Author's Note: My copy of Uptaught arrived this afternoon, just in
time to coincide with the worst of my current head cold. At the time I am
writing this, I am only on page 55. Provided the Black Plague lifts its grasp
on our house, I will be finished with the reading and in class tomorrow. If
not, it is because I have no desire to be a living contagion for the rest of
you.
On to business, I suppose what comes most
readily to mind as I begin this book is the last of my Honors College classes
at this fine University. The class is called Honors Read and the objective is
for my class to decide on one (or two) new texts for the next year's freshman
seminar. While this in undoubtedly among the most noble of calling's for MSU
students, my classmates (and by extensions, I suppose, myself) are more than a
little pretentious and plenty self-involved. We took this class because we, like
Macrorie, knew something was missing from our Texts and Critics curriculum and
by God we knew how to fix it.
The first week of classes has been filled
with unlearning our own preconceptions of what makes books worthwhile and good
and what things we desire in our literature. Like Macrorie and his students, we
need to let literature happen to us, at least for a little while, rather than
telling our books and our classmates what is best. I anticipate this will be
tricky because it requires a combination of certainty that our book (or film,
article, or paper) is a great fit for the class, and the open-ended faith that
Macrorie learned to teach his students, the willingness to welcome discomfort
and alien presence into our lives and allow it to change us.
I am better by far at certainty than I am
at flexibility, which is why Macrorie's writing gave me pause.
What he encourages his later students to do to find their voices
is to relax themselves and let the writing happen to them. The idea that not
only does everyone have a story, they have the capacity to share it is sadly as
alien to me as it was to the teaching student who told him that writing could
not be taught. Like Macrorie’s students, I have grown up believing that a bad
writer could become passable, maybe even tolerable in a field he enjoyed, but
never good.
What Macrorie’s Third Way achieves is a system for encouraging
storytelling as an extension of feeling rather than a method of composition.
The difference being, as visible in his approach, that his students are all
storytellers in one way or another, but few of them believe in their ability to
be compsers.
Compositions are great art. Beethoven was a composer. Shakespeare
was a composer. Joe Shmo might amount to a hack if her works for it.
But we tell stories all the time. Fairy tales for children who won’t
fall asleep. White lies to our parents or teachers. Fishing, hunting, drinking,
partying, living stories.
For me, the power of Macrorie’s message is that we should not
harness people skills of memorization and composition, but give them a chance
to set their stories down and unravel them, to find out what makes them good
and enjoyable.
To end, I will leave you with this. As a freshman in college, I
was appalled when, in my first class with a teacher (let’s call her Professor
A), I received my first essay and it was bleeding red. I was a champion essay
writer. It was my thing. I did not fail essays. Frantic, I flipped to the back,
where the rubric was, and found a cheerful (for all the blood colored ink) 92%
with lavish praises for things I had done well. That was the first time I had
ever really received constructive criticism on a paper. High school teachers, I
have come to assume, can’t labor over “sufficient” papers to make them excellent,
so they gave me my “A” and sent me onto the next level. Professor A took every
opportunity to make me a better writer and I appreciate that “good” writing was
never enough for her. She, and later professors, subscribed to Macromie’s
disdain for dead sentences and pushed me beyond her own rubrics and onto better
papers.
Author’s Note, the Second: Here, I end my now bizarre rambling’s,
because my Nyquil is making the screen do funny things.
"This Is A Label" - a companion slideshow/film to my essay
Introduction
Coke. Pepsi. Bill Gates. Angelina Jolie. Nelson Mandela. Names
carry a significance that is comprised of generations of experiences,
reputation and effort. No two share a precise path of evolution, each
splintered and refracted by the experiences of the people living it. In the
language of rhetoric, names help us define the first and most essential of our
earliest discourse communities, our
families. In the tradition of familial closeness, language continues to assign
significance dependent on discourse communities differentiated by name. As
markers of these discourse communities, brands,
signs and labels help to define the boundaries of discourse communities by
identifying members and non-members and serving as conduits for inter-group
conflict. They allow for rivalries between companies to evolve into near
interpersonal feuds and help generations of cool (an uncool) high school
students decide who they can sit beside at lunch.
