It has occurred to me that not all words have the same effect on all people. I know....you are clapping in wonderous fascination from the ingenious revelation produced by the intricate inner workings of my mind. But seriously....hang in there. I'll try to keep this blog interesting. Anyway, I came to this ground-breaking conclusion while sitting here at my computer, wondering what on earth I might write for this week's blog. I was actually thinking about some of my favorite words, and how they most likely don't make sense to most normal people. Allow me to demonstrate a few of these so you're all "on the same page" here with me:
Three of Andria's favorite words; most of which she uses on a daily basis:
~"Gem": a positive expressession of admiration or delight for someone or something. Example: My roommate always keeps the dorm tidy. What a gem!
~"Sketchy": a negative term can mean "suspicious", "strange", "scandalous", or "immoral". Example: Sometimes, the couples that hang out on campus after midnight can engage in somewhat....sketchy activities.
~"Fruitcake": a relatively negative word that generally means someone is a somewhat narcissistic, foolish person. Example: David Hasselhoff....is a fruitcake.
Now that you've delved into the odd world of Andria's vocab, I can move on in my argument. If I were to use these words with a complete stranger who knew nothing about me, they would most likely be confused and think I'm a weirdo. If I were to use them on a friend or classmate, they may find it funny, charming and/or adorable. (Or at least, not completely ridiculous.) I think that in writing, word choice is one of the most critical components to driving your points straight into the reader's heart; if your words don't captivate and fascinate, all you'll be left with is a string of boring words with no meaning. To me, word choice is a combination of not only the literal words you put on paper, but the audience that will be reading them. You must always keep your audience in mind when picking your words, or you may not be able to get your ideas across.
Monday, September 29, 2008
Monday, September 22, 2008
Ethos, Pathos, Logos
As is my quaint little custom, I find it necessary to simplify concepts I have been forced to deeply ponder into silly little things that I can....Apply Into My Daily Life.
That being said, I will talk about the types of appeals used by my own family members when they make an argument.
Ethos: This would be my dad. He's a pediatrician, so he has a certain sense of authority and credibility in our household. Therefore, when someone makes an argument with him, he uses his "authority" to convince us otherwise.
Example:
Me: I'm sick. I need to stay home from school for the next three days.
Dad: Let me see your throat.
Me: Opens mouth
Dad: No you're not.
Me: What?! How can you say that? You don't know how sick I feel!
Dad: I'm a doctor. Trust me, you aren't sick. Drink some OJ and run along to school.
Pathos: My mom is the master of this. She has this wonderful quality of bending her family to her will by using the dreaded guilt trip. I'm sure all of my fellow students have come in contact with this nasty little trick.
Me: Why can't I take the last cookie in the cookie jar?
Mom: If you do that, your sister will feel bad. She will sob for hours and hours, and fall asleep crying, clutching her little stuffed animals to her frail body. But if you want it, go ahead and take it. You sinner.
Me: ....Okay, just take it then! Gosh!
Logos: Well, I like to pretend this is me. Whenever I've tried to make some type of argument, I give (or invent) really good reasons to support my claim.
Me: I need the car for college.
Parents: What about Little Brudder? You had a car when you were his age. Maybe he should have it for two years.
Me: Um....no. No, that wouldn't be logical, and I will tell you why. First, how the heck am I supposed to get the things I need to be a responsible adult and survive on my own if I don't have a mode of transportation?
Parents: Hmm....your survival is rather important....
Me: Yes. Nextly, Brudder has tons of friends with cars in this neighborhood, which would make carpooling easy and convenient for all involved. All my good friends lived out in the Boonies, which would have made it difficult.
Parents: He does have a lot of groupies in our ward....
Me: And most importantly! If I don't have the car with me, how will I ever be able to visit my beloved parents during holidays?
Parents: Oooooh! You win!
See? This stuff is easy to understand.
That being said, I will talk about the types of appeals used by my own family members when they make an argument.
Ethos: This would be my dad. He's a pediatrician, so he has a certain sense of authority and credibility in our household. Therefore, when someone makes an argument with him, he uses his "authority" to convince us otherwise.
Example:
Me: I'm sick. I need to stay home from school for the next three days.
Dad: Let me see your throat.
Me: Opens mouth
Dad: No you're not.
Me: What?! How can you say that? You don't know how sick I feel!
Dad: I'm a doctor. Trust me, you aren't sick. Drink some OJ and run along to school.
Pathos: My mom is the master of this. She has this wonderful quality of bending her family to her will by using the dreaded guilt trip. I'm sure all of my fellow students have come in contact with this nasty little trick.
