...and the winner is

Of the two, I definitely favored Bernays writing style. On a general note, his writing style was easier for me to relate to and I just found him to be a lot more personable. The examples he used were good because they really showed the range in which rhetoric has its effects. I also liked how he used analogies that related the practice of manipulating opinions/ rhetoric to a play. And essentially, that’s what it is, a calculated, practiced, persuasive act.

However, on making a clear point, Lippmann does a little better than Bernays. I wasn’t a huge fan of Lippmann's tone, but I do think he made some really valid points. There was one in particular that really got my attention. He wrote something about how the American public tends to let decisions be made by people we feel are apt enough to make them. We don’t trust ourselves enough to make decisions because we don’t feel that we are educated enough to make the right choice. Apart from being a very interesting observation, it exposes a problem. Let’s say that the general public is by far the largest demographic. This leaves a very small group of “elite” decision makers. The problem? By leaving just a select few to make all the decisions, we are undermining the whole idea of democracy. Of all the different scare and shame tactics that Lippmann tried to use, I liked this one the best.

The most interesting thing to me about these articles, however, was the relevancy. They were both written nearly a century ago, but they still carry a lot of weight in our society. I guess we'll just call it a draw.

Responses for the past few classes UHG!

Well, to begin this is my second time watching the movie The persuaders. I really did like watching it even the second time through because it shows how the people in PR actually think. They get really involved in their products, but it works as oddly as they are acting at the time. Since I have watched the movie I have been paying close attention to tv shows (with the little time that I have to watch tv) and have seen many ads within the tv show that could possibly appeal to a person. For example I was watching american Idol last week and it showed the judges drinking from a coke a cola glass...which could have an affect on someone wanting a drink. Just small things that I didn't get from the movie the first time around make me think a little more...like eventually how are PR people going to eventually surpass what they have already done and "break through" sort of say. But enough anout the movie lets continue on with the readings. The first thing that we had to read for last week (which honestly I didn't read till yesterday) I found hard to get through. It really did not peak my interest or was something that I understood until it got to the examples about the hat. I thought i was really interesting how a "Big Name" like Vogue and a few pretty girls could really sell a hat, but I guess that is why we use models and famous people right? I actually really like reading the word lab, and I think this was part of the movie that we watched because I remember the whole lab that he was conducting. I can't believe that there is an actual book out that that politicans use, but honestly I guess nothing should suprise me anymore. I think it is so interesting on the words we use and how we use them could really make a person's decision, and I am sure that I am the same way. Words that are no so offensive and that have a strong feeling towards one thing or another will make a person's choice, but not so strong words wont help persuade a person. Humm...thats pretty nifty for debates that possibly could be in the future... Lastly, the article that we read called "The Disenchanted Man" I thought that was interesting as well. Maybe we can't push a person into their opinion...and their belief is their belief and there is no changing that. Their example of people voting is a good one showing that not matter how hard a person will trying to get people to vote if they feel strongly against something for whatever reason there is no making them budge. Just a few feelings I have on what we read...can't wait to hear what other people have to say.

The Ethics of Propaganda

Propaganda often comes with an air of negative connotations, but is it really so bad? Edwards Bernays claims that propaganda is a good thing, and it is “a necessary intervention in the communicative chaos of modern life.”

We as consumers are influenced on many different cultural, personal, and material levels. Religious claims may entice some people, while what is in fashion may draw the attention of others. Under almost all circumstances, propaganda and the manipulation of public opinion is used to win an audience and a group or consumers.

If companies are creating advertisements that glorify their products, or certain brands of clothing are accepted as the better kind because fashionably influential celebrities or notable figures are sought out for support of the product, does that make it immoral? Not really. We as consumers are the ones who buy into it, at least the majority of us does. Human beings are still free to choose; a power that people might use poorly, but its none-the-less still a choice or a preference that we make (or maybe it is the advertisers?). Either way, there’s no gun held to our heads to purchase products; just lots of pretty colors, celebrities, slogans, guaranties, you get where I’m going.

Can we blame companies for competing the way they do? It’s completely necessary in today’s market because it’s hard to draw attention to a new product. It’s the survival of the fittest, and marketers can tweak their genetics to gain an interest. The motives behind it are simple; they’re “basic instincts of self preservation” as states by Bernays. It’s someone’s job to influence you enough to purchase their product.

If someone needs the approval by society to purchase something, then maybe they deserve to be sucked into the game. American woman would not purchase American silk because they preferred the more luxurious French style (pffft). In order to market their silk, the American ambassador had to exhibit American silk at the louver, in order for it to gain recognition. What do you know, it worked! America woman began to eat that stuff up! Not literally.

Speaking of eating though, I thought of an analogy, provoked by an observation that Walter Lippmann made. He brought up voting in his essay “The Disenchanted Man” and made an observation that democracy doesn’t exactly always work. The majority isn’t always right, and doesn’t even always know its own best interests. I brought up eating because I though of an analogy that represents this. If a kindergarten teacher offered two choices for snack; Oreo cookies, or an apple, the majority would like be overwhelmingly in favor of eating Oreos. Maybe it won’t hurt the kids to eat cookies every day, but in the long-run it’s better for the children to eat apples everyday. Or what if a vote was taken in Georgia to abolish slavery in that state prior to the civil war. Again, it is likely that most people would have voted against this given that the slaves were not permitted to vote themselves.

We live in a much different time now when everyone voices can be heard, at least to some extents. We can all choose what we buy, and we can choose to be influenced by the media surrounding us, or we can choose to be rational and ask ourselves, “Do I really need this?”

We The Pursuaders

We are all walking, talking, and living advertisements. Like many posts mentioned, we see advertisements all around us, our phones, car(s), clothes, etc. Is it our fault though? I don’t believe there is any way not to advertise in some way. Companies rely on the consumer to advertise. From major brands like NIKE found exclusively in big name stores, to Spalding sold in stores like Payless; all companies advertise their product by putting some form of trademark on their merchandise. As I sit here in the kitchen, few things don’t have blatant advertisements or logos. They are the counter top and cabinets, the table and chairs, and some miscellaneous kitchen appliances. I’m sure if I look closely I could find them.

I did like the part in “The Persuaders” where it mentioned how advertises are constantly trying to reach us through all of the clutter and static. Once I heard this I began to think about how athletes and celebrities are vital to advertising. I began to think about how Derek Jeter is also a vital part to the Yankees, Ford, Gatorade, and even AVON. The reasoning: first, people (at least in the Tri-State) love him for his good looks and ability on the baseball field. Second, he is known to be an all around good guy who many could look to him as a role model. Finally, it seems that whenever I look to buy Yankees memorabilia, a majority is often Derek Jeter. Not that this is a bad thing but it shows that we will buy things just because our favorite athlete or celebrity endorses the product.

Ramage

John Horvath

1/30/08

Dr. Mahoney

ENG230

"Here I Come New York”

As I awake on this rainy morning, I got ready to go to New York, hoping to have some fun celebrating the Giants Superbowl victory. I have been to New York so many times that I lost count. And when I go, I usually see and hear the same things. I see people of all walks of life, propaganda, the steady hum of car engines and car horns, and of course, the occasional F bomb, all too common for me. To make the trip more interesting I decided to take along my rambling annoying friend John Ramage. John is not like your ordinary guy. He looks at life and people in a different way. For instance, he doesn’t see humans merely as people, he sees us as a class separated by serious people and rhetorical people. Serious people reach noble heights through self-reliance, and rhetorical people reach compromises by talking among themselves. He often says I possess a large amount of gravitas, meaning that I’m steadfast in my beliefs. I usually block him out when he starts to talk like this.

I decided to test out my new GPS system for the ride to New York. Anything that makes my life easier is worth the money. This however upset John. John told me that rather than using a silly device I should “find my way by going where I have to go.” He continued by saying, “Too many people live to work, I however, work to live.” I proceeded to tell John that without money we would all be hopeless. I agreed, “Maybe we do need to live more. I wish I could but I have to pay for college, gasoline, food, and all the necessary things to live. Unlike you John Ramage, I have to live to work.”

After an hour ride and what felt like a two hour ride with John, we finally arrived in uptown Manhattan. We began to debate and quarrel over our perceptions of the world around us. I for instance take the serious thinking approach and believe we are a product of our environment. The world around us speaks, and we the people listen. John however, more of a rhetorician, wants to make the environment a product of him. He wants to make his own choices in life. In simple terms, I believe our identity if formed on the basis of what our environment says. For example, as I walk along New York City today, I see a business oriented city where people have a set agenda. People know where and why they need to go at a certain time. Rarely do I see people walking just to walk. Not even the tourists seem to wander as they check out historic places; everyone has an agenda. Business people have their smart phones with up to up-to-date email alerts of stocks and business oriented news. “Why?” asked John, “Because we all want to make our lives simple,” I responded quickly with a direct tone. Of course John responded, “Simplicity is a horrible thing to experience, it severely limits the mind to think.”

John and I continued to walk to uptown New York looking to stop and get something to eat. Eventually we came across Panera bread and decided to get a bight to eat. John being the wordy guy he is, was fascinated by the use of language on the menu. He said to me that all the words and phrases were all connotations appealing to our emotions. I was hungry and just wanted to eat so I attempted to block him out. Maybe I am hard headed and just don’t care. However, over lunch he made a good point. Menus are made to appeal to our emotions. I looked over at the menu and began to read some of the catch phrases, “Ice Cold Drinks,” “Soup of The Day,” “Non-Fat Yogurt,” and my favorite “Hand Tossed Salads.” For once John was making some sense. Words have specific meanings when they stand alone; however, when put together with other words, they create a new language and persuasion that appeal to our emotions. “Are salads really hand tossed, and why would you want someone running their nasty gloves through your food?” I asked humorously to John. John replied, of course in great detail, “Well no, if you were to describe each word separately, it would be quite hard to link the words together. However when you use hand tossed it gives the customer the feeling of their salad being picked with hand selected fresh lettuce. Businesses then have the customer believe that their food was carefully constructed with as much love as the food in the commercials and the visual prompts they show on billboards.”

