Final Essay: The Ties that Bind

Duncan S. Jackson

ENG 1105

Charles Ellis

December 11, 2012

Final Essay: The Ties that Bind

            At the beginning of this semester I chose five novels that, in the past, I had every intention of getting around to reading, but never quite made it so far as there was always something else, be it an assignment or some other book for my personal pleasure, that kept my time occupied. The beauty of independent study is that I was finally able to lay to rest my procrastination and fulfill both assignment and passion with the literary classics I chose to read and analyze: The Pearl, by John Steinbeck; Heart of Darkness, by Joseph Conrad; Lord of the Flies, by William Golding; The Art of War, by Sun Tzu; and Uncle Tom’s Cabin, by Harriet Beecher Stowe. These novels would prove to broaden my horizons as they reaffirmed my love of and for the written word, just as my analysis of each cultivated the belief that one should never judge a book by its cover, and especially in the case of Heart of Darkness and Art of War, that a single reading does not always give proper perspective of the work.

            Surprisingly, especially considering the fact that they were picked at random, the books share a few common themes that allowed for effortless transitioning from one to the next, even though each was stylistic, refreshing, and original in its own right. The first to be examined is the theme of escape, and whether it comes in the form of Kino wishing to escape his paltry existence and provide a better future for his wife and child, as is the case in The Pearl; Kurtz’s desire to escape the trappings of civilized society, as is the case in Heart of Darkness; Ralph’s yearning to escape the island that threatens to change the boys to savages—he longs to return to the civility and morality that Kurtz so willingly left behind—as is the case in Lord of the Flies; a warrior’s quest to escape defeat and subsequent oppression at the hands of his enemy, as is the case in The Art of War; or every slave’s hunger to escape the bondage he or she has been placed under with his or her purchase—and let us not forget great characters such as Augustine St. Clare, Mr. Wilson, or the Quakers, all of whom fought so resolutely against the prescribed norm to ensure enslaved blacks were treated with kindness, fairness, and respect—as is seen in Uncle Tom’s Cabin, the passion that guides these legendary characters—and my heart along with them—is bittersweet as my escape into their world is riddled with the pain and fear, as well as the joy, bravery, and positive outlook they maintain even in the face of adversity.

            Another theme shared by all is that of theology. We have but to view Kino, Juana, and Coyotito’s journey as that of Joseph, Mary, and Jesus’. Just as Herod had mandated that all the children should be killed in order to preserve his crown, an act that prompted the exodus from Bethlehem, so, too, do the characters of Steinbeck’s classic journey even as assassins track them for a pearl that promises much stature and power to its owner. In Heart of Darkness, it is not so much that Kurtz has imposed his will upon the tribal peoples, subjugating them into proclaiming him a god or even their god; they seem to do this of their own volition, and, in Marlowe’s eyes, Kurtz himself transcends even this, becoming more of a god than civilized Christians could proclaim of their own. Baal, literally translated as The Lord of the Flies, takes from Judeo-Christian superstition the demonic entity who is known to be one of the earliest manifestations of anti-Christian worship. His presence on the island plays well against Ralph’s “Jesus.” When speaking of Heaven in The Art of War, Sun Tzu referenced not godly beings and supernatural phenomena that existed in spiritual form above him, but the atmospheric conditions that could very well play into one winning or losing a battle. He does, however, adhere to the precepts spoken of in the Bible, that one should care for his brother (literal or otherwise) and put others before him-or herself; there is also a bit of “Render unto Caesar” in his teachings. Last, with Uncle Tom’s Cabin, we have before us a story so chokingly filled with Christian religion that one can scarcely make it through the story without feeling he or she is being preached to; the fact that the characters have these beliefs is acceptable, but it is when Ms. Stowe continuously loops a sermon to us from beginning to end that the distraction ensues.

            Without going into much detail, the final theme would be confronting the great unknown. For Kino, it is improving his station in life; for Kurtz, Marlowe, and perhaps even the Narrator, it is overcoming the heart of darkness that not necessarily teems all around us, but dwells within; for Ralph, it is absence of civility and morality; for Sun Tzu, it is a fear of not living up to the expectations of his emperor as well as his subordinates; and for Tom and the other slaves, it is that strange and beautiful thing called freedom.

            There are themes independent and indigenous to each of these books, and there are times when a single reading will not manifest those hidden meanings to us. Reading is not a chore, and it certainly should not be treated as punishment. It is a luxury that some take for granted, but in doing so, they deny themselves the beauty and escape—even for so limited a time—for which we all may secretly wish.

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Analysis of "Uncle Tom's Cabin"

Duncan S. Jackson

English 1105

Charles Ellis

December 7, 2012

Analysis of “Uncle Tom’s Cabin”

            How best should one approach a literary classic written at a time in our nation’s history when acceptance of said work would prove to be instrumental in changing the shape and course of the country, its inhabitants, and their future? Do we, as modern-day critics of pre-antebellum literature, dismiss altogether, or, at the very least, diminish in value the significance the work holds by simple virtue of the fact that it is dated, has served its purpose, thus no longer relevant? Santayana’s quote, “Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it” (284), reminds us of the reverence we must hold for our history, terrible as some aspects of it may be, and why, even today, Uncle Tom’s Cabin is a piece of not-so-much fiction that continues to enlighten as it entertains.

            Prior to opening the book, I must confess, I had already developed preconceived notions of what Harriet Beecher Stowe’s classic would entail. This, no doubt, came about through years of listening to other’s opinions on the book without scarcely turning the first page, and while I left my prejudiced opinions on the doorstep, as it were, once I entered her “Cabin,” I found the décor to be both refreshing and unpleasant; prominent and inconspicuous; profound and shallow.

            Ms. Stowe immediately ingratiates herself to the reader by way of placing herself on his or her own level, much the way Stephen King addresses his “constant reader” throughout the pages of his many books and stories; her colloquial solicitations of “dear reader” (129), “let us” (139), “our readers” (74), and “rise to our view” (149) solidify the solidarity she wishes to garner and ignite from a narrative that reads more like an essay, or even a personal letter from she to her audience, and she successfully moves from the office of friend to narrator to author and back again without leaving the reader behind. It is easily discernible, while reading the book, that Ms. Stowe is indeed personally telling us the story, a fact she acknowledges throughout the text with comments such as, “Many of my lady readers must…” (259) and “Perhaps some of my readers conjure up…” (300), as well as owning up to this fact, while speaking of herself in the third person, in the final chapter of her commentary.