Me: Why can't I take the last cookie in the cookie jar?
Mom: If you do that, your sister will feel bad. She will sob for hours and hours, and fall asleep crying, clutching her little stuffed animals to her frail body. But if you want it, go ahead and take it. You sinner.
Me: ....Okay, just take it then! Gosh!
Logos: Well, I like to pretend this is me. Whenever I've tried to make some type of argument, I give (or invent) really good reasons to support my claim.
Me: I need the car for college.
Parents: What about Little Brudder? You had a car when you were his age. Maybe he should have it for two years.
Me: Um....no. No, that wouldn't be logical, and I will tell you why. First, how the heck am I supposed to get the things I need to be a responsible adult and survive on my own if I don't have a mode of transportation?
Parents: Hmm....your survival is rather important....
Me: Yes. Nextly, Brudder has tons of friends with cars in this neighborhood, which would make carpooling easy and convenient for all involved. All my good friends lived out in the Boonies, which would have made it difficult.
Parents: He does have a lot of groupies in our ward....
Me: And most importantly! If I don't have the car with me, how will I ever be able to visit my beloved parents during holidays?
Parents: Oooooh! You win!
See? This stuff is easy to understand.
Friday, September 12, 2008
Different Faces for Different People
The other day, I sent my brother a text. It included a picture of a fire hydrant, and my words of gushing love and admiration: "This is a token of my appreciation for your existance."
Upon reading this, most normal people might have felt a)confused, b)weirded out, or c)offended. However, Little Brudder and I like to use sarcasm to get our ideas across. He knew that my real message was: "I'm glad you're my brother and your giggle makes me smile. I miss your face and am excited to play with you at Disneyland in October!" See? For us, sarcasm plus silliness and a dash of humor equals to love. It's a very special bond.
Of course, this method doesn't work for everyone I come in contact with. For example, because I know that my darling little sister, age five, is too young to actually understand the sarcasm game, I have to be more simple in expressing my love for her. She knows I love her when I say, "Hey! Let's cuddle and watch Hannah Montana!" or "I have a good idea. We should go hide behind a door and jump out when Brudder comes walking by!" or even simply "You're my favorite sister. Come hug me!"
The situation is similar here at BYU. If I were communicating with one of my professors, I'd be very polite, and do my best to get my thoughts across in a professional, formal way. While talking to friends, I'd be much more open and casual. And if, for a completely random example, I was communicating with a very cute individual of the opposite gender, I'd be more bubbly, out-going, and use more obvious body language, in an attempt to say, "Guess what! I think you're way cute!" The way we choose to communicate with others absolutely correlates with our understanding of them.
Wow. Communicating is fun. I'm going to tell my brother how much I love him now. Anyone know any funny insults?
Upon reading this, most normal people might have felt a)confused, b)weirded out, or c)offended. However, Little Brudder and I like to use sarcasm to get our ideas across. He knew that my real message was: "I'm glad you're my brother and your giggle makes me smile. I miss your face and am excited to play with you at Disneyland in October!" See? For us, sarcasm plus silliness and a dash of humor equals to love. It's a very special bond.
Of course, this method doesn't work for everyone I come in contact with. For example, because I know that my darling little sister, age five, is too young to actually understand the sarcasm game, I have to be more simple in expressing my love for her. She knows I love her when I say, "Hey! Let's cuddle and watch Hannah Montana!" or "I have a good idea. We should go hide behind a door and jump out when Brudder comes walking by!" or even simply "You're my favorite sister. Come hug me!"
The situation is similar here at BYU. If I were communicating with one of my professors, I'd be very polite, and do my best to get my thoughts across in a professional, formal way. While talking to friends, I'd be much more open and casual. And if, for a completely random example, I was communicating with a very cute individual of the opposite gender, I'd be more bubbly, out-going, and use more obvious body language, in an attempt to say, "Guess what! I think you're way cute!" The way we choose to communicate with others absolutely correlates with our understanding of them.
Wow. Communicating is fun. I'm going to tell my brother how much I love him now. Anyone know any funny insults?
Monday, September 8, 2008
The Day I Saw the Light
Not too long ago, in the land of Cache Valley, there lived a young girl named Andria. Andria was a simple child in the matters of food; meat and potatoes were her usual fare, and the occasional cassarole. This was not entirely her fault; her family was filled with picky eaters, and her parents served what seemed to please a wide audience. Unfortunately, her narrow-mindedness extended to candy as well; all she knew was the world of Hershey's Chocolate.
