The Persuaders

I found this documentary to be very interesting. Though I have heard of these arguments before, it still amazes me how routine advertising in our lives really is. All humans are walking billboards, if you think about. From the clothes we wear, to the purses or bags we carry. The shoes on our feet, the food we buy, where we buy the food. Everything we do has been at least slightly influenced by some sort of mass media persuasion. But of course, we would never take time to notice or acknowledge that. The Persuaders are doing a very good job of opening people's eye to the inner workings of advertisting and showing just how in depth this type of persuasion goes in our heads. I give it two thumbs up.

Persauders

I really like the movie Persauders or documentary. I think it really shows us how much we are very commercialized and how we are not very individualized at all. I like how it showed us how certain companies use us as marketing schemes. That really pissed me off. I do not like when people take advantage of other people and that is what this commercial industry is doing. It's also sad that we are letting it be done. I wish we could go back to the older days and you follow the whole do not work on a Sunday and businesses should not be opened. Only essential things like a drug store, hospital, and a local grocery store. It really upsets me how fast pace we tend to be.

I will post my final draft on here tomorrow i accidentally deleted word from my computer.

Persuasion is All Around Us

I found many of the points brought up in "The Persuaders" to be extremely interesting. I agreed with the idea that advertisement is "cluttering" our society and as each product tries to break through this clutter, they are only adding to the problem. By this stage in my life I am so used to driving down a highway and seeing big flashy billboards that I rarely pay any attention to them anymore, they have become common place and a key part of the modern day landscape. Yet advertisers know that if they do not continue to bombard our brains with endless advertising, they will fall behind. This reminded me of a discussion I recently had in my cultural geography class. The professor showed us a Coca Cola logo written in Hebrew and even though no one in our class read Hebrew we all immediately knew what product the logo was for. This is because advertisers have embedded their campaigns in our minds.
I also found it interesting in the film when they mentioned that the airline company Song was going to have make a new culture around flight. It's amazing that an advertising company has the power to change a society's culture through the media.
Another part that stuck out at me is when Spade was discussing ethos in his one meeting because Ramage also made a point to discuss how powerful a speaker's ethos and credibility was to the persuasion.

What a ride . . .

The tall steel structures gleamed against the ray of sunlight and the faint tune of a catchy jingle had mobs of patrons mindlessly walking to the entrance of the park. My fingers crumbled the dollar bills in my pocket as I stood in the single file line that weaved out from the ticket-booths. We shuffled, one step at a time, until a voice beckoned, “I can help the next person in line!” The man hidden behind the glass simply stared until finally I found the courage to ask for one ticket. “That’ll be $32.73 or you can buy it used for $25.00.” Without question I slipped the bills and loose change beneath the glass and in exchange, he pushed a small book back towards me. This book had a blue binding that continued on to the cover and was met with a clashing gold banner with “Rhetoric Park” printed in bold letters. “Enjoy your day here at Rhetoric Park,” said the man from behind the counter. The gates were only a few steps away and as I began walking away from the ticket booth, my spot was soon replaced by another wide-eyed college student eager to give their summer earnings for a chance to spend the day in Rhetoric Park. As I continued with the crowd into the park I began thumbing through the pages of the book where maps, show times, and rules littered each page. The park was split up into different sections and after familiarizing myself with the locations of all the rides I decided to start my day off in Identity Isle.
Identity Isle was situated in the back of the park and with each footstep my anticipation grew of what I might find there. Upon entering this section of the park I quickly saw a line had formed in front a tall roller coaster. The clicks and clacks of the coaster acted as a metronome and when the beat stopped, it was answered with screams from its riders. Those standing in the maze that lead to the loading station were jittery with excitement. I took my place in line and soon realized that small signs were placed every few feet. “This ride is not for those with heart conditions.”
“This ride is not for pregnant women.”
“This ride is not for children under the age of 12.”
“This ride is not for those with a fear of heights.”
“This ride is not for those with motion sickness.”
As I passed each sign I wondered, “Who is this ride for?” With each passing sign the demographic of the line became more and more specific. Children were letting go of their parent’s hands and were soon slipping under the metal bars to wait until their parents had exited from the other side. Shortly after, those that were once looking up at the first drop with great nervousness excused themselves as they bumped and nudged their way out of line. By this time the once thirty or forty eager riders that were in front of me had now diminished to a mere ten or twelve. There was one final sign before boarding the ride, “This ride is not for those who drink soda.” As we came upon the last sign the man standing in front of me dropped his red and white paper cup and as the carbonated liquid splashed on the ground he shouted, “This is ridiculous!” Those still in front of me fumbled with the paper wrappers on their water bottles and reluctantly watched their pregnant wives and Dramamine popping husbands go down the “Exit” ramp. When it was my turn I lowered myself into the sleek leather seat and pulled down on the safety harness. Within one breath my face was met with a great burst of wind, and the coaster was sent on its journey of gravity defying loops and weightless drops. The cart returned to the loading station and as I found my footing on the worn wooden boards I soon realized that those that did not ride seemed relieved. Defining the riders by who was not suitable for the ride was easier than saying who could. Instead of just four signs there could have been hundreds. “You can get on this ride if you like thrills.” “You can get on this ride if you like speed.” “You can get on this ride if you like long walks on the beach,” and so on. Yes, a little different but sometimes it is easier to describe a person by what they are not than what they actually are