            Prevalent in the story, to the point of detraction and distraction, is the constant sermon Ms. Stowe wishes to minister to her audience. No doubt, this comes about as the result of the upbringing she received in her strict Christian home; her father, Lyman, a Calvinist minister, and her brother, Henry, who went on to forge a successful ministry in his own right, had a great spiritual impact on her life (lkwpdl.org). Even still, her arguments through narration—“the Man of Sorrows, the Lord of Glory […] bears the anguish of the world” (127-8), forces upon us the belief that we will have to answer for our transgressions “In the day of future Judgement” (129) —as well as those she reveals through the dialogue of her characters, suggest that the Judeo-Christian God equals Good, and political and social agendas should keep Him at the forefront of every decision, and failure to do so is “cruel and unchristian” (81).

            Ms. Stowe sets the table for her view that the duty of the Abolitionist falls within the duty of the Christian, at least in regards to her Northern brethren, but she does give equal time for the Southern view as well, that being that Noah’s curse upon his son Ham’s descendants is what allows for slavery in the world in general, and the southern United States more specifically: “‘It is undoubtedly the intention of Providence that the African race should be servants—kept in a low condition’ said […] a clergyman. ‘Cursed be Canaan; a servant of servants shall he be,’ the Scripture [Gen. 9:25] says’” (121); sandwiched between the two, an historical representation of Abolitionist Quakers (gmu.edu) is depicted as well (129). Luckily for the reader, the voice of reason in the Southern argument comes from Augustine St. Clare, who poses to his wife, “Why don’t [preachers] carry it a little further, and show […] of a fellow’s taking a glass of wine too much, and sitting a little too late over his cards […]; we’d like to hear that those things are right and godly, too” (174). Augustine can best be described as an agnostic, and views himself as a savior of sorts within the dark practice of slave ownership, and he certainly will not hold any belief that “the Bible was on our side, and supported all our institutions so convincingly” (173), as his wife enthusiastically informs him.

Further exploring the Southern mentality towards blacks and religion, Marie St. Clare says of Africans, “I’m sure they can go to church when they like, though they don’t understand a word of the sermon, more than so many pigs—so it isn’t of any great use for them to go” (168). Servile animals who, upon their journey’s end to America, were forced to give up their Muslim and Obeahan beliefs and adopt the religion of their white masters (Guyana.org). This is seen never more prominently than in George Harris’ speech to Mr. Wilson (110-113), and George’s declaration that “There is a God for you, but is there any for us” (114)? Contritely, and tritely, George comes to believe in the God of his master and, more importantly, his wife, Eliza, once the two have been reunited. It is this, and nothing more, that allows for Ms. Stowe to continue her sermon that any positive thing is a direct “blessing” from her god, that “trust in [H]is Providence” lifted George’s “atheistic doubts” and imbued him “with a golden cloud of protection and confidence” (136), and can do the same for us all, if only we give him credit for every good thing in our lives.

            Other than being a Christian and an Abolitionist—both of which, I must add, do not qualify anyone as an authority on African-American culture—there was absolutely nothing within the pages of the novel nor within Ms. Stowe’s biography to suggest she was thoroughly compliant with the proper representation of negroes: in short, I feel she, herself is guilty of racism to a degree. Even though she uses what must have been widespread Southern mentality of the period in the form of “these critters ain’t like white folks: they gets over things” (15), she describes the character of Chloe as “she might have been washed over with white of eggs” (29),

in a sense whitewashing this black character with the hope of endearing her to her audience. She is also deprecating in that she states “for the Negro mind, impassioned and imaginative, always attaches itself to hymns and expressions of a vivid and pictorial nature” (37); in short, “We’s all just happy folks.” Ms. Stowe goes on to say “They are not naturally daring or enterprising” (95), and even refers to them, with both her own voice and that of her characters, as “wooly headed” (29, 46, 50, 195).

            Prevalent also is the liberal use of the word “nigger” that the slaves use in reference to one another, whether it is Aunt Chloe speaking to/of her own children—“get out de way, you niggers” (30)—or Sam speaking of himself—“this nigger ain’t so green” (50)—or Andy referring to Sam as “you black nigger” (50). This sentiment abounds due to what can only be described as brainwashing, of a sort. The slaves were taught by their white masters that they were filthy niggers who were not even worth the pity and grace that their forced-to-worship god promised them, and this continuous cycle of negative reinforcement ultimately became their belief. Another form of this brainwashing, perhaps even more barbaric than that which the Southern slaves endured, can be seen in the case of Phillis Wheatley, who viewed her capture, sale, and servitude as a mercy God had bestowed upon her. One has only to read Ms. Wheatley’s poem On Being Brought from Africa to America to see that hers was not a voice of reason, but more the result of years of psychological abuse, the end result of which being a complete brainwashing that she in turn embraced as divine truth.

In its entirety the poem reads:

‘Twas mercy brought me from my pagan land,

Taught my benighted soul to understand

That there’s a God, that there’s a Saviour too:

Once I redemption never sought nor knew.

Some view our sable race with a scornful eye,

“Their color is a diabolical dye.”

Remember, Christians, Negroes, black as Cain,

May be refin’d, and join the Angelic train.

Privileged, refined, and a member of polite New England society—as much as any slave

could be accepted, that is—Phillis Wheatley learned Latin and Greek, wrote poetry in honor of

and personally met with President George Washington, and was hailed in England as one of the

finest poet laureates ever to emerge from our fledgling country. She was spared the horrors that

her kinspeople were made to endure in the South, those that Frederick Douglass intimated with

such articulation and Harriet Beecher Stowe hints at in her novel Uncle Tom’s Cabin. In many

ways Wheatley was the worst kind of slave in that she represented the trophy, the “they can be

civilized” model that applied to so very few; slaves were bought, sold, and meant for hard labor;

so very few would ever enjoy the life Wheatley had been exposed to.

            To her credit, Ms. Stowe examines the truest feelings of some Northerners when she explores the all-too real intent of shipping freemen and escaped slaves back to Africa—Liberia, to be exact. Augustine St. Clare states, “You loathe [slaves] as you would a snake or a toad […] you don’t want to have anything to do with them yourselves. You would send them to Africa, out of your sight and smell,” to which Miss Ophelia retorts, “There may be some truth to this” (169). True also is the fact that “Most free African-Americans wanted to stay in the land they had helped to build. They planned to continue the struggle for equality and justice in the new nation,” (loc.gov). Ms. Stowe seems to push the idea of repatriating blacks back to Africa, and this can be seen in the form of George Harris enthusiastically sojourning to this new country, a place he finally feels he can call home; a place he can help shape, both politically and economically; “a republic, formed of picked men” (397), only those who reside there were picked not because of their intelligence, or trustworthiness, or even because of their theological affiliations, but because of the color of their skin. Even Topsy—Miss Ophelia’s slave set free—upon reaching adulthood, travels to Liberia as a missionary, but Ms. Stowe points out that Topsy “[returned to] her own country” (399), as opposed to claiming America as her own.

