Research Essay

Most important of all my papers this semester was the 4-7 page research essay. Worth a whopping 120 points, this one concerned me. However, I believe it turned out well (as is attested to by my grade!) and that it is worth sharing here.


Slang Unites, Slang Divides


Recycled, Innovative, and Collaborative

The slang that is used in standard American English separates and unites social groups such as ages, economic classes, and races. Slang is often recycled from generation to generation, high collar individuals use different words than the homeless, and African American Vernacular English is clearly different from Chicano English. As a result, the average 16 year old will most likely understand other people in his or her age group better than they would, say, a 70 year old grandfather. The same concept can be applied in turn to each of the other concepts mentioned.

Slang is Creative

This raises the question of what slang actually is. Slang can be eloquently defined as, “…the start of fancy, imagination and humor, breathing into its nostrils the breath of life’” (Dalzel). In other words, slang invites new and creative ways of self expression into language, allows both embellishment and simplicity into all forms of communication, and gives new windows of possibility into satire and impels ecstasy in living. It is often created, quite simply, by reusing words from previous generations. Research asserts that very fact, as demonstrated by past research and documentation, “At North Carolina in 1851... to study hard at the last minute was to cram” (Eble) and, “The appropriation of ‘fly’ as a prime piece of the vocabulary of hip-hop and rap in the 1980s was no more than a salvage operation from the slang of jazz musicians of the 1930’s, which in turn drew from the 1870s” (Dalzel).

The definition of a dialect, as asserted by Eble is “any regional, social or ethnic variety of a language” (Sociolinguistics Basics). By that definition, slang could be called a dialect. In the south people put groceries in sacks rather than bags, the average student will not speak the same way as a professor, and of course there is the slang more commonly used in African American Vernacular discourse rather than in the dialect of the Boston area. Although, some forms of slang are pouring out into other areas of speech. For example, Eble also states that “White adolescents might speak approvingly of the style of a peer by saying she money or he be jammin’” (Sociolinguistics Basics).

Together, Descriptive!

Practically everybody, in one social circumstance or another, will use slang. People from every walk of life go through their day inadvertently saying words like ‘yo’, ‘sup?’ or even ‘fo shizzle!’. Slang is often enjoyable to use as well, can be illustrated as “by design, slang is wittier and more clever than standard English” (Dalzel). By it’s very nature, slang is fun!

Quite often slang is more effective at describing sex, sports, and alcohol/drug related experiences, as is also alluded to by Tom Dalzell. It also shows allegiance to a specific group, this can be demonstrated as how “When slang is used, there is a subject to the primary message” (Dalzel). In other words, only members of the assemblage will understand the slang that is being used. It creates a sense of commonality amongst the speakers and forges intimacy of speech.

Bias Towards Slang

With unmitigated frequency, those people who use informal English regularly can be unjustly classified or even prejudiced against. Code-switching (alternating between two languages) while they speak, or just their using rarer dialects, can also be contributing factor to the misunderstandings. This problem can be concisely summarized as “Often, children who speak non-standard dialects may be inaccurately classified as ‘not knowing much English’ or even ‘having a speech defect’” (Fought).

More dangerous than the changes brought by slang to communities and even America as a whole, is the bias against those who speak differently than the established norm. Often it is assumed that if speech is broken then the speakers mind must be as well. This is attested to by Amy Tan, who recalls how she herself believed that because her mother’s speech was “fractured” her mother’s thoughts were as well “…because she expressed them imperfectly her thoughts were imperfect” (Tan).

Together in Slang

Just as much as slang separates people, sparks debates, and angers those of older generations or different races, it also brings people together into a complete unit. Slang is not just conjunctions, linking vowels in new way, or dropping consonants. It is a dialect all of its own. As such, those who speak it have something in common, a way to belong. One creative way to view this bonding amongst people can be pronounced to be “Because ‘tribe’ identity is so important, slang as a powerful and graphic manifestation of that identity’s benefits” (Dalzel). There is safety in numbers, and expressing your belonging to a group is something both accidentally and intentionally done by everyone.

Needless to say, there are specific groups of people who use the same slang; it is not uniform all over America. “...youth is the most powerful stimulus for the creation and distribution of slang” (Dalzel). Naturally then, of course each generation will speak its own individual dialect. There are also varieties of language spoken within an ethnic group. For example, there are two predominant varieties of speech spoken by African Americans: the vernacular African-American English, as well as a standard African-American English.