Brand Culture
Pictured above are two of the most vocal and powerful discourse communities in modern capitalism. Coke vs. Pepsi. The soda confrontation that defined a generation (or more). But more importantly, it manipulated the public’s opinion of not one but both companies by convincing their adoring fans that only one discourse community could come out on top. So, despite Coke having finally taken a substantialleadin the sugary soft-drink market, both companies brought in revenue in the billions, with additional profit coming from the numerous smaller companies and extensions each owns, such as FritoLay. But the effect of good-natured advertisements such as the ad on the right, put out by Pepsi Co. just in time for Halloween, is one of congenial mockery. Understanding exists, not only between Pepsi and Coke, but between the companies and their audience, that neither one is attacking their opponent company. Rather than acavalcadeofaccusationsandfactoidsabout how horrible Coke is for your health, Pepsi fires shots on the very subculture of Coke, the people who believe with their very souls that Coke is genetically superior to Pepsi. They achieve a mirror of popular athletic discourse with this method, similar to the trash talking that occurs between sports fans (and infects Facebook in the weeks leading up to Cat/Griz). The "fans," as it were, rally to the defense of their product, Pepsi gets some press, Coke-fans on Reddit respond with a pithy ad of their own, and the world spins on.
But this result would not be conceivable without the polarizing effects of the all-powerful discourse community. Because, as the advertisements indicate, you are either pro-Pepsi or pro-Coke (unless you happen to be one of the godless heathens that claims they can't tell the difference, but those liars have no place in either discourse). By using their distinctive images as their primary polarizing weapon, Coke and Pepsi, like other famous - and infamous - brands, have used the formation of discourse communities to their advantage. This formation is the most superficial of all the discourse communities related to the psychology of labels, but it functions as an undeniable mainstay of American economy and society. Brands using discourse communities to foster a feeling of "sameness" between a large group of people use what Fish refers to as a "manipulation of reality," attributed to rhetorical man. This manipulation, intended as a criticism of the inability of rhetoric to unveil truth, instead functions as a low-level type of societal glue, keeping an advertising audience with few certain commonalities together.
[Great Rivalries of Our Times. Burger King vs. McDonalds and Apple vs. Microsoft.]
Signs, Significance
These are signs. They denote possession of a thing, brand a place,
person or item as the real or metaphorical property of an overarching agent –
in this case, the Montana State University Athletic Department. Signs are
abundant; all of the above and branding by a larger organization. It is clear,
concise and largely unremarkable (unless you like me, feel like going out of
your way to remark on it.) The false ownership that discourse communities feel
through brand preferences becomes a fully realized phenomenon in the signage of
our day to day lives. People love to literally label. We have a machine called
a label maker and we use it exactly as the name implies: put your name on your
belongings so everyone knows they're yours.
These are also signs. Unlike the personal sign, these denote
function and location and deal less with the possession of the labeled thing
and more with the location, function and necessity of the labeled object or
place.
What do these signs have in
common? All were photographed using and iPod. All live in the Brick Breeden
Fieldhouse. And all of them denote possession, pertaining to a group or
discourse community. According to Tania Murray Li, “anthropologists have
long acknowledged the social nature of property: that it is not a relationship
between people and things, but a relationship between people, embedded in a
cultural and moral framework, a particular vision of community” (Lee, 501-502).
Signs, as Li is quick to point out in the description, are easy to misconstrue.
They are, at first glance, a form of label, sure. That identification is
simple, plain and yet as inclusive as necessary. They explain. Who the thing
belongs to, what the things does, where the thing is. Signs are an analogue
communication web, passing information from writer to audience in an efficient
and simplistic manner. Signs fulfill a highly necessary function in the
formation of literal networks, bringing groups together in places for
functions, all denoted by symbols on a page. It is not until those symbols lose
their physical form that they endanger clear communication.
This Is A Label
This is a label. It looks a
little different than the examples above, but do not be deceived. This is the
personal label.
The personal label is most
similar to the signage of ownership, but it can be both self-assigned and
utilized as a personal version of the brand. In this way, it combines the most
effective strategies of the top two methods of labeling.
