom growing up in a time where speaking when you weren't spoken do was so looked down upon. As many times as I got into trouble growing up just for talking back to my parents or for interrupting someone at the dinner table. I know that I will never be able to fully comprehend what bell hooks went through, because I am not black and I am not a woman. However, I do realize how I use my ability to speak freely and write whats on my mind without having to worry about what anyone may think about my work; because of pioneers like bell hooks, I too can "Talk Back."

Matt Duncan

Talking Back Critique by Dora Barnhill

The fear of saying what one wants to say is one tragedy, but my fear is that my words will not be respected as much as a mans. I feel Gloria Watkins pain but in a different way, she feared getting physical and emotional punishment but my fear is that my spoken words will be unnoticed like the sound of a child being beaten for speaking out but no one had the courage to say it was wrong. Although I am lucky enough to live in a country were I have rights to be whoever I want to be and the freedom to do what I want to do,the silence that women had to maintain in years before I was born, is still in a sense, on living.

Essay Critique by Spencer Lynch

I can understand where a woman with her background and culture is coming from. She wanted to use her voice for a purpose, and she wanted to be heard. Although, this seemed as though it would never happen. I also can relate to the fact that she said the silence is more torturing than the punishment of speech itself. I would rather be heard with punishment than not allowed to speek at all.
On the opposing side I know that this America is one of the few countries in the world that actually allows women rights. The right to a career, the right to speak out (whether people listen or not), and the right to make individual independent desicions etc. So although Watkins may not have had it exactly the way she wanted it, her rights were still present, and she was permitted to speek freely whether anyone agreed or not.

Monday, September 15, 2008

Essay Critique" Talking Back" by Peggie Mcneil

I can feel her. She speaks with conviction. Eloquently and powerfully,She presented the facts, and nothing but the facts. No fluff, no melodrama, just plain truth the way she saw it, and to me the way it was ,and still is within society . I can relate to her plight, because I too lived that life up until I decided enough already. My mom wielded words like King Arthur wielded Excalibur, and you had better not "talk back". There was not to be any back talking in that house, because if you did ,be prepared to get knocked out. I remember writing my thoughts on any surface, even the bathroom wall. Not mine, of course. I think I cussed my mom out a least a thousand times to myself. Although I had a voice, it was slowly drying up, like a raisin in the sun.



Not only could you not talk back to your parents, you could not talk back to any adults without suffering the same consequences.One day I threw all caution to the wind, and talked back to my aunt, my mom's oldest sister, the big cheese. I had not gone to school that day, and she asked me why I didn't go to school . I replied by saying"why are you worrying about it?. You aren't my mom". Big trouble, she charged at me like she was a big ole bull, and I was wearing all red. She was all over me, like a cheap suit. I learned to speak without words after that experience.



I have a sister that is about seven years younger than I. She and my mom butted heads almost from day one , so it seems. My mom was always riding her, and I grew tried of it. I would champion her cause without saying a word. One day my sister got into trouble with my mom, and she was going to get a beating. My mom started beating her with a switch, and I heard her crying and screaming. My blood boiled, and I again threw all caution to the wind. I went into the room and just looked at my mom. She stopped beating my sister, and I went over to my sister and took her from the room. I was no longer afraid.



As a parent, I never raised my voice. I was cool, calm, and wielded a look that could stop you in your tracks, and worked it. Yes, my mom ruled the roost, strutting around like the queen bee herself, but I too ruled my roost, without saying an angry word.



The power of speech can be a powerful tool in your arsenal, and I respect that fact, but you can sometimes speak with saying a word, and I respect that too.

Wednesday, September 10, 2008

"Learning to Read and Write" by Fredrick Douglas

How did think of all these ways? Thought he was suppose to be just a dumb ole slave.

Question

If Douglass had not had the opportunity would he not in a sense be just like the "Workers" in Richards story? Dora B.

Learning to Read and Write

Why is learning to read and write viewed as burden, rather than a blessing as Frederick Douglas becomes more knowledgeable?