In bilingual situations (such as might happen in a Hispanic community), there is even more room for creativity within language. Far more forms of slang are available to them. The bilingual can code-switch between two languages, making them not inadequate in either, but very fluent in both. Sometimes, however, in immigrant families a new dialect is created because of how tightly knit a community may become. Some families may be segregated from the outside world by language barriers, and thus have their own dialect of “standard” as well as slang. This can be demonstrated by Tan, who found that those communities became more “insular”.

Slang is Fun, Funky, and Functional

Overall, slang is beneficial for social groups. It allows us to feel unified with other people, enhances some descriptive modes of speech, and practices recycling! Everybody uses it, although not everybody understands it. This concept could not be demonstrated better than as “Of all the vernacular, slang is the most spectacular. Slang Swings. Slang moves and grooves. Slang rocks, slang rules.” (Dalzel).


Works Cited


Dalzell, Tom. “The Power of Slang.” www.pbs.com/speak. National Endowment for the Humanities, 2005. Web. 16 Nov. 2011.

Eble, Connie. “Campus Talk.” www.pbs.com/speak. National Endowment for the Humanities, 2005. Web. 16 Nov. 2011.

- - -. “Sociolinguistics Basics.” www.pbs.com/speak. National Endowment for the Humanities, 2005. Web. 16 Nov. 2011.

Fought, Carmen. “Watch Your Language.” www.pbs.com/speak. National Endowment for the Humanities, 2005. Web. 16 Nov. 2011.

Tan, Amy. “Mother Tongue.” Patterns for College Writing: A Rhetorical Reader and Guide. Comp. Pine Tree Composition, Inc. Ed. John Sullivan, Ryan Sullivan, and Karen S. Henry. 11th ed. Boston: Bedford/. Martin’s, 2010. 477-482. Print.



I feel as though this was very repetative, but for an introduction piece to sociolinguistics it would be adiquate.

Multimedia Memoir

For my finall essay in Comp 1, my teacher gave my class a really easy assignment. It was to write a 2-4 page pager about a strong memory, write it like we talk, and to use a picture, song, poetry etc to enhance it. Overall it's a really easy assignment, but I chose the death of my dog Oreo. I cried while I wrote it, but I think it turned out pretty well.


Realizations




Rainy Day

His eyes were open while he lay on the cold metal table. They moved slowly, dragging as he watched me with nothing but trust. It was all I could do to stay calm, to whisper softly over and over that everything was all right, nothing bad would happen now. The worst had come, and he had been such a brave and good boy. To many times, in order to make up for it lacking in the past, I choked out how much I loved him. Apologies poured out of my mouth like the heavy rain coming down outside. It was a lonely day to die, even if it was in someone else’s arms.

Prior

Just a week before Oreo, my dog, got sick, he was a bouncing puppy. Oreo was about one and a half, a black and white cookie pooch. By nature he was a herding dog, and was used to country life. Energy and playfulness and love made his every action glow with vitality. When Oreo would run, it was the gait of a gangly teenager, not yet used to the proportions of their own body. It was sheer joy to watch him play with other dogs, to play tug-o-war, or fetch. Watching him move, it would be easy to imagine him as human. Oreo would be the clueless type, the comedic guy, the one who everybody cared about and considered a friend. While he only lived with me for about two months, it would have been impossible for me to not fall in love.

Decline

Oreo was gone long before his time, immune diseases can do that. For some reason that even our vet couldn’t identify, his doggie sickness struck hard and fast. In a mere three days he went from a bouncing, bubbly, belligerent dog, to… well, gone. On the first day, he had difficulty walking, didn’t want to eat, and jumping got harder for him. By the second day Oreo wouldn’t jump at all, barely moved, and every breath sounded like agony. On the third day, he fainted from the effort of vomiting and couldn’t even make it to the back door to relieve himself... Later that morning, I took him to the vet.

Prefix

I waited with Oreo in the tiny vet’s examining room for a few hours; I had hoped to stay while they ran all the tests. Everybody had been kind and understanding to us both, I’m glad we took him there. Eventually I had to go though, and was forced to trust that Oreo would be treated well while I was gone. Just before 1 o’clock I got a call, and his euthanasia was scheduled for an hour later.