            Finally, I come to Tom. What is it about this remarkable man that makes him so endearing to the reader? Is it his morals and ethics? Is it his understanding that things happen for a reason—“natur”—as well as his unwavering belief that “I’m in the Lord’s hands” (94), thus all will work out as it should? As I came to the conclusion of this book I began to realize that Uncle Tom’s cabin was not a dwelling on the Shelby farm, not on St. Clare Plantation, nor even on Simon Legree’s place; Uncle Tom’s cabin was his heart, his fine spirit. He was a man who could win over young and old alike, whether in the form of Eva St. Clare, or Legree’s henchmen, Sambo and Quimbo. Uncle Tom’s Cabin, as well as Uncle Tom’s cabin, are masterworks that will live forever in the hearts of all who decide to make the journey.

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Hewitt, Nancy A. “Reform and Reformers in the Antebellum Era.”

http://chnm.gmu.edu/lostmuseum/lm/274/ Web. 9 DEC 2012.

Bisnauth, Dale. http://www.guyana.org/features/guyanastory/chapter28.html

Web. 9 DEC 2012.

No Known Author. “History of Liberia: A Timeline.” 12 MAR 1998.

http://memory.loc.gov/ammem/gmdhtml/libhtml/liberia.html Web. 10 DEC 2012.

Santayana, George. “Life of Reason: Reason in Common Sense.” Scribner’s. New York. 1905.

Stowe, Harriet Beecher. “Uncle Tom’s Cabin.” Bantam Books. New York. 1981.

Wheatley, Phillis. 1768. http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/on-being-brought-from-africa-to

           

10 DEC 2012.

Women in History. Harriet Beecher Stowe biography. Last Updated: 12/8/2012. Lakewood

Public Library. Web. 12 DEC 2012.

Analysis of “Heart of Darkness”

Duncan S. Jackson

English 1105

Mr. Ellis

October 22, 2012

Analysis of “Heart of Darkness”

            What makes a story truly great, ingratiates itself upon us, gaining favor, standing the test

of time to be extolled a masterpiece, a literary contribution to be cherished throughout the ages?

My initial thought, as I read this gothic-imagery-laden offering from the mind of Joseph Conrad,

was that the author’s faculties had all but deserted him as he surely labored for what must have

been weeks on end, endeavoring ever-so-lovingly over a very personal celebration in mediocrity;

should those who, in their ignorance and arrogance, allowed such a thing to come into being,

lauding with great supplications of good thanksgiving for all to hear, be charged with any less

crime? While I am the first to admit that every story will not connect with every reader, there has

to be at least a small amount of redemption found within the pages of what one may very well

deem an otherwise excursion into futility, and I found mine.

            It would be remiss of me, before going any further, to point out that I am a true believer

in the adage that every story has a story, thus the need for background, foreshadowing, and the

like as Mr. Conrad surreptitiously builds to his anticlimactic conclusion. That being said, it

seems the author takes the opposing view of minimalism, instrumental in the writings of Carver,

Hemingway, and Barthelme, to the N^th degree by sandbagging the reader—well, this reader in

particular, at any rate—with filler and fluff which, if removed, would have allowed for an even

easier flow of text and better assimilation and understanding of that which he wished to convey.

It would not come to me until the third chapter, after all the improper usage of grammar

and punctuation, when the true heart of “Heart” would be revealed, and I realized, as I read what

would prove to be the tiniest of glimpses into the real meat and potatoes of this tale, that I was

reading the rough-draft script for the Martin Scorsese-directed mega-blockbuster motion picture

Apocalypse Now. This was indeed to be the story’s redemptive measure for me, but it came too

little, too late. Chapter three begins, […] “His very existence was improbable, inexplicable, and

altogether bewildering. He was an insoluble problem. It was inconceivable how he had existed,

how he had succeeded in getting so far, how he had managed to remain—why he did not

instantly disappear. I went a little farther, […] then still a little farther—till I had gone so far that

I don’t know how I’ll ever get back” (92). This quote sums up perfectly my thoughts and feelings

on the story as a whole as well as my journey into this literary heart of darkness, and my inability

to escape once that journey had begun.

Although where the story takes place has never been specifically pointed out by Conrad,

the Narrator, nor Marlowe, one can easily surmise it is the continent of Africa due to references

made to it being “one of the dark places of the earth” (6), “trireme[s] in the Mediterranean” (7),

“those who have a different complexion or slightly flatter noses than ourselves” (9), and “a black

Sahara” (85). Then, of course, are the references to “dark interlopers” (5), “black figures” (41),

and a very liberal use of the word “nigger” (13, 29, 42, 76); not a thing uncommon for writers of

Conrad’s day (pub. Year 1902), but one must wonder if these are the thoughts and feelings of the

author, the author through his characters, or the characters as separate entities. Important to note

is how Marlow does not even refer to his (black) helmsman as a “man” until the poor fellow has

died at the hands of the natives (86). To this point he is: a “fool nigger” (76); “a dog in a parody

of breeches and a feather hat” (81); “an instrument” (85); and a “second-rate helmsman” (86).

Furthermore, the Marlowe character takes his time in making a show of any reverence for his

fallen shipmate, and then only as an afterthought as the funeral and burial consists of the dead

carcass being thrown overboard; true, this saves him from being eaten by the hired cannibal

crew, but that is the only respect any person of color is shown throughout the entirety of the

story; Marlowe gives his shoes, which were bloodied sopping wet by the helmsman’s blood,

more consideration: “out of sheer nervousness had just flung overboard a new pair of shows.”

They were new, the intended afterthought being they could have been cleaned.

There is an almost mystic ambience Conrad conjures up whenever speaking of the people

and their way of life. They are “supernatural beings” (84), who are “sorcerer[s], witch-men,

fiend-like” (111), as the African religious practice of Obeah would suggest (Morrow, Ally,

Narcisse, Javier). Due to Marlowe’s unfamiliarity with these practices, he is left to surmise that

“the far-off drums […] weird, appealing, suggestive, and wild” (31), usher forth “midnight

dances with unspeakable rites” (84), “aggravated witch dance[s]” (85) performed by the “devils

of the land” (82). The natives, “black shadows of disease” (26), were not the only people of

whom this could be said. Marlowe felt that the heart of darkness, which was anything—man,

jungle, river to name a few—that had no amount of civility about it, and he was sure that the

heart of darkness corrupted absolutely, which is why he could refer to the master brick builder as

a “papier-mâché Mephistopheles” (42), or come to believe that because of Kurtz’s indomitable

spirit and ability to gather the tribes to proclaim him master and leader that something had

protected him “like a charm” (54). These “red devils” (113) nor Kurtz’s rescuers (white devils?)

held dominion over the man, Marlowe noticed, as there was “nothing above or below him” (112)

any longer; the man had transcended the convention of religion—heaven and hell—to become a

god in his own right.