A Flight of Clarity

It was a cool, foggy day in the beginning of September. My heart pounded with anticipation as I stood in line at the airport waiting among the many tourists to begin my long, strenuous journey to Ramageland. I slowly unloaded my possessions, a messenger bag consisting of my laptop and a user’s guide to rhetoric, onto the conveyor belt and stepped through the lighted archway. Now that I was considered safe to travel, I made my way to the terminal where I nervously awaited the departure of my flight.
“Now boarding, flight 123 en route to Ramageland,” a voice bellowed over the loud speaker. This was it; the beginning of my long journey. I boarded the plane and took my seat cautiously, observing all safety precautions. A very serious looking man sat next to me. He was a tall, lanky character with thin wire glasses, gray hair combed perfectly to the side, and a pale complexion. He wore a collared shirt with a tie and a sweater vest. I introduced myself first.
“Hello,” I said. “My name is Erin.” He glared at me skeptically for a moment as if he was unsure if he should reply.
“My name is Anthony Rhetoric,” he replied, “but you can call me Anti. I’m on my way to Ramageland to take part in a debate against rhetoric and the problems it causes in society.”
“Interesting,” I said with a slight grin on my face. I was headed to Ramageland for the direct opposite reason. The purpose of my voyage was to gain a better understanding of Rhetoric and its uses in every day society. Now I was quite nervous about my trip. After all, how comforting could it be sitting next to such an inflexible person?
I sat back in my seat and tried to relax. My mind filled with all sorts of perplexing question that I wanted to ask Anti. It seemed sort of hypocritical to me that he was on his way to debate rhetoric, but would be using rhetoric in order to debate it. Just as I was about to continue our discussion, a wave of nausea overwhelmed me as the plane’s engines began to rumble. I remained silent, with my knuckles turning white as I clenched the arm rests. The plane jolted down the runway and before I knew it, we were airborne. Relief finally found me when the plane leveled out and the pilot’s voice bellowed once again to inform us we were at a safe distance to resume use of our electronic devices. I watched as Anti prepared his cd player for listening pleasure, but before he inserted his ear buds, I interrupted.
“So, Anti, I would like to hear some of the things you plan on presenting at the debate if you are willing.”
“Ok, well for starters, ‘rhetoric is a low-budget pseudoscience; its methods can’t be formalized or routinized and its conclusions are uncertain (Ramage 2).’” I looked at him puzzlingly as he began to present to me his argument. He sounded as if he were regurgitating a text book. It didn’t seem to me that he really believed what he was saying. “Rhetoric is nothing more than an attempt to soften up the people in society and get them to be so open minded that they can no longer make decisions for themselves. It is immoral and encourages agonistic behavior.” He was beginning to sound more passionate about his position.
“Wow! I never thought of rhetoric as a brain washing mechanism,” I replied with a bit of sarcasm. I think he could tell that I wasn’t taking him seriously and he was getting annoyed. “What about personal identity? Don’t you believe that people should have the right to decide on who they want to become? Without rhetoric and the ability of people to persuade, we would all be exactly the same. Everyone on this plane would have the same reason for their voyage to Ramageland.”
“No, I don’t think that people should have such a choice. Life would be easier if there was a format or some guidelines to follow.” He was beginning to sound a bit frustrated.
Just as I began to realize that this was a conversation that would only go in circles, I saw a three flight attendants begin to make their way through the cabin with a cart full of a variety of drinks and snacks sure to satisfy the thirst I was beginning to develop. I noticed immediately that the male attendant was slightly below average height and had a nice athletic build. As he neared Anti and I, I could barely make out the letters on his winged nametag. The letters read “Gavin”. “Hmm,” I thought, “that’s a nice name.” He approached our seats and asked us what we would like to drink. I ordered a coke and Anti predictably ordered water with no ice. I asked Gavin how he liked being a flight attendant as he poured my coke into a glass.
“I like it just fine,” he replied. “I really wanted to be a NBA basketball star though. I always dreamed of being a basketball star. Unfortunately I am stuck with the traits that were given to me. Oh well, we can’t change everything.” He smiled and continued down the row offering drinks to other passengers.
“See,” I said to Anti. “Not everyone can live life by guidelines. A lot depends on what traits you inherit.” He didn’t answer me.
The second flight attendant that came to our seats was a woman named Loretta. She was the epitome of what a flight attendant should look like. She had blonde hair piled on top of her head covered by a stiff blue hat. Her white teeth looked even whiter next to her cherry red lipstick and sparkled when she smiled. She was tall and thin and her uniform was in tip top shape. Just by looking at her, I could tell she was a workplace readymade who strived to impress her boss and be a role model for flight attendants everywhere. I could picture her on her time off lounging at home reading books with titles like How to be a Winner at Work or How to Win Friends and Influence People (Ramage 46). She smiled widely as she offered both Anti and I a small bag of Planter’s honey roasted peanuts and a napkin.
“Thank you,” I said to her attempting a smile just as flawless. I knew I couldn’t. I glanced over at Anti. I knew he was waiting for another remark out of me. I decided to prove him wrong and not say anything at all, avoiding the possibility of being predictable.
The third flight attendant was approaching. She was an average looking girl who seemed a bit timid, but smiled sincerely at each passenger. Her winged name tag read “Ava”. Her uniform, too, was pressed neatly but you could tell there was a story beneath her outward shell. She did not seem like just a model for the company. As she walked by our row, she asked Anti and I if we needed anything else on the remainder of our flight to Ramageland. We both declined and thanked her for her kindness.
“Now,” I said to Anti, “Do you still believe that everyone should live life by the same guidelines? That girl that just passed us constructed her own identity out of her surroundings and events that took place in her life. Without those events, she would be just another pretty face representing a company rather than a person.”
“Well, I do see that people are different,” replied Anti. “But I still don’t support all this rhetoric stuff that the president of Ramageland has been preaching.”
I smiled at him.
“And that’s your prerogative,” I told him. “That’s the beauty of rhetoric. It’s ubiquitous. Everyone is entitled to their opinion. Rhetoric just gives us the option to attempt to persuade people one way or the other.”
That was the end of our conversation. We sat silently beside each other for the remainder of the flight. The bellowing voice came on again informing us that we were approaching our destination. As we neared the runway in Ramageland, I looked out the window. The view was very different from where we took off. The sky was clear and sunny and it looked very warm outside. I surprisingly did not get any nausea feelings as we touched ground in Ramageland. I exited the plane and made my way to the baggage claim. I collected my belongings that once seemed so complicated, and were now suddenly simplified thanks to my discussion with Anti.

Persuaders

I've always kind of had a weird little binary of admiration/disgust going on when it comes to my opinion of ad executives. I mean, concerning that 'car shrink', the Frenchman, who obviously understands base human motives and fears and emotions and in turn CHOOSES to use that knowledge to sell stuff, to dupe humankind rather than aid it...it makes my skin crawl. Synonymously, though I am amazed at the ingenuity of these ad men, the way they can seemingly crawl inside the average American human's brain.
The little surveys that the execs for these agencies/companies conducted reminded me of an art project produced in tandem by Stanley Downwood and Radiohead (probably just Thom) caleld No Data, which I'll link to:http://www.radiohead.com/Archive/Site4/NODATA/data_enter2.html

It basically asks a series of questions, each one more personal than the last, about the survey-taker's opinion on consumerism, life, death, looks, finance, etc...and the scary thing is that when I first laid eyes on this in about 2000, I thought it was "far off" from how these companies actually conducted their "focus groups". I generally mute commericals, but there are a few that I've seen where I've actually caught myself going "ooo, cool use of such-and-such technique" or "ooh, I want that!" and I inevitably despise myself afterwards for being fooled by an ad.

