Tuesday 27 November 2012

The Plastic Pink Flamingo: AP practice essay



1. (Suggested time—40 minutes)
The passage below is an excerpt from Jennifer Price’s recent essay “The Plastic
Pink Flamingo: A Natural History.” The essay examines the popularity of the plastic
pink flamingo in the 1950s. Read the passage carefully. Then write an essay in which
you analyze how Price crafts the text to reveal her view of United States culture.

   My essay:
       
 In the United States today, the pink flamingo is seen as something flashy, a symbol of trashiness. However, this was not always the case.  In her essay “The Plastic Pink Flamingo” Jennifer Price analyzes how the pink flamingo came to such popularity during the 1950’s and 60’s, and what it represents about American culture. She shows in her essay the American penchant for flashiness and showing off one’s wealth, as well as how Americans tend to take what already exists and improve it, make it bigger, better, bolder. This essay effectively uses the classic lawn ornament to demonstrate an interesting and well-illustrated view of American culture.

              Americans stereotypically have a tendency to show off, demonstrate their power and affluence in extravagant ways. This characteristic is aptly shown in the popularity of the flamingo symbol and it’s evolution in American culture. In the 1910’s Miami Beach opened up its first grand hotel: the Flamingo. This has “made the bird synonymous with wealth and pizzazz”. From there, the pink flamingo rapidly became a symbol for showcasing wealth and affluence in extravagant and flashy ways. The symbol rapidly spread through the middle and working classes, from modest hotels and restaurants themed around the snazzy pink bird, to the famed plastic lawn ornament. Working class families “could inscribe one’s lawn… with Florida’s cachet of leisure and extravagance”. The flamingo, in all its tropical magnificence and glory, beautifully showcases the American penchant for flashiness and showing off.

            The flamingo by itself, with its bright plumage and tropical feel, is quite a beautiful species. However, “the pink flamingo is hotter than its natural counterpart, and even a real flamingo is brighter than everything around it”. This desire to improve, to make what is already bright and bold, brighter and bolder, is shown not only in the plastic lawn ornament but also by nearly every aspect of American culture. This can be seen in their extravagant hotels, sumptuous meals, massive urban sprawls, and ever-improving technology. Perhaps this is best demonstrated by the city of Las Vegas, the “flamboyant oasis” in the middle of the Mojave Desert, famed for its extravagance and flashiness. It shows how everything can be made better, grander and more splendid with the right (or perhaps wrong) human touches. Bigger, better, brighter is a theme that carries over into almost every aspect of American lifestyle, and the flamingo is clearly no exception.

            To conclude, the history of the plastic pink flamingo displays key aspects of American culture: the desire to showcase one’s wealth using the flashy and extravagant, and the desire to improve, to make it bolder, more vivid and special. Despite how it is perceived today, the plastic pink flamingo’s history shines a light on these aspects of American culture, and is an undeniable symbol for the American lifestyle. 

Except (Jennifer Price)

When the pink flamingo splashed into the fifties
market, it staked two major claims to boldness. First,
it was a flamingo. Since the 1930s, vacationing
Americans had been flocking to Florida and returning
home with flamingo souvenirs. In the 1910s and
1920s, Miami Beach’s first grand hotel, the Flamingo,
had made the bird synonymous with wealth and
pizzazz. . . . [Later], developers built hundreds of
more modest hotels to cater to an eager middle class
served by new train lines—and in South Beach,
especially, architects employed the playful Art Deco
style, replete with bright pinks and flamingo motifs.
This was a little ironic, since Americans had
hunted flamingos to extinction in Florida in the late
1800s, for plumes and meat. But no matter. In the
1950s, the new interstates would draw working-class
tourists down, too. Back in New Jersey, the Union
Products flamingo inscribed one’s lawn emphatically
with Florida’s cachet of leisure and extravagance. The
bird acquired an extra fillip of boldness, too, from the
direction of Las Vegas—the flamboyant oasis of
instant riches that the gangster Benjamin “Bugsy”
Siegel had conjured from the desert in 1946 with his
Flamingo Hotel. Anyone who has seen Las Vegas
knows that a flamingo stands out in a desert even
more strikingly than on a lawn. In the 1950s,
namesake Flamingo motels, restaurants, and lounges
cropped up across the country like a line of semiotic
sprouts.
And the flamingo was pink—a second and
commensurate claim to boldness. The plastics
industries of the fifties favored flashy colors, which
Tom Wolfe called “the new electrochemical pastels of
the Florida littoral: tangerine, broiling magenta, livid
pink, incarnadine, fuchsia demure, Congo ruby,
methyl green.” The hues were forward-looking rather
than old-fashioned, just right for a generation, raised
in the Depression, that was ready to celebrate its new
affluence. And as Karal Ann Marling has written, the
“sassy pinks” were “the hottest color of the decade.”
Washing machines, cars, and kitchen counters
proliferated in passion pink, sunset pink, and
Bermuda pink. In 1956, right after he signed his first
recording contract, Elvis Presley bought a pink
Cadillac.
Why, after all, call the birds “pink flamingos”— as
if they could be blue or green? The plastic flamingo is
a hotter pink than a real flamingo, and even a real
flamingo is brighter than anything else around it.
There are five species, all of which feed in flocks on
algae and invertebrates in saline and alkaline lakes in
mostly warm habitats around the world. The people
who have lived near these places have always singled
out the flamingo as special. Early Christians
associated it with the red phoenix. In ancient Egypt, it
symbolized the sun god Ra. In Mexico and the
Caribbean, it remains a major motif in art, dance, and
literature. No wonder that the subtropical species
stood out so loudly when Americans in temperate
New England reproduced it, brightened it, and sent it
wading across an inland sea of grass.
The American Scholar, Spring 1999

