Memory is very cute and yet very depressing. It serves as a sort of window into the world that exists in a nursing home. The author's writing was able to capture a sort of infantile nature in the old people and i thought that this was a good contrast in the story. But the humor is constantly shadowed by the nature of the story; these people are old, going senile and are near death and now they are all in a home comforting each other with stories of their lives. But it is still touching and heartwarming.
Frank Sinatra has a cold is a very good description of what frank sinatra, i think, is supposed to represent, or rather how people see him. I dont know much about him, but the profile seemed to be on the perception of who this man is, in which case it did a marvelous job. Realistically speaking, i doubt the economy slumped whenever he had a cold. Never the less the writer captured the awe inducing character traits that form the man. I cant but helpd get the feeling that the reason this profile was so well done is because it really resonated with all the people who know about frank sinatra and while reading it were nodding to themselves because it captured the spirit of frank sinatra for anyone who did know what he was about. In order to do this the author really revolves around his relationships with everyone, because that seems to define him. That he can throw catchup at someone face because it was on his food and still be adored is to say the least interesting.
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Thursday, April 23, 2009
Regis Hanna
Narrative Journalism
Prof. Marin Heinritz
4-22-09
Juega Vivo
There is an unofficial motto that circulates in Panama: “juega vivo”. It is their way of saying that life is a game and that if you can get away with something then why not do it? It is the part of the Panamanian spirit that makes them want to yell profanities as the referee of a soccer match, make a Panamanian cop accept a bribe instead of actually writing a speeding ticket, and for making them want to speed in the first place. This attitude is particularly harsh on foreigners because they are easy targets and last summer it a fresh reminder that no matter how much I want to believe it, I’m not very Panamanian.
I was at a local indoor soccer stadium that was popular amongst my friends to rent out and play in during the weekdays. As a teenager, I used to take a taxi there and then try to bum a ride back home afterwards. But on this occasion I was old enough to drive there in my parent’s car. I had grown up most of my life in Panama, and being back for the summer after a three-year absence, I was excited to see if anything changed. After parking the car outside, I nonchalantly put the keys and my wallet inside my backpack with my water and towel.
Fifteen people came to play and only ten fit on the court so we divided into teams of five and played for five-minute intervals or until a score of three goals. I was out of shape and needed someone to step in for me by the second game. The oppressive humidity didn’t help either. I was always out of my league there; some of these people worshipped soccer. But being the underdog didn’t matter t compared to seeing old friends, getting some exercise and getting out of the house. Life was good.
I walked back to the bleachers to get my water from my backpack and with a slice of sudden alertness realized that it was not where I had left it. Like a flood, instinct and suspicion came over me, and I scrambled over to see if it might just be covered by someone else’s stuff. Realizing that it wasn’t, a happiness wrenching thought flashed in my mind “oh no the car”.
The juega vivo mentality is something I had grown used to going to high school in panama. It was the life spring of countless practical jokes and scandals. That sixth-sense of extra-alertness that I had adopted while living in Panama had worn off in the three years since I had left. It was that little voice that warned you by saying things like “check to make sure you still have your wallet”, “don’t trust the crazy drivers around you” and “keep an eye on the luis (a friend of mine), he has a telling mischievous smile on his face.”
Now there was the slight chance that the supposed criminal I believed at this point existed had missed the car keys that were in my backpack and stole just my wallet with 40 dollars in it. But as I ran to where I had left the car my hopes became as empty as the parking space I was staring at. My intestines started to squirm; I hate being the bringer of misfortune. The police arrived quickly and were on the hunt for the thief practically seconds after their arrival, but their search was practically useless. The car was found abandoned a few months later in a different province of the country and by then the insurance agency owned it.
That same week a high school friend of mine threw a birthday party at her house in the city. Once there I related to my very humored friends that someone had stolen my parent’s car from me. Amongst their many reactions the most notable was a sort of condescending consensus that I was a gringo, an American, and that by simple deduction you could conclude that I simply did not understand how not to be taken advantage of in Panama. I brushed it off as a joke, but shortly thereafter something happened that forced me to reconsider their theory.
I left there that night at about 2:30am with a beer safely locked in my hand for the journey and confident that I could manage Panama’s trickery with a newfound alertness. I walked down to the main road and waited patiently for a taxi. It took me about 20 minutes before I hailed one down that already had two people in it. I always try to be friendly to taxi drivers, but when I’ve had a few drinks I act like we are already best friends. I chatted freely with the taxi driver about how I was just visiting from the U.S. but lived there for nine years. Secretly, I was hoping to emphasize how local I was so that I would not be expected to pay more for the ride.