I particularly liked the way the film referred to the "clutter"--ads placed all over cities, obscuring buildings and objects and in some cases, the thoughts of the spectator. Think about it: it's like a sensory overload! I attended a concert this past weekend and all around me were ads for beer, soda, cds, ipods, record companies, energy drinks, and the people AT the concert were walking around in oh-so-ironic t-shirts doing some unconscious subliminal advertising for products they probably don't really give a damn about (brands of soda, etc) but they are unwittingly supporting the machine through their apparent disdaim of it. I'm not saying I am any better than these people (in many cases, I'm worse) but the more aware of the psychology and weird Orwellian techniques behind advertising, the more uncomfortable around ads and mass consumption I become. Of course, I'm typing this while drinking a Coke and eating a bag of Sun Chips, both the names of which I've captialized, so I can't be that immune, can I ;)

those crafty persuaders...whatever will we do with them?

It's pretty intense how seriously these advertisers take themselves. I suppose that's a good thing though--you're supposed to put your heart and soul into what you do. They've been dealt the persuasion card, so they might as well make the most of it. I loved the way the film was so in-depth with the thought processes and approaches of the different people involved in projects like the Song development or the "code". They dig deep into their task and try to expose every possible aspect or outcome that they can when it comes to getting into the minds of those they're trying to reach.
It was interesting to bring to light the fact that advertisers are the clutter--you can't go three feet in a city without having twelve different companies screaming at you, pleading for your attention--but each is trying to break out of it as well. They are trying to stand out while trying to remain ambient enough to be considered a natural part of the atmosphere. They're basically going for the fly [that is more like the priceless work of art that you can't help to be drawn to] on the wall approach. But the catch with it all is, we're buying into a huge undercover cult! We all have a longing to belong or have an identity, and advertisers, being the rascals that they are, use this to their significant advantage.
They think they've got us all figured out, and barge through our televisions and computer screens like they have every reason to be there, but like the film said, underneath that self-confident surface of advertising there is anxiety. They need to not only catch your eye, they need to hold your attention and the successful venue for that aim changes all the time. The right image, the right word, the right music all must be collaborated at the right time to achieve the desired action of the consumer. And since humans are fickle, and most are post modernists trying to find any and every new approach, their emotions change constantly, so holding someone down to your product is quite a challenge (especially if one believes that 80% of our life is driven by our emotions and only 20% our intellect).
Hey, at least their job never gets mundane!!

Response to The Persuaders

I really enjoyed the film so far. It really gave me, as a consumer, an insight into what companies have in mind when they advertise. I found it quite interesting that the creators of "Song" decided to use the Spade's as their basis for creativity. I am a fan of Kate Spade and her line of beautiful purses, I wouldn't have, however, thoought of a purse designer as someone who would influence airline design and advertisment. It was pretty cool to see the two diverge. I thought it was funny how so many people looked up to (insert French guru's name) as an expert in advertisement and what people look for in products. I would like to know how much he sold his secret code for. I wish I would have posted immediately after the film so I would remember more to write about.

Garden of Rhetoric and Serious

This is my first trip to the blogger and my first submission for our class. I look forward to your comments/suggestions. Penelope

Garden of Rhetoric and Serious

After God completed Heaven and Earth, He became bored and decided to create man. His first attempt was not too shabby. He named his product Adam. Adam was not a curious person; he stayed in the general vicinity of an apple tree and basically hung out in the tree and under it. He was bored. Even the animals that ventured near him because of their curiosity soon left him because he said nothing and did nothing.

God wanted to kick the latest creation up a notch. He created another being—one that Adam could rap with. The creature would be soft, clingy, seductive, and willing to hang around and wrap. Poof! Oops! A lascivious, long, thin undulating creature appeared in the tree. It was Ramage—a real asp. At first the intruder startled Adam but soon the pair worked out a language and together they formed a society.

After an eon to two, Ramage became bored with Adam and asked God if He had time for a tête-à-tête to stretch his intellect a bit. Adam was not interested in intellectual pursuits. God wanted to keep the garden folks happy but he was busy with rearranging the planets in the firmament. Instead, He sent Archangel Kenneth to intellicize with Ramage.

Apparently Ramage’s strong suit was ontology. In essence, he had the inquiries and Archangel Ken had a certain set of properties that makes him distinguishable from every other creature. In order to have spirited conversations, Ram and Ken had to decide who would be the rhetorician—either Ram because of his sneaky, slithering ways—or Ken because of his innate knowledge of proverbial wisdom. Ken decided that because of his hierarchical position, that Ram should be the rhetorician.

“Fine,” said Ram. “How about we begin with proving opposites?”

“Okay,” said Ken. “Let’s check the future and begin with a fable. Ah, yes. Robin Hood. Mr. Hood and his cohorts live rent-free in the local forest of a kingdom. They are happy, carefree, and never hungry. However, life is not the same for the village people. Why, I am seeing a greedy ruler who demands nearly everything from these people so that her coffers overflow with riches.”

“Good heavens, Ken. How long is this fable?”

“Almost there. Mr. Hood takes it upon himself to steal from the greedy bitch and give it to the peasants. Thus, their hunger vanishes and the queen is none the wiser. I say Mr. Hood is a Good Samaritan. Do you agree, Ram?”

“Au contraire, Ken. Mr. Hood is stealing—taking something that is not his. Stealing is wrong and two wrongs do not make a right. How can Mr. Hood be good when he is being bad?”

After much discussion, Ken and Ram agreed to disagree and to revisit the subject in another eon.

marketing mayhem

Sad but true, we are all drawn to the bright colors on the television screen late at night during infomercial hour. I found persuaders to be interesting documentary, addressing many of the real problems of over saturation within our media. More times than you’d like to think, we are drawn into staring at the twinkling billboards along the road, we all do it we can’t help it, there seriously everywhere. But as millions of people compete for our attention, it’s extremely difficult to separate yourself from the others. So many of these advertisers stoop to morally sketchy means of getting our attention. By showing the inner workings of many big advertising firms the persuaders was really able to address some major issues in modern marketing industry both morally, and physiological. These sketchy extremes like building projection and other extents people are willing to go to capture our attention is really the disturbing truth behind modern media.