For once I felt John made a good point. Language does shape our perception of the world. After lunch we continued toward the parade. However, this time I was a keener of my surroundings. I noticed all the humongous words on billboards and propaganda trying to appeal to our emotions. I looked over at John; he looked back with a studious look while taking notes as if he was a terrorist planning his next attack. I said to him “You know John, you are goofy, weird, strange, too wordy, but this time you are making some sense. It is amazing to me how language is used to appeal to our senses. I’m looking at all the billboards and a funny thing is, despite all the fancy colors and different celebrities they have on them, they all have one key thing, the use of language.” “Well yes Johnny, all of these billboards are carefully construed by using rhetoric. Not only are they appealing to the senses, but they persuade you to buy their product. Just like those telemarketers that call you at dinner with there catch phrases wanting you to be the first out of the thousands to buy there product.”

It was almost 10:00am when we entered the subway to catch the W train uptown to the Giants parade. After leaving the subway, we were in an ocean of red white and blue Giants apparel. “Hey John isn’t this great,” I asked. “What the parade or the crisis of identity.” I looked at John and asked what he could possibly be talking about now. “Well,” replied John “this reminds me of how Harley-Davidson uses their image and history to appeal to the masses. In this case it is Giants fans who are displaying their team pride by wearing the apparel.” “John, we are here to celebrate the Giants, how does this create the image of Harley-Davidson in your wild delusional world,” I screamed. John, attempted to yell over the screaming fans, “Harley-Davidson created an image, the tough All-American bad boys that were always living life on the edge. Harley-Davidson however turned themselves into more than just a motorcycle seller, they became a culture. They started selling apparel to the consumer so we could identify and feel part of the Harley-Davidson culture. Do you really think anyone who wears a Harley-Davidson shirt lives life on the edge, or even owns a Harley motorcycle?”

I was amazed at his way of thinking. To me it made perfect sense. Looking around I saw nothing but New York Giants jerseys, shirts, and hats. I began to think we were just like those Harley guys John mentioned. Chances are we probably have normal lives. There are probably lawyers, teachers, police officers and parents here today. Some parents probably have with them their children. Funny thing is they may be screaming more than their own kids. For one day I guess it’s ok to act unprofessionally. However, today we’re all here standing in the rain screaming at grown men as if they were Gods. They get paid millions of dollars to work around eight months out of the year. As fans, just like the Harley guys, we buy all the Giants jerseys so we can feel like we are actually part of the team. We even put a jersey of another man’s last name on our own. It’s weird if you think about it. Despite it, so many people do it, so it must not be too bad. Like I said to John earlier, we are a product of our environment. After a brief moment of thinking like my friend John, I forgot about rhetoric and screamed and took pictures just like the other fans in attendance. I was in fact “working to live, and I was enjoying every moment.

Following the parade we got back to the car and proceeded home. I felt it was a great day and great experience. However, it was strange how John had made me think more about the use of words and language, and even identity. Language controlled our emotions, how we are persuaded, and even how we act. From restaurant menus to billboards, and even team apparel, we are controlled by what others want us to see and think. Rhetorical if given thought.

On the trip back John and I talked mainly about the parade and how great of an experience it truly was. John rarely visited his disillusioned state of mind the whole ride back. Instead of going strait home I decided to stop by Dick’s Sporting Goods. I said to John, “You know John, you made perfect sense today at the parade, you know, about how today people were part of a larger culture, the Giants fan culture.” “Indeed you have started to join the force. I am assuming we are here to warn others about the dangers of losing their identity by wearing Giants apparel,” expressed John with a determined look. I could only laugh in his face. “No John, I heard they just got in all the latest Superbowl jerseys and memorabilia. Angrily, John expressed, “You can’t mean you are actually going to buy another man’s name and wear it on your own.” I could only simply answer “Yes, and I will wear it with great Giants pride and love every moment of it.” At that very instant, John Ramage did something unpredictable and unforgettable. He dashed out of the car, ran around the parking lot and then ran home waving a book he was working on called “Rhetoric.”

Last I heard he had literally tried to beat some sense into a poor elderly lady who was crossing the street and not giving her undivided attention to his wild ideas. I guess John took the serious people approach to things. Cops picked him up for assault in which he pleaded insanity; I highly doubt there was any disagreement there. I read in the paper he now lives in Greystone Mental Institution where he writes books upon books attempting to “liberate the minds of serious people.” Even better, I heard he likes to write about his made up dog, named P-dog. Well, I guess it is time to cut off John Ramage. He has become a prime example of someone who is the product of their environment.

The Persuaders

Unlike some of the other students in this class, this was the first time I experienced this movie. I found it extremely interesting, not realizing how much goes into adds. Advertisers pick out exact details that are directed to specific people. Unfortunately, I do not recall the name of the system that tracks every persons information so they are able to target adds specificaly towards them. It keeps tabs on all the products they buy and what not. I found that segment of the movie incredibly interesting.

Everywhere you look, you see basically a walking advertisement. A person listening to their Ipod, a girl wearing her Ugg Boots, or even a student sporting a piece of Kutztown clothing. In some way they are advertising a company, a brand, or a school. I am not in anyway saying that this is a bad thing, i just never really realized it, but with this movie, my eyes were just really opened up to all these things.

no wonder i need glasses...

my eyes and brain are being assaulted day after day; it's no wonder that i now need glasses. too bad the mega advertising of mega companies won't pay for my mega insurance bill :)

i could say i don't feel like i am very persuaded most of the time by advertising but someone will probably tell me i am naieve or a liar. i think much of advertising is memorable (at least for me) but i don't feel the burning desire to go out and buy whatever is assaulting my eyeballs.

i did appreciate the movie however. the research that went into formulating an advertising campaign especially interested me, since it allowed us to see how people think and react to things, especially social cues. it provides a new angle on how public opinion can be molded and sculpted and refined without us even knowing it is happening.

persuading persuaders to practice persuasion

Disturbed. I felt disturbed after seeing this film. Here is an example as to why:

1. Uggs: Like many girls on campus, I too have a pair of Uggs. (ok let's be honest. I have a knock off pair for $20 from target. I just dont believe in selling my soul for a pair of shes....they are expensive, needless to say). As I walk around campus, I notice girls or...ehem...young woman, of all ages, colors, and majors wearing these shoes. Why? Yes they are VERY comfortable but there are a few problems with these comfy slipperish shoes.
A. They are not water resistent. In the dead of winter, when you really do need boots,
wouldn't you say you need ones that will protect you from the weather? Ya'd think.
B. They are not salt resistent. When the road and...nevermind, the roads are the only
things ever salted at KU. Anyway, when the roads are salted and you trapse across in
your $648,000 Uggs, and not only get soaked but also get salt streaks on your suede
shoes, you have to admit that you own these shoes based on something other than
practicality.
Which brings me to my point. What gets thousands, literally thousands of KU girls to buy the same kind of shoe, whether knock-off or legitamate, when they are completely impractical? In 2005 Kate Hudson posed on a billboard wearing shorts and a pair of Uggs (tell me the logic in that) while promoting her movie "Raising Helen". As far as I know, this is one of the first introductions of Uggs, at least for me it was. I remember my 16 year old self thinking that i liked them. Now is this because Kate Hudson is gorgeous and looks good in everything? Probably. But for me I thought it was the shoes. Still they weren't very popular. Suddently they showed up EVERYWHERE!!!! In Victoria's Secret catalogs, JCpenny, Macy's, Newsweek....every flashy ad catalog you could find. Then boom, about 50% of women SEEM to own a pair.

This movie just made me think about this. I've never actually seen a commercial for Uggs or their knock-offs, but they are seen all over Hollywood and then put in magazines in almost a subliminal form of advertising, and somehow it has convinced millions of young women to buy them. What bothers me about this, is that it has taken away our ability to have our own tastes in clothing, style, and all of our other purchases. If we are being manipulated and we don't even realize it, then how many other opinions that are more important than shoes, have we developed because someone else wanted us to? It's scary.

Nevertheless, I still wear my shoes.

The Persuaders... Tacos?

So when I wake up in the morning and pry my eyes open to look at my phone to see what time it is and I am visually assaulted by the large bold letters, SAMSUNG, little does my tired brain know, I am a victim of advertising. This goes along with the 2,000 other ads ill see during the day, from the stamp on the fridge, to my car keys, to the label on my toothpaste. Yet i still have very little conscious recollection of them with the exception of obvious television commercials etc. Interesting...

In regards to the film I must say that certain things did tend to snag me more than others. Not to say that other elements weren't important, I think I'm just more self conscious of certain brands and things that actually affect ME. anyways...

Cult OR Brand? The film discussed this ideal a few times I noticed and that we join 'cults' for the same reason we buy certain brands, 'to belong.' Coming from someone who likes to "think outside of the box," this concept is hard to grasp. I like to think that I buy things because I like their function or the way they look on me, if we're discussing clothes. But then again to say I like to "think outside of the box" would mean that I'm not actually "thinking outside the box" because someone has already used that saying prior to my usage and that even fast food taco joints can manipulate it in such away to get their spicy beef, baja chalupa devouring fans to "think outside the bun" and bite into a cheesy gordita crunch extravaganza.