The personal label serves as the mating call of social
friendships, drawing geeks, nerds, jocks, preps and fangirls together across
huge social strata, such as large school or work settings.
Not all labels are self-assigned. When I first pitched this
project to the Digital Media class, I could see the blossoming horror on my
classmates' faces as they recalled terrible names from childhood classes. I
worked to make the video about more than name calling and hair pulling, because
the function of the personal label means so much more.
The personal label can be a connection into a societal network,
ready and waiting. Fangirls, a somewhat derogatory name from women madly
obsessed with a type of media, is also a word that has been joyfully reclaimed
by those it appears to exist to slight. To identify as a fangirl is, in many
ways, to accept the mantle and trappings of a label given to you by someone
else; and in making it your own also reinvent it.
The personal label can be a passing identification, a self-assured
title that denotes what you feel, think, or believe at a given time. It
broadcasts your emotion and communicates with others who also temporarily
occupy the same brief discourse. In this way, internet forums have achieved
enormous success by catering to the whimsical bitching needs of the multitudes
online.
Lastly, labels can be arbitrarily
assigned to you based on signs you express to the world at large. Short hair?
You're a lesbian. Well-dressed and polite? You're metrosexual at best, probably
gay. Tattoos and piercings? No good stoner.
These are the labels that harm
and constrain. They can help disenfranchised parties to form groups in defense,
but these groups are not high-functioning, collaborative discourses. The
resentment produced by this last construct of personal labels undoes any good
the labels themselves can enact, almost before it happens.
In Conclusion
People like judgement. It feed social situation and the gossip in all of us. And labels make gossip easy. Really, really easy. So easy, in fact, that people forget the function of labels as community. They forget the network that labels helped them build, the product it helped them sell, and the friends it helped them find. In an age where quotes are judged twice-over by their ability to condense into 140 characters or less, the complications of subterranean labels is not something the average human gossip machine wants to contemplate. So the discourse communities that we construct with the labels of our lives, the brands, the signs and the incessant name calling, culminate in an anticlimactic rush of information we feel compelled to simultaneously share and downplay the importance of.
Everyone is an individual. The trick is recognizing that everyone does not begin and end with you.
Coke. Pepsi. Bill Gates. Angelina Jolie. Nelson Mandela. Names carry
a significance that is comprised of generations of experiences, reputation and
effort. No two share a precise path of evolution, each splintered and refracted
by the experiences of the people living it. In the language of rhetoric, names
help us define the first and most essential of our earliest discourse communities, our families. In
the tradition of familial closeness, language continues to assign significance dependent
on discourse communities differentiated by name. As markers of these discourse
communities, brands, signs and labels help to define the boundaries of discourse communities by
identifying members and non-members and serving as conduits for inter-group
conflict. They allow for rivalries between companies to evolve into near
interpersonal feuds and help generations of cool (an uncool) high school
students decide who they can sit beside at lunch.
Pictured above are two of the
most vocal and powerful discourse communities in modern capitalism. Coke vs.
Pepsi. The soda confrontation that defined a generation (or more). But more
importantly, it manipulated the public’s opinion of not one but both companies
by convincing their adoring fans that only one discourse community could come
out on top. So, despite Coke having finally taken a substantialleadin
the sugary soft-drink market, both companies brought in revenue in the
billions, with additional profit coming from the numerous smaller companies and
extensions each owns, such as FritoLay. But the effect of good-natured
advertisements such as the ad on the right, put out by Pepsi Co. just in time
for Halloween, is one of congenial mockery. Understanding exists, not only
between Pepsi and Coke, but between the companies and their audience, that
neither one is attacking their opponent company. Rather than acavalcadeofaccusationsandfactoidsabout
how horrible Coke is for your health, Pepsi fires shots on the very subculture
of Coke, the people who believe with their very souls that Coke is genetically
superior to Pepsi. They achieve a mirror of popular athletic discourse with
this method, similar to the trash talking that occurs between sports fans (and
infects Facebook in the weeks leading up to Cat/Griz). The "fans," as
it were, rally to the defense of their product, Pepsi gets some press,
Coke-fans on Reddit respond with a pithy ad of their own, and the world spins
on.