I’m an electronic media major here at Kutztown, big mistake that was. After two semesters of learning about pretty much everything the persuaders covered and then some, I’ve realized that this business is not for me. Marketing has always been closely tied to rhetoric, by the means of persuading a consumer to buy a product. It all seems too much on the BS side, and I’ve recently decided changing majors, to what I don’t know. Maybe if Ramage were around, he’d categorize me as more of a “serious” person, I don’t know. Damn, look what this book does to your sense of human. Just found myself cracking a Ramage joke…

Someday I Will Have One

I stood on the sidewalk for a long time, looking up at the imposing house in front of me. Some people might not of thought Ramage Manor was such a big deal, but to me it was huge. I wasn’t sure I would be able to find my way around in there. I was worried that I might bump into the furniture, knock decorations over, and generally prove what a clod I was. Ah well, I thought, maybe if I keep my eyes open and stay light on my feet I won’t completely embarrass myself. Taking a deep breath, I pushed the door open and walked in.
The entryway was nothing to write home about, although the owner had been nice enough to include a rough map of the house. I gratefully moved on to the first room--the “Serious Room.” It was a very strange room indeed. I had never seen bars on the windows of a first-floor room before. Wondering what kind of view one got with those things, I went to take a look out.
“Ahem!” snorted someone behind me. Turning around fast, I saw an impeccably groomed butler looking down his impressive nose at me. “May I ask what you are doing by the windows?” he asked in a bored voice.
“I just wanted to see what was out there,” I replied.
“Why would you do that?” he asked, bustling over and snapping down all the shades. “Nothing you can see out there could possibly compare to what is in here. This is, I assure you, quite the loveliest room in the house.”
I looked around at the venerable old room, with its dark, heavy furniture and its cabinets full of china and other breakables. The dust lay thickly on the tabletops, and I asked the butler if the windows couldn’t be opened. “And let the breezes in here, stirring things up, knocking things askew? No, thank you,” he said with a shudder. “Honestly, if it were my decision, I would take those useless windows out, but the owner will insist on keeping them.” He gave a martyred sigh. “At least they stay shut and barred, so no one will accidentally fall out.”
“Well,” I said. “Nice as this room is, I think I’ll go have a look at the rest of the house, too.”
“Why?” he asked, seeming almost pained. “People keep believing the words of others, the ingratiating guides who tell them that here, or there, is where they should go. They’ll believe anybody.”
“I’m not sure about that,” I said.
“Oh, yes,” he said. “Once everyone out there’s got through with them, they’ll believe anybody--and then they never believe me! It’s enough to drive one mad! This is obviously the only room worth seeing.”
“If it’s so obviously wonderful, why do you have to keep everyone from looking out?” I asked, gesturing at the shades. “Why not let them decide for themselves what they want to see?”
“I see,” he said. “You’re just like all the rest of them. You see a beautiful room and you’re not content to just sit in it, oh no. You want to tear it up and make it look like you think it should, just like all the rest of them, the unethical--”
“I’m sorry you feel that way,” I said, heading for the door, “but if you really detest them that much, why do you stay in this house?”
As he spluttered his fury, I quietly slipped out of the room, closing the door tightly behind me.
Another butler was standing there, smiling crookedly. “Just got an earful from Himself, did you?” he asked, jerking his head back where I had come.
“And how,” I said. “Is he like that with everybody? Why does he even stay here?”
“Honestly, I’m not sure,” the butler replied. “I guess he just really likes that one room. However, I take it you would rather explore?”
“Oh, yeah,” I said. I was now getting a chance to see the rest of the house, and it looked much more open and inviting than that one rather close and stuffy room. The ceilings were higher, the windows were bigger, and I could see many wide doorways opening between rooms. “Can I go anywhere I want?” I asked.
“Well, not exactly,” said the butler in a cautioning tone of voice.
“No?” I was surprised; the rooms all looked pretty open to me.
“Oh, no. You see, you’re in this room now, so the only rooms you could really go to are the ones immediately adjacent. I mean, you could go to those all the way over there, but you’d have to go through all the ones in between first, so you’d really be getting to the way-over-there ones from the ones right next to them. And obviously, once you’ve gone upstairs you won’t be able to get into any of these first-floor rooms until you’ve come back down.”
“But I can go anywhere in the house?” I asked, wanting to be sure.
“Theoretically,” he said, and smiled.
“Quite the Willy Wonka type, aren’t you?”
“That’s been said before,” he said wryly, making a little shooing gesture at me with his hands. “Enjoy your time here!”
Rolling my eyes playfully at him, I wended my way through the house, looking here, looking there. I rounded a corner and almost bumped into an agitated-looking young man who was walking very fast. “Sorry about that!” I said.
“Oh, it wasn‘t your fault,” he said, looking relieved to stop. “I was too busy looking around to see where I was going.”
“Nice house, isn’t it?”
“I suppose,” he said. “I’m trying to find which room I like the most. It’s not any of these ones, though. Everyone always looooves these, and they all look too much alike. It’s boring!”
I looked around and noticed that these particular rooms were painted the same peach color, had the same white carpets, and the same sheer curtains on the windows. They were very pretty rooms, but I could see how one after another could get old. “Well, what about that one?” I asked, pointing to a room with diamond-shaped windows, multi-colored mobiles hanging from the ceiling, and a blue and orange tiled floor.
“Yeah, right,” he said with a shudder. “Like I’d go with that loony bin! Nobody likes rooms like that! What do you think I am, some kind of freak?”
I quickly reassured him that I thought he was just as normal as could be, and left him to his search.
I soon found myself in a large, circular room that had many doors leading off of it. As I walked around the edges, I glanced up at the sign over each door. The first sign said Rugged Individual Room. I opened the door to a room that was full of tall, muscular, rather stubbly men who were fist-fighting, firing off automatic weapons, or riding motorcycles and horses as fast as they could go in all directions. Fearing for my life, I quickly shut the door and moved on. The next door opened into the Vision of Perfection Room, populated with lovely young women and muscular young men who floated wherever they went in slow motion without a care in the world, seeming not to notice the euphoric background music that followed them everywhere. The Guy’s Guy Room smelled so strongly of beer that I didn’t even open the door. I just went on to the Sidekick, Bully, Hippie, Party Girl, Goth, Clown, Conservative, Precocious Rascal, Hipster, Comic Relief, Starlet, Bishi, and Patriot Rooms, none of which looked very interesting to me. The Blond and Brunette Rooms caught my attention for a few incredulous seconds, but I couldn’t bring myself to look in. By the time I got to the Brainy Scientist Without an Ounce of Sense Room, my patience was exhausted. “I don’t want to go into any of these rooms!” I said to no one in particular.
“Got you covered,” said a light voice behind my back. Whipping around, I saw the second butler opening another door, the door to the People Who Don’t Want to Go Into Any of the Other Rooms Room.
“Oh, aren’t you cute,” I said, folding my arms.
“Unashamedly,” he said, with another of his crooked smiles.
As I made my way back toward the front door, it occurred to me that parts of Ramage Manor had looked rather familiar. Where had I seen them before? Then I remembered: some of the rooms had looked very much like the rooms in a house I had designed earlier. I just hadn’t recognized them right away in the real world, with solid walls and neat furnishings. I decided I would definitely have to visit the place regularly. Yes, even the Serious Room. After all, it might not be the loveliest room in the house, but it was still worth a look.