-Matt Duncan

Monday, September 8, 2008

"Learning to Read and Write" by Fredrick Douglas

Rhetorical Modes used:

1. Personal Narrative:Told a story

2. Process Analysis: Told of the methods he used

3. Comparison and Contrast: Compared his knowledge of knowing how to read to the slaves who did not know how to read, and the way he felt about knowing how to read to him not knowing how to read.

4. Cause and Effect: Because he used certain methods, he learned to read and write.

Peggie McNeil

Spencer Lynch's Critique of "Workers" by Richard Rodriguez

I believe this story is a very good eye opener, especially to those who have never had to labor "hard" to survive in this world. Richard Rodriguez does an excellent job of describing what the true experience of working on a construction crew consists of. Using descripitive language of the heat, dust, bugs, and the speed of the labor that the boss puts on an individual. This descriptiption that he inserts into his writing can make one relate to the strenuous long day that a person can expect as a laborer. Also his descpriction of the Mexican aliens that are always quiet and segregated with their "dark sweating faces" really demonstrates how diverse the work force can be.

The quote "I would not become like them. They were different from me." to me is a very motivational quote. This is something I told myself sometime ago when I was a member of a carpentry crew. I found myself very simulated when I read this story because I have been in Richard's position before. As for an example, listening to men who had worked and labored much longer than I trying to suggest a certain way to do chores. Or the continuous heat that seems to always be beating on your shoulders. Being in Richard Rodriguez's shoes can truely make you appreciate the value of a dollar bill.

Sunday, September 7, 2008

Critique of Workers by Matt Duncan

I just finished reading Workers by Richard Rodriguez, his description of the work environment and manual labor in general really hits the nail on the head. "My arms, tightened by sleep, would gradually loosen; after only several minutes, sweat would gather in beads on my forehead and then--a short while later--I would feel my chest silky with sweat in the breeze." The description that Rodriguez uses in this quote makes me feel like I am working right beside him drenched in sweat, with my arms about to give out. Also, the way that Rodriguez describes the social segregation in the work environment is so sadly true that I can close my eyes and see the Hispanic workers sitting, talking quietly amongst themselves. This just goes to show the simplistic views our society has of the manual labor force, and how quickly we can be to Americanize foreigners.

Since my dad owns his own construction company I have had to do manual labor the past three summers and the way that Rodriguez describes the work scene, I get mental images of work sites that I have been a part of. I feel ties to the author because when I first set foot on a job site I had no idea what to expect and I didn't know a lot about tools or manual labor, but I acted like I did to fit in with the other workers. The quote, "After that summer, a great deal--and not very much really--changed in my life" happens right after Rodriguez decides that he does not want to end up like the other workers, that manual labor wasn't for him. After being a manual laborer those lines hit home for me because I quit working with my dad in order to go back to school and do something about my life; I did not want to become a manual laborer the rest of my life and like Rodriguez and I well on my way to changing that.

Friday, September 5, 2008

"Workers" critique by Dora Barnhil

"The curse of shame was broken by the sun; I was no longer ashamed of my body." This quote out of the story Workers by Richard Rodriguez in my opinion shows what Richard got out of his experience working hard labor for a summer. I feel like that through seeing different races and the more unfortunate people of his race that made him more thankful that he is not like them. I also feel that the satisfaction of knowing that he could work that hard made him appreciate himself more. On the other hand I felt as if he was trying to put down the "not so fortunate" community. Overall I didn't like Richard's ignorant view of "the worker " and the tone of the story was very demeaning and I was left feeling confused.
I have had many different jobs such as, working a a grocery store, Subway making subs, making furniture and my current job as a CNA. I would have to say that all of these jobs have made me who I am and they have helped me appreciate the value of a dollar. Working at Davis nursing home as a CNA has helped me in even more ways then I could ever imagine. It has shown me the value of life, to appreciate my parents and to care for others. I can't really relate any of my past experiences to Richard's but I do feel that I have felt the same way that he did, that I found myself even more through being a "worker".


