Friday, July 14, 2006

My punk phase

I deleted all these photos from myspace because I don't feel they represent me as a person, just a particular phase in my life. Although I remember my "Punk" days fondly, ultimately it is not who I am.












Tuesday, May 09, 2006

A Secret Hidden Surprise for Anyone who Checks This!

Here is the ending to my "novel" which the genereal public hasn't seen. Enjoy.

Dan Feuerbach
English 354
5-9-2006
“Dismembered” Final Chapter

Menke hung up the phone. Gibson was on his way. Menke sat down at the Village Inn and prepared for the worst. His pack of cigarettes resting in his coat pocket, because I’m the “writer” and I can include whatever stupid-ass details I want, he sighed and ordered a patty melt from the waitress with the infected nose piercing.

Gibson hung up his phone and got into his car. He didn’t know what to expect. He drove the little Taurus down O Street. Great fucking idea, he thought, it’s five in the afternoon, and this is going to take forever.

He pulled into the spot next to Menke’s BMW. This was unusual for Gibson. His boss rarely called him to do stuff out side of work. He shut and locked his door and headed into the restaurant.

“Your meal’s on me.” Menke said.
“Why am I here?”
“I have some bad news for you, Everett.” Menke took a deep breath. “You’re fired.”
“What? Why am I fired? I thought I did a good job.”
“Well, you tried hard. You really did. I’d like to thank you for your effort. However, it just wasn’t good enough.”
Gibson paused. He didn’t know what to say.
“I can’t believe you called me all the fucking way out here to fire me, you stupid asshole. What the fuck is wrong with you.”
Gibson got up and left.

Gibson wanted to take a nap. He went to his middle room and took the pillows off his fold out that he got from his mother before he left for college. He pulled the bed out of the couch. The part that clicks upright wouldn’t click back down. He realized his pullout couch had now become useless. He knew what he had to do.

The same familiar lights that anyone dumb enough to read this saw at the beginning of this “novel” did stuff that implied danger and sorrow. So what if I can’t explain how this waste of letters, who drives a Taurus, got up to the hill with an out-folded couch.
He pulled the bat out from the trunk. He couldn’t believe it. How could this couch do this to him? This piece of shit just cuts him off when he needed it the most. What a bastard of a couch. He lifted the bat over his head.
The first noise it made was a dull thud as the black bad struck the side. He tried it again and the padding gave way.
“Thanks for the fucking effort, couch,” he said, “but it just wasn’t good enough, couch.”
He mercilessly cracked the bat into the side the support railings at the foot of the bed.
“You tried so hard. Never mind that you weren’t good enough. The fucking effort is what counts. Isn’t it you stupid bastard?”
He knocked the mattress to the ground and started hitting the metal springs underneath. He accidentally came down too hard and the shock to the bat transferred to his fingers.
“Fuck you.” He screeched.
He shook his hands and then went back to work. Pounding harder and harder into the stained, yellowed pads, splintering the wooden frame and bending every piece of metal he could find.
A cop came up the hill. The blue uniform of the where-ever-the-hell-this-novel-takes-place police department cloaked the officer wearing it. The lanky, thin cop came over to the destroyed couch.
“Sir, is something wrong?”
Gibson stood over his victim, clutching the bat in his bruised hands. He looked at the cop and saw fear in his eyes for just a moment.
Gibson’s hair went every possible direction. A slight strand of foam was sliding down his mouth. His white shirt with yellow armpits and torn sweatpants gave him the look of a man who escaped asylum and killed the first couch potato he could find.
“Sir, do you need some help?”
“When they kick at your front door?” Gibson said.
He ran to his Taurus, just barely out pacing the stunned cop. He reached under the seat and found his nine. The officer grabbed him, and Gibson struggled free. It must have been the weight of all that corpses that made him strong.
“If nothing else,” Gibson’s voice went into a higher pitch, suited for mocking people, “I tried hard.”
He put the gun in his mouth a splattered his knowledge, memories, and skills everywhere the bullet wanted.

In the dungeon with Kopelson, Menke wondered what they would do next.
“Does he know?” Kopelson asked.
“Who cares? We need to come clean.”
“Why?”
Menke reached into his pocket and pulled out the newspaper article. It was about an eighty-year-old woman in California who received a hip transplant from Kopelson’s agency and got syphilis.
“What if this was ours? You know we don’t test these well.”
“Who gives a fuck?” Kopelson said, “It doesn’t affect you.”
Menke put the article back in his pocket.
“We need to come clean. This isn’t worth it.”
“Relax, Tom, when you talk like that it makes me nervous. We said we’d keep this shit quiet. Are you going to keep it quiet?”
“Are you not listening? Our parts are infecting people.”
“I knew this would happen, you fucking cheese-dick.”
Kopelson pulled out his 9.
“Well, you sure tried hard, but it just wasn’t good enough. I’m afraid I’ll have to kill you.”
Menke began to sweat.
“You’re being rash…”
Then Menke fell to the floor and breathed his last.

Kopelson sat in his office when it began. He heard the elevator open and the jack-booted thugs of the swat team come to his office. He was prepared.
In the copy room at the front of the hallway to his office there a laser beam went off. He heard a man cry out and slump to the floor. The team wasn’t expecting this. Guns fired and the laser beam shut down. How does Kopelson know this? Fuck you!
At the first office after the copy room boiling oil came out of a hose at a rate of fifteen gallons a second. There was a smattering of gunfire interspersed with more screams. Kopelson smiled to himself as he heard the call for retreat. The boots turned around and ran away. A few bullets bounced off his bullet proof door.
“This was totally worth the effort.” He said.

The next night, he knew it was over. He had some laughs, killed some people, but he knew it was time to end it. He had been holed up in his office for two days with nothing to eat except the food in the downstairs vending machine that he snatched through broken glass. He couldn’t remember if he took the food before or after he called the police to tell them dead or alive he wouldn’t go with anyone.
The fun thing about due process is you can’t kill anyone without it, legally. Before they could give him the lethal dose he knew he deserved he would have to be tried, then sentenced, then he’d appeal and blah blah blah blah blah.
He turned off the lights. He disarmed the traps. He went down the stairs.
Just as he suspected, soldiers were there, with there sexy M-16’s. They leveled their guns at his heart. He put his hands up. Two soldiers threw him to the ground and a cop laid handcuffs on him.
“Hey boys,” Kopelson said, “thanks for the effort.”
The bomb he installed in his chest cavity went off.
Not a life was spared.