After my last class that day, I walked into that little examining room for the last time. The vet gave me a few minutes alone with Oreo, and in that time he gave a final burst of energy. He picked up his blocky little head, perked his ears, and even wagged his tail at me. I cried and cried, but eventually realized that even if my pup couldn’t see what was coming, he would see my pain. Oreo deserved better than to die worried, which he would have done if I kept sobbing into his soft and shiny fur.

When five or ten minutes had gone by, the vet poked her head in and asked if I was ready. I told her I was alright, and they should do it. Gently, the vet and her kind assistant lifted Oreo onto a cold metal table. They let me stay with him, and so while the vet searched for a good vein I stroked his floppy ears and held a paw gently in my hand. He wasn’t curious for long about what was happening with the vein search, and instead just basked in the love for a while.

Death

I couldn’t stand to watch the blue liquid being shoved into his bloodstream, or tolerate having him watch either. My hand rested next to Oreo’s eye, blocking his view, and slowly his head dropped to the table. When the vet calmly announced “He’s gone,” I didn’t believe her, and when she left the room I listened for his heartbeat. There was nothing, it was like holding a soft log. I tried to close his eyes, but his eyelids just came back up. It seemed so undignified to me… Somehow, he was dead, unmoving, gone, and so hard to understand.

Aftermath

That night as I sat in my living room, tuning out the T.V., I thought about it all. Holding something so young and beautiful, watching it fade to nothing, it all made me question God. The innocent shouldn’t have to suffer, the child shouldn’t die, flowers shouldn’t wilt, why must it be part of life? I realized how sheltered I had been, and didn’t understand how other people could cope with how messed up this world is.

Eventually, a week or two later, I came to peace with Oreo’s death. I still don’t have many answers to my questions, but losing him made me value what I have. Suddenly, my other dog Gigi, my family, my friends, even the ridiculous amount of crazy socks in my drawer became more important and easier to appreciate. Sometimes realizations can be harsh, but it made me see that we as humans don’t truly “possess” anything, because everything can be gone in a flash.
 
Even if it isn't the best bit of writing ever, it means a lot to me.

Doggie Poem

For my comp 1 class I had to write a 2-4 page multimedia memoir. I chose to write it over holding my dog Oreo while he died. As the multimedia I chose a picture of Oreo, and a poem. The poem I found was so beautiful I thought I'd post it here as well. At the end I will list the website it came from.

Do not stand at my grave and weep,


I am not there, I do not sleep

I am a thousand winds that blow,

I am the softly fallen snow

I am the gentle showers of rain,

I am the fields of ripening grain

I am in the morning hush,

I am in the graceful rush

of beautiful birds in circling flight

I am in the star shine of the night

I am in the flowers that bloom,

I am in a quiet room

I am in the birds that sing,

I am in each lovely thing

Do not stand at my grave and cry,

I am not there, I did not die.



This poem was taken from http://www.franscandles.com/petmemorialversespoems.htm 
It would be a good site to go to for any of you who may be mourning for an animal companion recently lost, it has lots of beautiful poetry and I believe some other things as well.

A Little Creed

For my Comp 101 this past semester I had to write about something I believe in, with all my heart. On that assignment, I should have recieved an F, because I completely failed. In the effort to write something good, I completely cast aside the need for honesty and instead just wrote what I wished was true. I now own-up to my dishonesty, and should my fraudulence to the world: this is what I don't believe in, at least not entirely.

Never Ashamed


Ryan Conover

English Comp 1

9/14/11

I believe nobody should ever be ashamed to cry. This is a belief I have held for almost a decade, but not always followed. When this belief first started to circulate in my mind, I was about eight years old. It was Christmas Eve. Sometime near two in the morning, I had snuck downstairs to see what was in my stocking and under the tree, but there was nothing. As I drudged back upstairs to my bed, I started to cry remorseful tears for looking; for daring to think that there would be something there. Other tears were shed for my humiliation-feeling so weak for crying-even though there was nobody to see. After a while my parents came up and consoled me that it was ok I had looked, there would be something for me the next day, and I did not have to be ashamed about my hysterical sobbing.