Thursday, September 4, 2008

Essay Critique" Workers" by Peggie Mcneil

Oh boy, whew! I just completed reading the Essay entitled " Workers" by Richard Rodriguez, and i must said, he wont make my favorite writers list. I found the tone of the essay rather pompous, the attitude condescending, the language descriptive in some areas ,and belittling in others. He displayed a flare for melodrama, and viewed the world through tunnel vision.



I say the tone was pompous because he made sure to mention that he was a student at Stanford.Then he went on to mention that the contractor was a Princeton grad. Another example he stated " It would be manual labor". He talked his about expensive hotels , his double breasted Italian suit ,and his custom made English shoes. He went on to said " my father was correct, I wont know real work". He stated how he visited a school in the ghetto , whereas, he seized up the entire student body as being " future less". He made no attempt to talk with the Mexican workers, although he too was Mexican, because he felt that he was better than them.



The attitude of the essay was condescending, and he appeared to be looking down on the poor and everyone he perceived as being poor . He thought the craftsmen were poor until he heard them talking about vacations and other things that the poor can't afford to do. He seemed disappointed that they weren't. He was shock to find out that some of them were college education and appreciated art.



The language of the essay was descriptive, especially when describing himself "the torso , the soccer player's calves and thighs,arms of a twenty years old". He describe the men hands as being hard, and some of the men as being rough. I said it was belittling because he italicized the Spanish words as if he was making fun of the language.



He display melodrama by stated such things as "and at last grasp desire" , and " desire uncoiled within me". Please, man, get a grip. The Thesis of the Essay is "I came face to face with the poor". Yes, he did come face to face with them, and he didn't like what he saw.

Wednesday, September 3, 2008

A Memorable Mission Trip

Growing up in a small town called Clayton, NC, a mission trip to Fort Walton Beach, Florida seemed like the trip of a lifetime for me. I was like any other thirteen year old male growing up ready to go, go, go all the time and as wild as kids my age came. My church at the time, Fellowship Baptist in Garner, NC had a tradition that every year the youth group would take a mission trip somewhere around the state and sometimes even around the country. Our work consisted of helping disabled or elderly people who were no longer able to re-shingle their roofs, or repaint their houses. Unlike past trips to Durham, Raleigh, and Chapel Hill, our church was going all out this year. This year we had finally landed a marquee destination, however, little did I know that this trip was not going to be all fun in the sun.
Our group left North Carolina around 5 a.m. on a Monday, about eleven hours later we arrived at the high school in Florida where we would be staying for the week. Upon arriving our youth group was asked to drop off our things in the rooms that we would be staying in and then report to the cafeteria so that we could be sorted in to other smaller groups to begin work on the houses. The first two days passed like clockwork, the group I had been placed in was re-roofing houses and so far our pace was setting the bar high for everyone since we had re-roofed two houses in two days. As a whole our youth group was out working most of the other groups we had been placed with so our group leaders decided that we could have Thursday off to go to the beach.
Thursday arrived and as our youth group set off for the beach everyone payed little mind to the small hurricane that was not far off the coast. Although the hurricane was too far away to cause any real rain or wind threat, it was causing rip tides to be very severe and waves to be a lot larger than normal. When we arrived at the pristine Florida beaches some people wanted to play beach volleyball, some wanted to go to the beach bar and grill, and others like me we just wanted to get in the water. Walking onto the beach, I was greeted by a single red flag an ominous reminder of the havoc that the storm was causing to the currents.
Jumping into the cool ocean water, I payed no mind to the larger than normal waves that kept crashing into me. Soon after getting in the water did I start to regret it, I could now feel the rip current dragging me ever so closer to the pier. At the time I was not such a great swimmer, so like any normal thirteen year old I panicked, this would be my undoing. In a last ditch effort to avoid being swept under the pier I frantically swam towards the coast, only to continually be dragged under. Turning to my right to see if I could see someone, anyone to help me get out of this abysmal mess that I had gotten myself into. Alas, all I could see was wave, a wave so humongous that it through me under the pier and slammed me into the barnacle covered concrete pillar. I blacked out for about 10 seconds, upon surfacing I raced for the beach this time making it ashore. I walked onto the beach and was greeted by screams of, "Oh my God, are you ok?" Looking down I saw what all the fuss was about I was covered in blood and cuts from the chest down. My youth leader rushed me back to the high school to get me cleaned up, however this meant laying around the last 3 days while everyone else worked.
The pain those last three days was excruciating. The cuts were not deep enough for stitches, so every movement that I took reopened the lacerations. Although painful, I finally talked my group leader to let me work on the last day only because their is no greater feeling than to see the smiling faces of someone whose life you just changed. After finishing the last house we packed up our gear and headed home, in only seven days my group had re-roofed three houses and repainted three more. Still to this day do I have the scars from that trip, a reminder of some pleasant memories and a couple of dumb mistakes.