Thank goodness for drafts.

So, the following is the bulk of my unconventionally approached first draft. I have some work to do on it, but this is the jist of it. See you all in an hour!

Ramage and Jesus

As a Secondary Education major with a concentration in English, I am currently reading plenty of books. Some are textbooks with a concentration in grammar, others include short stories and poetry from various authors and others discuss the copyright laws that teachers are faced with in the classroom. Most of these promote intellectual thought, at least temporarily, some even evoke emotion, but there are only two books that I’m reading now that shake me to the core. Why, I’m not entirely sure, but I think it has to do with their similar approaches to material presentation.

What initially compels me to read these two books is the obligation from whatever source, whether it be my teacher or my Teacher, but as I read them, I feel inclined rather than required to continue. I won’t deny it; I am not always jumping for joy at the thought of leafing through the passages or even at the prospect of having to process what I’ve read. Unfortunately, however, both texts require me to do so, and in a fashion unlike my approach to my Introduction to Language textbook (next to no long term consideration). I’ll explain what I mean by beginning how these books differ.

The first book I’ve grown up on. My parents drilled it into me, telling me it was some sort of a lamp to my feet or a source of peace and strength or something. Some days I agree, other days I scoff at the idea, but nonetheless, I’m pretty thoroughly acquainted with this book. This book is pretty hefty, both in content and in size; it’s actually sixty-six books in one, whereas the other book only has six chapters. There are a bunch of characters in the first book, crazy, bold characters that fashioned a mold and forged a path for the rest of us. One of the characters, named Noah, actually built this insanely large ark and when everyone else died in the biggest flood in the history of man before and ever since, he and his family were the only survivors. Not to mention the rest of the animal population was saved too. This guy Noah actually brought a male and a female of every species and fit them on this ark with his family and they just floated around the world for forty days and forty nights.

Another character in this book actually lived to be 969 years old! The second book includes less than noteworthy characters, including an unremarkable salesman named Willy who unfortunately suffers a tragic end, and an allegorical character named the “Harley Guy” who represents everyone who falls into a consumer readymade trap. In the first book, there’s even a story about a rebellious guy named Balaam and his talking donkey who crushes his foot. Instead of a talking donkey, the second book has P-Dog, a dog who can’t talk; an inability which lends him his unconstructed identity. Ironic though, that P-Dog has a name, and the talking donkey doesn’t.

The first book I read every day, or at least try to, and attempt to uncover something profound in my reading each time. This is the kind of book that could be read 50,000 times with the potential to uncover something deeply different each and every time (or perhaps it’s the only book of its kind?). The second book I can’t say so much about, but it does get me to thinking. The second book I was just introduced to about a month ago, and unlike the first book, my parents would never understand its content and would never actually read it themselves for anything. Instead of perhaps leading me to the meaning of life, this book seems to want to lend me, or so the back cover disclaims, “equipment for living”.

Alright already, I’ll be frank. The first book is the Bible—the cornerstone and basis of my Christian faith. Reading it is highly recommended, encouraged, and basically essential for growth and knowledge of my faith. Like most books I read, some of it is boring, but most of it is fantastic, and all of it is essential. Every verse in every passage has a context and fits into the puzzle that is the self-proclaimed Word of God. It’s what you could call a user’s guide to a God centered life. The second book is not so legendary, but it does play a major role in my current existence, and coincidentally, it also happens to be the main topic of this paper. This second book is also a user’s guide, but this time, the basis is rhetoric rather than righteousness. As stated earlier, it only has six chapters, but these six chapters cover a LOT of ground. And this time, the author, instead of being attributed with the creator of the universe, is just little ol’ Doctor John D. Ramage.

What spurred me to make this comparison between the Bible and Dr. John’s Rhetoric: A User’s Guide was a question posed by one of my classmates about whether or not it is possible for a Christian to believe in rhetoric. So here I am, on a journey to answer that question, with God as my witness and Ramage as my guide.

I’ll begin with a quote by Ramage himself, “By forcing ourselves to accommodate divergent views, even if doing so forces us to challenge the beliefs and assumptions of our audience, we are forced to engage our creative powers and enrich our arguments (79)”. This quote is extremely representational of the internal conflict I am so often faced with concerning my faith and the attempt to share it with others. A major part of Christianity is evangelism, which entails sharing the knowledge and Truth that has been revealed to an individual, so, to an extent, a main aspect of Christianity involves persuasion. Ramage discusses persuasion in Rhetoric: A User’s Guide (“RUG”) and in support of the statement above expresses this thought,

No matter how secure people may be in their faith that their particular system is absolute and universal, no matter how strongly they may believe that everyone ought to join them in subscribing to their particular doctrine, getting others who do not share their beliefs to cooperate with them—and some form of cooperation is always required—or to adopt their beliefs means they must either use force or persuasion (70).

He goes on to warn against the dangers of coercive tendencies, and with that said, I can state my claim: Christians are the boldest rhetoricians out there.

In the beginning of RUG, Ramage introduces us to the Anti-Rhetoric Spokesperson, who states many different claims against the use of rhetoric, and reasons they think it should be abolished completely. These reasons include: Rhetoric is too messy. It can’t be tied down. It’s too unconventional. There’s no telling where it ends or where it begins. There’s no formula that explains it, no rubric to set it up against. It’s pure chaos. It can only exist in an imperfect world. It’s a sacrilege! It makes people do crazy things! Interestingly enough, most, if not all of these objecting claims reflect those posed against Christianity, throughout its existence. In Jesus’ time, the Jewish leaders who didn’t believe that Jesus was actually legit thought He and His followers were the most heretical things to hit the earth since, well, the Greeks. Christianity blew the law and the normal format of living which these guys were so used to out of the water. Healing someone on the Sabbath?! Unheard of! Not washing your hands before a meal? Claiming to be the Son of God?!! That’s more unethical than…than…RHETORIC for goodness’ sake.