Friday, May 05, 2006

Writing Assignment Three

Dan Feuerbach
English 354
4-13-2006
Writing Assignment Three

In everybody’s life the phrase “take it with a grain of salt” has been heard. Typically this phrase means a person shouldn’t take something too seriously. This cliché can be applied to anybody from the preachers at the union to the author of this paper. However, this phrase applies more appropriately to the literacy involved in understanding the black-and-white, out-of-this-world themes that make up the Weekly World News.
The Weekly World News invites its readers to have fun. It doesn’t want them to worry about the world. Images of the supernatural and religion abound in this paper, asking the reader to calm down for a while and feel safe. This safety may also be the problem with the paper. The paper tries to get the reader to enter a magical land of leprechauns and resurrected politicians. Even though the advice columns of the paper emphasize taking responsibility, these parts are overwhelmingly outnumbered by the ads that want readers to solve their problems with a single phone call, get rich, and live happily ever after.
Founded in 1979, the Weekly World News is a tabloid printed like a newspaper. The cover proudly bears the phrase “The World’s Only Reliable Newspaper.” The paper is notorious for its fake stories and faker photographs. Until 2004 this paper didn’t carry any kind of notice that the stories aren’t real. However, the disclaimer on page one emphasizing the fun nature of the paper is hard to identify. I bought the paper three times before I noticed it.
Each week the newspaper tells tales about aliens, angels, Bigfoot, and demons. Each issue features clever puns for headlines and the paper has weekly columnists as well as a classified section.
The Weekly World News, or WWN, is mainly a source of entertainment. When a person picks up this paper, he or she needs to remember that this is something that is designed to be laughed at. A person of even meager intelligence can see from the very cover of the paper that it couldn’t possibly be serious. However, just in case there are people in the world who don’t quite understand this fact, the WWN does have a disclaimer on the first page that says: “The reader should suspend belief for the sake of entertainment.” This is what it means to be literate in WWN. The paper never set out to be a serious vehicle of information.
However, some people haven’t quite mastered WWN literacy. The ads in the paper and the childish nature of some of the articles seem to point to a target audience of below-average intelligence. Although there are several levels beyond the initial story of any given article in the paper, the ads carry a common theme of getting rich quick and simple solutions to complex problems.
Location
The first thing about this paper that needs to be considered is where someone can find it. As of yet I have never seen it anywhere except grocery stores. It is usually put in the tabloid section along with The National Enquirer and Soap Opera Digest. It is usually toward the bottom. Although not the most purchased item in any given store, it still has an underground following that keeps sales up just enough for another issue to come out.
It is placed at the bottom of the rack because tabloids are stocked according to how well they sell. There is little, if any, demand for the WWN in Lincoln. As a result it is constantly buried under headlines about Brittney’s Pregnancy and Christina’s Butt Going Flat! It’s still there and people do buy it though. I personally discovered it while I was bored in line for food one day. I saw a witty headline and purchased it.
Nationally, though, there is a greater demand for this paper. I have not seen a grocery store in the area ever sold out of the WWN but it has been around for almost thirty years so there must be some demand for it. People who purchase the paper aren’t main stream consumers. Its following is based on people with strange senses of humor or extreme gullibility.
Features
Each week a new issue of the Weekly World News arrives in stores. The old school charm of the black-and-white covers almost lulls readers into a sense of trust. The throw back to the old days of journalism is a poor cover however. Once readers see the headline all trust in truth is gone, but trust for entertainment emerges.
“G.O.P. To Resurrect Reagan for ’08!” the large black letters claim. Underneath, in smaller type the phrase “you can’t keep a good man down” appears. A large photo of the former president is underneath it all. If a person looks at the photo, there is something wrong. There is a photo of the former president, but his face has been altered, a picture of a zombie face has taken over Reagan’s picture.
Upon flipping to the article promised, one finds a two-hundred word story by Scott Stevens. The article doesn’t say too much more than the headline. It expands upon the topic briefly. However, upon closer inspection, one can see that there is more than one level to this seemingly fictitious account.
A note of satire is expressed in the story. A fictitious Democratic strategist named Andrew Spitz is quoted in the story. He nervously explains how his party won’t stand a chance during the next election if this happens. Further down, the article quotes an anonymous Republican strategist who explains that this is a last ditch effort by Republicans to unite a fracturing party.
Democrats are portrayed as fearing a zombie presidential candidate. Republicans are seen as so disjointed they have to resort to the dead to keep their power. The idea is so ridiculous, but at the same time reflects trends within both parties. Democrats have no platform and aren’t quite sure what to do next or what issues to address, some say, while the Republican Party is becoming more fragmented each year. This article takes these accusations and spins a yarn around it that makes both sides look foolish.
Each week the WWN displays something along these lines. From the time-traveling dog of the future who warns humans his species will take over because people are too dependant on technology to the Outhouse Effect that is taking place due to increasing levels of garbage, political, social, and environmental satire abound.
One problem with the featured articles in the paper is the bias it has toward itself. Often times during a story a cheap pop will come up for people to buy the paper. In the time-traveling canine story, Major Rick Mason is quoted as saying “…he asked for you specifically…you’re the world’s only reliable newspaper.” However, a person who is literate in the WWN will forgive this whorish self promotion because at the end is a great pun: “…until we get some cooperation from (the time-traveling canine) that mutt is in the ‘doghouse.’”
Weekly Sections
Each issue of the Weekly World News has recurring sections. There are advice columns, reader’s letters, and a facts section, among other things. These sections aren’t the only weekly columns but they paint a fuller picture of part of the message of the paper.
Although the articles are entertaining and can be satirical, the advice columns feature solid ideas about how to live. The reader’s section is a jab at the people who aren’t WWN literate and the facts section is a distinct break from the bogus stories contained in the rest of the paper.
What do a chimp, a horse, and a backwater hick all have in common? They give advice for the Weekly World News. A chimp named “Sammy” gives financial advice in his section Monkey Business, a horse named “Lester” answers health questions in Horse Sense and Dolly, “the country’s boldest advice columnist,” doles out wisdom in her section Hi, Dolly!
“Sammy” didn’t like the jungle, so he left. He opened his own exotic pet store and made a fortune. Now he gives financial advice for the WWN. An odd premise to say the least, however, this alleged monkey says some smart things. In one issue a reader asks “Sammy” if he should go on vacation even though an aggressive co-worker wants his job. Sammy advises the reader to take the vacation. Arguing if he doesn’t the reader won’t appear confident to his boss and the aggressive co-worker will know the reader is scared. This good advice is then followed up by a comparison to the story of how “Sammy” became the leader of his tribe if monkeys by being confident and picking bananas in the face of lions.
Horse Sense takes a similar approach to a different topic. Each week “Lester” fields questions about human health. According to the paper, “Lester” was once a sideshow horse who made a living typing in front of crowds. After getting through medical school he became “the world’s leading wellness expert.”