Matt Duncan

Monday, September 1, 2008

My Brush With Death by Spencer Lynch

The day started just like any other day in a twelve year olds life but the events that day will never be forgotten. It began with a breakfast and I was off to school. After the long day at  school had ended I was off to ride bikes with my friend Adam. We had been riding for about a hour and decided to stop at the gas station for a drink, and that's when my life changed forever. 
As we raced down the sidewalk, dripping with sweat I realized the sidewalk was coming to an end. Trying to impress my friend with speed and agility I proceeded to jump the curb. While doing so the front tire on my bike came loose and rolled out from under me. Therefore, sending me head over heels face first into the concrete, I felt the gritty concrete grinding away at my teeth and face as I slid to a inevitable stop. Within seconds I could feel the sharp stinging of the raw flesh on my face and saw the crimson color of blood on my hands. Shortly after a deep pain erupted in my side, feeling as though I would lose conciousness I managed to open my eyes and see several people rushing toward me. In what felt like seconds I was surrounded by fireman, policeman, and EMS personnel. I was soon after rolled onto a backboard and squeezed into a strangling neck brace. While being rushed to the hospital I was jabbed with multiple painful needles and within moments I was in the midst of the ER surrounded by doctors and nurses. After numerous X-rays, cat scans, and blood testings, the doctor informed me and my family that I had ruptured my spleen, and it was beyond repair. As I was rushed into immediate surgery I remember seeing my family and friends gathered around me, telling me that everything would be alright. Waving goodbye I was pushed through the doors and fell into a deep sleep.
When I awoke sixteen hours later I was surrounded by flowers, cards, candy, close friends, and family. I was completely confused, not realizing everything that had happened to me in the past twenty-four hours. The doctor was shortly called in and explained everything that had been done in my surgery. I was then introduced to my eight inch, twenty-six staple scar. The next four days of my life consisted of a strenuous recovery including dry heaving, fatigue, and obtaining the ability to walk again. After recovery most of my scars healed and I was able to go back to school and live a normal life. Allowing me to share, my brush with death.

A walk in the streets of New York City

Living in a small town is a lot better then I thought. It was last summer that my mom told me we were going to take a trip to New York City. Me being a small town girl and happy were I am, I was not to happy but it was something new, different and exciting so I made the best of it. I learned a lot when I went and it made me even more happy to live where I live. This is my view of a walk in the streets of New York City. 

I stand looking up into a world wind of lights and buildings towering over me, I proceed to look around and there is a sea off people swarming around me. Maybe they have to be at work, maybe they are late for a date or maybe they are just so used to the fast pace but it overwhelms me in a way that makes me want to rush with them and go along with the crowd even tho I have no particular place to go. I walk the streets of New York thinking of home and missing the sound of familiar voices, of a more heart felt place, more personal, more known. I walk further, I look to my left and see a man sitting on the ground with a sign that read "will work for food" and it makes me think, of course I see this at home but never this close and as I reach down to give him a five dollar bill I get bumped into by a man in a business suit that could care less about me or the man who hasn't eaten all day. I want to go home.   Dora B.