We dropped off one passenger and I told the driver to head to Albrook, the name of the area I lived in. It was a pleasant drive until the taxi pulled into a desolate road on the left, stopped in the middle of it and pulled out a gun. The charade was up. The driver and passenger stole the money out my wallet, this one with about 45$ in it, and told me to get out, walk away with my hands up and not to look back. I stepped out of the cab and said “Thanks for the ride”, as sarcastically as you can to a make with a gun in your face. Resolute about the fate of my situation and temporarily dumbfounded by the proximity of these two misfortunate robberies I heard the taxi call out, “Hey!” I turned around and watched as three single dollar bills floated out of the car window; “For a cab home” he called out.
The taxi sped off and I eventually brokered a ride back home with the police. Even without the money I had lost that week, I still survived fine enough and my parents collected insurance for the car. So little harm was done. But more importantly I came to accept that I was maybe more foreign to the country than I was proud to accept.
Outline
Complication: Regis becomes naïve.
Development: a) Regis’ car robed
b) Regis tells friends
c) Taxi robs Regis
Resolution: Regis accepts identity.
Narrative Journalism
Prof. Marin Heinritz
4-22-09
Juega Vivo
There is an unofficial motto that circulates in Panama: “juega vivo”. It is their way of saying that life is a game and that if you can get away with something then why not do it? It is the part of the Panamanian spirit that makes them want to yell profanities as the referee of a soccer match, make a Panamanian cop accept a bribe instead of actually writing a speeding ticket, and for making them want to speed in the first place. This attitude is particularly harsh on foreigners because they are easy targets and last summer it a fresh reminder that no matter how much I want to believe it, I’m not very Panamanian.
I was at a local indoor soccer stadium that was popular amongst my friends to rent out and play in during the weekdays. As a teenager, I used to take a taxi there and then try to bum a ride back home afterwards. But on this occasion I was old enough to drive there in my parent’s car. I had grown up most of my life in Panama, and being back for the summer after a three-year absence, I was excited to see if anything changed. After parking the car outside, I nonchalantly put the keys and my wallet inside my backpack with my water and towel.
Fifteen people came to play and only ten fit on the court so we divided into teams of five and played for five-minute intervals or until a score of three goals. I was out of shape and needed someone to step in for me by the second game. The oppressive humidity didn’t help either. I was always out of my league there; some of these people worshipped soccer. But being the underdog didn’t matter t compared to seeing old friends, getting some exercise and getting out of the house. Life was good.
I walked back to the bleachers to get my water from my backpack and with a slice of sudden alertness realized that it was not where I had left it. Like a flood, instinct and suspicion came over me, and I scrambled over to see if it might just be covered by someone else’s stuff. Realizing that it wasn’t, a happiness wrenching thought flashed in my mind “oh no the car”.
The juega vivo mentality is something I had grown used to going to high school in panama. It was the life spring of countless practical jokes and scandals. That sixth-sense of extra-alertness that I had adopted while living in Panama had worn off in the three years since I had left. It was that little voice that warned you by saying things like “check to make sure you still have your wallet”, “don’t trust the crazy drivers around you” and “keep an eye on the luis (a friend of mine), he has a telling mischievous smile on his face.”
Now there was the slight chance that the supposed criminal I believed at this point existed had missed the car keys that were in my backpack and stole just my wallet with 40 dollars in it. But as I ran to where I had left the car my hopes became as empty as the parking space I was staring at. My intestines started to squirm; I hate being the bringer of misfortune. The police arrived quickly and were on the hunt for the thief practically seconds after their arrival, but their search was practically useless. The car was found abandoned a few months later in a different province of the country and by then the insurance agency owned it.
That same week a high school friend of mine threw a birthday party at her house in the city. Once there I related to my very humored friends that someone had stolen my parent’s car from me. Amongst their many reactions the most notable was a sort of condescending consensus that I was a gringo, an American, and that by simple deduction you could conclude that I simply did not understand how not to be taken advantage of in Panama. I brushed it off as a joke, but shortly thereafter something happened that forced me to reconsider their theory.
I left there that night at about 2:30am with a beer safely locked in my hand for the journey and confident that I could manage Panama’s trickery with a newfound alertness. I walked down to the main road and waited patiently for a taxi. It took me about 20 minutes before I hailed one down that already had two people in it. I always try to be friendly to taxi drivers, but when I’ve had a few drinks I act like we are already best friends. I chatted freely with the taxi driver about how I was just visiting from the U.S. but lived there for nine years. Secretly, I was hoping to emphasize how local I was so that I would not be expected to pay more for the ride.
We dropped off one passenger and I told the driver to head to Albrook, the name of the area I lived in. It was a pleasant drive until the taxi pulled into a desolate road on the left, stopped in the middle of it and pulled out a gun. The charade was up. The driver and passenger stole the money out my wallet, this one with about 45$ in it, and told me to get out, walk away with my hands up and not to look back. I stepped out of the cab and said “Thanks for the ride”, as sarcastically as you can to a make with a gun in your face. Resolute about the fate of my situation and temporarily dumbfounded by the proximity of these two misfortunate robberies I heard the taxi call out, “Hey!” I turned around and watched as three single dollar bills floated out of the car window; “For a cab home” he called out.