Separate but equal is the way in which Conrad defines the land itself; it carries an air of

mysticism about it, but more as an as-yet undiscovered country. He speaks of Africa as “still

belong[ing] to the beginnings of time” (68), a “prehistoric earth” (59). In it, one finds “truth

stripped of its cloak of time” (60). It is here, perhaps, that the heart of darkness envelops most

completely, as the place is “primeval” (43) and one finds “no joy [even] in the brilliance of the

sunshine” (55), a true “night of first ages” (60) where every living thing contained within spews

its birth cry as both invitation, and warning.

Several references are made to the intrepid Europeans who—for that of adventure’s sake

or profit’s—have braved this vast, indiscriminate wilderness. We, through Conrad, the Narrator,

and Marlowe, view them as a transmogrification of colonists, “adventurers and sailors” (5),

conquerors” (9), and finally “faithless pilgrims” (37) who seem no longer capable of even

understanding the need to leave the place of their greatest sorrows; the heart of darkness, which

consumes as it is consumed, is one great thing and many great things simultaneously; it has

consumed them, making them one with itself.

The gothic imagery employed by Mr. Conrad is on a par with that of Poe and Hawthorne,

and perhaps a bit more cerebral besides. We are introduced to this early on with references to

“black hens” (12) and women “knitting black wool” (14) in an office located on a “street in deep

shadow” (14) that Marlowe would visit prior to setting off for “The Continent” (12), yet the

office itself, in contrast to this, sported a “large shining map, with all the colours of the rainbow”

(14) as if to nullify what truly awaited the seafaring adventurer upon arrival at his destination.

Marlowe speaks of the eyes of a dead native “shining darkly” (100), and speaks of a painting that

has caught his attention in which “the background was somber […] and the face (of the unknown

woman) sinister” (40).

I reread this story after setting myself to the task of writing this analysis, and while I hold

true to everything I have written, I must clarify a few things as I build toward my end. Though an

arduous task still, I did gain better understanding—and enjoyment—from this piece the second

time around. It definitely deserves the praise it has received, which merits its place as one of the

fine literary contributions of all time. No longer do I feel the opening of Chapter Three to be a

worthy assessment of my experience with this book; on the contrary. I invite you to page seven

to read the script, “it is like a running blaze on a plain, like a flash of lightning in the clouds. We

live in the flicker—may it last as long as the old earth keeps rolling!”

Works Cited

Conrad, Joseph. Heart of Darkness. Bantam Classic Books. Doubleday and Co., Inc. 1981.

Morrow, Ally, Narcisse, and Javier. Obeah, Voodoo, and Wicca. Central University of New

York. Web.  2012. http://condor.admin.ccny.cuny.edu/~lm5786/index.html

Analysis of Steinbeck's "The Pearl"

Duncan S. Jackson

English 1105

Charles Ellis

Independent Study

Analysis of “The Pearl”

            John Steinbeck, through his novella “The Pearl,” takes his reader(s) on a multi-themed

journey that reminds us to be careful for that which we wish much the way W. W. Jacobs was

able to drive home the same point in his short story “The Monkey’s Paw.” Unlike Jacobs’ classic

fable, however, the total plausibility Steinbeck invokes serves to lend credence and believability

to the characters and the roles under which they serve.

            Set in 1930s La Paz, Mexico, it is immediately clear that the first theme this story

employs is that of class, of poverty versus wealth. The brush houses—homes constructed of

bushes, limbs, grass, leaves, and having thatched roofs—are a testament to the poverty-level

conditions in which the destitute pearl divers of the town live; this is contrasted by “the city of

stone and plaster” (13), as well as “the smell […] of good bacon from the doctor’s house” (15),

and even in the doctor’s relegating those he views as beneath him as nothing more than animals

as he says to the air about himself, “I am a doctor, not a veterinary” (18). It is not until Kino

finds the pearl that he is looked upon differently by those whose scorn he so easily fell under, be

it the priest, the doctor, the shopkeepers, the pearl buyers, or Kino’s very own neighbors.

            The second theme made manifest is the classic good versus evil, and this is seen most

profoundly with the pearl itself, which is immediately reminiscent of Tolkien’s “precious.” The

pearl in and of itself is a good thing, for it will provide for Kino, his wife Juana, and their son

Coyotito the opportunity to forge a better future. Kino understands the importance the “Pearl of

the World” (32) holds, and perhaps this is best exemplified by one of the first things he states he

will buy after selling the pearl, “—a rifle—but why not, since he was so rich” (37)? It would

definitely bespeak his new-found station in life, but it would also protect against the “colonial

animal” (32) with the “poison sacs of […] manufacture[d] venom” (35) that the town had not

necessarily become, but had always bided its time in revealing itself to be.

Though at times naïve, and others ignorant, these two factors affirmed Juana’s belief in

superstition, and after her begging Kino to “crush it between two stones” (77) had fallen on deaf

ears, she had attempted to return the pearl to the sea herself (79) due to the evil she felt resided in

it, for had Kino not already been accosted twice, his house burned to the ground, and his boat

destroyed? Prior to the discovery of the pearl it was she who prayed not for the healing of

Coyotito, who had been stung by a scorpion, but for a pearl with which to seek proper medical

attention for her son. Kino’s brother—and La Paz’s village elder—Juan Tomas stated, “There is

a devil in this pearl [and] you should have gotten rid of it” (89), yet Kino was “half insane and

half god” (83), and all that would slake his thirst for the justice of a proper price could be found

in “that monster of strangeness they called the capital” (73), for “he had already lost his old

world and must clamber on to a new one” (73) when he upset the status quo by refusing to deal

with the buyers, and in some way this was expedited when an unknown sent assassins to dispatch

of Kino and procure the pearl.

The story’s third theme, becoming more than one is told he or she should be—not

accepting one’s lot in life—begins when Kino “felt the evil coagulating about him [and] heard in

his ears the evil music” (69) as the pearl buyers attempted to swindle him, and it is these things

that set him upon the path of discovering the pearl’s terrible value. Juan Tomas explains that,

“You have defied not the pearl buyers, but the whole structure, the whole way of life, and I am

afraid for you” (74). The pearl buyers worked in collusion to keep the villagers subjugated, but

Kino’s resolute determination to travel to the capital city to fetch a fair price for the pearl drove

out any rational thought offered as to it being a thing of evil.