Like “Sammy” he takes serious questions and gives truthful answers. In one issue he is asked if diet soda is better than regular. He replies that it is just as bad. Either way there is a high amount of acid in both, Lester writes, and the best move for the reader would be to drink water. Again, like “Sammy,” he follows up with a comparison to the animal kingdom: “…as a horse who loves pure water I never understood how you could stand all those bubbles.”
The final advice column is Dolly. She takes an abrasive, yet honest, approach to advice. When she finds out about readers’ problems, she always suggests confronting the issued head-on and not waiting around. She takes on relationships, sex, drugs, and violence in each column. For each problem she extols the virtues of being assertive. The column is written in a dialect similar to a middle-aged country woman would talk, using phrases like “coon’s age” and “toots.”
In one issue a wife calls upon Dolly for guidance. She is a middle-aged married woman who found her husband in bed with a prostitute. The woman’s husband is begging to come back in and she is unsure of what to do. Dolly comes to the rescue. Dolly tells the reader that she needs to ask herself “does she really love her husband?” If so then the reader will have to sit down and have a conversation with him to find out why he did it and if he picked up any diseases. She stresses that the reader may also need to change if the marriage is to function normally again.
Despite the cartoon-ish venire, all three of these advice sections have valuable things to say, if taken with a grain of salt. A person who is literate in the Weekly World News can see past the cartoonish venire to see the insight underneath. “Sammy” stresses that the business world requires confidence. Lester stresses the human body needs proper diet and exercise to remain healthy and Dolly demands people stand up for themselves, take responsibility for their actions and not get pushed around. If more people were to pay attention to the messages these three have to offer the world might be a better place.
Editors need to have fun too, and the men and women who put the WWN together have found a good way to jab at people who are illiterate in their publication. Each week in the Sound Off section letters from readers around the nation are displayed. These letters typically feature people who didn’t quite get the point of past articles expressing their dismay, shock, horror or confusion about past stories. After sending an email to the paper, the editor assured me the letters are real.
One letter from a Toby Braman of South Dakota is filled with rage. In a previous issue an alien named “Bobb” was exposed by the WWN as a prisoner of the government. The alien was hidden from the public for sixty years. Mr. Braman thought that was inappropriate. His letter chastises the government for keeping him prisoner. He accuses the military of being cowardly for detaining “Bobb” and argues that if the alien is released he will reward humans with “a cancer vaccine or something.”
Mr. Braman shows the horrifyingly funny effects of not taking the magazine with a grain of salt. The article was just a piece of fiction and nothing else. Mr. Braman failed to realize that and decided to make his ignorance known. His angry letter was printed for the entire fan base of the WWN to laugh at him for not getting the joke. Perhaps Mr. Braman needed to look closer at the issue and see the warning label.
The last weekly section worth noting is the trivia section. This is a complete break from everything else inside the paper. Although everything else is comical and figments of the editors’ and writers’ imaginations, the trivia section is the only part that is filled with truly factual information, which I triangulated with several websites like www.triviaworld.com and www.fintrivia.com.
The section isn’t anything earth-shattering. It isn’t hardcore journalism but it does have some mildly interesting facts about a variety of topics. For examples, the paper informs readers that The Flintstones were the first married TV couple to share a bed and that Charlie Chaplin once took third place in a Charlie Chaplin look-alike contest. It is filled with random tidbits like these that make this section of the paper interesting.
This is the only section of the paper that doesn’t need to be considered false. Every trivia fact is true. This section does not need to be taken with a grain of salt. Not a lot about this paper is truly informative but the Trivia section stands alone as the one source of “news” in the entire “newspaper.” However, these facts are not particularly valuable so they still fall under the general category of “entertainment.”
Advertisements
A Weekly World News literate needs to be really good at the grain-of -salt-taking game. Everything about this newspaper needs to be considered as entertainment. The light-hearted nature of this publication has a darker side to it. The classified and advertisement sections point to an audience of dunces. Although the WWN literate can see through the façade presented by these advertisers, the illiterate, such as Mr. Braman, could potentially waste a lot of hard earned money.
Upon opening the Ads Mania page, a theme is easily noticed among the ads. Nearly all of them offer quick fixes for relationship problems from psychics, get-rich-quick schemes, offers for fast loans and sex chat lines.
The psychic hotline section blatantly contradicts Dolly’s message. Each ad promises to solve all problems, reunite lovers and eliminate confusion. Each ad claims that for one low price all of person’s problems will disappear and the world will be beautiful. These ads invoke mysteries of spirituality. Some advertisers claim to be witches, shamans and druids. One particularly asinine ad says “Mother Cherokee! Indian Healer! Solves Impossible!”
Psychic hotlines aren’t just mentioned on the ads page. Randomly throughout the paper are ads for more professional psychics. One page features nine different hotline ads featuring similar motifs. Most of the ads picture the psychic, most of whom are female, smiling in a motherly fashion. All the hair is primped and prepped and plastic looking. Every single ad promises love, most money and half show a price. Oddly, they all carry the same price, two dollars and seventy-nine cents per minute.
Do you earn eight-hundred dollars a day? You could. All you have to do is get ten-thousand dollars and give it to an unnamed man on the other end of a nine-hundred number. Then you can enter the glamorous world of stocking candy machines for a living. The ad promises unholy amounts of money, but further research indicated that if you fail to pay off the business who supplies you with the candy and vending machines your house is theirs.
Almost immediately next to the advertisement to get rich is an advertisement for payday advances. A person who calls the number can get up to a thousand dollars in advances, but the fees are so much that if the client fails to make the payment, he follows the same path as anyone who failed with the vending machines.
Another advertisement featured is the “mind control seminar.” On a full page of the paper, a photo of a bad man pointing his finger at the reader assures this is legit, after all, it’s “as seen on TV.” The bold black letter declare that just by giving Marc Salem your money and you can make anybody do anything just by thinking it. His widened eyes and thick, yet trim, beard seem to reassure that he wouldn’t lie. After all, the ad proclaims, Mr. Salem is a master of the human mind.
The conclusion these ads lead me to draw is that this paper is targeted to poorly educated, lower-class individuals. Advertisers aim for a demographic and then post their ads where the typical person will look for them. Only somebody with little formal education and poor critical reading skills would voluntarily give money to psychics like Kenny Kingston
The Weekly World News can be fun. To those literate in the publication it is filled with great puns, satire, and poor photo-shop jobs that can bring a smile to anybody. In addition to the playful nature of the majority of the magazine there is great advice on health, business and living from off-beat characters with fun trivia to astound friends. To the literate of this paper, each week is a new exercise in creativity. However to the WWN illiterate there are traps that maybe tempting, but are ultimately futile. The promises of money, quick fixes, and mind-control, if not taken with a grain of salt, can drain bank accounts and ruin credit. However, if a person has a mildly active brain, the WWN should not pose a threat at all.