The Pharisees (another name for the Jewish leaders) reflect that which Ramage refers to as the “serious” people. So concerned with the law, and with making sure they and others around them follow it completely, the Pharisees are like the serious people who are only in it for absolute Truth and are obsessed with methodology and rubrics and making sure everything they encounter fits their perfect mold. The reason Christianity posed such a culture shock was because for so many years the Jews had this doctrine, these laws, drilled into their heads, as though keeping them were the difference between life and death (which in some cases, it may have been), but when Jesus came along, He completely refaced man’s approach to God altogether. Suddenly there were exceptions to these stringent rules and suddenly these leaders were on the same playing field as the heathen.

Just as there still remains opposition to Rhetoric today, as there most likely always will be, likewise there continues to be opposition to Christianity. Current adversaries (which reflect Socrates and his Anti-Rhetoric efforts back in his day) claim that their way is the best way, and their humanistic perspective is centered on logical, tangible, inevitable evidence, with the most reduction of vague generalities possible. Faith, a main component of Christianity, can be said to be simply an emotional appeal, as it has no tangible evidence whatsoever, simply cannot be proven, and thus deemed unacceptable and useless. So therefore, from the very beginning to present day, Christians have had to fight for their place in this world of infinite opinions and perspectives, standing up for their claim even in the face of extreme, consistent adversity, just as rhetoricians have had to stand their ground against the Socrates, and his many variations, of this world.

Other option....I'm not sure...non-structured writing and I do not particularly get along.

I am not 100% sure where I am going with this. When I think of Ramage, I think of him taking us all into his Rhetorical world by force.


It was just like any other Tuesday night. I had just left my advanced comp. class and was fumbling to find my keys as I made my way across the dimly lit parking lot. It was 9 pm and dark, not just normal dark, ominous dark. I felt a presence as I was approaching my car, but shrugged it off as paranoia. I pressed the unlock button on my key and proceeded to open my driver’s side door. The last thing I remember is tossing my purse carelessly on my back seat, and then everything went black. When I came to my face was squashed up against a window with trees and houses whizzing by. I looked around attempting to assess my surroundings and realized that I was in a car, a car that wasn’t mine. As I turned to see the driver a sharp pain shot through the back of my head. I winced and felt what seemed to be a giant goose egg protruding out of the back of my skull. The man sitting next to me, driving the car, did not seem to notice I had regained consciousness. "Who the hell are you?" I asked with a combination of fear and curiosity. "It doesn't matter who I am, we are here to talk about you." He said. "Me, what the hell for!?" I replied more confused than anything else. "I have seen you around.” He said with a slight smirk. “Well that is just great, so what, are you going to kill me now?” “What!? No I am not going to kill you, I want to do is educate you.” He replied. “Excuse me? You felt the need to knock me unconscious and kidnap me so that you can educate me?” I said, half annoyed, half interested. “ Maybe this would make more sense if you knew who I was. I am John D. Ramage.” He said. “Whoa. You are the pompous ass that wrote Rhetoric: A User’s guide?” I said. “Yes and no. Yes I wrote that book and no I am not a pompous ass. You and I just need to have a talk, I think it is fairly clear that you would benefit from further explanation.” He said, calmly. “I would like and think I deserve a chance to explain myself.” “Fine, dude, whatever, but next time just suggest we get coffee or something else less painful and illegal.” I remarked. “Ok, I’ll keep that in mind, I just figured a cynic with a false sense of identity would appreciate my tactics.”
“False sense of identity huh, well listen to you, you do not even know me.” I said. “Oh Jamie please. I know you better than you think.” He replied.

My memoir of sorts . . .

I first stepped out onto the path towards the land of Ramage with feelings of reservation. I was like a small child riding on a plane by themselves to their eccentric great aunt’s house, whom they’ve never met before; nervous, somewhat meek, and without a hope for at least some semblance of an enjoyable stay.

Yet, I was determined to slog through it all, regardless of my dim expectations. I would make it through Ramageland to tell the tale. Reluctantly, as I sat in my dorm room and picked up Rhetoric: A User’s Guide. Flipping the crisp white pages to the first chapter, I began reading and stumbled across the border into the capital of Rhetoric.

Going into this strange place full of John Ramage’s thoughts and philosophies, I had no idea what to expect. My definition of rhetoric was very vague, and sometimes the dictionary definitions I looked up were even more so. I often found myself wondering why rhetoric’s true identity was so elusive. Arriving in Ramageland, where rhetoric was such a crucial part of life, I was very nervous owing to my lack of expertise in the subject. I was firstly accosted by an official who referred to himself as the Anti-Rhetoric Spokesperson. It was strange that Ramage would hire someone whose job it was to preach the evils of rhetoric, while he himself was, as far as I knew, a pretty big fan.

“Beware the rhetorical thought, the rhetorical argument. Beware rhetoric!” He said passionately in a voice rheumy with age.

“Um, isn’t Ramage for rhetoric, though?” I asked.

The Spokesperson waved his fists in feeling and agitation.

“That is what John wants you to believe! I however, bring tidings of the truth, and not just the truth, but the absolute truth!”

I decided that it would be unwise to interject at this point.

“Rhetoric is a low-budget pseudoscience; its methods can’t be formalized or routinized and its conclusions are uncertain.” (2) “Rhetoricians are constantly wandering around it circles because they can never come to a definite answer. It is silly and unproductive, I say. Why mess with the stuff when you can have the truth!” He again eagerly brandished his arms in a physical exclamation point, as if I hadn’t gotten the idea already.

He continued to lecture to me that rhetoric usually advocated lying, depended upon corruption in order to thrive. As I continued to read this section, though, I found that in learning why some people disliked, even loathed, rhetoric, I gained a clear insight into what rhetoric was and I was able to form my own opinions on the topic and come up with a definition that would suit me personally. Perhaps Ramage wasn’t so crazy in offering me the perspective of someone who was against rhetoric.

I was rescued just in time by Ramage himself and was given a tour of Ramageland guided by his own views on just how rhetoric was utilized and what it meant to us as people. I was introduced to two types of people who lived there – the rhetorical person, and the serious person. These two groups were polar opposites. The men were arguing, descending a set of stairs that lead up to a building that resembled a courthouse, garbed in robes of green and white.