Call it happenstance, irony, or a twist of fate, but the ending Mr. Steinbeck chose for his

intrepid hero brings this paper full circle as once again a parallel is drawn between “The Pearl”

and “The Monkey’s Paw.” To protect his family from the assassins, one of whom brandishes the

same Winchester rifle Kino had earlier entertained thoughts of owning, he is forced to kill or be

killed. He easily dispatches the rifleman—not before a shot is fired—then terminates the other

two, and he finds the “cry of death” (119) comes not from the palpable silence left in the wake of

his own bloody massacre of the would-be assassins, but from his wife Juana, who laments the

loss of their son; it was the initial rifle shot that had killed Coyotito.

Kino and Juana return to La Paz village, “and they were not walking in single file” (119),

but side by side as opposed to the custom of the woman following in her husband’s wake. This

signifies the equality of loss suffered by both, and perhaps the equality of blame and guilt both

assume for Coyotito’s death. Equal also are the rifle, which hangs over Kino’s right shoulder,

and the lifeless body of Coyotito, hanging over Juana’s left. In claiming the prized weapon Kino

found he had given up that which was more precious to him than the money a thousand pearls

could hope to ever bring.

Upon first taking in the depth and beauty of the pearl, “It captured the light and refined it

and gave it back in silver incandescence. It was as large as a sea-gull’s egg” (30), but at the end

of his journey Kino looks at it one last time, “And the pearl was ugly; it was gray, like a

malignant growth.” Kino offers the pearl to Juana, to do with as she had wished the night before,

but she—perhaps fueled yet again by superstition—allows he who dragged this monstrosity from

the depths to return it from whence it came, and perhaps finally understanding the evil this freak

of nature holds—or more conceivably, exercising their own naivety, ignorance, and superstition

—none of the villagers seek to claim it as their own.

1110 words

The Reality of Things is Such...

I like the History Channel. I really enjoy learning more about what it may have been like during the Black Plague, the Revolutionary War, and the Civil Rights Movement--I say this in the present tense when the reality is that History Channel, along with TLC and Discovery Channel, are fast losing sight of their original objective and becoming networks of reality-based programming, and I am sorry History Channel, you can dress it up any way you choose by saying "History is made every day" before showing Pawn Stars, American Pickers, or Ice Road Truckers, but none of these things have to do with actual history; face it, these networks are becoming the MTV of the 2010s (when is the last time anyone actually saw a whole music video on MTV?). Speaking of MTV...The Real World? Really? Really? This is so far from real that any and all of the participants would get their asses kicked on a daily basis if they were in the real world. What makes things even worse is the fact that at any given time one can turn on his or her television and be inundated with reality-based show after reality-based show, and most of them are pretty horrendous. Every network seems to have its own Coonass mascot, and those that don't have asses of a different sort--the Jersy-ites--polluting the airwaves. Yesterday I saw advertisements for two new reality-based shows--Farm Kings, about corn farmers; and Hard Parts, about working in a car parts store. Working in a car parts store!--The ideas for these two are almost as stupid as...oh, I don't know. Doing a show about finding things with a metal detector, or parking cars, or being stupid, sixteen, and knocked up, or being a Kardashian (and it's either watch this crap or Sex and the City, which seems to be on every other channel). The thing is, the whole idea of reality-based programming has lost its luster, and we can surmise that it is easier to say, "Let's do a show about pig farmers" than to actually write a good tele-play. When all is said and done, this is but one more thing I will just have to bend over and accept, because it doesn't look like it's going to be changing any time soon.

The Old Double-Standard; or Denial Through Penis Envy

          It's funny how a thought just strikes a person like a bolt of lightning, bringing insight where only doubt and confusion once reigned. A good example of this is Franklin's adage, "A stitch in time saves nine." Up until about two years ago I lived my life wondering, "Nine WHAT?" Then one day it hit me: nine stitches. The comment was about preventative maintenance, how easy it is to keep something maintained instead of allowing it to fall into disrepair and then spending more time and money attempting to refurbish. Verbose as I admit to being, this does set up the true intent of this post.
          I am puzzled by lesbians. It is not that they choose to pursue same-gender relationships, nor is it that they prefer sex with a woman over a man. What puzzles me is that a lesbian will say that she does not need a penis, and yet every lesbian I have made the acquaintance of has admitted to employing the use of a dildo in her sexual practices, be it solo--masturbation--or with their partner, which, when all is said and done, is still masturbation.
          Another point to be made is penis size. Although there truly are women in this world who care not for the size of the boat but the motion of the ocean, most women do have a preconceived notion as to what constitutes normality. Can the same be said of a lesbian, when making reference to her own or another's clitoris? I believe that, initially, so little emphasis is put on clitoris size--you never hear of a woman wishing she had a few extra inches down there like men are wont to do--but that is not to say that the sentiment does not exist. In fact--again, staying with those lesbians with whom I have been acquainted--all have stated that they prefer a large clitoris; some have said an inch is nice, while others have said, "The larger, the better."
          My point to all this is that I do not understand how a lesbian can use a phallic symbol to achieve orgasm and dream of some monstrously large clitoris while denouncing a man's penis; when all is said and done, one is looking at approximately the same thing.

