BLOGHEELEVVEN

If you were President, how would you confront the multiple issues surrounding the Geneva Conventions that we have discussed in class over the past week? 

As President of the United States of America, in light of the ongoing debate surrounding the Geneva Conventions and political controversy generated by the publicity and accompanying hysteria of the ethically easy but politically touchy issue of Guantanamo's illegality, and the rights, liberties, and placement of its inmates, I shall resign the Presidency effective at noon tomorrow. To have served in this office is to have felt a very personal sense of kinship with each and every American, with all of our migrant workers, even with the enemy combatants that have succumbed to our just interrogation methods. In leaving the Presidency, I do so with this prayer: May God's grace be with you in all the days ahead. God bless and good night.

Honors Blog Essay Paper Story Historical Fiction Letter

Dear Dotty,

It’s been too long since I’ve written anything that actually meant something. I wanted to tell you all that I’ve seen and done in the battlefield while the war was still raging, but my C.O. and I don’t get along well at all. So it seems like all the letters you’ve gotten have been scissored up by him or another officer—that or they give them back to me with a red stamp that unfailingly declares: “Loose Lips Sink Ships.” All the work the officers ever did was sit and read our letters to home—snipping and clipping and laughing. Now that the war’s over, they have absolutely nothing to do. Anyways, I don’t think anything in my letters would have cost us even one soldier, more or less the war.

Nonetheless, my current happiness comes from the prospect of coming home to the States and you and Ma and little Joey. The war was such a blur and everything happened so fast that all the good is mixed with the bad, and above it all is snow, lots of snow, and fog and cold and the sound of the buzz bombs overhead and the eerie swoosh of the German MG42 machine guns. Tex and I made it, both with purple hearts and scars to show for it, but we survived as well as any man could in those conditions.

While you read the papers and worried over me stateside, I didn’t fare any worse than any of the other soldiers.

I remember the start of the Ardennes-Alsace campaign in the biting cold of December, when the Germans started a bombardment along 80 miles of our line that didn’t seem at all out of the ordinary, just retaliation for a similar attack on our part the day before. My division’s lines weren’t being attacked, but by the end of the day the radio was humming with the messages and reports of the front lines. The Germans were heading a huge offensive attack, a final grab at victory. That same day it seemed like the snow wouldn’t stop falling. The Ardennes look like a Christmas card and the snow feels so light when it first falls, but it’s heavier than wearing iron weights—the cold that renders you immobile, the snow that rests on all of your clothing and equipment, the wet, cold melt that permeates your skin, and the fog that follows like a mucky brew of fate. Trudging and attempting to coordinate actions that would pass for fighting is agonizing.

On the 18^th we were told to move out. The day before we heard that the Germans had massacred tens of prisoners of war somewhere around Malmedy so we packed up quick and were on the move almost immediately; intel said it was all or nothing, the Germans weren’t taking any prisoners. Me and Tex were scared sick. We’d seen enough greenies get captured, wounded, or killed on their first day in action not to be a little sick to know that we were going to be fighting Nazis in this kind of weather, when the fog was so thick and the nights so black you never knew if the buzz bombs were going to land right next to you or miles away.

Moving to the new defensive lines in the Ardennes was slow work, especially for the vehicles and artillery. The roads were like slides of ice that the trucks, and even tanks and half-tracks slid and skidded off of. When the temperature warmed a little, it all turned to muck and mire. But we trudged on nonetheless. When we made it to the front lines, there were piles of snow that resembled fresh-dug graves in the winter. But they were just bodies in the cold, covered by the never-ending torrent of snow and sleet that would pile on top of them and hide their eternal slumber from our eyes. I never knew how many were ours or Germans, but at that point it didn’t matter, they would just be another tally mark to the hundreds already dead.

And me and Tex had barely made it to the front lines before the white around us became glaringly whiter. And that’s all I remember. They tell me it was a buzz bomb that landed over 25 yards away. But with a buzz bomb, that’s close enough to kill if the shrapnel pierces in all the right places. I’ve seen less kill a man.

But that’s all that happened to me since my last letter, which was probably snipped into innocence by my C.O.