“I’m telling you, if we could just work this out somehow,” the man in green was saying, “we might be able to compromise. Just think about it.”

The other man was obviously nervous about this idea, as he needed his pure white robes with his hands.

“I don’t think so. That’s not what it says in the books, and that’s not how we were told to go about things. It’s a bad idea. No, no, no.”

I had no idea what they were talking about, but just from overhearing their conversation I could understand the difference in their personality types.

I wandered down the foggy streets, following Ramage, his voice trailing off into the damp grayness in the air. Most of what he said was lost on me as he tossed out metaphor after metaphor until they began to lose their meaning. I began to contemplate whether or not this would ever make sense to me, and if I should just give up and leave, until we came to a noble looking white marble building with massive carved pillars garnishing its face, protecting the grand double doors that reached to the second floor. A series of fountains welcomed anyone who chose to walk down the path to such a glorious looking estate.

Ramage had finally seemed to notice that I was no longer paying attention. Realizing what had caught my eye, he said, “Ah, this is the Manor of Identity. Care to stop for a visit?”

I nodded my assent. Now here was something that looked at least mildly interesting. The doors swung open wide as we approached them, and on crossing the threshold I caught a glimpse of the spectacular foyer with a sweeping double staircase.

“This is probably one of the most important grounds we have in this city for studying rhetoric, but very few know about it,” he started to explain.

I braced myself for another long-winded speech full of twists and turns and metaphorical obscurity.

“ . . . Arguably the most important function served by rhetoric is the work it does in service of identity formation,” he told me. (33) “This is where it all takes place – identity formation that is, in terms of rhetoric.”

He began to ascend the stairs and led me through another set of doors at the top. The next room we entered was long and dark. The only light was that which was filtering through the windows on the wall facing the outside in a half-hearted sort of way, thanks to the thick fog. The wall opposite the windows held three mirrors enormous in size, stretching from floor to ceiling. Their silvery glass was perfectly clear and unblemished.

“Here we have the dimension room,” Ramage explained. “It holds everything that constructs a person’s identity. Go ahead and step in front of one of the mirrors.”

I walked to the one closest to me, my footsteps echoing in the empty hallway.

Hmmm...Ramage as a possibly volcanic mountain

I liked this idea but I am not sure how far I can take it. I was going to have different peaks and lookout points be the stops, and various rocks and animals be obstacles and I really am not sure.

I had been aching for a challenge for quite some time and figured that this day was as good as any. My friends were all busy, but that wasn't going to stop me. After all, I am an independent woman, right? So there I was standing at the foot of Mt. Ramage wondering what the hell I had gotten myself into. I have heard the stories. Some people follow the given path the whole way up, while others opt to blaze their own trail. Sometimes you make it out and sometimes you don't. A couple of people jumped, but more were pushed. Mt. Ramage is not for the faint of heart. I wasn't scared. Those people were just weak, I thought to myself.

Over the summer, my best friend and her fiance made me a propossal that I couldn't refuse. Well i could have...but the money aspect helped make my decision crystal clear. They asked me to jump on board and help then start up an ADULT ENTERTAINMENT company.


I would never have in a million years thought that this would be my first job straight out of college....but how many college grads have the oppertunity to be Head of the Public relations/ Marketing department of a company.... NOT MANY, almost none. Not to metion that adult entertainment is a BILLION $ A YEAR INDUSTRY.

So i was estatic and ready for the journey ahead, never once thinking that RAMAGE would play a part.


So as part of my job training I thought that it would be a good idea to start to research exactly what type of PR/Marketing I would have to do to help make this buisness a sucess. I had sold all of my previous PR books back...you know who's thinking bout saving books when you can get $35 dollars to spend on hair, clothes and mama's.


I had a pretty good idea of the things that i should do, but like "serious people" I was looking for some step by step directiopns on what I should do.

And thats when I took a trip to see my old foe Ramage, having been introduced to him before I knew that he may have some answers for me. Knowing that he is a rhetorician, I knew that he would never come out and TELL ME WHAT I NEEDED TO DO.. BUT HE WOULD POINT ME IN THE DIRECTION OF WHERE I NEEDED TO BE.

So I put my previous feelings aside and decided that I would use everything that he had to offer, no matter how big or small. Deperate times call for desperate measures and proceeded to enter the wacky world of ramage. First Stop Chapter I.

Welcome to Rhetoricville, U.S.A

On an ordinary Tuesday night, as I finished up reading the third chapter of John D. Ramage’s book entitled, “Rhetoric,” my mind was in a whirlwind of new thoughts and a million different perspectives (as usual). Amidst these thoughts, I fell right to sleep. This is where the REAL journey of rhetoric began…
As I awoke, I felt the soft, warm sheets of my bed and felt a bit disoriented but comfortable as could be. I was drifting off to sleep when oddly enough; I heard the old yet familiar tune of an old carousal softly in the distance. My heart began to beat a little faster as I opened my eyes in confusion. “WHAT?!? Where am I?!?” I screamed…no one answered. This must be a bad dream, I thought, as sat on my bed, in the middle of an amusement park. I closed my eyes completely frightened, hoping to this was all a dream and I would wake up, laughing at the bizarre situation, in University Place. I closed my eyes tightly for several minutes, and nothing happened. There I was, stuck in the same place I woke up only minutes earlier. Frustrated and confused, I got up from my bed and walked towards the odd melody that is getting louder and louder as I got closer. Before me was an old carousal. All of the sudden as the carousal turned I spotted a man in a suit come around the turn. I was struck cold with confusion and fear when this cheery man came up to me and shook my hand. We struck up a conversation and I asked him where I was and how to get back to Kutztown. He answered simply by asking me, “well the route home depends on whether you are a serious person or a rhetorical person, so, what are you?” Completely thrown off by his question, I gave him a blank stare, and realized that this question was posed in the book I was reading before I fell asleep. Without much thought, and wanting to get home, I answered, “Well I suppose I’m a rhetorical person.” The man just pointed towards the direction of a door labeled “RHETORIC” in large lettering. I turned back to the man in the suit and he waved me on while saying, “Enjoy your trip! I hope you find out where you’re going!” As I walked through the door I walked right into a town that looked as if it could be named “Pleasantville.” Amazed at my completely new location I turned back around only to find the door behind me completely gone- as if it never existed. So I walked on the road ahead, searching for a sign of some kind, or someone to direct me.

: ) hope everyone enjoyed the first section... comments are welcomed!

Ramageland ideas....