That night I learned a few important things: my parents really did love me, I would be taken care of, and emotion is not something to be covered up like dust under a rug. The first two have frequently changed through the years, but the last one has been engrained in my mind ever since. Now when I see someone mourning a loss, celebrating a victory, or anything in between; it does not make me feel uncomfortable. Not unreasonably so at least!

This is not to say, however, that I think it is acceptable to let your feelings hang out all the time. Emotions are beautiful and marvelous things, but how could we accomplish anything if they ruled our lives? This is also something I’ve learned from experience; the hardest way.

Last year I started my first job, and I really loved it; at first. It started well; I “prettified” the shelves of a local grocery store and made coffee there, it was a relatively fun job, especially if you have someone to talk to! However, it’s difficult to keep chipper when you’re getting sick, it’s winter, and your whole day has been rough.

One that particular evening I was fixing up the shelves of the freezer department, beauty products, and meat section. Due to my budding illness, I was working slower than usual; and ended up staying a quite bit later than scheduled. Now at this point I had two options: let my emotions take control or do my job and “git ‘r dun”. Sadly, I made the wrong choice. Naturally, I chose to get angry and frustrated, but this of course never helps a bad situation! At the time, it seemed like the only option. Although, looking back, I understand if I had reacted better it could have made a lasting impact.

Often times, Especially when I am feeling down or emotional, I anticipate with more vigor the good things I would like to happen. In my past, it was seeing my Dad for a couple days. In the present it’s things like going to some awesome sushi restaurant with my Mom, or seeing my boyfriend on his college breaks. Many times when I do not get to do such things, I’d let my emotions grab hold of me. It was horrible for a while; I was even medicated for a few months. Just the tiniest things would throw me over the edge. For example, at camp this past summer I had hysterics. It was humiliating, and I hated feeling so out of control. It was like someone else had taken over my mind and body.

After a few months of being medicated though, I noticed no difference; so I stopped taking my pills. At this point I had decided to finally take control of my emotions on my own terms, to be my own person, and not let other people mandate how I feel. Thus far I’ve been coping well, and realized that out of this as well there is something to learn. Everything I felt- pain and anger and hysteria-they are mine. They are a part of me! I have nothing to be ashamed of about myself-because I’m human-and we all struggle with something. There is always room for improvement, but why feel shame if you learn something and make the initiative to change?

Obviously, there are times when it is a great thing to cry. Maybe a funeral for a close family member or friend, when someone you love hurts you, or even for something good, beautiful, spiritual, or all three. Tears are part of the mourning process as well as experiencing great joy, and both are acceptable to anyone. Whether they be male or female, child or adult.

About a week ago at church, I stood in front of the congregation and told them about a vision or epiphany of sorts. After I was done, I went back to my seat. Not surprisingly, I was shaking from the nervousness. Once the sermon was over a lady from a row or two forward came up to me with tears in her eyes. After a moment though, I realized they were tears of joy. At first I was dumbfounded! Never before had I seen someone cry for a positive reason. She was crying because she was so touched that I overcame my fear and spoke. It was flattering, but it still amazes and astounds me that they weren’t tears of sorrow. It wasn’t embarrassing for her; it was just an expression of emotion. She was fine with that, and that takes strength. The kind of strength I strive for!

There was a time on my mission trip to Arlington, Texas this summer that I also cried for the right-yet different-reasons. It was sometime during the middle of the week, and my group had been in a poor apartment complex playing with and teaching some kids there. All week long I had been praying and hoping God would give me someone to help. Finally, I got the opportunity to bond with a little girl; her name was Gretchen. She told me about her life, and it broke my heart. That night I cried for her and her brother, her sixteen-year-old brother who can’t even talk anymore. There is never any shame in crying over a loss like that, especially when that little girl was being so strong for her family.

Even through the positive and negative ways I’ve reacted to emotional situations, there is always a ray of sunshine; this is another reason I believe you should never be ashamed to cry. All of life is a learning experience! Through the people I have seen and the way they show their feelings, their strengths and weaknesses: the things I have felt myself and the way I have shown them; I have learned. The way we react to any situation can impact us forever, but if we learn, if we grow, it’ll all be okay. No matter what things may seem like at the time, never, ever be ashamed to cry. This I believe.

 
Oh, now, I wish that I had written with truth in word and thought. That every tap of the keys weren't a strike against man and God. I am a liar, a sinner, a hypocrite, and a work in progress: this I actually believe.