Monday 26 November 2012

Writer's Festival




         During the writer’s festival here in Mussoorie, we were privileged to witness some very interesting, compelling, fun and informative presentations. One of the speakers we heard was the long-time alpinist Steve Swenson, hailing from Seattle. He spoke of his experiences climbing various peaks in the Himalaya, including being one of the first to summit Saser Kangri II, the second tallest unclimbed peak in the world.

         However, his experience that stuck me the most was when he described his experience of climbing Everest in 1994 without supplemental oxygen. He went solo up the mountain (with Sherpas?), but was dismayed to see the commercialization of this great peak, sullied with tons of people with their own ambitions, their own dreams, their own motivations, and their own set of morals. He witnessed people abandoning teammates in distress in order to fulfill their own summit dreams. After this “depressing” experience on the mountain, he vowed he would never again climb a peak over 8000m, as these had become so commercially exploited.

         This relates to Krakauer’s descriptions of Everest in “Into Thin Air”. Krakauer discusses the commercialization of Everest as something of a sacrilege to some people. He adds that he and his climbing compatriots, when he was younger, looked down on Everest for its commercialization and the obsession with it that seemed to clutch amateur climbers. Towards the end of the book, Krakauer discusses a situation exactly like the one that so depressed Swenson.

Bruce Herrod was a member of the South African team. On the team’s summit day, Herrod began really strong. As Breshears recalled “Bruce looked strong, really good. He shook my hand really hard, congratulated us, said he felt great”. (page 290) He later says “Please be careful…Remember that getting to the summit is the easy part; it’s getting back down that’s hard”.

Herrod was still far below when Woodall and O’Dowd reached the summit, and still struggling upward when they came back down. He continued-alone-to the summit, and reached the top just after 5 pm. It took him 17 hours to get up there. As one teammate said “The fact that he was up there that late, with no one else around, was crazy. It’s absolutely boggling”.
His teammates waited for him to radio in that evening, but they fell asleep, casually disregarding their teammate, abandoning him to his death atop the mountain.

This demonstrates exactly the casual disregard of teammates for one another atop one of the world’s most commercialized mountains. Herrod was left alone, despite his struggle, and is now presumed dead, somewhere up in the atmosphere.



Tuesday 20 November 2012

On being a poet

A poet is a strange specimen of humanity.

They are people that look to find a deeper meaning in the mundane, people looking to find the art, the beauty, in the otherwise unrecognizable or meaningless activity of day-to-day life. The poets I know are people tring to express an artistry they have found somewhere, through pain, pleasure, or witnessing something awe-inspiring.

The term "poetry"- as anyone who has ever studied it will know- is a rather vague term. Poetry is not limited to (as some people believe) rhyming verse or structured, syllabic rhythm. It can be only a few words long, or be an epic recounted in 300 pages.
Poetry can include free verse, haiku, quatrain, limerick, sonnet, acrostic, slam, found, shape, visual, the list goes on for miles.
The Oxford dicitonary defines poetry as "literary work in which the expression of feelings and ideas is given intensity by the use of distinctive style and rhythm."
Style. Rhythm. Expression. Feeling. Insensity. This is what poets attempt to convey in their writing, and sometimes, though it may be a rare occurence, suceed.