So, I was at work, as usual, thinking about how I am going to write this paper, and what creative way I can do this....and, in between taking orders for cheesesteaks and baked ziti, I realized that, since I spend so much time at the wonderful Cub Cafe, I might as well just attempt to transform that into my own little Ramageland. I know we're supposed to have some kind of a draft written, or started by now, but I'm still in the planning stages, so this is the best I got.

I think it might actually work though...I'm figuring that I can transform the people who come in to eat and make them fit the examples and descriptions that Ramage gives in his attempt to help us understand rhetoric. There will be rhetoric and anti-rhetoric customers, that guy who always tries to persuade (or coerce) me into giving him an extra tender on his fried chicken wrap, and I'm pretty sure that I can even fit P-dog in there too...I am actually pretty determined to get P-dog in there somehow.

~Amber~

Rampage Island

A vacation that started out as a simple minded trip turned suddenly into an intense journey through and unfamiliar island. As the plan glided on the shimmering glass like mirror of an ocean, I felt content. I was finally away from it, the forty hours a week of working at a home improvement store, plus six colleges classes, and pile of homework were about to be the farthest things from my stressed mind. It was time to relax and that was what my intentions honestly were to do. As I stepped off the plan and looked at the dock sign I felt myself shiver. The sign read, “Rhetorically Correct.” I silenced my thoughts of suppressed memories from my second night of this English class I once took. Could I remember what exactly Rhetoric was?

My boyfriend Jon gently grabbed my hand and a very quiet gentleman led the way. It was our tour guide for the next three days. Who in their right mind goes to an uninhabited island for spring break? Rhetorically I will not answer my own question, thought with a giggle. My thoughts however were interrupted by our tour guide who said, “Welcome to Ramage Island, as you probably have figured out already it’s a rhetorically correct place at all times.” Jon just smiled at me and we followed the tour guide to a little grass hut. We were to rest for a bit and get ready for our long three day hike to the other side of the island for that is where the plane would eventually be picking us up at.

About an hour later our tour guide came for us and told us we would be hiking down Anti-rhetoric valley. I could not help but think of Dante’s Inferno, “was this hell.” There was no running water, no inside restroom, and worst of all the plane had left already. Garnished by two water bottles each, a back pack full of rope, granola bars, a pair of sneakers each, extra set of clothes, and a first aid kit; we were on our way to rhetorical analysis.

Our gifted tour guide who had yet to introduce himself led the way very fiercely. He chopped the branches and grass in the path way with a rustic knife that read “interpretation” down the side of it. “There will be four challenges in the valley that you will have to overcome to get through,” he said with a snickering grin. Jon laughed in amusement and I slowly half smiled. The first challenge was straight in front of us, a small lake that we desperately needed to cross. A very solemnly voice came out of no where and said, “Rhetoric is a pseudoscience (Ramage 2).” I pondered back to that one class I had gone to, was rhetoric real? “Yes, Rhetoric is alive and well,” I proclaimed. I knew in the back of my mind they were all awaiting my explanation. “It’s alive and well,” I boasted, “It’s all around us each and everyday in how we present ourselves, speak, and write.”

Then I almost fainted, the lake parted as if I was Moses and we began to walk through it. Once across the lake I realized that I really did believe in miracles. We were now miles away from our original landing site and knew that there was a long mission ahead of us. Jon then politely began to inquiry about our tour guide, “where are you from, what is your name?” Our tour guide smiled and introduced himself finally, “I’m John D. Ramage, this island was named after me,” he boasted. “I’m the only person on this island and I’m your guide through rhetoric”. Astonished, I screamed for help. Jon held me tightly for a moment. Ramage then continued, “If you do not listen to me and follow my strict lackadaisical instructions you will be lost here for months trying to find your way out of rhetoric. Along your way you will go through Anti-rhetoric valley, up Identity Mountain, and down Readymade slope. Pay attention and you will succeed on your long journey; if you don’t you’ll be lost in rhetorical confusion for life.”

Well, I guess it was time to continue following our esteemed leader/tour guide. We followed Rampage for three hour through the bitter wilderness before I needed to take a tiny break. Rampage said, “Keep up slacker, and if you need a break answer a question for a short relief from the hike. Who are you, Rachel?” I pondered for a moment in my head and thought of something to make my presence known. Then before I could open my mouth he said, “Identity is contained with in and is shaped by help from social interactions: break’s over.” Frustrated I made a trite face at him and continued to sit. The next thing I knew Ramage was gone. For an hour we looked for him concernedly, and then we realized I had not listened to him. This was test and we were going to pass and our next obstacle was starring us straight in the face. A poisonous snake pit lied in front of us, we no where else for us to go we strategically tried to plan a course of action.

Any suggestions

Magic Kingdom or Rhetoric Park

The tall steel structures gleamed against the ray of sunlight and the faint tune of a catchy jingle had mobs of patrons mindlessly walking to the entrance of the park. Joyous screams and giggles echoed over the fence that separated me from my day at one of the most exciting amusement park east of the Mississippi River. My fingers crumbled the dollar bills in my pocket as I stood in the single file line that weaved out from the ticket-booths. We shuffled, one step at a time, until a voice beckoned, “I can help the next person in line!” The man hidden behind the glass simply stared until finally I found the courage to ask for one ticket so that I could enter the park. “That’ll be $32.73.” I slipped the bills beneath the glass and in exchange he pushed a small book back towards me. Blue binding that continued on to the cover was met with a clashing gold banner with “Rhetoric Park” printed in bold letters. “Enjoy your day here at Rhetoric Park,” said the man from behind the counter. The gates were only a few steps away and as I began walking away from the ticket booth, my spot was soon replaced by another wide-eyed college student eager to give their summer earnings for a chance to spend the day in Rhetoric Park. As I continued with the crowd into the park I began thumbing through the pages of the book where maps, show times, and rules littered each page. The park was split up into different sections and after familiarizing myself with the locations of all the rides I decided to start my day off in Identity Isle.
Identity Isle was situated in the back of the park and with each footstep my anticipation grew of what I might find there. Upon entering this section of the park I quickly saw a line had formed in front a tall roller coaster. Those standing in the maze that lead to the loading station were jittery with excitement. I took my place in line and soon realized that small signs were placed every few feet. “This ride is not for those with heart conditions.”
“This ride is not for pregnant women.”
“This ride is not for children under the age of 12.”
“This ride is not for those with a fear of heights.”
As I passed each sign I wondered, “Who is this ride for?”