But this result would not be
conceivable without the polarizing effects of the all-powerful discourse
community. Because, as the advertisements indicate, you are either pro-Pepsi or
pro-Coke (unless you happen to be one of the godless heathens that claims they
can't tell the difference, but those liars have no place in either discourse).
By using their distinctive images as their primary polarizing weapon, Coke and
Pepsi, like other famous - and infamous - brands, have used the formation of
discourse communities to their advantage. This formation is the most
superficial of all the discourse communities related to the psychology of
labels, but it functions as an undeniable mainstay of American economy and society.
Brands using discourse communities to foster a feeling of "sameness"
between a large group of people use what Fish refers to as a "manipulation
of] reality," attributed to rhetorical man. This manipulation, intended as
a criticism of the inability of rhetoric to unveil truth, instead functions as
a low-level type of societal glue, keeping an advertising audience with few
certain commonalities together.
[Great Rivalries of Our Times. Burger King vs. McDonalds and Apple vs. Microsoft.]
This is a sign. It denotes possession of a thing and branding by a larger organization. It is clear, concise and largely unremarkable (unless you like me, feel like going out of your way to remark on it.) The false ownership that discourse communities feel through brand preferences becomes a fully realized phenomenon in the signage of our day to day lives. People love to literally label. We have a machine called a label maker and we use it exactly as the name implies: put your name on your belongings so everyone knows they're yours.
These are also signs. Unlike the personal sign, these denote function and location and deal less with the possession of the labeled thing and more with the location, function and necessity of the labeled object or place.What do these signs have in common? All were photographed using and iPod. All live in the Brick Breeden Fieldhouse. And all of them denote possession, pertaining to a group or discourse community. According to Tania Murray Li, “anthropologists have long acknowledged the social nature of
property: that it is not a relationship between people and things, but a
relationship between people, embedded in a cultural and moral framework, a
particular vision of community” (Lee, 501-502). Signs, as Li is
quick to point out in the description, are easy to misconstrue. They are, at
first glance, a form of label, sure. That identification is simple, plain and yet as inclusive as necessary. They explain. Who the thing belongs to, what the things does, where the thing is. Signs are an analogue communication web, passing information from writer to audience in an efficient and simplistic manner. Signs fulfil a highly necessary function in the formation of literal networks, bringing groups together in places for functions, all denoted by symbols on a page.
It is not until those symbols lose their physical form that they endanger clear communication.
This is a label. It looks a little different than the examples above, but do not be deceived. This is the personal label.
The personal label is most similar to the signage of ownership, but it can be both self-assigned and utilized as a personal version of the brand. In this way, it combines the most effective strategies of the top two methods of labeling.
The personal label serves as the mating call of social friendships, drawing geeks, nerds, jocks, preps and fangirls together across huge social strata, such as large school or work settings.
Not all labels are self-assigned. When I first pitched this project to the Digital Media class, I could see the blossoming horror on my classmates' faces as they recalled terrible names from childhood classes. I worked to make the video about more than name calling and hair pulling, because the function of the personal label means so much more.
The personal label can be a connection into a societal network, ready and waiting. Fangirls, a somewhat derogatory name from women madly obsessed with a type of media, is also a word that has been joyfully reclaimed by those it appears to exist to slight. To identify as a fangirl is, in many ways, to accept the mantle and trappings of a label given to you by someone else; and in making it your own also reinvent it.
The personal label can be a passing identification, a self-assured title that denotes what you feel, think, or believe at a given time. It broadcasts your emotion and communicates with others who also temporarily occupy the same brief discourse. In this way, internet forums have achieved enormous success by catering to the whimsical bitching needs of the multitudes online.
Lastly, labels can be arbitrarily assigned to you based on signs you express to the world at large. Short hair? You're a lesbian. Well-dressed and polite? You're metrosexual at best, probably gay. Tattoos and piercings? No good stoner.
These are the labels that harm and constrain. They can help disenfranchised parties to form groups in defense, but these groups are not high-functioning, collaborative discourses. The resentment produced by this last construct of personal labels undoes any good the labels themselves can enact, almost before it happens.