Writing Assignment 2-2

Dan Feuerbach
English 354
4-20-2006
Writing Assignment Two: Final Draft

In almost every childhood one of the staple methods of wasting summer evenings was playing tag. The simple game involved one person being “it” while the rest of the players try their hardest to avoid the “it” player. Being literate in the game was simple and practically infused with people at birth. However, in 2005 the game of tag grew balls and became XXXXtreme Urban Street Tag. More complicated then its predecessor the literacy evolved to match. Although still relatively simple to understand, the literacy of tag is essential to everyone’s enjoyment.
Tag started in late September of 2005. It was an unusually warm fall evening around nine-thirty in the afternoon. My friends Germ, Jeff, JJ, John and I were sitting on the stoop outside the coffee house with nothing to do. We were discussing the merits of the single urinal versus the trough when suddenly (it seemed) the fates intervened.
“We should play tag.” Jeff said.
Everyone laughed. We assumed it was a joke. The idea seemed crazy.
“How would we do that?” I said.
“We’ll play on this block, it’ll be fun, come one let’s do it.”
We looked at each other and shrugged our shoulders. There was nothing better to do and nowhere else to be. We stood up, put out our cigarettes and hammered out the first draft of the rules. Although more would be added later on, the initial four rules are where the game began. After a very brief discussion we decided that we would stay on the 13th and P Street block, nobody would enter a building, one of the five of us would be “it” and the game would last thirty minutes.
And thus the legend began. The first ten minutes were a little rocky. Since most of the people in the first game wore inappropriate shoes and didn’t exercise legs were sore and people (including myself) were hacking up shit. Overall the game went well. After the first game ended, things took an interesting turn that changed the course of Tag forever.
We were taking a break between games on the stoop. While I smoked, two students came walking down the street. One wore a “Suicide Machines” shirt. My brother recognized this and initiated a conversation with him. It turned out that these two students were acquainted with several members of the emerging subculture. Their names were Chuck and Jared.
They were promptly invited to play the game. Like most people in Lincoln, they didn’t have anywhere else to be, so they joined in. As the second game unfolded a certain desire to expose as many people as possible to the subculture emerged. The running and hiding were intoxicating. Before the third and final game of the evening, phone calls went out all around Lincoln. Chuck and Jared had particularly large social circles and before long another eight people arrived on the street to play the final game of the first session.
The total number at the end of the session was fifteen. Every single person who showed up that night mentioned something about how they would have to show up again. It became apparent this needed to happen again. Everyone agreed to show up at the same place at the same time the next week. Everyone left that evening knowing something special just happened.
Ever since the crude first game, XXXXtreme Urban Street Tag has exploded. Now in its second season, every game since the fist one has seen an increase in attendance. From the first fifteen the population of “taggers” has peaked recently at forty. Almost every game the phrase “I’m going to have come more often” can be heard. Many non-mainstream students have come over the months and almost universally enjoy the game.
Enjoyment of the game involves being literate in the nuances of any given tag game. From Sunday to Saturday there are certain steps the Tag literate will take to find out when, how, where and why it happens. It starts with Facebook and ends at The CoHo. Although most “taggers” are unaware of the process involved, their literacy in it keeps Tag rolling like a semi over a basketball.
Facebook is the next step in directories. It is an interactive website students of assorted high schools and colleges around the United States can log on and post information on it. Each person who signs up for Facebook gets a profile. On this profile he or she can list favorite movies, music, books and more. People enrolled can also join common interest groups to be among like minded people.
This is an essential tool to Tag and is the beginning of any game. On Sunday the administrator, Jeff, will post when the next game is happening and perhaps a little blurb about relevant Tag-related events or information in the groups discussion board. He will also send out mass messages to all members of the XXXXtreme Urban Street Tag group about when the next game will happen. A typical message goes something like this:
“Look, we're doing tag Saturday (9pm, you know where). It's going to rule. No question. But to make it totally and completely awesome, you need to be fucking sweet that night. Tons of running and tons of new people. There's a party afterwards, which will kick all of your asses. Look out of XXXXtreme Urban Capture the Flag. We just might be adding some variety into your Saturday nights downtown. Stay sexy.”
Facebook allows members of Tag to coordinate their Saturday nights. They know that Tag is, in fact, going to happen the week they get the message. They know the time, or if there is a time change, and know if anything is going on afterwards. Facebook makes organization simple and effective. Without it members would have to call around to get a hold of potential “taggers” and may find out the players have made previous plans.
Members and potential members of Tag can also come into contact with the expanded rules of Tag. From the original four rules, the list has been expanded to nine. These rules are the backbone of Tag. Without these rules to provide a degree of restrain on the anarchy-esque nature of Tag, the results could be devastating. The rules are posted on the Facebook group:
“1. Do not hit other pedestrians. 2. Be honest when asked if you are "it". 3. No entering of buildings 4. You must stay within one city block - no crossing of streets. 5. No Douche bags 6. Keep It Awesome 7. No tag backs 8. Keep It Sober 9. No Bears.”
A first glimpse over these rules by a person who is Tag illiterate would lead to confusion. Many of the terms are strange and some of the rules seem foreign. However, the Tag literate have heard these all before and know what the rules mean and how to follow them so everyone has a good time. These rules are the byproduct of months’ worth of refinement. Without these rules Tag could not happen.
The first rule on the list is the most important. Although people come to Tag to have a good time, they aren’t there to ruin other people’s fun. Hitting pedestrians would only cause problems. The second rule means that if somebody asks a player if he or she is “it” the truth must be told. If a player holds his or her hands in an “X” that is equivalent to “Not ‘it.’” “Douche bags” are defined in Tag as anybody who hampers the enjoyment of Tag for anyone else. Whether through internal politics, shit talking, or aggravated assault, members have a duty to be noble while at Tag.
“Awesome” basically means moving. Members need to be constantly moving once the game begins. Whether running, jumping or scouting, anytime a game is in session. “No tag-backs” means once a person is tag the former “it” individual is immune from being tagged by that individual. Sobriety is key to a game of Tag. It is a full mental, emotional, physical, and spiritual experience and requires all faculties to be in full working order. Being drunk, stoned, tweaked, dipped-out, or fucked-up is detrimental to this experience, plus it helps to alleviate any legal trouble Tag might cause. “No Bears” is an ongoing joke from a Comedy Central program. It serves as a source of comedic relief during a game of Tag.
These rules are the foundation of Tag. They are the guidelines all members must follow in order to have a successful game. These rules can be accessed on the Facebook group at anytime. These rules are also run through at the beginning of each game so players can’t pretend like they haven’t heard them before. The rules are fairly self-explanatory, as is most of Tag literacy. Everything on the list is logical within the context of Tag.