Now that I am hungry lets talk about death...

Estate tax vs. Death tax. This ideal of changing one word to provoke a more emotional, home-struck image is quite fascinating. This goes along with politicians and the usage of climate change vs. global warming. The fact that one word can totally change ones personal feeling and expose emotion displays the true intricacy of advertisement and persuasion in general.

With all that said, and the fact that I could go all night on such things, there is only really one question that still remains with me. Necessities. Companies that track everything we buy, what does it matter to them what brand of bottled water we buy? But then again coming from a Weis employee, the club card is none other than a way to track what people are buying and to spit those Catalina Coupons out at them at the register in order to make them buy more products similar in nature and to come back to Weis. I guess it all makes sense. Find out what people want and then ram it down their throats.

That is all.

Drop the Chalupa!

Persuaders

Persuaders. I am seriously FREAKED out.

Watching that video in class made me seriously consider what I am watching and looking at on TV and the Internet. I look for meaning in every color, every symbolic reference, every motto and every catch phrase. I'm beginning to go crazy. I think.

Like I brought up in class last Thursday, the fact that the video reminded me A LOT of the novel, Feed, gives me chills. I feel as though we are only inches away from putting chips in our brains and letting the ads, the fads and the trends rule our lives. And that would be even simplier then clicking a mouse! The video has given me a new perspective on how I look at adveristments and even movies where product placement is evident.

However, I think I'll still hold on to my iPod. =)

Peace out.

The Persuaders A Second Time Around

As I watched the documentary in class, I kept thinking about my upcoming project in another class: to design an ad. I have done similar things in the past, but never had a chance to really express my creativity in something before. I based it on one of my favorite TV shows right now, and overall, I am pretty happy with the outcome. I focused on the placement of the visual aid, and the text that had to go along with it. It wasn't as bad as I thought it would be.

The Persuaders was something else I didn't have a problem with. This was the second time in seeing it, and overall I got more out of it this time. I understood how everything has to equal up to something overall, and how the world is becoming a big billboard. Everywhere I look anymore I see an ad persuading us to buy something, sell something, or look into something more. I am sort of getting sick of it, but like the guy said, things will never change. I think the only thing that will change is how the ads look, and how they present themselves to the viewers.

Sad to say I was only in New York two times so far in my life, so I am not all too familiar with the surroundings that were shown in the movie. However, everyday I watch a couple hours of TV, and even though I have DVR, I still see commercials and the little logos on the bottom of the screen, wanting us to watch something else. Some ads seem to be getting more bigger as the years progress, and yet the tinest ones of all can make the difference. It's amazing how a couple words and a picture makes us do things we might not normally do.

Take for example my brother. He is 21 years old and loves to play video games. When he goes online to check his mail, he is bombarded with advertisements on new games or better systems. He has yet to want the PS3 or the Wii for that matter, but only time will tell. He might suddenly see a game that is only on those systems, and then be forced to buy something he hasn't thought of buying yet.

Even nowadays, we are munipilated in buying something that we see on a TV show for example. Maybe our favorite characters are wearing a certain brand, or using a certain type of product. There goes a couple dollars out of our pockets. It's just so hard to believe what the world is turning into without getting caught up in all of the fuss. I guess if we need to buy something, the best way is if we see it first and get used to the idea of what it represents. I hope we just don't get too wrapped up that we forget the better things in life. That would be the worst thing we could do.

The Persuaders Unleashed

The film The Persuaders was interesting because I knew all of these adds exist and that the amount of available space on our dear mother earth is ever so rapidly decreasing due to the growing world of adverts. I found it really interesting that there is actually a company that tracks all of your purchases and basically makes you into a walking merchandise target. The people at Song airline would never sell me a ticket on any of their planes simply because the cabin of the liners looked like every circus that I have ever encountered in my entire life. Other than that fact, I have realized that my so-called individuality has really just made me a target for bankruptcy and a house jam packed with "neat" stuff.
I was quite disturbed when certain individuals were interviewed for being part of a "clan" for a product. These members of product families fit every stereotype assosciated with the product, hence why they assosciated. I thought that these people were ridiculous until I realized that I was not much different. God Damn me and my idealization of the German maufactured... VOLKSWAGON! Hippy dippy riding along in the car and I think that I am so unique. As a good friend once told me, "You are not unique. Do you think that you and your situation are so special that nobody else has ever experienced it before or after you?" Wow was he right. It's 2008 so can someone please tell me why I ever assosciated a car with hippies. Real hippies tread the earth and the people who wish that they were hippies buy a VW Beetle. Mark a point for the persuaders because they have me pegged.

The Persuaders

I was not in class on Thursday when we finished the movie "The Persuaders", but I was in class Tuesday so I am writing my blog on the first part of the movie that we watched in class.

I thought the movie was very interesting and it definately opened my eyes up to have we (as a society) are being bembarded with adverstisement. Like I never realized how much they impact our lives. And, like the movie was saying they are now on the sides of buses and like in the subways and stuff. And, this reminded me of when I went to Philadelphia. We took the train and when we were on the train at every place we stopped there was some sort of adverisement on the benches at the different train stations. and even within our train there was a lot of ads.

The Persuaders, and recollections.

Having spent two years taking Communication Design classes, I'm not that surprised by the film. Just about every class I took had an emphasis on how to sell product. "Art of art's sake" was left for the Fine Art majors, I suppose. In fact, I clearly remember one of my professors giving us his definition of advertising. It was this, "Advertising is selling a product to a consumer that he/she does not need and, furthermore, did not want until you told him/her to want it!" This may sound callous, considering some of the responses from class, but my fellow Com Design majors were not shocked. We looked around at each other and nodded. We smiled. We knew it was true. You don't have to sell something someone needs. That takes care of itself. Advertising is about making the consumer believe they need your product.

One thing about the film that did capture my attention was Luntz. For as much as he has changed the way concepts are "coined" I was surprised that he wasn't 1) older and 2) more intimidating in appearance. I certainly didn't picture him as the sort of man that jumped up and down, like he was at some Euro-rock concert, when he got the numbers he wanted for data research!

Persuaders

Consumers are like roaches, you spray them but they eventually become immune.”

Something along the lines of this was stated in “The Persuaders” and I found it interesting. We’re being lured into the material world to purchase and purchase and when the current brainwashing tactics in practice lose their affects, new ones are created.
They labeled the luring tactic as breaking through the clutter, and that’s what a lot of the material world now is; clutter. It’s hard to know what a product really does for you, or what a company really stands for anymore because in today’s competitive market it’s hard to win consumer loyalty through truthful advertisement. People care about flashy products, names brands, and appearance.

The airline song employed similar tactics to gain costumers. Song is (or was, I don’t know if it still exists) an airline that was marketed as a low-cost airline that offered different entertainment options and organic food. The airline was geared towards female costumers. Some song commercials that appeared in “The Persuaders” seemed irrelevant when trying to make a connection between airplane travel and the commercials message. Song proclaimed that “it’s not just an airline, it’s a culture.” One man commented “a culture where you’re forced to act one way?”

It would be nice to eliminate all the clutter and find just what we need, but advertisers will always use rhetorical approaches to gain consumers.

...The Persuaders

One of the aspects of the documentary that particularly intrigued me was the amount of psychology and investigation of the human psyche that goes into advertising. I mean, it makes sense; you find out the individual aspects and qualities that make a certain demographic want to be loyal to one product regardless of its quality. Usually, it’s the environment that seems to surround the use of the product. Whether the ads exude sophistication or a hip rebirth what it comes back to, (I almost can’t believe I’m saying this) is Ramage’s idea of identity and association over logic. The iPod may not be the most practical of the mp3 generation, but it’s the best advertised. It creates the illusion that by joining the iPod family, you are branding yourself.

There was one thing I guess I found kind of ironic in the documentary though. In much of the time the anchor spent narrating, one of the things stressed was product placement—how in film and culture, just the mere presence of a Coke bottle in a scene can have a huge influence. However, in the short scenes where the anchor is at his desk typing and what not, the camera is often at a highly convenient angle. What do I mean by this? There is a shot where the camera is behind the monitor facing the anchor, and it slowly pans down stopping so that the Apple logo is in a perfect placement. He’s not directly advertising for the company, but it is a subtle little message that he is a “member” of that brand. There are other examples of that throughout the film. It is kind of ironic though. I mean, a lot of the purpose of the film was to inform the audience of marketing techniques and schemes—all the while, the producers ended up doing a little marketing themselves.

The Persuaders

I took a photography class in high school and there was a section devoted to advertising. I actually had to take part in being a persuader, so it was kind of interesting watching people use similar tactics. It's strange how they look into the psychology of a person and crazy to try to come up with cult mentality. A lot of thought, time and money goes into advertising, but sometimes it's not a hit. The new ways they were coming up with to show their products were creative and at times humorous.

I usually don't get caught up in all of the ads we see every day. For example, some people say they will only buy the ipod because it's what they know and it works. I actually bought an MP3 player not too long ago, and it's so much better than the ipod (not to mention much cheaper). Advertisers seem to be able to play on the consumer's ignorance of the product and that's where they make the sale. People hear much more about the ipod, so they buy it, because they feel that if they buy the MP3 player, they're taking a gamble because they're not assured of its reliability. People may laugh at the lengths the persuaders were going to to sell their product, but on a certain level, it works.