Freedom of Expression

It has been a while since I last posted anything, and as with all other contributions this entry is not meant to illicit bad feelings or cram my views down others' throat, but more to promote logic, understanding, and tolerance amongst those who read my words. If you should find offense then I suggest the fault lies not in what I have written, but the truths these words may invoke. That being said...
“Everyone is in favor of free speech. Hardly a day passes without its being extolled, but some people's idea of it is that they are free to say what they like, but if anyone else says anything back, that is an outrage.” This quote by Winston Churchill speaks a truth we all adhere to in one fashion or another, and it is safe to say that there are many who do not welcome responses to the comments they make simply because they do not like to be told their way of thinking is flawed, or at the very least not indicative of the all-inclusivity we should consider when taking a stand for one thing or against another. Then again, we are dealing with opinions so I suppose logic and rationale are subject to take a back seat to passion (although this in and of itself is not good policy). Another (viewed) problem is not so much the response made, but the person from whom the response originates. Let us say a person who promotes gay marriage speaks out against the wholesale slaughter of animals so we humans can enjoy wearing their fur. The fur industry may not agree with gay marriage, so they rebuke the person even though this person's ideologies bring awareness to the plight. Should this occur?
Churchill also said, "Your freedom of expression ends where my nose begins." We definitely do not have to be careful of what we say, but we have to keep in mind that there is a time and place for everything, and if we do not adhere to certain precepts that govern society--in short, if our way of thinking is "I-I-I, Me-Me-Me, My-My-My" with no consideration given to the fallout this may cause--then we might as well paint a bullseye on our butts because karma will always be waiting in the wings to take a big bite out of us.
Did something happen recently to warrant me blogging about this? Am I, in my usual fashion, providing examples in the hope of bringing better understanding before hitting upon the real heart of the matter? The answer to both is a resounding yes.
Yesterday my daughter made a post saying she should not have to "like" and "share" someone else's post to prove she loved and believed in the Judeo-Christian God. I responded that I believed as she did, but my reason for NOT saying the same is that because I am an atheist people would take what I said the wrong way. Well, by simple virtue of the fact that I "publically" announced my atheism, she took offense to me agreeing with her. Barely two weeks ago I made a similar observation to a post my brother made. My brother had liked and shared a picture that asked all fathers who loved their sons to like and share the post. I commented that one does not have to like and share something such as that in order for it to remain true. He never made a comment to my comment, so I don't know if he agreed or if he took offense to me stating as much. Beyond that, I am inundated with shares and comments all my Facebook "friends" contribute asking me as well as their other "friends" to like and share if I know a cancer survivor, believe in equal rights, support Obama or Romney, like Dunkin' Doughnuts, believe the South will rise again...you get the idea. They all are sharing opinions, informing us of the philosophies that govern their lives. If I like any of these, I will express my like--or dislike--for it. If I choose to share, then I will do so. I should not have to be told to do something as simple as use common sense. The bottom line is this, though: Whenever something is posted on Facebook we all are given the choices of "like," "comment," and "share." We certainly do not have to do any of the three, but if we choose to do so, especially in the case of "comment," should the provider of the original quote or share not respect our opinions as much as they wish theirs to be respected? I will be the first to admit that I wonder why people sit in front of their computer and spend 45 minutes sharing 50 things i could care less about, but I respect the fact that they care enough to share these things. I do not have to like or share them simply because they come from a "friend," but if I choose to comment, then all I ask is that you respect me enough to allow the comment to stand, and that goes out not only to my daughter, but to the scores of people who have deleted my comments over the years simply because I did not agree with them, or worse yet, because they did not agree with me. One cannot expect to make a post and receive no differing opinion. If you do not want your post commented on, then do not post it in the first place; or is expressing your opinion--right or wrong as it may be--and seeing your words on the screen more important than that?

Not Censorship, Just Civility

I was channel-surfing the other night and came across a program on Comedy Central. I was curious as to what it was--and desperate for something good to watch--so I held off turning further until I could discern what it was I was watching. So there I was, looking at a man trying to convince his girlfriend/wife/whatever to not break up with him and just then 4 men came out of the closet. I immediately knew I was watching Workaholics as I recognized three of the four men. I never really had interest in the show, and after lqaying witness to what happened next, I'm sure I won't ever. The first man says to his woman, "What, is this what you want from me? You want me to blow these guys? Cuz I'll do it." He then turned to face the guys, got on his knees and said, "Come on, all of you. Pull your dicks out and put them in my mouth." I wouldn't be so upset over this if it wasn't for the fact that Cameron was sitting right there, witnessing this whole thing. The fact that we both saw it was, when all is said and done, an accident and nothing more as we were not familiar with the show because we do not watch the show, thus the arguement that "All you have to do is turn the channel if you don't want to watch it" was lost on us. I am against censorship, but I think television has a responsibility to its viewers. Leave it to Beaver, Dobie Gillis, The Brady Bunch, Family Ties...These shows did not have toi be crude to be enjoyable. Jackass is another prime example. When it first aired, it was just stupidity at its finest, but with every new movie that comes out it is less on what is funny and more on what is sick. I mean, the onje where Preston goes into the Porta-Potty and Wee-Man comes out was funny, but a Poo Volcano most certainly is not. This is nowhere the quality of a post as I would like, but I am still recuperating and my patience grows weary.

HRT ATK

I vividly recall the conversation; it was one of those things where one believes he is gaining great insight and understanding, but finds out that the outcome is as nothing he has imagined. Such was the case back in early 1999 when I was talking with a fellow employee on the topic of heart attacks. He had asked me if I  had ever had one, and when I answered no he said, "Believe me, it brings on a pain you will never forget." I did not know then that by the waning months of that same year that he and I would share a common frame of reference; I had had my heart attack, and more importantly I had experienced the most unique, hurtful pain in my jaws than any other pain I had ever experienced--broken bones and surgery included. Four stents and thirteen years later the memory of the heart attack has endured, yes, but the pain in my joints, especially my jaws, never left me, which is why--on April 17 2012, at approximately 10:00 p.m.--I knew I was having a heart attack. My wrists and elbows had been hurting since around 6:00 p.m., and my chest felt fiery, painful, and to some extent numb. I had my mother take me to the hospital where, after extensive testing, it had been determined that I been symptomatic of a heart attack, so I was kept overnight for observation. At around 6:00 a.m. Wednesday morning I had had another, and a heart cath determined that I had five blocked arteries. I was told I would be kept in the hospital until the 23rd, at which point I would undergo quintuple bypass surgery. I came out of the surgery okay for the most part--just sore from having my chest cut open. I took part in what little rehab was offered at Cardiac ICU, and I excelled. I was determined to get better and leave that hospital, which I did yearerday, April 29. So here I am now, at home and blogging about this experience. I have had a few people try to convert me to Christianity because of this, but as Dennis pointed out on my FB page "well my friend I wont waste any time prayin as I know you," and he is right. I have no newfound need for that in which I did not believe prior to this happening, no new insight into my spiritual needs, no ephipanies...nothing. The only thing I know is that I have to do away with butter, mayonnaise, and pork cracklins (all bad foods), I must exercise more, and I need to quit smoking. Being in the hospital for two weeks forced me to jump-start this, so continuing to adhere to it now that I am out will be the big thing. I am 46 years old; it looks like I would have understood this enough back in 1999 when I had my first heart attack, or 2008 when I had my second stent put in, or 2010 when I had my 3rd and 4th stents put in, but I suppose I held onto that belief that I would live forever. A quintuple bypass is the last option, and it does force me to realize that if I do not do this for myself, then I should do it for my children, all of whom acted like there was just a little too much going on in their lives these past two weeks to really give a damn if Daddy pulled through or not.