The taxi sped off and I eventually brokered a ride back home with the police. Even without the money I had lost that week, I still survived fine enough and my parents collected insurance for the car. So little harm was done. But more importantly I came to accept that I was maybe more foreign to the country than I was proud to accept.
Outline
Complication: Regis becomes naïve.
Development: a) Regis’ car robed
b) Regis tells friends
c) Taxi robs Regis
Resolution: Regis accepts identity.
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
This was a surprisingly easy book to read. It shouldnt be a surprise because it is written by a pulitzer prize winner. In any case, it gave me a much better understanding of what narrative journalism is about. The Ballad of Old Man Peters and Mrs. Kelly's Monsters were really good and while reading them i was assuming that most of what was on the page came from inspiration, that this is what makes a good writer. But after studying their structure and going through them with the author it was surprising how intentional many things were. I can now see what i am writing as a process of creating an artificial experience which just like good real experiences helps the person learn something or grasp a part of a greater truth. In particular also i really liked the chapter about outlines. It was very persistent and in the end i realized that outlines really help create a good paper, not just in arts journalism. It is something that i should be doing in my polisci papers as well. I hope to be able to re-write my story and find out that these techniques work well.
Sunday, April 12, 2009
Monday, April 6, 2009
How I Got Robbed Twice in One Week
I was at a local indoor soccer stadium that was popular amongst my friends to rent out and play in during the weekdays. As a teenager I would take a taxi there and tried to bum a ride back home afterwards. But on this occasion I was old enough to drive there in my parent’s car. I had grown up most of my life in Panama and being back for the summer I was excited to see if it had changed. After parking the car outside I nonchalantly put the keys and my wallet in my backpack with my water and towel. After a few handshakes I set down my stuff on the bleachers and jumped into the first game.
Fifteen people came to play and only ten fit on the court. So we divided into teams of five and played for five-minute intervals or until a score of three goals. I was out of shape and needed someone to step in for me by the second game. I was always out of my league there, some of these people worshipped soccer. Being the underdog didn’t matter though when compared to seeing old friends, getting some exercise and even better getting out of the house.
I walked back to the bleachers to get my water from my backpack and with a slice of sudden alertness and adrenaline, realized that it was gone. Like a flood, instinct and suspicion came over me, and I scrambled over to see if it might just be covered by someone else’s stuff. Realizing that it wasn’t, a thought flashed in my mind saying “oh no the car”.
Now there was the slight chance that the criminal I believed at this point existed had missed the car keys that were in my backpack and stole just my wallet with 40$ in it. But as I ran to where I had left the car my hopes became as empty as the parking space I was staring at. This is a moment that many people can find familiar; it’s when you pinch yourself and check to make sure you are not hallucinating. I had just participated in event that led to the loss of a very expensive possession, a 2007 Hyundai Santa Fe, barely a year old. I didn’t have a cell-phone so I borrowed one from my friend and called the police as soon as I could find their phone number.
The police arrived quickly spread the word but that made no difference in the end. Oh, and the phone call home, what a drag. Saying “Hi dad the car has been stolen” can be a funny joke if you are pretending, but it’s not funny when its true. The car was found a few months later in a different province of the country, beat up but still working. Cars in panama are often stolen to use for illegal activities like kidnappings and drug trafficking rather than for the cars themselves.
That same week a high school friend of mine threw a birthday party at her house in the city. Once there I related to my very humored friends that someone had stolen my parent’s car from me. They had already heard about it since some of the people had been there when I was calling the police. But they amused at the fact that I was a gringo, an American, and implied that I simply did not understand how not to be taken advantage of in panama. I brushed it off then but they were right.
I left there that night at 2:30am with a beer half empty, cuddling with my left hand and a grin on my face. I walked down to the main road to catch a taxi and reminisced about how life in panama had shaped me as an individual and if I was an American. I had time to because it was tough catching a cab. It took me about 20 minutes before I hailed down a taxi that already had two people in it.
I always try to be friendly to taxi drivers, but when I’ve had a few spirits I act like we are already the best of friends. I chatted freely with the taxi driver about how I was just visiting from the U.S. but lived there for nine years and blah blah blah. We dropped off one passenger and I told the driver to head to Albrook, the name of the area I lived in. I have to say that it was a nice cab ride until the taxi pulled in to the left on the highway, into a road that was quite desolate and pulled a gun on me. I cooperated politely and gave them the wallet I had replaced the last one with. This one had about 45$ in it. They told me to get out and walk away with my hands up and not to look back. I stepped out of the cab and said “Thanks for the ride”, sarcastically of course, and with my beer still in my left hand and a grin on my face. As I embarked onward again I heard the taxi say “Hey!” I turned around and saw the thieving punk throw three single dollar bills out of his window; “For a cab home” he called out.