I myself am a poet. I have been attempting to write and express myself ever since I could hold a pen and guide it across a page to represtent these buring ideas.
I write poetry to try and understand, to find my little niche and be heard in this cacophonous world.

Please feel free to critique the following (these are my own works)

The stars above:

Star light…
All the stars in the Milky Way, reaching towards infinity
Star bright…
Vega, Altair, Deneb, Polaris
The first star I see tonight…
Venus, Saturn, Andromeda far in the distance
I wish I may, I wish I might…
A child staring up into the heavens, wishing with all her might
Have the wish I wish tonight
The faintest breath of a sigh; “I wish for…”

Before the majesty of millennia, here I stand.
The dust of these stars comes together to create this being.
The roar of these stars brings me to life
The dust of suns and fallen worlds
Is my breath, my body, my bone


Who am I?
How much of me is what I’ve done?
My actions painting a picture of me that speaks to the viewer
More clearly than any well-written speech
Everything that I’ve done to someone, around someone
Locked away under memory and time

How much of me is what I’ve sung?
Composing a map of my soul on a white blank page
Music and artistry fills every crack and rough corner within my heart
Would I crumble and collapse were it not there?
If not for my song, this spirit would never have been unveiled

How much of me is what I‘ve read?
Words lasting like the brand of fire within a susceptible young mind
All the literature and poetry and prose and stories that create us as human beings
Setting us apart from the animal
Sharing the writer’s voice with the seven-year-old girl climbing up her mother’s bookshelf.

How much of me is what I’ve said?
Heated words spoken that perhaps should never have been spoken aloud
Words of beauty whispered in a lover’s ear
Words spoken in a scream of joy to the loud, babbling world
My voice becoming one more element of the din

Who am I?

Mythological nonsense

Up, up, up, and away we go
Where we're going, I don't know
The turtle runs fast and the hare runs slow
So up, up, up, and away I go

Up, up, up and away we go
The earth is above and the sky is below
Son, don't fly near the sun's warm glow
Or down, down, down to the sea you'll go

Up, up, up and away we fly
Over the sea and into the sky
You can't catch me even though you try
Up, up, up and away I fly

Up, up, up and away we go
The sun shines high and the moon shines low
Hades and Persephone dance below
Down, down, down, and deep they go

Up, up, up, so very high
I think I'll try my wings and fly
But if I do I'll surely die
Up, up, up, so very high           






Thursday 8 November 2012

Commenting enabled

Hello all,

For those that have said they are unable to comment on my blog, I have fixed the settings so that anyone can comment on my posts.

Just letting you know.

Wednesday 7 November 2012

The inactivity week

1) Write an account of an event or events from your activity week. Consider how you choose to portray involved parties, and try to find an objective truth, rather than your subjective opinions.

Activity week was somewhat less than inspiring for me. Liek a few other grade 11's, I was signed up to go on the advanced trek of 7 days to Braadsar lake. As Kalkidan and I had a fantastic experience of trekking over quarter break, we were awaiting activity week rather over-eagerly. By mid october, I was making statistics in my head about snow probability, student/teacher ratios, boy/girl ratios, number of porters per hiker... I was rather preoccupied, to say the least.

We left at 6:45 am on the 21st of october, loaded with our packs and positive energy. The bus ride to our first camp took us 8 hours through the hills and valleys of the mountains, resulting in more than one person getting carsick. I started feeling a little unwell myself after hour 6, but thought little of it.

Arriving at our beautiful first campsite, I was still feeling unwell, and my health deteriorated though the evening. By evening I was unable to holld down even a bit of chapatti and rice. I spent a night of fitful sleep with my stomach roiling in pain and discomfort.

The next day wasn't much of an improvement. I felt too weak to stand, let alone walk with a 15 kg pack up the side of a mountain. I forced down a little bit of breakfast and our porters came and took my bag over to the mules. It was more than a little embarassing to be the slowest member of the group and not even carrying anything!

By lunchtime, I was crawling on all fours up the hill about 1/2 hour behind my compatriots. Staying by my side were Ms Fiddler and tentmate Asma, encouraging me to press on and keep climbing. However, as I continued to feel bad and much worse by tunrs, it became apparent that continuing upwards wasn't soemthing to consider for much longer.