Respect Respect

I have always attempted to be respectful of others, even they who show no amount of respect for those around them. What makes me successful at this is my ability to assess, analyze, and reach a logical conclusion before offering commentary. I can easily sum this up by saying I am driven less by emotion and more by intellect. This is not to say I am without passion; on the contrary. My intellect is... driven by passion. Be patient; this is going somewhere. It ticks me off when I see someone wearing a shirt with an advertisement of one kind or another boldly emblazoned upon it for all to see, but the person feigns knowledge by stating, "Oh, I just picked something up and put it on," or "Oh, it's my (brother's/friend's/cousin's) shirt." There are people who wear Che Guevara shirts simply because their friends wear them, and once they are told the guy was a Marxist who murdered innocent civilians they (once again) feign ignorance, feign revulsion, or just come right out and say they do not care, as in "I don't care about all that, it's just a cool shirt to me." People are walking billboards, and whether it is something such as this or a shirt that reads "All bitches is hoes and all hoes is bitches" or something with racial overtones--or blatant racial slurs for that matter--people seem to believe they should not be held accountable for the beliefs they publicize on a daily basis. Over the past few years we have seen this trend move from the T-shirt to the home-or-profile page, and yes, especially here on Facebook it has become a disease, dark, prevalent, unrelenting. I have always attempted to explain to any who would listen that a public forum such as this is not the place to air one's dirty laundry; as far as that goes it is really not the place for sharing EVERY aspect of one's life. My reasoning behind this is that while everyone has the freedom to express themselves however they wish, it must be understood that the same freedom of expression works in the opposite direction: The RESPONSE to the Post. One person's opinion of Che Guevara may be that he was a great revolutionary. My opinion is that he didn't die quick enough. Who is wrong here? More importantly, how can one person get pissed off at another voicing his or her opinion? I opened this dialogue with, "I have always attempted to be respectful of others," and I shall continue to do so. I have sometimes defined that as not responding to a post I have seen, but henceforth that shall no longer be the case. If I feel the need to comment, please respect the fact that I am simply exercising the same right as you. I mean no malice nor ill will; I just wish to offer an opposing view. I shall always remain respectful, so please respect the respect I give you. Thank you. DUNCAN

What's in a Name?

Cracker. Hillbillie. Hick. Redneck. Light-bread. Mayonnaise. Honky. Peckerwood.
Nigger. Spear-chucker. Mud Duck. Burr-head. Spook. Porch Monkey. Kaffer.
Spic. Wetback. Beaner. Greaser. Berry-Picker. Wetican. Po' Wiki.
Heeb. Kike. Jap. Nip. Chink. Gook. Camel Jockey. Towel Head. Hadji. Dago. Mick. Geronimo. Injun. Redskin. Kraut. Tea Bag. Frog.
Fag. Dyke.

Instead of finding ways to separate ourselves through hate, let's bring ourselves closer together through love and tolerance.

If you don't want the truth then don't read this.

I am just returning from Atlanta where I took part in the SkillsUSA competition; my area of expertise was extemporaneous speaking. Quite a bit happened over these past three days, and I will do my best to present the chronology of these events in a clear, lucid manner. Of course I cannot name names, so please understand that even though I may be disgruntled to some degree, this in no way keeps me from showing tact and respect to those who, at times, may not have deserved such.

It was made abundantly clear that someone in a position of authority is--by their own actions and comments--a racist. I suppose I should be used to it by now, but it still stings every time someone reveals their true nature.

The hackneyed shenanigans of the SkillsUSA officers was undone only by the blatant buffoonery of the participants. We are supposed to be a group of professionals, yet our opening ceremony resembled nothing more than immature high school antics. I was very disappointed in the officers. I was asked to be a delegate in the voting for the next set of officers (2012-2013), a station I accepted with much pride and alacrity. Prior to the new candidates' speeches I spoke with most, and as I heard their formal speeches I made my decisions based on how effectively they communicated their beliefs/desires/etc. When the speeches were over I, along with the host of other delegates, made my way to the front of the room to cast my vote. I was stopped by an advisor who held a piece of paper toward me and said, "This is who they want you to vote for." I assured this advisor that I was more than capable of making that choice on my own--was this not why I was asked to be a delegate?--and would do so accordingly. I further stated that once I turned in my ballot, I would then look at the list and inform as to who did and did not make the cut. Well, only two of the four people who were on the list found their way onto my ballot, and for that I am not sorry. As an FYI, of the five people I cast my vote for, four were elected. The fifth, some jackass who apparently studied Buffoonery 101, was the only candidate whom I did not vote for. I was really pissed with this whole voting thing because it seemed that advisors did not want the best person for the job, but the person representing their school. I have nothing to apologize for; I did what I felt was best.

I made mistakes in my speech. Mistake #1 was apparently looking at the topic and being so prepoared that I was ready to give my speech immediately after reviewing the topic. I have always been better at delivering from the hip than taking time and planning an outline, and what tripped me uip was that even though I was ready, the judges were not; I was made to wait three and a half minutes while they wrote their critique of the previous speaker (we were to take five minutes preparing a speech, but I felt I did not need this time). So as I was standing in the middle of the room waiting, my mind began to wander on what I should talk about instead of just allowing it to naturally pour from me. Big mistake. It would end up being my deathknell. I should have elaborated on the three I's, and I should have closed with a summary--both of which I would have done if I did not begin formulating that speech in the three and a half minutes of downtime. But as the signals for "3 minutes, four minutes, and five minutes" were flashed I began to race toward my conclusion. Bottom line is that I know where I messed up, and realize it cost me the gold or silver medal. I won the bronze--third place--for which I am truly grateful, because I had already decided that if I had won the gold there was no way in hell I would go to the nationals, not after the few days I had already had.

I awoke this morning around 6 a.m., packed my bags, got dressed, went downstairs and smoked a cig, and returned to my room to find my roommate had exited in my absence. I also found my watch was missing. I looked under the bed, behind the dresser, then took everything from my bags and carefully looked through them, but to no avail. I informed my instructor of this, and she in turn informed the (Wiregrass) event organizer. I was told they "would get to the bottom of it." I went to have breakfast, but cut things short because I really did not feel right about accusing my roommate; I had allowed for that one percent chance that I had overlooked something. So I returned to my room and while I was searching my roommate came in and informed me that he and I had the same watch--he showed me "his" and sure enough it was an exact replica of mine. He told me the organizer had mine, so I immediately returned downstairs to have "my" watch returned to me. I put it on and knew right away it was not mine. I took it off and looked under it to see rust and grime, which confirmed it was not mine. I turned to tell the organizer but she was nowhere in sight. I entered the hotel lobby, found my roommate, and told him to take off the watch he had on. He handed it to me, I looked under it and noticed no rust or grime, then thrust his filthy watch toward him and said, "This one is yours!" He said nothing, slowly took the watch, at which point I walked away from him. It is my contention that he had planned this all along in a feeble attempt to swap his old, grungy watch for my newer, shinier watch. I kept my effects on the corner of the dresser across from my bed. He stated he thought the watch was his, but he never could explain how "his" watch got mixed in with my pen, lighter, cigarettes, room cardkey, change, comb...you get the point. What pissed me off even more was the fact that everyone was buying into his "innocent mistake" fable. The god-damned bastard tried to steal my watch and replace it with a piece of shit. Period. He is in another department at my school, but I will be thrice-damned if I ever acknowledge his existance again.