Persuade this.

I was thoroughly impressed with The Persuaders, despite this being my second time watching the film (you can blame Prof Bleach!). My brain must have suffered some major damage during finals week last semester, because everything seemed like it was brand new information! Again, I was stunned to find out what lengths people involved with advertising and marketing go to suck us in and make us buy. And every time I shop, I fall right back into this practice- despite knowing this! (IE: the iPod. But it was great present, and it was a successful present, so that's all that matters, right?)

I was especially interested to "re-learn" about branding. In another class I'm currently taking, we have been discussing branding, among those people and places like The United Colors of Benetton, The Body Shop, and even the Godfather himself, Bernays. I was captivated by what the CEO of Saatchi & Saatchi said, about branding developing new connections with our emotional side. So often I think of branding as just "selling the product," and now in two different classes, it's being instilled in me that branding really is about the ability that we have to find, and identify, ourselves with a particular cause or event. And with that identification, comes our "natural" ability to buy the products that that cause stands with.

Ramageland

I awoke to thunderous slamming on my front door and sprang from my bed, worried that something was wrong. I fled my room and made hast through the hall leading to the staircase. After sliding down the railing of the stairs, I braced myself and as quickly as possible hauled the door open.
I didn’t exactly expect who I witnessed. My brother had been out that night, so I guessed it was him coming home early in the morning; maybe he forgot his keys. But it wasn’t him. Some haggard hybrid mix of a lumberjack and motorcycle-bad-boy was heaving knelt over on my front porch.
“Can I help you?” I asked.
The pot bellied man replied: “Possibly, but more Importantly, Can I help you?”
I was waiting for him to draw a gun and make demands, but it never happened. We had a temporary stare-off as I tried to figure this guy out. “Who is this and what does he want?” I thought to myself.
The giant man on my doorstep began to grumble and talk:
“If you won’t speak, than allow me to. My name is Jonathan Ramage. You I presume are David Brown. If I read my class roster correctly you should be in my Principles of Rhetoric class this fall.”
“…Yes…That’s me.” I replied uncertainly
“I thought maybe we could go on a little excursion to better acquaint you with the subject matter of the course.”
“An excursion? To where?”
“Oh let’s just call it…Ramageland!”
“What did you mane a theme park after yourself?”
He ignored my sarcasm and beamed at me while I evaluated the situation in my head. I had never seen this man who claimed to be a teacher in my life, and he had invited me to venture with him to an unheard-of destination.
With two weeks left of my summer vacation I expected to relax, sit by the pool; maybe take a trip to the beach…Not this. But I thought, maybe this would be exciting. I felt like I could trust this guy, I felt in my gut. My friends always went on extravagant vacations; half of them were currently away. I could have some stories to tell them for a change. On an impulse I made my decision, and replied, “Ok sure.”
“Brilliant!” He cried with joy and skipped like a school girl to his motorcycle, which I hadn’t noticed earlier.
Maybe I wasn’t ready for this trip. I had never been on a motorcycle before, and I wasn’t ready to trust a stranger on one.
“I’m not sure about this anymore,” I quivered.
He looked at the bike for a few seconds and then before my eyes the bike transformed into a slick red convertible. My mouth dropped gapingly. I stumbled in amazement towards to car, and sat myself in the new leather seats.
“Are you more comfortable with this?” He inquired.
“I…I..?”
“Ok then, let’s go!”
He peeled out of my driveway and sped down the street like a formula one racer, the wind burst into my face and I couldn’t even keep my eyes open. The situation was so confusing. Everything happened so fast and I still didn’t know where we were going. I think Mr. Ramage sensed this, because he began to slow down and veered of the main road onto the scenic route which no other cars occupied.
“Thanks” I said, assuming he understood.
“You’re wondering what we are doing here” he commented.
“Yea, what’s the purpose of this trip, and where’s Ramageland? What’s Ramageland?”
“Well, the purpose of this trip is to teach you about Rhetoric. And I’ll hold off on telling you too much about Ramageland”
Ok, that was a start. Now he’s talking some sense.
“So what is rhetoric?” I asked him
He began to snort and his stomach jiggled as he laughed. “It’s not as easy as ‘what is rhetoric.’ But what is it like? What does rhetoric do? What is rhetoric in terms of other things? I will offer you no formal definition of the term, because no such thing can exist and contain the large spectrum of what rhetoric is.”
I began to get frustrated and remarked: “Ok so what does it do? This means nothing to me. And if it should mean anything to me you could have just waited a week to tell me about in class. Why should I care?”
“Not bad! You’re loosely using rhetoric already!”
“What?”
“You’re thinking. You’re arguing your points, pleading your case. With rhetoric you can make rhetorical claims, even if they’re against rhetoric!”
“But I don’t understand? I still don’t even know what rhetoric is, nor do I care!”
“That’s the beauty of it! There’s no autonomy, rhetoric is for anyone, and it can be used in any situation to any ends!”
My mind felt cloudy. I could tell Mr. Ramage could sense this, and he slowed down and parked the car along the side of the road. He began to speak slowly.
“Have you ever heard a presidential speech? Have you ever argued your way out of punishment? Have you ever spoken to a salesman? If so, you have experienced rhetoric. It’s like but not limited to persuasion. It’s talking around things. There are no universal truths in this world, and you can justify and ‘prove’ almost anything by the means of rhetoric.”
“You’re crazy” I bluntly retorted, blowing him off.
“If you believe me to be than…I suppose so.”
“Ugh! I wish there was a world without rhetoric!”
“Do you really?” He asked.
I looked at him inquisitively and then responded with a smirk, “yea, sure.”
“Ok then…” He replied
Wind flushed through the air and I lost my sight. I felt a chill run up my spine and my feet lifted off of the earth and I felt heavy, yet weightless at the same time. I tried opening my eyes and my head spun, light flashed, and I could hear nothing other than my heavy breathing mixed with the hurricane surrounding me. I felt myself crash into the earth and then it all stopped.
I stood up, coughing and catching my breath. I opened my eyes and I stood alone on a plain. I looked below me and saw the chalky grey earth that I was standing on. The ground was hard and I as stepped forward I heard my steps echo. The air was dank, and there was fog disallowing me from seeing more than 30 feet ahead. I turned and looked behind me and saw nothing. I looked left. Right. Nothing. “Where am I?” I thought to myself. “Ramageland?” I thought. Then I heard something coming from behind me. I turned around and made haste towards the noise.
Images began to formulate as I moved forward. When I arrived in the vicinity of where I perceived the noise came from, there was a gathering of some sort. There were rows of seats leading to a decrepit stage with two decaying colonial wooden chairs facing each other. Placed on each unstable chair was a manikin. Each manikin was stained and looked worn-out. One was missing an arm; the other had assorted chunks missing with stuffing protruding out of its various wounds. I took a better look at the crowd, and the audience was occupied by close to a hundred lifeless manikins as well.
“Where the hell am I?” I thought. I continued to muse over the situation and then my thoughts were interrupted by a familiar voice.
“Mr. Brown, take a seat next to me and enjoy the debate.”
I looked over my shoulder and there was John Ramage, sitting amongst the crowd of stoic bodies.
I crept over to Mr. Ramage, avoiding contact with the corpse-like viewers. When I arrived he pushed a manikin out of the seat next to him to make room for me to sit. The manikin fell to the ground; dust particles and dirt escaped the body and hovered in the air. I took the seat timidly.
“Is this Ramageland?” I whispered.
“No, this is quite the opposite.” He replied.
“Well, where are we, and what kind of debate is this?”
“We are in a world with no rhetoric which you wished for, and this is what a debate would be like in this world.”
“But these aren’t even people, they can’t even say anything!”
“They might as well be people; it would be just the same.”
“Ok I get it. Can we just get out of her?”
At that I felt a harsh wind again and I felt compressed as I lifted off the ground and my sight became a blur. A few seconds of confusion passed and I arrived back at the convertible, and I sighed with relief. Rhetoric began to appear a little more appeasing.
Mr. Ramage suggested going for a walk, and I agreed. While walking I noticed a weevil crossing the path we were walking, and instinctually from my bug-murdering childhood days, I stepped on it. John Ramage was appalled, yet excited simultaneously.
“Why would you do such a thing?!” He bellowed.
“I don’t know? I didn’t really think…Sorry” I said in defense.
“Think about it, make an argument for yourself! Have bugs ever gotten into your house, or ruined a tree or plant in your yard? What you just did could be argued as wrong. That beetle was defenseless yet you still squashed it. But you could also argue it was not wrong. You were just expressing your power, and you have that power to do such a thing. You could argue that bugs can contaminate food and can spread diseases. You killing any bug possible could prevent this! With rhetoric you could defend something little like the morality or immorality of killing a defenseless bug, or theoretically something as grandiose as killing a man.”
Ramage then continued; “Is killing universally wrong? Maybe the society you live in views it as wrong, but only in certain locales. Take the war the country is involved in for instance. Are American soldier wrong for killing Iraqis? They’re humans too. Would a man be wrong for killing another man in retribution for the latter man killing the formers son? Society generates “truths” but there are none, and there are always exceptions. ‘Killing is wrong’ is a generally excepted maxim. So why is it right in war? Which side is at war for the right reason?”
I looked at him perplexed. My brain was churning.
“It’s the art of proving opposites.” He stated.
“So rhetoric can be good, to prove things wrong or right, but can’t it be used negatively as well? What if a man killed someone with ill intentions or for no justifiable reason at all?” I asked.
“Well, rhetoric is amoral at best. It can be used by anyone, and it can prove anything. A ‘guilty’ man can benefit using rhetoric, and can prove he is innocent.”
“I get it, I get it. But where is this all going; you still haven’t even told me the way to Ramageland.”
“How do you feel about rhetoric, are you getting it yet?”
“Yea, I feel a lot more confident than before, but there’s still room for improvement.”
“Then you’re already there,” He smiled.
Mr. Ramage was a quirky man, but I enjoyed his company. He would later prove to be a proficient teacher. We continued to walk and debate in Ramageland; where I had just arrived, after having been there all along.