One more interesting aspect of the Tag Facebook group is the Council of Elders. On Facebook groups, prominent members of a group can be given an “officer” position, which means they have distinguished themselves in a group. This applies to Tag. The Council of Elders consists of all people who were at the original game plus new members who have distinguished themselves in “battle.”
Once the Tag literate become aware of when the next game is, and new players have been exposed to the rules there is the week long recruitment and discussion period. During the week leading up to Tag, members will take it upon themselves to spread the word of Tag. Whether to new members or old, the word of Tag spreads around Lincoln.
In any given week members contact other members and have conversations about the upcoming event. Potentially dozens of conversations can happen in which “taggers” plan to come to the next game and strategies about how to play more successfully than the week before. The word-of-mouth method of advertising is very effective in bringing back old members.
New members will become intrigued during the week leading up to Tag. Again, the word-of-mouth method will attract people to play the game. The newly exposed will become intrigued at the idea of playing the game and can be directed to the Facebook group to get more information. New members will come to Tag and then the cycle begins the next week. Typically new members are gathered in this method.
The significance of the week before Tag cannot be overstated. What causes Tag to grow each week is the process of word-of-mouth advertisement. Other methods, such as flyers about Tag, have been tried but were unsuccessful. The flyers were vague and didn’t capture the excitement of Tag. The main way people have become interested in Tag is through conversations with friends who have played the game already.
Once the preparation work has been done and Saturday arrives, the game is in the hands of the players. When eight-thirty rolls around, the Tag-literate begin to assemble. The typical location is The CoHo on 13th and P Street. Also known as The Coffee House, members of Tag meet there or the area around it to discuss plans for the upcoming session, get something to drink, and hang out before the games begin. Some members will drink water to get properly hydrated for games; others drink coffee to sharpen their senses.
“Taggers” show up an hour early and will usually claim a table in the back of the building for incoming people to sit at. Conversations will range in topic from how well prepared for the game members are to the nature of God and everything in between. Some members will constantly be going in and out of the backroom, alternating between smoking cigarettes, talking with those assembled at the table, and getting coffee refills.
This facet of Tag gives members a sense of community. The hanging out time before the game is when members can discuss their lives, dreams, and ideas in an environment of like-minded individuals. The brotherhood of Tag begins here. There is a sense of irony though, because while members are bonding in The CoHo they will soon be pitted against each other in the battlefield of honor that Tag has become.
Once the time for Tag has come, everyone leaves The Coffee House and the block becomes the home of XXXXtreme Urban Street Tag. However many people came to the game will stand around Jeff who will issue the rules. He runs through them briefly, but clearly, so everyone can knows how to behave during the game and what is expected of them. After selecting the people to be “it” he announces when the game will end and the crew runs away from the people who are “it.”
Once the “it” crew has counted to twenty-seven they will proceed to track down and tag the people who weren’t selected. Down back alleys, around corners and over obstacles, members of Tag go all out trying to pass on the label of “it” to anybody who is slower, unaware, or just unlucky. The methods used to tag others are very diverse.
Most tags in a game come from run-downs. This means two “taggers” will spy each other then the “it” person will run into full sprint mode and the “non-it” person will also. Whoever goes fastest will win the match. It is very similar to lions and gazelles in the African savannah. This is accepted by most “taggers” as the most honest way to play the game.
Less honest, but more exciting, is the “trap” method of tagging. This typically entails the “it” player hiding behind a garbage can or in a nook/crevice in an alley. When an unsuspecting “tagger” walks by, the “it” player will spring from his or her hiding spot like a spider, make the tag, then clear the area. This often leaves the newly “it” player momentarily confused.
The least honest method, known as the “cheese-dick” or “Bush” method of tagging is somewhat tricky to pull off. When an “it” person finds a “non-it” person in close proximity, he or she will preemptively ask “are you it?” The person who isn’t “it” will assume safety and say “no”, to which the “it” player will tag him or her and say “now you are.” Although the method is cheap, it is effective if the circumstances are right. Since the “it” player isn’t technically lying about his or her status, it is allowed, but it isn’t exactly honorable.
This is how any given game of Tag is played. After the introduction by Jeff, the game is given over to the people to let it go where it will. These methods of tagging are designed to give some variety to the game. If Tag was a game of speed, slower players would become discouraged and stop showing up. The different means of tagging require players to be on their toes and aware of their environment at all times.
Most of the time there is little trouble with people following the rules. People who come to Tag generally know in advance what is expected of them. Once in a while, however, there is a problem that needs to be addressed. Disciplinary action takes the place of verbal warnings, suspensions, and expulsions from the game of Tag. Action can be taken in the event that any individual or group of people should chose to shirk the duties of the Tag community.
The strongest example of disciplinary action came late in the first season of Tag. During a game with roughly twenty people a massive influx of ten people came in. The number of people playing reached thirty, but there was a problem: the ten people who came were in violation of one of Tag’s core rules: “Keep it sober.”
The influx of people decided to come to Tag after their party was busted by the police. Each of the ten people was inebriated in some way. Acting quickly, Jeff rounded them up and suspended them from playing the game. Although the number shrank, it was more enjoyable for the majority of players because their Tag session wasn’t hampered by the reckless actions of the drunks and stoners.
This situation is a rarity. More often the most extreme action during a game is reminders by Jeff that people need to “keep it awesome.” Typically if players are sitting around, talking or being lazy he will remind them to keep moving. Every time, to date, this has been effective and players have returned to normal courses of “keeping it awesome.”
Nobody has been expelled from Tag yet. If they were they would not be allowed to return. If someone is suspended they aren’t allowed to play the rest of the session, but can return when they have fixed whatever caused them to be kicked out of the game in the first place. These three courses of action have been effective in keeping the Tag populace from running amuck, but discipline has been little problem in Tag so far.
In conclusion, Tag is a great way for people to have great social contact with interesting individuals, get exercise and express themselves. From the original fifteen of the first game to the forty individuals of the last, Tag has grown into a bit a phenomenon. It draws a new crowd and has created several hard-line fans that only miss games when they have emergencies to attend to. Over the months Tag has touched the lives of many people. It has a structure which could theoretically sustain Tag for a long time. If the first two seasons are any indication, XXXXtreme Urban Street Tag has a long, successful future ahead of it.