It was not a completely awful experience. I did have perhaps the best prime rib I have ever eaten last night. Definitely well worth the $32 pricetag. Aside from that, Momocon was going on these past few days, and let me tell you that these kids put a lot into their costumes. I was able to get my picture taken with Lady Yuna and Auron, Link and Dark Link, Nightcrawler and Mystique, SS3 Goku and Broly, Harley Quinn, V (for Vendetta), Sora and Ansem, Cloud, and a ferw others I can't remember at the moment. These young adults were very polite, respectful, and accomodated everyone's request for pictures. Freaks and Geeks? Nah. They were more professional than most of my colleagues.

Something to Think About

I ran across this little gem as I was cleaning off my computer desk this morning, and felt the need to share. Its author is unknown to me.

The paradox of our time in history is that we:

Have taller buildings, but shorter tempers
Wider roads, but more narrow viewpoints
Spend more, but have less
Buy more, but enjoy less

Have bigger houses, but smaller families
more conveniences, but less time
More degrees, but less sense
More medicine, but less wellness

Have multiplied our possessions, but reduced our values
Talk too much, but listen too little
Love too seldom, but hate too often
Have added years to life, but not life to years

Have been to the moon, but cannot cross the street to meet a new neighbor
Have conquered outer space, but not inner peace
Have split the atom, but not prejudice
Have higher incomes, but lower morals
Have become obsessed with quantity, while dismissing quality.

These are the times of tall men, but short character
Steep profits, but shallow relationships
This is a time when there is much in the showroom, but nothing in the stockroom
A time when technology can bring you this letter, and a time when you can either choose to make a difference or allow that same technology to simply delete this message from your life.

Political Science Discussion Board

As I sit here looking at the five choices we have for this week's discussion board I cannot help but feel they are not indicative of what truly transpires with our nation's press in the coverage of news events, at least, not in a modern context; therefore, I shall provide commentary that, hopefully, will address some--if not all--available discussion questions.

I recall watching a local news channel several years ago and as Dawn Hobby's image came into focus she greeted the audience and said, "This is the news we feel you should know at this time." After all these years this has remained engraved in my mind, and I suppose the reason is that--at least to me--it was the first time I felt I was truly encountering a form of censorship, being made to accept what was being offered instead of the myriad of other items that could have been presented; additionally, it was the emphasis she placed on "we feel". To a degree, this was covered on page 269 of our text (The American Democracy, 10^th Edition) under the heading "Informing the Public, or Attracting an Audience?" sentences two, three, and four of the second paragraph. While I am sure that news stations make decisions every day on what they will or will not cover, to be told this was rather upsetting; as a result, I never again watched the news on that channel.

Though dead less than two months before I was born, Edward R. Murrow was revered by his peers for his honesty and dedication to truth. http://www.museum.tv/eotvsection.php?entrycode=murrowedwar. The same was said of Walter Cronkite http://articles.nydailynews.com/2009-07-17/news/17929428_1_anchor-seat-walter-cronkite-cbs-anchor, who earned the title "The most trusted man in America." What these men brought to the news industry in general and Americans as a whole was a belief that the news was not tainted by partisanship or unfounded opinion but was pure in its delivery by its messenger. Objective press may have superseded partisan press--and let it be known that I do not agree with censorship in any form--but I believe the unbiased reporting of legitimate, newsworthy items--insofar as the arena of politics is concerned--came to an end the day the FCC rescinded the Fairness Doctrine. In recent history the ONLY news program that has provided a completely unbiased view of politics was Hannity and Colmes, and this is because two opposing views could be presented and debated on and leave viewers with a sense of better understanding. Meet the Press? 60 Minutes? There seems to be a liberal agenda underlying their reporting on the issues of the day, and I can certainly do without that. I am a conservative; I have let this fact be known in previous posts. This does not mean that I wholly agree with any conservative newscast or newscaster, but I am inclined to place more faith in the FOX tagline "We report, you decide" as opposed to the blatantly obvious partisanship of MSNBC. The Associated Press helps to lessen partisanship to some degree, but overall is it still prevalent in our news agencies.

I believe modern media has but two roles, not four, and those would be misdirection and sensationalism. Many people thrive on gossip while not caring one way or the other how the political landscape is progressing, unless the gossip surrounds a politico. Our text made a perfect example of this in reference to Mark Sanford's tryst, and we have but to look less than a year into our past to remember Anthony Weiner http://abcnews.go.com/Politics/rep-anthony-weiner-picture/story?id=13774605 and his inappropriate acts. Currently we have the Limbaugh Fiasco we can look at, but if he was not a man of celebrity would this situation have gotten so far out of hand? Rush likes to state that he is right "99.9% of the time," so do we relegate this faux pas as the .1% he is wrong? Should he have said what he did? Let us look at the big picture. Sandra Fluke, a law student, was complaining that she did not have FREE ACCESS to birth control http://cnsnews.com/news/article/pelosi-fluke-s-3000-contraception-testimony-factual-despite-9-month-birth-control-pills. First of all, what is with this sense of entitlement that she feels her birth control devices/medications should be paid for by the government? Second, she quoted a price of three thousand dollars for the entirety of her stay at Georgetown. Slut? Prostitute? Anyway one chooses to look at it, that's a hell of a lot of sex going on, and since she and a partner are having this consensual sex, why do they feel it is not their obligation to pay for contraception themselves? All in all, Rush may have pushed the envelope, but not to the degree where he should have apologized--and his apology was more for his sponsors than Ms. Fluke anyway. The thing is, the liberals jumped all over this, jeering and chiding Limbaugh even as the echoes of their laughter continue to resonate every time Bill Maher calls Sarah Palin "dumb twat" http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MGE3G5kfzps and "cunt" http://dailycaller.com/2011/03/29/report-bill-maher-doubles-down-calls-sarah-palin-c-word/. The bottom line is that the only uniformity we see much anymore is partisanship, and the belief that the double standard should exist in favor of the drive-by media.