Rafting on Rhetoric River

John D. Ramage, a close friend of mine, had asked me to join him on a road trip, or rather a raft trip. He begged me and I just kept telling him that I had a skating match that I absolutely could not miss. He finally threw in fifty bucks and I weighed my options. I could spend the twenty dollar registration fee for the skate match or gain the fifty bucks and travel with a friend. I accepted the money and the invite and on a Sunday we met up at a community park and then traveled about five miles through the woods on foot before arriving at a river that I had never even heard of before. I looked around and a shabby sign clung on to a wooden post. A fading map marked areas of danger. Knowing John, these were the places that we were going to be taking detours to because for hi, nothing can ever be simple. Jagged letters formed the words Rhetoric River, the place to lose yourself. Gag, I thought. I could be skating but instead I will probably be swimming with the fish by the end of this experience. If I made it out alive, my mental state would probably still be compromised. I reminded myself that I wasn’t acting like the person that I wanted to be so finally I succumbed to the force that is Ramage and the two of us hopped in the raft to partake in the dangers of the drug trafficking and notorious fighting areas marked on the map by peace signs and red x’s. The plan was to be gone for three days but I had a feeling that we might be on an extended tour.
The water was unkind for the first day of our trip. It was at times the kind of water that the type of people who can’t bring themselves to say that they are lost and just ask for directions, would rely solely on themselves to try and conquer. On the other hand, people like me and John, rhetorical people, compromise with each other to try and come to some sort of partnership way of making it through these treacherous waters. He takes the right paddle and I take the left. After finally working as a unit, we pulled up to the bank of the river to eat and get some rest for the evening. We were completely exhausted and we were both mentally and physically drained. We tied the boat down and grabbed our backpacks. I looked around and discovered that this place did not look too scary. Trees surrounded the area and chirping birds were music to my ears. Houses looked ones that you would find in a development. They all looked the same: beige with brown shutters and a big garage attached to the sides. I was surprised that there were so many trees because these houses looked relatively new. I finally noticed this tavern on a hill that stuck out like a sore thumb. It was drab and made of what looked like dirt. Mosses growing around the shack made parts of the disintegrating bricks turn green and moldy. Motorcycles lined the perimeter of the building with the neon sign reading “Flying Spades”. We figured it was as good of a place as any to take a few moments to gather our bearings. Really there were no other bars and we were looking for an adventure and a drink in a place that we had never been before.
We walked into the dimly lit shack and sat in the corner seats of the bar. A bearded man with a whisky and cigarettes voice took out order of beverages. While waiting for our beverages and sandwiches to arrive, the guy sitting next to us at the bar was having a conversation with a mustached man about stocks and bonds. I looked at John and we both cracked a smile for the first time on this trip. Who would have thought that these people were, dare I say, BANKERS! Yes, they looked intimidating and they drank beer and talked really loud but we thought there might be bar fights until we actually got to talking to them. They asked us if we each had a broker and it was all downhill from there. All of the conversations were the same: money, cars, homes, and vacations. They huddled in tattooed groups of brass knuckles and spurs. Bandannas, smoke, and leather-like faces, some with beards, filled the room. General consensus from these rough and tumble men is that no bar fights would be breaking out that evening, or any if they could help it, simply because they all had to get to their offices and attend to the dow in the morning. They went on and on about yearly salaries and bonuses and about how this is their way to escape their normal personas. Their motto was business by day, bikers by night. We ate some great cuisine and barely slept. The people there were a riot because they kept giving us simple how to lessons on becoming bikers. My favorite lesson came from the town lawyer, Tom, and was directed at Ramage.
He said, “If you just wear the tightest leather pants you can find, all the chickies will come a runnin’. I get the best of both worlds. When I wear a suit I get all of the biker chicks and when I wear these pants, I get all of the corporate “ladies” that normally won’t even pay attention to a guy like me, not during the day anyway.”
I thought that this was the best advice because John hadn’t had a date in what seemed like forever. Leather pants are probably the one thing left that he has never tried. Also, his expression looked as though he were taking notes on a notepad in his head. We went off to get sleep and did just that.
Morning came and the waters were calling. We left, leather jackets and brass knuckles in hand (figuratively speaking about the knuckles of course, for they are illegal and for good reason). The waters were more manageable that morning and we sailed on until we encountered people shouting from the banks. At first we couldn’t hear them, but when we did, we realized that they were using complex dialogues to describe themselves and what they were wearing. It was plain to see that they were wearing tie-dye shirts so we almost assumed that they were drug doing hippies; but, judging from the bikers that we encountered the night before, we decided that they were just trying to construct an identity. They were probably business men under there too. Apparently this is something everyone does, but few people actually stop to realize what they are seeing and the reasons why. These particular people were shouting and dancing around, smoke was everywhere and we decided that we should stop and partake in the festivities. What good reason could one possibly have for missing the pseudo hippy party upon the banks of Rhetoric River?
When we actually got to chatting with the locals, we realized that they were celebrating a local tradition called the Stereotype the Stereotypical Festival. They said that they have this festival in memory of the late feminist writing resident, Sylvia Plath. They said that those who attended the party could stereotype anything they wanted but this year their group chose to portray unshowered, hemp wearing, ganja smoking, free loving, cuddle bunnies. In other words, hippies be they name. We ate some brownies, probably the best I’ve ever tasted, and the best part was that they were free of charge. We must’ve eaten a whole pan before getting back in our boat wearing our tie- dye shirts and our leather jackets. We continued sailing through the purple haze that was our water. Little did we know that the special brownies were special because they were all organic vegan brownies. We put the bucket in our boat to good use and dumped the waste overboard both literally and figuratively.
After losing our notion of modesty when using the “bathroom” we continued sailing for about 3 hours and it began to rain. We kept going for about another hour but then it began to lightening. After talking to each other, we decided to pull over and see what was on the banks this time. We parked the raft, knocked on a door and a bunch of people peering with contrasting looks answered the door. They allowed us in and offered us some hot cocoa. We gladly accepted and then we all sat down to enjoy our beverage. Sam, one of the guys who lived at the house brought up the subject of religion and how he chose to believe in the Roman Catholic faith. Jenna, his sister started arguing with him over her extreme belief of science and evolution. They just kept bringing up how each disagreed with the other but eventually they had exhausted all of their knowledge of the subjects, on each other. Nobody got any further than the other but each tried their very hardest. After listening to the two argue for what seemed like forever, I began to take what they were saying and question my own particular identity. Jenna kept quoting passages from Good and Evil while Sam shouted verses from the Bible. Both sounded like complete morons because of their lack of factual knowledge.
Jenna shouted, “God is dead, and God is a lie!
Sam replied with, “What are you John Lennon now?”
Jenna replied, “No! I’m Friedrich Nietzsche but they probably didn’t teach you about him in church. They should have though because you might have some common sense tuck away in the corners of your mind. The very deepest and darkest corners that is”
I tuned in to tune out. Which do I believe? Who do I choose to side with? Both are using the art of persuasion but both are horrible at rendering it. Why do their persuasions have to affect me? The static of their bickering set the soundtrack of my thoughts. I wondered if there was a way that I could develop an independent thought schema and essentially develop my own version of religion that allows me to pursue what ever makes me happy. I wanted to be in the least restrictive environment but realized that this could never happen due to the fact that I acknowledge where both parties are coming from and must subject myself to these discussion for as long as I live.
John could tell that I was getting bogged down by all of these thoughts and that the rain that had caused us to stop here in the first place, had subdued. We politely made an exit but not before John used the bathroom for like the tenth time since we had gotten there. It was his muse and he just had to tour every facility on all of our stops. I wondered if he had been trying to construct the identity of the bathroom connoisseur or just portray the quality of a middle aged man partaking in the joys of a bladder problem. Eventually he came down as did the raft into the water. The day awaited and so did what lied ahead.
Apparently the whole concept of rhetoric lead John and I in one big circle back to where we started. Before I knew it we were back at the signpost in the forest. Lose myself? I certainly did, or is it that I found myself or the person that I want to find? Once again, my head was swirling with questions of identity. Did I have a ready constructed identity? And if I did was it the person that I wanted to be? The things on the outside define the criteria on which we are judged by society. I found myself wondering if I wanted to be the biker or the hippy, evolution or intelligent design? I came out of this journey far too soon to realize what makes an individual, individual. John and I decided we were going to pick up where we left off next Tuesday around 9:30am. It was as good a time as any. For now, I’m going to take it easy and go home. I can’t quite decide if I’m going to cook tonight’s meal with the pressure cooker or the slow cooker. Each has its benefits but right now I am too tired to think. Maybe I will just order some takeout for tonight.

A Date with Rhetoric

Eyes opened with warm, sodden hands. I could see myself. I was surrounded by hard porcelain walls that seem supple, rubber in nature, yet they still hold the room up. Water still poured tenaciously from the faucet onto my fingers. It was hot. Not too hot, just right for washing temperature. I was by myself, but I could hear soft, gentle music playing through the walls. I had no idea where I was, but for some reason I knew exactly what to do. My body seemed to carry my mind throughout this marble and gold lined latrine. I moved to the threshold to the room in my corpse. I paused, and then proceeded to open the door.