You deserved to know how my time in action was cut short. I was one of the lucky ones in that battle. When they told me around 20,000 of ours died, I imagined thousands upon thousands of those freshly-piled snow graves across the terrain of the Ardennes; bodies being swept under the carpet of fresh powder.

Hope that you and Joey or anyone for that matter never has to see anything like that.

With all my love,

Chet













Sources:

http://www.army.mil/botb/

http://www.historyinperspective.org/node/307

http://www.military-collections.com/weapons.html

good letter to home:

http://www.aboutjonesfamily.com/PAGES/WAR11.HTM

this one is really good:

http://www.3ad.com/history/wwll/memoirs.pages/ruth.pages/battle.bulge.htm

 

Semester-ay Dos, Blog Ten

After struggling through the Great Depression, Gerry Tedesco (my great-grandfather) joined the Navy and was stationed in Maine at the start of the war. During the glorified sequel to the Great War, he fought the U-Boats in the North Atlantic Theatre. When the infamous German submarines no longer posed a serious threat to the Allies, he was transferred to San Diego to help fight the Japanese in the South Pacific towards the end of 1943.

WW2 imagery

USA WW2 Propaganda:

Source:

One of a series designed by the Douglas Aircraft Company, Inc. under its material conservation program. Courtesy of the National Archives and Records Administration.

Description:

If the USA conserves material and doesn't waste her resources, we'll "trap the Japs" who are depicted by a brown mouse with buck teeth, round glasses, and a rising sun military cap. It's anti-Japanese propaganda.

Reaction:

That's not racist at all.

Nazi Germany WW2 photography, in a way. The Einsatzgruppen were German "police" who combed captured territory (after the army had taken it over) and searched, captured, and killed Jews:

Source:
From the Main Commission for the Investigation of Nazi War Crimes.

Description:

In this photo, a German policeman shoots individual Jewish women who remain alive in the ravine after a mass execution. (1942) The Einsatzgruppen where special forces dedicated to finding Jews and bringing them to concentration camps; when transporting them proved too inefficient, the Jews where massacred outside of the towns and villages where they were found. 
Reaction:

It is astounding, shocking, and horrific that the Third Reich would dedicate special forces to killing Jews-- forces that would search through records and roam the defeated territories in order to find and murder innocent people--and then would take the time to make sure that none survived.

WW2 Photography (USA):

Source:

Arland B. Musser, US Signal Corps.

Courtesy National Archives, Washington D.C.

Decsription:

American Soldiers from the 45th Infantry Division lined up, shot, and massacred German Prisoners of War in the Dachau Concentration Camp. Dead German soldiers lay against the length of the white wall, one-fourth of which is shown here, and the soldiers still standing were shot after the picture was taken. U.S. soldiers killed tens of German soldiers, many during the liberation of the camp but at least a dozen after they had surrendered.

Reaction:

All's fair in love and war. Many of the American Soldiers were reacting to the mass killing of Jews they saw throughout the concentration camp, a massacre that far surpassed that of the U.S. soldiers themselves. I wouldn't justify their actions, but the way they reacted is certainly understandable. Dead bodies filled train, the gas chambers, and the crematory.

So it goes.

Life in a Glass of Dandelion Wine ***little Spoiler Alert***

Choice #3) In a well developed, thoughtful piece of writing that uses direct quotes, explain the use of symbols to develop a theme in your novel.

Through different symbols and character studies throughout the book it becomes obvious that the prevalent theme in Dandelion Wine by Ray Bradbury is that of Life. It seems like a broad, vague, very open-ended concept, but Bradbury looks at life from many different perspectives and in the course of interweaving stories about summer in a small town in Illinois, crafts a theme and a message to readers about how to live life, love life, and know that we are alive, and, most of all, accept life—accept who we are, who we need to be, accept change, accept death in the way of the Count of Monte Cristo, in which perhaps the most important, if not the only message is that we can get the most out of life—the most happiness, joyousness, love—we can drink in the magic of everything around us when we accept life by accepting death.

Through the eyes of many different people in varying stages of life, through dandelion wine and nature, Bradbury shows different perceptions of how life should be lived and perceived. The concept of Life shows up in every single chapter and it would take a book longer than Dandelion Wine to elaborate on all the “living” symbolism, which is part of the beauty of the novel. Therefore, I will only talk about the Life symbolism that appears in the first couple of chapters. Nonetheless, the symbols that appear in the opening of the novel set the stage and the theme for the rest of the story as Douglas, our main character, along with the reader learns more about how life is perceived, lived, loved, hated, cherished, desired, lost, made, and coped with. Often, Bradbury’s words speak for themselves.