Writing Assignment Three

Dan Feuerbach
English 354
3-31-06
Writing Assignment Three

Every time you’ve ever gone to the grocery store you’ve seen it. Odds are you passed over it, not even to bothering to give a second thought. Other times you may have read an amusing headline and bought eggs. Perhaps once you bought it just for laughs then let it slide to the back of your mind. Regardless, it’s always been there, the black and white tabloid that is The Weekly World News.
The newspaper consists of bad puns and even worse photo-shop jobs. Each week the writers and editors take two pictures and slam them together to form obviously faked images while on the inside old clichés and proverbs are twisted to give a pun that would make even the snootiest individuals groan.
This tabloid-style magazine is distributed across the nation, mostly at grocery stores. It is satire and comedy rolled into one. It is printed in black in white to give it a certain “old-school charm” that makes it seem more believable. Proudly bearing the phrase “The world’s only reliable newspaper” beneath its title a glance through this paper can provide laughs and knowledge.
On the particular issue I purchased the banner proclaims “G.O.P. To Resurrect Reagan For ’08!” To the right of this decree was a photo of the late-president with his face edited to look decayed. Upon looking at the actual article the writer, Scott Stevens, adds the phrase ‘You can’t keep a good man down.’ The roughly two-hundred word article doesn’t say anything new that the headlines didn’t already say but the legitimate newspaper-style format makes the funnier because a ridiculous idea is tried to be passed off as a real story.
Flipping through the pages reveals a theme. Angels, demons, space, relationships with weird twists, ghosts and UFOs pop up on the pages. One gets a feeling of a magazine aimed at catering to the demands of the lower-class. The magazine seems to be aimed at pacifying the fears people have of the after-life and ghosts. In the horoscope one in every three signs promises some kind of rapidly-approaching financial or relationship fortune.
This image of exploiting the not-so-bright is best seen in the paper’s advertisements. The majority is hotlines for psychics, tarot readings and casting spells. These ads promise lovers to returns, problems to be solved and obstacles to be cleared. The next largest section is the financial/loans section. These promise either free money or debt solutions. The smallest section is the education ad and it promises an easy way to earn a high school diploma from home.
The world portrayed in the magazine is filled with fantasy and whimsy. Obviously these stories are just that: stories, but the magazine still fills its pages with “Leper-chauns” (the leprechauns of Ireland being devastated by a plague) and the ancient Egyptian “Oedipus Complex” which was the world’s first psychiatric hospital.
There is a warning label on the inside that says the stories are all for fun, but it is small and difficult to find. I purchased three different issues before I noticed it. The fact that a warning label needs to be included at all suggests that at some point people took this magazine seriously, which implies that some people presently take it seriously.
One theory about The Weekly World News is it lulls readers into a false sense of security about the world. Anybody who would believe the magazine could be easily duped. When these less-than-Harvard-graduate individuals get these false notions about life, they may seek guidance with the magazine and as a result use the ads to make their life like the publication tells them.
Women’s roles in the issue are also very simple. Most of the stories are about men and how they react to or instigate situations. However the most publicized female feature in the magazine is the “Page Five Honey.” On the fifth page will be a single, black-and-white photo of a scantily clad woman with a brief caption about her past modeling work. The inside photo is advertised on the back with a similar picture.
However on the inside is a woman named “Dolly” who runs the advice column. She emphasizes taking personal responsibility for actions/wrong doings and taking a stand when people try to push you around. However her section is right before “Horse Sense” and “Monkey Business” in which a horse and a chimp talk about health and financial matters, respectively. It becomes difficult to take advice about personal responsibility when the next page has a horse telling you not to eat meat.
Men are portrayed as getting in adventures and kicking asses. Matt Daemon, the paper’s seeker of obscure supernatural phenomena (i.e.: Iguana Girl and The Tree People) goes around the world fighting monsters, demons, ghosts werewolves and vampires. Usually his calls come from shrieking women afraid to do anything about it. So he comes to the rescue. When he is finished they will throw themselves at him but he will rejects the advances and move onto his next adventure.
I have been keeping an eye on the magazine for about three months now, buying it one or two times a month at various locations. I have only found it at grocery stores. I have yet to see one for sale in a different location. It is found with celebrity-themed tabloids and costs around three dollars. Based on the target demographics of tabloids it is safe to assume the majority audience is housewives.
The magazine is very hit-or-miss to me. Some weeks the puns will be amazing and I will be entertained for hours by the articles like “Man’s Feet Arrested for Attempted Murder after Owner Says: ‘My Feet are Killing Me.’” Other times It will be just a rehash of UFO or Bigfoot-related articles that are predictable and bland.
One thing that must be noted is the liberal-bias that permeates through to this paper. Occasionally an article will appear about President Bush that paints a picture of him as a slow, dim-witted moron. A weekly comic entitled “Spy Cat” does the same thing.
In one issue an article “Bush Creates Department of Paranormal” the President creates an entire new intelligence agency because he thinks his room is haunted by ghosts. He uses billions of tax payer dollars to fund this ridiculous undertaking.
In “Spy Cat” the hero, a cat who covertly sneaks around the battlefields of Iraq saving U.S. soldiers from harm. Spy Cat will routinely be issued medals from Bush who will never quite remember who he’s giving the medal to or why he’s giving it. After receiving a medal from Bush in one issue Spy Cat asks why Bush didn’t go to Vietnam and Bush blushes and runs away.
In conclusion, The Weekly World News is a source of entertainment that may often be taken the wrong way. The bad puns and photo-shop jobs are all fun and games but occasionally people will get hurt. People who take it too seriously may be tempted to spend hard earned money on quick-fixes to larger problems. The magazine is definitely a major player in the tabloid game that should be check out to everyone at least once.