I was greeted with a boisterous setting. There was too much to comprehend at first glance. My eyes scanned another fancy room. Statues, intricate moldings and door frames, a large stair case that didn’t appear to have an end, a fountain with mythological creatures and Gods, I could go on forever. The importance was what was taking place in the center of the room. There were small curtained tables lined up in a circular fashion. Each table had a candle in the center of it and a male and a female on either side conversing, yelling, staring, scaring, snaring, sneering, watching, speaking, exchanging.

The question in the back of my mind forced its way to the front and almost exploded out of the front of my skull. What on earth is going on? My eyes scaled to the large banner that was hung on the wall in front of the tables. Speed Date, in large bold letters, brought to you by Johnny “The Love Doctor” Ramage, it read underneath in script.

“Speed Date? This ought to be a riot,” I thought to myself. I laughed.

Before I could finish organizing my thoughts in a manor in which I could understand them, a large bell rang throughout the room shattering my current thought of finding relations between the concepts of speed and dating. The low murmur of talking ended but the sound shifted to the fumbling of chairs and the thumping of hard-soled fancy shoes against the marble floor. As if some greater force shot across the room, all of the men stood up and began to move about. The men did not talk to each other. The only thing that was exchanged between them was daunting looks of the eye and hostile stares almost as cold as the floor beneath them. Once the chaos cleared, they had found new homes at a different location across from a different woman.

I scanned the room with my eyes like a scanner carefully scanning an important document that would be mass produced by the hundreds. Until I noticed the table at the end only had one tenant. My body began to move again and I advanced toward the table. I tended to find my way by going where I had to go.

As I got closer I began to study the woman sitting at the table. She looked abnormally fragile yet she had very pronounced features and sat there as hard as the porcelain statue that was on the wall to her adjacent. I was close now, time to smile.

“Are you always late?” she asked while staring off.

For some reason my lips would not move to answer her. I walked around to the other side of the table and seated myself. I reached across to shake her hand and greet her with my name, which escapes my mind right now. She responded by telling me her name, which doesn’t escape me right now. Samantha. Serious Sam my mind told me. I couldn’t tell if she was yelling her name at me or if by some chance the previous man at her table somehow turned her into a verbal lion, a very monotone lion at that. Regardless I felt like no matter how light I acted she was going to respond with a cold, hard, textbook answer. I don’t remember asking her of even annunciating the words, maybe I didn’t, who knows, but she told me her profession. Science teacher. This wasn’t a shock to me. I could imagine myself falling asleep in her class.

The way she responded reminded me of lessons on motion from back in grade school. I recall learning about motion and its underlining parts. “For every action there is an opposite and equal reaction.” She would say something, I would answer. The ideas of motions and causes scattered throughout my head like a puppy in a new home. Apparently we were involved in conversation. My body was just telling my lips to move like when a ball strikes another and tells it to move. Its just transfer of inertia or in this case words to lips.

I knew she wasn’t right for me. Serious Sam was too serious. She was like a ball in motion with no mind of its own strictly following the proven laws and rules of science rather than acting out from her own behavior and humanistic qualities. Like a raindrop in a rainspout. She had nowhere to run, or drip for that matter. I reckon she was probably asking the exact same questions and giving the same responses to all her victims. She was so used to rattling off cliché answers to questions and questioning my somewhat interesting answers.

“So what’s your number one quality you look for in a man?” I asked hesitantly.

“I wish for eternal happiness…” she replied with a blank stare. It echoed throughout my empty skull. Her head bobbed slightly when she spoke that almost made it seem as if it were hanging from a string. I also noticed that she didn’t blink much. Unless of course she was blinking at the exact same time I was. This was highly possible.

It was almost as if she was reading from a script, I even looked down to the table cloth several times in search of a menu or outline. Somehow she managed to remain so structured and lifeless with her answers, almost as if she was following a recipe for an intricate dish of some sort to be severed at a five star restaurant.

“So what’s your number one quality you look for in a man?” I asked hesitantly.

“Place the cake pan in a cold oven. Turn the oven on and set it to 325 degrees F. Cook for about one hour, or until cake is golden brown.” I could imagine her saying.

All of this structure was expected from such a serious person.

Recipes are guidelines used to make a dish that can be followed as closely as the one cooking prefers. You can learn a lot about someone, by how close they follow their recipe. And that’s not to say that all serious people are good at cooking, but to say that all serious people follow their recipe exactly which makes them so “serious.” ‘Us’ on the other hand prefer to learn from our past experiences of burnt cookies and our shrimp tasting cheesecake with hopes of improving our cooking extravaganza every time.

Cake is done! But in reality it was the bell ringing again. My eyes opened wider. I began to move about the room again and had no recollection of saying bye to Serious Sam. I probably did and she probably said something I could have said before she actually moved her lips to say it. I was paraded around the room again by my corpse. It was quite obvious that we were getting towards the end of the rotations because all of the male figures seemed to be even more antagonistic than before.

My body took me to the other end of the room. For a second I thought I was leaving the event, but then I realized that my next specimen was somehow part of it just not expected at first glimpse.

“It’s Patty,” she stated sternly.

I looked around to make sure she was talking to me. Before I answered I couldn’t help but notice what she was wearing. Biker gear. I ran into the leader of the female Harley Club. Why was she here? Shouldn’t she be at the bar with the rest of the pack? I was beginning to wonder if this actually was a dream. Is this a joke?

I stuttered before I told her my name.

“It’s ok. I got the same reaction from the others,” she said dejectedly. “We’re going to talk a little, you’re going to laugh at me, then the bell is going to ring and you’ll be on your way. So how do you want to do this so it’s the least painful for both of us because you’re my 10^th match today?”

I didn’t know what to say. Why was she so defensive before I could get one word in?

“So why are you mad at the world?” I asked a bit unsurely, yet sympathetic at the same time.

She went on to explain that men don’t take her serious as a woman or as a person for that matter. They instantly judge her for her leather chaps, jacket, bandana, chains, and loud hog. I learned just from hearing her talk briefly that she was to my surprise fairly intelligent and good with her words. If I were to close my eyes she would shatter my preconceived physical appearance image of her instantly. She was just an average woman under all her leather and tattoos. She was a victim of today’s society. Because she drives a Harley there is a ‘ready-made’ identity assigned to her as soon as she steps out the door in the morning. Unfortunately she’ll never shake that as long as she is ‘leathered out.’

Although I never really had a thing for biker chicks she seemed to be delightful and once I got over the chaps I didn’t mind talking to her, especially in comparison to the last disaster.

The bell rang once again. But this time I remember saying bye to patty and asking her for a bike ride sometime. She winked back and slipped me her number. She wasn’t ready for that. Who would have known the biker chick wasn’t mean, didn’t smell, was intelligent, and was in general a good person.

I got up and looked around. It was interesting to watch people interact. Some people were very abrasive with their words and demanded intimacy and connection from the person across the table, while others took the back seat and monitored the current situation rather than drove it.

I felt much more in control of my body now, in fact it should have taken me to my next destination but it failed to do so. I was controlling my legs. I was in control. I walked about the room taking in its beauty. It was astonishing how something as modern as speed dating could be captured in a room full of Greek architecture and marble. This sort of thing racks the mind. After doing an almost complete lap of the room I bumped into the refreshments table. I immediately went for the punch. My cup hit the liquid…

Black.

My eyes opened and my hands were soaking. I could see myself. I was again surrounded by walls, familiar walls this time. I turned off the faucet. I was by myself, but I could hear familiar music playing from my room across the hall. I knew exactly what to do. This time I carried my body to my room and crawled into my bed when I heard a crinkle come from my pocket. I reached in to discover a wrinkled, punch stained paper fragment with a phone number for Patty on it. I smiled to myself. I began to drift off again. I know that if I fell back to sleep I would most likely dream again and it would most likely be different. For a man Heraclitus once argued, “You never step in the same river twice.” That was one hell of a dream. I exhaled.

Camping with Ramage Final Draft

Overhead, the summer clouds darkened in the afternoon sky. My silver, Ford Escape was neatly and pristinely packed with all of the essentials. Tents, stakes, tarps, and everything else that would be key to having a successful camping trip. I turned the key in the ignition and began driving out of my small, dusty town. Sam, Katie, and Danny were all sitting in various positions of my car, and as I turned onto the highway, a grizzly yet wise voice came over the radio bringing the weekend’s weather report.

“Stay indoors this weekend folks,” he almost growls. “Hurricane Dean is underway; heavy winds and flash flooding will start tonight.”

I glanced to my friends, and from all of their expressions I could tell that they were on the same plane of thought as I was. We had been planning this trip for weeks, and we were certainly not going to let nature get in our way. With a nod from Sam, I accelerated and continued our journey to our state park camping site.

As I pulled into lot 154, I couldn’t help but notice that there was just one other group of campers in sight. “Wow,” said Katie, “This really is like wilderness now.”

No one responded, and we all exited and begin unloading the contents of my car into the large and familiar patch of dirt. The four of us took this trip every year, and we always made a point to book exactly the same campsite. However, it appeared different than how it was when we last left it. It was not situated quite the same; the dirt was alien; there was more grass.

Birds were chirping merrily above us, in a language that wasn’t decipherable to any of us. I looked into the canopy of trees above my head, noting just how surrounded by nature we really were. It was everywhere; it was closing in on us. But I was quickly snapped out of my reverie as Danny called to me over a small gust of wind, “We really need to get the tent up!”