Douglas, who summons summer to life in the opening words of the book, first discovers that he is truly alive, not only that he is living, but that he will continue to live for “threescore and ten years,” years in which to enjoy every small facet of the world around him.

Then we learn about Dandelion Wine, which his grandparents make every year from flowers that “dazzle and glitter of molten sun.” There is a whole paragraph of the chapter dedicated to life—no, to living:

 “Dandelion Wine. The words were summer on the tongue. The wine was summer caught and stoppered. And now that Douglas knew, he really knew he was alive, and moved turning through the world to touch and see it all, it was only right and proper that some of his new knowledge, some of this special vintage day would be sealed away for opening on a January day with snow falling fast and the sun unseen for weeks or months and perhaps some of the miracle by then forgotten and in need of renewal….The medicines of another time, the balm of sun and idle august afternoons, the faintly heard sounds of ice wagons passing on brick avenues, the rush of silver rockets and the fountaining of lawn mowers moving through ant countries, all these, all these in a glass.”

I am in awe of the way Bradbury plays with the concept of life. Although we are alive, we may not realize it, heck, we may not even be living. I am amazed that all the life within Summer—sounds, sights, tastes, touch, smells—could be bottled and stoppered, stored away to bring summer back to life, to revive and reincarnate its gloriously precious days, when the world is in the throes of winter. Now that is what I call personification.

Similarly, Douglas wonders about man vs. nature and how no matter how hard we fight against the natural world, we ultimately lose the battle. “It was this then, he mystery of man seizing from the land and the land seizing back, year after year, that drew Douglas, knowing the towns never really won, they merely existed in calm peril, fully accoutered with lawn mower, bug spray and hedge shears, swimming steadily as long as civilization said to swim, but each house ready to sink in green tides, buried forever, when the last man ceased and his trowels and mowers shattered to cereal flakes of rust.” This was life and death in the grand scale, with the town symbolizing human life, the wilderness natural life, and the dark ravine the symbol of death (which is a symbol that is elaborated on when Douglas’s mother worries that he has been kidnapped or murdered one night).

The part of life that Douglas realizes is not only living but knowing that you are alive—not just having life, but living it—a sentiment that could be considered contagious as Douglas, in the pursuit of new sneakers for summer, makes Mr. Sorenson feel alive and young again when he tries to describe the wonders of new sneakers at the start of summer (“Antelopes. Gazelles.)” Sorenson’s captivation is so complete that when he breaks from his reverie and comes back into the store, Bradbury describes it as heading “back toward civilization.”

And those are the 4 main cameos of different concepts of life in the first 25 pages! Throughout the whole book, there is a veritable list of things that symbolize life and its many facets, and Douglas’s interpretation of life as him and Tom find out that happiness is contentment, that old people were never young, that memories make time machines, that life is not the guarantee he thought it was, and that life has magic and meaning only when you accept the concept of death.

Alas, the concept of life—through Douglas, dandelion wine, the ravine, Mr. Sorenson, summer rituals and porch-swings, discontentment and porch-swings, self-trimming grass and the sound of lawnmowers, the dusty patterns on a rug, Mrs. Bentley forever seventy-two, Colonel Freeleigh the Time Machine, the almost death of Mr. Quartermain, the death of the Green Machine, Mr. Tridden, the death of the trolley, and losing John Huff to name the first few symbols—is shown to be open to limitless interpretation—being alive, actually living, life that even inanimate objects possess (happiness granted through knowledge of the past, nostalgia; abstract life), life that we show and pass contagiously onto others, the abundance of natural life that will thrive as we turn to dust, life underappreciated, life and some of its secret riches understood, life and time fleetingly plotting moment after moment and barring the way from prior experiences, with life’s memories the only remnant of things that can never come again, a remembrance that is helpful and dangerous, threatening to be forgotten as moment upon moment assail us as we hurdle through time; life examined and contemplated and turned inside out only to discover that it can only be truly enjoyed when one accepts that, after all of our arguments, regrets, loves, hates, passions, remorse, apathy, enthusiasm, education, diets, sickness, sufferings, travels, fun, boredom, discoveries, laughter, anger, breathing, smelling, touching, tasting, hearing, watching, and waiting comes death.