Writing Assignment one

Dan Feuerbach
English 354
4-13-2006
Writing Assignment One Final Draft

Who is Dan Feuerbach? This question followed me for years. Going from the pre-packaged identity of middle-school to the relative freedom of high school was difficult for me. When I entered Skutt Catholic High School I was terrified. All around me I watched as my friends from eighth grade expand their own identities while I was lost.
I started at the simplest point: jock. I joined the football team because it seemed like the cool thing to do. The football players seemed to have it all. While I laid my head in my arms and pretended to sleep after teachers finished a lecture, the football players would banter with the teacher and flirt with girls. However, this didn’t really work. Weighing one-hundred and forty-five pounds and the coordination of drunken hobo it was only a matter of time until I proved useless to the team. The majority just pretended like I didn’t exist. A few of the other bad players managed to form a superficial bond with me that carried on after the season did.
After two years of failing as an effective football player slipped by and I decided to switch identities. The summer between my sophomore and junior years I started playing drums, the second simplest point in my angst-ridden mind. I figured if I couldn’t be the popular jock I could be the mysterious musician. This didn’t go too bad. I wasn’t great but it was closer to who I was then football player. I trained myself thirty minutes each day in the style of Lars Ulrich of Metallica. He became my idol. I downloaded all his drum tabs and all the Metallica albums. I stayed up late in between shifts at my job trying to pin down his technique. Although the songs were long at first, I became addicted to the crunching guitars and threatening vocals.
One night I was listening to the song “One.” The sublime guitar rifts and restrained power intrigued me. There was something different about this song. I picked up the album insert and read the lyrics. From the first word to the last goose bumps raised on my arms. The story was completely different than anything else I ever heard.
It was the story of a man in a war who stepped on a land mine. His arms and legs were amputated and his ears, nose, eyes and mouth were rendered useless. The song consisted of him begging to be killed. I had never heard of such a thing. I didn’t think there could be a good reason to beg for death, but there it was.
The next two days only escalated my fascination with this story. I downloaded the video. I needed to see how these (at the time) brilliant men would portray this visually. When the video made its way from the web to my computer I felt the same feeling creep over me as I did when I realized what the song was about in the first place. The next six minutes changed my life.
The man with no senses came on screen. He consisted of nothing but a torso and a surgical mask draped over his face to hide the wounds. The lyrics faded and all I heard was the voiceover from the man on the hospital bed. As the song reached its horrifying crescendo the man tapped out “S.O.S. Kill me.” in Morris Code on his pillow. The nurse called in a translator and they pulled the plug. The last scene was the man dying on a pillow while the nurses celebrated New Year’s Eve with champagne.
The image replaced with black, the guitars faded and I stared. I couldn’t look anywhere. All I could think about was what I just saw. I didn’t know what to do. My hands clicked on Google and typed in “One” Metallica.” I searched for what inspired that song and I found it: Johnny Got his Gun by Dalton Trumbo.
I drove to Barnes and Nobel immediately. My mind craved this book. I thought there was a secret of some kind waiting inside. There was an answer to my identity dilemma that Trumbo knew and wanted to give me if I just read the book. I got home and dived straight into the book. In five hours I had finished it.
Joe Bonham’s problem was identical to mine. The particulars varied but the idea was the same. He was trapped in his own body; I was trapped in my own role. He wanted the escape of death and I wanted to kill off all the failed versions of myself to escape. We both felt alone and trapped. I could identify with everything he said. After a few weeks of intense contemplation, I put the book aside and went back to drumming.
The summer ended and school started again. Still hell bent on being the musician I came up with the idea to blend metal and grunge. Although I only had the vaguest notion what either of those two genres was about, I dressed in flannel and muttered “Enter Sandman” to myself in class. My junior year was not what I would call pleasant.
Although I pushed myself into the musician thing it was starting to push me back out. I wasn’t hearing any new music. My friends, mostly the very few leftover from my football days, refused to go to the Ranch Bowl with me and I was afraid to go alone. With my new identity dying away I began to act out in frustration. I was morphing my identity again, this time I chose to go for something negative.
The only decision that seemed appropriate to me as a man with no identity was to become proud of my identity-free life. Nihilism seemed to be a good choice. I decided that sixteen years of being Catholic was enough. God didn’t live, other wise I would know who Dan Feuerbach was, right?
I feel bad for everyone who knew me at the time. My life free from identity had to be the topic of almost any conversation I engaged in. Even the most trivial conversations would be turned to some rambling, illogical rant about the godless nature of reality. After a while people stopped giving me the attention I craved, so I upped the ante.
Mrs. Upton entered my life about now. She was tall and blond. Fresh out of grad school she seemed to have an understanding into the teenage mind that I certainly didn’t. She was my English teacher. She heard my constant rants and she saw that even though they weren’t well put together, they still reflected a degree of intelligence. She tried to extend a helping hand to me; I tried to bite it off.
She saw clearer than anyone I didn’t know who I was, and she knew it hurt me. At the beginning of the nihilism she would take me aside and try to coax some kind of true emotion out of me. Whenever she did this I would just insult her by calling her an idiot, sheep-woman for following her leper messiah. She took it in stride and decided to give me space until I came to her. I never did, and it’s too bad. She had a lot to offer.
I engaged in a lot of extreme anti-school activity. Never drugs, alcohol, sex, or violence. It was usually acting immature in front of my classmates to solicit attention. Sometimes it would be me “falling” out of my chair in the middle of class. Other times I would make loud farting noises.
One of my most extreme moments came in American History class. The teacher assigned us the exciting adventure of drawing three symbols that represented America to us. Usually students drew dollar signs, eagles, stars, stripes, flags and other cliché things. I decided that I wouldn’t conform.