“Yeah…Where should we put it?” I asked.

Sam was the first to respond. “It needs to be near the back. That way if any cars or walkers pass by, we won’t be disturbed.”

“No,” Katie shook her head. “We’ll be closer to the forest then. Animals are running around and what not. This is nature, and I for one don’t feel properly equipped to deal with some of those things at the moment. I’d really hate to acquire rabies. We’d be safer if we were closer to the road. But I think we should put it in the middle.”

“Won’t it be too close to the fire then?”

“Nah, we’ll just keep it small.”

Content with that decision, we unpacked the tent, and began constructing it. We started by putting together the base and then working our way up until finally, we could stake it into the ground so that it would stand solid.
The rain continued to endlessly fall from the overhead sky. As thousands of drops forced their moisture upon us stinging our bare skin, we were compelled to adapt to this new problem. Luckily, I had managed to pack three giant golf umbrellas which sheltered and protected us from any unwanted wetness.

Soon the sky began to fade to black, and we realized that we still needed to build a fire. Danny argued that we did not need to go to the trouble so late in the day, but I reminded him that a fire was crucial. Without it, we would have no real source of heat, and the hotdogs we brought would be of no use unless cooked. And we certainly couldn’t survive happily on a quick fix of snack food. He obliged to my reasoning, but that is not to say that he did so with out much fussing and grumbling when he had to leave his umbrella behind.

Arms interlocked and flash lights in hand, we entered the start of the forest behind our campsite to find some wood. We searched through endless heaps of fallen leaves and other various forest matter, trying to decipher what was important and what would work best to achieve our goal. However, it became difficult because everything was drenched with the rain. The twigs we found were drooping with the weight of the water, and the pores of the larger branches were so soaked that there was no way that a fire could be ignited from them. Though slightly disheartened, we kept searching, and soon we came upon a small, unoccupied den containing just enough twigs, branches, and bark to create and sustain and adequate blaze.

With our bounty piled in our arms, we made our way back to our site and began loading everything into the circular grate. We used a systematic fashion: small twigs at the bottom with the larger pieces forming a teepee shape on top. When we were content with the arrangement, Danny pulled out the matches and began trying to get the twigs to catch. After many unsuccessful attempts, he threw the five-hundred-pack of matches to the ground in frustration.

As he did so, my attention was called to a lone man walking along the road. He had no umbrella, but he seemed completely comfortable with his surroundings. Dressed in flannel and simple jeans, he was unshaven, a little scruffy, looked well accustomed to the nature that surrounded him. The four of us exchanged glances, and Katie sloshed eagerly through the muddy ground to meet the stranger.

“Hi,” she started. “My friends and I are camping, and we can’t get a fire going. Is there any way you could help us?”

The man stopped, and stared at her with his head atilt. “Why do you think I would be able to help you?”

Katie’s cheeks flushed a slight shade of crimson. “I’m sorry; it’s just that you look like you’re a camper.”

“Well for your information, I’m not an avid camper; I’m an ornithologist, and I was just walking around to see if there were any birds out.”

“Oh…it’s just that…you look…”

“I look like a camper? What, just because I dress comfortably and don’t shave every day I have to be a mountain man?”

“Well…”

The man considered her for a moment. “I will tell you one thing though. First, you need to figure out how not to make a fire. After you’ve done that, you’ll be able to see the way.” He laughed to himself. “I remember this one time—”

“You know, I think we’ve got it,” Katie interrupted as she backed away from the man. “Thanks anyway.” After her abrupt closing, she turned and power walked back to our group as the man grumbled angrily and disappeared into the distance.

“What do we do now?” Sam asked with little lines of worry etched in her face.

“Hold on a sec,” I said as I ran to my car and returned with the previous day’s newspaper. I began crumpling it up into wads and tossing them into the grate.

“Give me a match,” I called out over the rain.

Danny looked at me with a hint of disgust. “That doesn’t make sense.”

“It doesn’t have to. Logic makes sense, life doesn’t.” Bemused at my rare moment of profound knowledge, I threw a few lit matches into the pit, and sure enough, it soon sparked a small yet effective fire.

As we cooked our food, the storm grew more and more intense with each passing second. The raindrops increased in size and were pelting us with great velocity. The wind picked up, and tried to blow us around in different directions. Its power was amazing, and there were a few times that I was sure that one of us was going to be taken away. Overhead, thunder began to orate across the invisible, black skyline. It began quietly, but as it picked up confidence, coupled along with skill from previous experiences, it grew louder in a desperate attempt to productively communicate its anger. Standing there, we didn’t speak to one another, but instead chose to stand in silence around the fire, umbrellas in hand, listening to nature’s endless speech.

All around us the sound of the hurricane was deafening. It was warning us that we had no place in being here, that we would fail because of our lack in preparation. As we were enjoying our strange noisy silence, a particularly large gust of wind tore through the campsite. It wouldn’t have been a big deal, except for the fact that it took our tent with it. The large, green dome floated up into the air and landed gracefully in the middle of the street.

As we began walking to retrieve the runaway tent, a truck marked Park Ranger turned the corner and drove down the street. The path it was taking meant that it was destined to collide head on with the tent, and by the look of it, the driver seemed oblivious to the giant obstruction in the street. Twenty feet away. We all yelled as we picked our pace up to a run. Ten feet away. We raised our voices to the highest volume possible, but it was of no use; the cacophony of nature’s voices drowned us out. Finally, with a skidding crash, the front bumper came into contact with the tarp, and our tent lay mangled in the middle of the street. It lay there, no longer a tent. A heap of twisted wire, metal, and cloth, it had transformed itself into something else entirely. Sam grabbed the destroyed pile and began dragging it back to our plot. The driver looked at us sympathetically, but Danny waved to him to signify that it was okay, and the man drove off as if it had never happened.

“Why did you let him do that?” Katie shot as we returned back to the fire.

“What else could I do? It’s not like he was going to build us another one.” Danny stopped, ankle deep in a puddle. “Look guys, we’ve lost our tent, the campsite is going to be under water within the hour, and there is no way we’re keeping this fire going. Let’s just go home.”

“No,” I said defiantly.

“Why not?” he asked, lines of anger now showing in his face were disfigured by the torrents of rain separating us.

“I don’t want to miss out on the experience. I mean just because it’s difficult doesn’t mean we have to quit.” Despite the fact that my clothes stuck pasted themselves to my skin in wetness, despite the fact that I was quite positive that I would never be able to be dry again, I was not going to completely abort our cause.

“And where do you intend on sleeping?”

“Do I need to sleep?”

“Seriously. Let’s try to be a little more mature about this.”

“I have a car. I’ll sleep there. You can leave if you want. Have fun getting home.” I knew I was pissing Danny off slightly more than necessary, but it wasn’t without purpose. He eventually gave in to my refusal to agree to leave the premise, but it wasn’t without a bit of bartering. I agreed to shorten the trip and leave the next afternoon.

We stood and watched the fire until it cracked and fizzled into ash. Soaked skin and clothing, we looked like victims stranded from a shipwreck. Finally ready to call it a night, we crawled into my car and attempted an uncomfortable slumber. I didn’t sleep much, and opted to watch the raindrops racing down the windshield in synchronicity with the howling voice of the wind and thunder coupled with the spattering of rain. They were constant, relentless sounds that never ceased, but they were saying something. It was in a language I was not all too familiar with, but I knew it was making sense, and trying to teach me to understand its lingo.

Somewhere around three in the morning, I fell asleep only to wake a few hours later to antsy friends. It took about ten minutes to hastily throw everything sloppily back into my car and speed off to the highway. I felt different, as if I had learned some abstract knowledge, but I couldn’t quite place what it was.

I breathed a sigh of relief as I reached the interstate. I had never been so happy to be away from nature. Though, no sooner had I though this than I realized that never in my life had I truly escaped nature. Nature was omniscient, and completely engulfed every facet of my life since birth. Nature would always surround me, and now my challenge would be to learn how to deal with it.

final copy! :)