At about noon, one day after setting out from Woodstock, Mr Latimer and Mr Hepworth approached me and gently reccomended that I return to Woodstock, to rest and recover rather than risk complications in my illness due to altitude. Reluctantly, I agreed to go back down with our guide Titu, the only member of staff that spoke hindi.

Had I known what else this would entail, I doubt I would have agreed to it so easily. As one of the female persuasion, I required a fellow female to come with me back down the mountain and to Mussoorie. The selfless and praiseworthy Kalkidan volunteered for this position, despite her eagerness to go on the trek and her prisitine health.

Titu, Kalkidan and I returned down the mountain, ever slowly and painfully. We had to return to our campsite of the night before, where we were picked up by a hitch-hiking jeep already full of people. You can imagine that in my nauseated state, I was somewhat less than wild about the idea of cramming into the back of a rickety jeep with our packs and four other indian men. Nothing overly horrendous happened, and I discovered that even on the bumpy road that made up most of our route, sitting was infinately prefferable to walking.

8 hours and 1 jeep transfer later, we pulled in outside the health center, where Kalkidan and I promptly entered and fell fast asleep, on soft beds with fluffy pillows and warm comforters.

There, I spent my activity week, unable to get anything from dorms and feeling perfectly healthy 24 hours after going on antibiotics. 
Many thanks to Mrs. Wunker for bringing me a kindle e-reader to while away the hours, and thanks to Mr Pesavento for letting me pitch in for stage set-up in Parker Hall thursday and friday.
One more person to thank, and that's Mrs Kaplan for taking in Kalkidan and helping her have a fun acitivity week, not having to stay in health center and going on all the junior school's expeditions.

Although I did not have a "good" activity week in the normal sense of the word, I am glad that this happened to me. I realized how lucky I am to even be here in Mussoorie, let alone trekking in the mountains. I realized what devoted friends I have, learned how to hang curtains on rods whilst being 20 ft in the air, and read some really good literature. I was able to get to know some people better, and I realized that even though someone may have a seemingly unpenetrable shell of non-understanding and general nastiness, everyone has something about them worth knowing.

Thank you for reading,
Emily


Monday 5 November 2012

University fair


Using information from the University fair, discuss how Universities create identity for themselves.

The point of a university fair is recruitment. Universities are looking to enroll people to their campus, their classes, take students money into their treasuries. Each university has a different way of presenting itself in order to appeal to the students they’re looking for.

Agnes Scott College, for example, presents itself as a small, exclusively female liberal arts college. It is situated near Atlanta, Georgia in a picturesque,  On its website, its slogan reads “The world, for women”. They have a very specific type of student in mind when they go to recruitment fairs: girls looking for small, picturesque colleges with a low student-teacher ratio. This is what they advertise.

Another college that caught my interest was St Olaf College in Minnesota. St Olaf is another liberal arts college that advertises itself as a small, liberal arts college. Among the first words we read when we get to their website “One of the nation’s leading four-year residential colleges, St. Olaf offers an academically rigorous education with a vibrant faith tradition.” This one sentence tells a great deal about the college: it presents itself as a high quality, religious, and, as we read on, liberal arts college. It has a clear message that it’s broadcasting to prospective students.

Thursday 1 November 2012

Group identity

Why is group identity important? What groups do you derive some measure of identity from, and what is the significance of each?

Fundamentally, human beings are social  animals. We thrive on community, togetherness and accetance. We seek out places where we can feel we fit in, we belong.

Group identity creates a sense of purpose, of belonging, a place where each individual that makes up the group can insert a little chink of themselves . Within a group identity, each person can feel like he/she bleongs there. The group's identity meshes positively with their own. Group identity creates the group's purpose, and vice versa. The purpose of a group, be it an athletic team, a choir, a reasearch committee or an expedition to the arctic, generally defines the group's identity. As a member of several musical organizations, I feel as though I identify with the groups I am a part of. They are singers, I am a singer. I participate in poetry slams back home, sharing my poetry with other interested parties. We create a community , a group, based on our words and ideas.

This is possibly why the internet is such a crucial part of many people's lives. While in earlier times it was a lot more difficult to connect and find other people with similar interests and values, it is possible to find anyone online with a similar story or outlook. There are groups for anyone wishing to join them, only a mouseclick away.