The taxi sped off and I hitched a ride back home from the police. Even without the money I had lost that week I still survived fine enough and my parents collected insurance for the car. So little harm was done. But more importantly I came to accept that I was maybe more foreign to the country than I thought.
It had not occurred to me yet that according to everyone “crime in Latin America, panama included, had gone up”. There were no signs of this anywhere, no notices that read: “watch out because bad things are more likely to happen now”. It was just something everyone knew from the stories that they heard about friends and family about crimes. As of then I had been absent from any tales of horror and entered a different country unaware and naïve because I had hope that it was as I had last left it.
I was at a local indoor soccer stadium that was popular amongst my friends to rent out and play in during the weekdays. As a teenager I would take a taxi there and tried to bum a ride back home afterwards. But on this occasion I was old enough to drive there in my parent’s car. I had grown up most of my life in Panama and being back for the summer I was excited to see if it had changed. After parking the car outside I nonchalantly put the keys and my wallet in my backpack with my water and towel. After a few handshakes I set down my stuff on the bleachers and jumped into the first game.
Fifteen people came to play and only ten fit on the court. So we divided into teams of five and played for five-minute intervals or until a score of three goals. I was out of shape and needed someone to step in for me by the second game. I was always out of my league there, some of these people worshipped soccer. Being the underdog didn’t matter though when compared to seeing old friends, getting some exercise and even better getting out of the house.
I walked back to the bleachers to get my water from my backpack and with a slice of sudden alertness and adrenaline, realized that it was gone. Like a flood, instinct and suspicion came over me, and I scrambled over to see if it might just be covered by someone else’s stuff. Realizing that it wasn’t, a thought flashed in my mind saying “oh no the car”.
Now there was the slight chance that the criminal I believed at this point existed had missed the car keys that were in my backpack and stole just my wallet with 40$ in it. But as I ran to where I had left the car my hopes became as empty as the parking space I was staring at. This is a moment that many people can find familiar; it’s when you pinch yourself and check to make sure you are not hallucinating. I had just participated in event that led to the loss of a very expensive possession, a 2007 Hyundai Santa Fe, barely a year old. I didn’t have a cell-phone so I borrowed one from my friend and called the police as soon as I could find their phone number.
The police arrived quickly spread the word but that made no difference in the end. Oh, and the phone call home, what a drag. Saying “Hi dad the car has been stolen” can be a funny joke if you are pretending, but it’s not funny when its true. The car was found a few months later in a different province of the country, beat up but still working. Cars in panama are often stolen to use for illegal activities like kidnappings and drug trafficking rather than for the cars themselves.
That same week a high school friend of mine threw a birthday party at her house in the city. Once there I related to my very humored friends that someone had stolen my parent’s car from me. They had already heard about it since some of the people had been there when I was calling the police. But they amused at the fact that I was a gringo, an American, and implied that I simply did not understand how not to be taken advantage of in panama. I brushed it off then but they were right.
I left there that night at 2:30am with a beer half empty, cuddling with my left hand and a grin on my face. I walked down to the main road to catch a taxi and reminisced about how life in panama had shaped me as an individual and if I was an American. I had time to because it was tough catching a cab. It took me about 20 minutes before I hailed down a taxi that already had two people in it.
I always try to be friendly to taxi drivers, but when I’ve had a few spirits I act like we are already the best of friends. I chatted freely with the taxi driver about how I was just visiting from the U.S. but lived there for nine years and blah blah blah. We dropped off one passenger and I told the driver to head to Albrook, the name of the area I lived in. I have to say that it was a nice cab ride until the taxi pulled in to the left on the highway, into a road that was quite desolate and pulled a gun on me. I cooperated politely and gave them the wallet I had replaced the last one with. This one had about 45$ in it. They told me to get out and walk away with my hands up and not to look back. I stepped out of the cab and said “Thanks for the ride”, sarcastically of course, and with my beer still in my left hand and a grin on my face. As I embarked onward again I heard the taxi say “Hey!” I turned around and saw the thieving punk throw three single dollar bills out of his window; “For a cab home” he called out.
The taxi sped off and I hitched a ride back home from the police. Even without the money I had lost that week I still survived fine enough and my parents collected insurance for the car. So little harm was done. But more importantly I came to accept that I was maybe more foreign to the country than I thought.
It had not occurred to me yet that according to everyone “crime in Latin America, panama included, had gone up”. There were no signs of this anywhere, no notices that read: “watch out because bad things are more likely to happen now”. It was just something everyone knew from the stories that they heard about friends and family about crimes. As of then I had been absent from any tales of horror and entered a different country unaware and naïve because I had hope that it was as I had last left it.
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