A Bus Ride Through Rhetoric
I awake with a start. It is dark all around me as I slowly twist my body out of its contorted pretzel-like position, and sit up straight. I am on a bus, surrounded by many people. They are talking, laughing, arguing, reminiscing—loudly, that is—and I am surprised I fell asleep to begin with. Cautiously, I look to my left, then right, and after seeing no obstacles, lift myself out of my seat and towards the bathroom. Once inside, I stand in a daze and stare at the mirror, willing my hair to flatten into some semblance of organization.
I am fully awake now, but recall no information as to how I got here. “What am I doing on a bus?” I ask myself, struggling to remember all the little details that would add up to my existence on this moving vehicle. Have I been kidnapped? Should I be alarmed? Frantically, I reach into my pockets and discover my cell phone, fifty dollars, and a bus ticket for San Francisco. As I take a deep breath, I remember where I am headed. California. Visiting family. Sandy beaches. Good Drinks.
“I am so dramatic sometimes,” I say, silently chastising myself as I put the contents of my pockets away. What is this- Speed? If that’s the case, I ask myself, where’s Keanu? Laughing, I exit the bathroom, walking back to my seat feeling considerably less burdened.
As I reach my seat, I rustle through my book bag looking for a snack. I haven’t eaten since a quick stop to McDonald’s on the way to the bus station. All of a sudden, an arm reaches in front of my face, and I smell the distinct odor of home-cooked food. I look up, surprised, and see it is an older woman holding a Tupperware container filled with chocolate chip cookies. My mouth practically waters. “Hungry?” the woman says, in a drawl that reminds me of my grandmother. I hesitate, remembering every rule my mother told me as a child: “Don’t take candy from strangers,” and “Never eat anything that you haven’t made,” and of course, my personal favorite, “We live in a perfect world, and don’t need anything that anyone else made.”
“Yes, but I bet she was never this hungry,” I say to myself. I contemplate for about two more seconds, and then eagerly dive into the snack. The woman smiles at me, and in between bites, we exchange pleasantries. Her name is Ramona, and she is from Virginia. “Why are you traveling to California?” I ask, curious as to what makes this retired housewife want to travel across the country. She looks at me with a wondering question on her face, and asks me something that turns my stomach: “California? This bus isn’t headed to California!”
I have lost my appetite, as it seems I have lost my way. “What do you mean, this bus isn’t going to California?!” I shriek, standing up so fast I hit my head on the overhead light. “Child, you’re simply going to have to calm down and enjoy this ride,” the woman replies, and in her eyes, I see more than kindness- I see a feistiness that makes me think this woman clearly enjoys my panic. “I’m supposed to be going to California! That’s where my ticket says I’m going, that’s where I planned going, and that’s where I need to be going! Where are we going?”
“Well, we are not going to Europe,” she vaguely replies, smiling at me as the rest of the bus gathers around us. “What is that supposed to mean?” I retort, my voice getting significantly higher and higher with each unanswered question being ignored. “We are not going to Australia,” a man’s voice jumps into the conversation, startling me with its frankness.
“We are not going to Hawaii!” someone else says, and the crowd begins to laugh and cheer more loudly. “Enough!” I yell, so angry I expect smoke to be coming out of my ears. “I don’t want to know where we are not going- I want to know where we are going!” Ramona joins the conversation again, wisely looking down at me. “Our destination is not important. The journey- your experiences and memories are! We are not going to tell you where we are going; that is something you must figure out.”
Shocked, I turn my head towards the window, pouting at these strangers’ eccentricities. I decide I will find out where I am going my own way, and proceed to take out my cell phone. The words ‘NO SERVICE’ stare back at me, mocking my frustrations and leaving me with no choice. I pull my blanket back over my head, and scream. How did I meet such frustrating people, I wonder? And how am I going to convince them that my way is right? Or at least, I thought, to tell me where in the world we are going. Either way, I am definitely going to need a drink to get through this “adventure.”
All of a sudden, I feel the blanket that was once at my head being pulled somewhat abruptly away. I look next to me, expecting to see Ramona. Instead, I see a young boy, all of fourteen. He looks up at me, smiles, and I feel my frustrations give way. He reminds me of my younger brother, and I find myself having a hard time staying angry.
“What’s your name?” he asks me. I tell him, and he reveals that his name is John. “You’re pretty stressed out right now, aren’t you,” John says, with a twinkle in his eye that is vaguely familiar to me. I smile wryly back at him, willing myself to be angry but only feeling amused. “I wouldn’t be this upset if I hadn’t spent so much time planning out this trip,” I reply. “I have spent the past three months getting ready for this. I carefully saved my money to pay the exact bus fare, packed one suitcase, and took time off from work. I even packed extra clothes for possible rain, snow, sleet, or hail. I was fully prepared and confident this trip would be perfect, timed to the minute with exact bathroom breaks and rest stops. I’m sure you understand.”
John looks up at me, and laughs quietly. “I haven’t heard of anyone being so fully prepared for a vacation in my entire life! How are you always so organized?” This, I can answer easily. “Simple,” I say, glad for something that I can explain. “Everything in life stays the same. My trip is mapped out in exact detail, because this is just how things are. There is no room for detours, ‘special’ journeys, and I don’t believe in hypothetical situations. A trip is a trip is a trip, I say.”
“Oh, so you’re one of those people,” John says. “What are you talking about?” Embarrassed, I turn my head and start looking in my book bag for my itinerary. “You’re a Serious person!” He smiles, and continues talking, cutting me off before I get the change to respond to his outrageous claims. “And before you even ask, a Serious person does not believe in change. Everything that you just said assures me that you are a Serious person.” He reaches for his backpack, and retrieves a notebook and pen. “And that’s okay,” he continues. “Serious people are people too!”
Absolutely no way this kid is fourteen, I thought. “Just because I don’t like change doesn’t make me a serious person,” I said. “I like to have plenty of fun! I wouldn’t exactly call you a mind reader for guessing that I don’t like change, because I certainly haven’t been acting like I enjoy this experience!”
John laughs out loud this time, clearly at my expense. “No, I’m not John Edwards and I am not a mind reader, you are correct. In terms of what serious means, I mean serious with a capital ‘S’. As in Serious and Rhetorical?” I have no idea what this kid is talking about- he could be speaking Japanese for all I know. So I decide to do what I do best when I’m uncomfortable- deflect and change the subject.
“Where are your parents, John?” I ask, wondering what kind of parent would let their child sit by themselves on a bus. “Where are you traveling to?” I’ve been shutting out the background noise of people talking, but all of a sudden the bus gets quiet, and I hear a familiar woman’s teasing voice: “John’s with me, and if you think he’s going to tell you where we’re going, you’re wrong!” Laughter ensues, and while I’m getting used to this, I’m still as annoyed as I was to begin with. I look over the seat, and it is Ramona who is the ringleader. I look back at John, and am reminded why the twinkle in his eye looked so familiar: it’s because I saw it in Ramona when I first woke up, not so long ago!
This is turning into an episode of The Twilight Zone, I think. John playfully punches me in the arm, and I awake from my realization. “So, would you rather continue to get made fun of by the peanut gallery, or keep talking?” I weigh my options, and quickly decide: anything, but the peanuts.
“So tell me more about this Serious and Rhetoric thing,” I ask, genuinely interested, not for lack of entertainment but talking with John is working to ease my nerves. John begins: “Well I know I sound like an expert, but all that I know is from my grandmother, who learned it from her grandmother, and from her grandmother, and so on. I’m a Rhetorical person- I see the world as continually changing and moving, with nothing being the same things twice.”
“Is that like the glass being half empty or half full?” I ask in confusion. “Not necessarily,” John says. “Being a Serious person or Rhetorical person is not about whose right or wrong. They’re just two different sides to a story. Take now, for example. You don’t know where you’re going, and that’s driving you crazy. But if you would just take a step back and see that it’s not just about the destination, but rather how you got there, you’d begin to understand and think more like a Rhetorical person.”
“I just don’t understand how you can be so nonchalant about this,” I say. “Who cares how we got there? I just want to get to California.”
“Think of the big picture,” John carefully responds with more patience than most of my professors from my undergraduate years. “Take me, for example. This morning, my grandmother woke me up and said we were going on a trip. Did she tell me where we were going? No. She just told me to pack a suitcase, and we were going to see what life had to offer us. My grandmother didn’t know where we were going, she just decided to let someone else do the driving and enjoy the ride. All of these people on this bus? We didn’t know any of them before this morning, and now, it’s almost like we’re family. Some are on here through business, some are running away, but some are also running towards something. We all are able to change our minds at any moment, and when that happens, we’re prepared to change our game plans about this journey.”
I sit, silent and stunned. It seems to be only five minutes, but eventually I look at my watch and see that time has elapsed over an hour. I feel a hand touch my shoulder. Unflinching, I look up, and see Ramona smiling down at me. “John fell asleep half an hour ago,” she said. “Would you like to come join us in the front of the bus for a card game?”
I look up at Ramona, and really smile for the first time on this entire trip. “You taught John about Rhetorical and Serious thought at age fourteen?” I ask, in awe of this patient woman. “What made you want to tell him about this?” I am beginning to understand, but still feel conflicted.
“I wake to sleep and take my waking slow,” she says, and I know that quote from somewhere. “I used to believe in the beginning part of that,” I say. “I find my way by going where I have to go.”
“There’s no right or wrong thought, dear,” Ramona says, and I legitimately believe her. “Rhetoric thought is not made so people cannot understand it. Both Rhetoric and Serious people interact simultaneously. Think about it: if you were completely a Serious thought person, you would be unable to sit on this bus not knowing where you are going. You’d have broken a window and jumped off, and while that might not be the smartest thing to do, you would have been in control. And if I was completely a Rhetorical person, I would have gone on this journey without any prior knowledge. When in fact, I am able to be here with John because while I don’t know that our outcome will be filled with positive things, I know in the past, our journeys have been for the most part pleasant. I am relying on some sense of experience.”
Finally, I get it. “I don’t think I’m turning into a Rhetorical person,” I say. “But I think I’m beginning to understand where you are coming from.”
I hear loud cheering from the front of the bus, and Ramona turns and asks me if I still want to join her. “Sure, why not,” I happily agree. “I’m going to learn to enjoy this journey, no matter where it takes me. I suppose, though, it’s going to take me awhile, so I hope you’re patient with me!”
“I’ll be here with you as long as necessary,” Ramona says. “However, you’re going to have to figure out what it means for yourself. While the basic principles can be passed down from generations—like I did with John—the actual process of Rhetoric is something that once learned, must be practiced or you will fall out of habit.”
“So you won’t tell me where we are going, you won’t tell me exactly what Rhetoric is…is there anything you are going to tell me?”
“I can tell you that my new friends up there are going to be upset with us if we procrastinate any longer,” Ramona chides. As I hurry to join the rowdy crowd in the front seat, I laugh out loud. My friends are never going to believe this story!