This fact was the bane of her father's existence. No child of his should grow up satisfied with mediocre chocolate! He knew that he would have to correct his daughter's dreadful ignorance, or else her world would never be filled with the joy that he himself had partaken of. One day he pulled her aside for a lesson in quality. He placed a small chunk of Hershey's in her little palm, and instructed her to eat it slowly, and to notice its qualities.
"Mmm, chocolate!" she said, popping it in her mouth and chomping down unceremoniously. Father shook his head in distress.
"No, no, no....pay attention to the texture. Feel the waxiness? The ultra-high concentration of sickeningly sweet sugar?"
"Uh....I dunno. It just tastes like regular old chocolate to me."
He sighed as she swallowed contently and patted her belly. Father dropped another piece of chocolate in her hand.
"Now, try this. Just savor it, notice the texture and flavor."
Andria put the chocolate in her mouth, ready to devour it in second, but something stopped her. This candy was....different somehow. There was no waxy residue on her tongue as it dissolved, only sweet, creamy, silky bliss. She savored the morsel of pure golden delight, not noticing the triumphant grin on her dad's face nor the sound of the angelic choir singing. Her eyes closed, the universe shuddered to a halt, and she understood. This, this was the reason people lived!
"That, my child, is European chocolate," called her father's voice, drifting into her mind from some far-off land.
Her father succeeded; Andria has never looked back since.
This fact was the bane of her father's existence. No child of his should grow up satisfied with mediocre chocolate! He knew that he would have to correct his daughter's dreadful ignorance, or else her world would never be filled with the joy that he himself had partaken of. One day he pulled her aside for a lesson in quality. He placed a small chunk of Hershey's in her little palm, and instructed her to eat it slowly, and to notice its qualities.
"Mmm, chocolate!" she said, popping it in her mouth and chomping down unceremoniously. Father shook his head in distress.
"No, no, no....pay attention to the texture. Feel the waxiness? The ultra-high concentration of sickeningly sweet sugar?"
"Uh....I dunno. It just tastes like regular old chocolate to me."
He sighed as she swallowed contently and patted her belly. Father dropped another piece of chocolate in her hand.
"Now, try this. Just savor it, notice the texture and flavor."
Andria put the chocolate in her mouth, ready to devour it in second, but something stopped her. This candy was....different somehow. There was no waxy residue on her tongue as it dissolved, only sweet, creamy, silky bliss. She savored the morsel of pure golden delight, not noticing the triumphant grin on her dad's face nor the sound of the angelic choir singing. Her eyes closed, the universe shuddered to a halt, and she understood. This, this was the reason people lived!
"That, my child, is European chocolate," called her father's voice, drifting into her mind from some far-off land.
Her father succeeded; Andria has never looked back since.
Friday, September 5, 2008
Breakfast of a Frosh
Imagine a most scrumptious breakfast. For me, it would be an all-out feast, containing only the finest in breakfast foods. There would be a heaping plate of hot hash browns, fluffy scrambled eggs with a dash of salt and pepper, fresh, juicy cantalope and strawberries, crispy bacon, perhaps a slice of toast with jam, some hot cocoa with whipped cream on top, and most importantly, a quartet of handome men serenading me as I dine.
Well, this is not what I have for breakfast. Ever. Why? First of all, I don't have any men's quartets handy, so that one really never happens (dang!). And secondly, when I roll out of bed, shuffling half-concious to the kitchen, cooking is not on my mind. I'm lucky if I somehow manage to mumble a hello to my roommate as I rub my eyes and try to convince myself that going back to my warm, cozy bed is not an option. So breakfast for me is a simple affair: all I need is a bowl, a spoon, some 1% milk, and a good portion of Frosted Mini Wheats. Once in a while, I get daring and make myself lightly burned toast and scrambled eggs.
Unless and until I get some men to sing to me, I guess I'll just be slumping over my bowl of Frosted Mini Wheats.
Well, this is not what I have for breakfast. Ever. Why? First of all, I don't have any men's quartets handy, so that one really never happens (dang!). And secondly, when I roll out of bed, shuffling half-concious to the kitchen, cooking is not on my mind. I'm lucky if I somehow manage to mumble a hello to my roommate as I rub my eyes and try to convince myself that going back to my warm, cozy bed is not an option. So breakfast for me is a simple affair: all I need is a bowl, a spoon, some 1% milk, and a good portion of Frosted Mini Wheats. Once in a while, I get daring and make myself lightly burned toast and scrambled eggs.
Unless and until I get some men to sing to me, I guess I'll just be slumping over my bowl of Frosted Mini Wheats.
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