Memoirs of a Movement

The experience and wisdom of millennia does not come easily, and the path I have taken to thrive as a main contender of today’s political scene was not an easy road. I often traversed long stretches of neglect and rejection. Yet I was undaunted, although, like a virus of sorts, I only lived on only in the minds of men and women. I would often give myself words of encouragement, more often than not in the third person to alleviate the loneliness that comes with being an ideology: “Worry not, Democracy, people will come back to you in the end. You will be justified, vindicated, and become the epitome of modern, progressive, civilized politics in contrast to the abuses inflicted upon you and burdens of years of neglect.” I was sure that I would one day be embraced by most of the world. And how could I be dissatisfied with the consent of the majority?

As a young child, I was quite reactionary, without a purpose in life or a set of defining factors. In the beginning, I was created as an ends to the means of human satisfaction and a conduit to voice the desires of unhappy beings. Naturally, nobody likes being used, especially when I felt that the just distribution of powers was only a side-effect of my clients’ more materialistic or emotionally-motivated goals. Of course, that was in my days as a private consultant, when my services were used to settle disputes between individuals—I was often called upon with the classic, “Let’s vote on it.”

But settling petty disputes that only required a very limited understanding of who I really was made me a dissatisfied youth, and like most unhappy youths, I soon set out in search of myself.

It was in tribal society that I found my calling—in politics. I was consulted on important matters that determined the goings-on of whole communities, decided who would rule, or resolved matters of law and conduct. Though the societies were primitive and their votes not always the most prudent, I felt needed and was sure that this was my purpose in life.

Though I was still relatively unknown, I set out to see more of the world. My travels took me to Mesopotamia and Sumer, where I was disrespected and in constant conflict with certain enemies I acquired during my stay. Power, Corruption, and Authority were some of my arch nemeses, but they could not always prevail against tides of change and dissatisfaction—people come to me when they need a solution to their political problems.

Nonetheless, my enemies constantly worked against me, in ways I couldn’t compete with. Whoever held or aspired to hold Power could. In fact, oftentimes he would sit on their shoulder, humbly offering advice, as only a dwarf as small as him could. Corruption often catered to a person’s weaknesses, and the voice of Authority often justified many a leader’s actions.

In my journeys, I could never lose them, and over the centuries, they are still as influential as ever. In those early years, I left the Middle East to fight among themselves and execute their power-plays without me, and went east to the sanghas and ganas of ancient India. There, the same problems plagued the change I tried to effect. So I decided to focus my efforts on Europe, where the city-states and progressive thinking of the Grecians showed promise to my searching eyes.

In Ancient Greece, there was constant tension between the Greek city-states and even within them there were calls for reform that often resulted in political upheaval. In Athens, I found a friend in Solon, a poet with whom I spent much time and had many discussions with. He greatly enjoyed my company; so much, in fact, that he soon became a lawyer and lawgiver of sorts, promoting my ideals and negotiating reforms between the conflicting classes in Athens in 594 B.C. I was overjoyed that I was being taken seriously and being used towards good. Of course, after Solon passed the city fell to tyranny for almost one hundred years. Then the politics of Solon were remembered by Cleisthenes and the age of Athenian Democracy truly began; only improving as time progressed.

It was under Pericles that I became radical. My circle of influence was previously restricted to an upper class of citizens that ran the government. Pericles, who was like a father to me, showed me how I should truly be—how I had to give everybody equal opportunity and rights in order to live up to my name. Under his rule (in my name of course), Athens as a center of learning, the arts, and trade and commerce flourished. There were some rough times, but throughout those decades I learned just how much good a previously unrecognized idea like me could be. I was proud of my work.

My experience in Ancient Greece showed me the possibilities of what I could do and gave me the self-confidence and worldwide recognition that I needed to succeed. Armed with new tools and an entourage of acquired ideas, I ventured further into civilized Europe and found myself in Rome. There, I had a son with, um, that doesn’t matter, whom I named Republic. He had the same ideals as me, but the Romans preferred going through him to achieve my goals instead of taking matters directly to me. But I didn’t worry—my son was aided by a not-so-sorry SOP (Separation of Powers) and other ideals aimed at halting Corruption, Power, and Authority. Of course, the lure of Corruption, promise of Power, and voice of Authority are tough competitors to beat. In the end, after more than four-and-a-half centuries of using my son’s services, Republic was defeated and replaced by a dictatorship; Power, Corruption, and Authority had won again.

I was saddened, but history runs in cycles and defeats like this were only to be expected. Afterwards, my son and I traveled around the world helping were help was needed. During our journeys, the west where Democracy had been embraced and molded to fit their ideal government was ruled by monarchies, and Power, Corruption, and Authority ran rampant (or rode horses recklessly). During the Enlightenment, I felt relieved when the philosophes started remembering what my son and I had done, and thought, wrote, and spoke about Democratic and Republican ideals once again. I enjoyed reading the treatises about my family and associates; Montesquieu even went into depth about Separation of Powers, which surely made SOP happy.

The culmination of all of these revolutionary ideas including me (and believe me colliding with a bunch of other ideas can be an unpleasant experience after a while) was the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution of the United States of America. In short, I was stoked that my son and I could be part of the foundation for the rest of the… better Enlightenment ideals. In America, my son was more successful than I was—the founding fathers thought he was the best thing since untaxed tea (little did they know that tea would be taxed by the American government! Oh nO!).

While he was thriving in America, I visited some other countries that preferred more direct involvement of the people in government. Eventually, he settled down in Maryland and I found a pleasant, not too big (nor too small) home in a middle-class neighborhood in Switzerland. What I especially enjoyed was the knowledge that I was still developing and changing even in my old age. In the end, every body of every race/ethnicity, gender, etc. gained a voice in government and the right to vote.

Nowadays, my son and I still travel the world, helping where help is needed and being all we can be: ideals. Lately, there have been uprisings against Power, Corruption, and Authority in places they have reigned for too long. There have been calls for reforms and I have been consulted to help in many cases. Yes, indeed, I feel young again with all the political upheaval and reform. Even after being around for thousands of years, there is still change to be made in my name throughout most of the world. As long as there is a need for reform, I, Democracy, will still be alive…and kicking.

Semester Deux, Blog Six

Link to three outstanding Ampersand article pitches that you have seen on other students' blogs.
What makes each one stand out to you? What makes you believe these pitches would lead to great articles? Write a paragraph for each.


http://nateaidanross.blogspot.com/2011/02/semester-two-blog-five.html
I like his first and second pitches that, though cliche, already have direction and character. From ready his simple, somewhat sparse pitch, I can see that his article won't just be another day in the life of an intern, but will have humor, action, romance--scratch that--his article will be unique even though his pitch is nothing new. His content is bound to be interesting when he writes "I came to internship at around 1:00-3:00pm did a whole lot of cleaning and trying to entertain myself, etc." and later "the project only took like a week so I had the rest of the time to be an intern slave." For a seemingly rushed blog post, that's a pretty humorous description.
"...bound to be a bestseller." ~Noah Schlottman, critic for New San Diego Daily Journal.


http://mairavierheller11.blogspot.com/2011/02/semester-two-blog-five.html
Maira's third pitch was really good and original. I wish I'd thought of that, although that would be a very interesting, slightly humorous, totally uneventful, and non-educational piece. I just liked that idea of writing from the point of view of one of the things you frequently used during internship, like a camera, coffee-cup, etc. My perspective can get a little old at times and I must say that I'm not a very good first-person writer; however, if I could write from that point-of-view it would be really cool and creative and all that good stuff. Of course, I'm not sure if that fits the non-fiction requirements...who knows? As I said before though, my article might be very unique and humorous, but totally uninformative.


http://tapandhthma.blogspot.com/2011/02/semester-2-blog-5.html
I really liked the first pitch and how Tomas would compare the human workforce to the bee and insect world. Already, I can see the direction he is going in concerning this full analogy of robotic humans and never-failing busy bees. It would definitely be a unique, engaging way of informing the audience about today's workforce and your experiences and observations during your internship in the hive.