I walked up to the front of the class with my piece of printer paper folded in half. My heart was in my knees and rattling around like shoes in a dryer. I stood up straight and unfolded my paper about what America meant to me. It didn’t start out bad. The first symbol was a series of legs, arms, heads, torsos and feet. It represented all the people who died in wars. The second was a dollar sign because that represented who really controlled the system to me. It was the last symbol that got me in trouble.
I flipped the paper over and smiled like I was proud of myself. On the reverse side was a crudely drawn picture of two stick figures. The larger mounted the smaller and had little lines drawn around its butt to represent a thrusting motion. I grinned and said just one simple word:
“Taxes.”
The class stopped and then laughed, then applauded. I thought I was invincible. The teacher was not happy. She told me to go in the hall while she contacted the office. Then I waited in the office while they informed my parents. I received some lecture about how I was almost done in the Skutt community. I said I’d try.
That night I felt like shit. I didn’t know what was wrong with me. Yeah, I was king for a day. Yeah everyone spoke my name around school. Yeah, I was applauded. I knew from past experience though that the next day nobody would care, but either way I’d still have to deal with the consequences. English class the next day would provide the first glimpse of the identity that would give my life the focus it needed.
Thursdays were creative writing day. Usually it was something fairly simple like writing one-page character descriptions or writing sonnets. I would half-ass my way though these assignments. The work I made wasn’t any different then the people around me. I just chugged through it so I could run back into my little world of nihilistic self-pity.
Mrs. Upton got in front of the class with the usual tasks. We read a short story, we pulled it apart. We (or more appropriately, they) discussed how the character changed, where and how it was set and did the story say about life. I was staring at the ceiling counting the number of panels that made up the roof.
“For Monday, I want each of you to write a short story,” she said.
The class groaned, but I was suddenly interested. I thought back to my brief affair with Johnny Got His Gun the summer before. I remembered the relief I felt knowing that I wasn’t the only one who felt the way I did. Even though I wasn’t fully aware of it, I had a basic understanding of the power of words. I didn’t want to use that power for relief though, I wanted to horrify. I wanted to get vengeance on them. For every time I felt alone at football and the addiction I had to their unknowing applause.
The bell rang and the students left. The room cleared out but I still had to pack my bag. Mrs. Upton called me to her desk. I was irritated. I thought it was going to be a lecture about how my story had better be appropriate or else. That seemed to be the only interaction I had with older people anymore. I knew deep down it was completely warranted.
“Dan, what are you doing your story on?”
“I don’t know Mrs. Upton. Why?”
“I’m curious.”
“It will be appropriate.”
“I don’t care,” she said.
I almost died.
“Huh?”
“I want to see what you can do. You’re very creative and smart. I’m sure you’ll amaze me.”
I didn’t know what to think. I kind of stuttered out a promise to do good and left. This was new. Total creative control belonged to me. All I had to do was what my imagination told me. All I had to do was think of a topic. I went home and inspiration struck.
My brother hogged the couch in the basement. The two-years-younger than me bastard wouldn’t move. I sat on the floor and we watched MASH. During the first commercial break something snapped into place. The olive drab uniforms and gunfire, the romance and the horror, my story needed to involve war and death. My story needed to involve betrayal of marriage.
I sat down and crafted, over the next four hours, my novel from beginning to end. The five page epic of a man who is sent to war and the new wife he leaves behind. No names for my characters, I thought, it’s more artistic that way. He gets drafted after they get married. He goes to the front lines. He watches his buddies die. He wants to die but holds on for her. He gets back to her and finds out she’s pregnant with his neighbors kid. He kills himself and she gets committed with as many descriptions as possible.
I spent so much time on this and then it was time. I stood in front of the class again. The paper had sweaty thumb prints all over. My voice shook at first. The first paragraph limped out of me. Then it came more naturally. Then, it wouldn’t stop. I told the class of how his leg wound needed maggots in it to prevent Gangrene and how his crimson and grey slid down the wall. You could hear a pin drop.
I finished the last sentence. Jaws hit desk tops, people looked at anything but me, students shifted in their seats. I didn’t know what I did. Then Mrs. Upton started to clap. Then everyone did. I was being applauded because I did something. I was being applauded for an accomplishment. I was being cheered because I did something constructive. It was the greatest feeling in the world.
After class I was complimented by students for my good work. I received high-fives from people who I hadn’t spoken to since the football days. Clapped on the shoulder, hugged, dare I say…respected? I was getting ready to leave when Mrs. Upton called me up to her desk again.
“Dan, that was awesome. I knew you’d do well, but that was more than I expected.”
I turned red. It was better than I expected.
“What are you doing after high school?”
“I have no idea.”
“Consider English. You have a gift for it. I think you could do something really special with it.”
Then I considered English when, after three days, people were still talking about my reading. A few random people I barely talked to requested copies. I stood in shock. I did this. I did this with my words. My letters made an impact on people and it felt good. I knew I could help people. I knew there was something behind all this. I smiled.

This happened almost six years ago. I still think about the series of events that led up to this. The seeds for my English major were planted on that day. Quickly after this event the idea got stuck in my mind. As I focused on school I began writing in notebooks. I wrote poems and stories and scenes and characters everyday for the rest of my high school tenure after this event. This kept me out of trouble. The outbursts in class stopped and I felt comfortable during the eight hours I spent at school.
First of all, it needs to be said: the reason I started was ego. The rush of applause after that reading made me feel like a god. I loved manipulating words to illicit responses in people. However, as I matured my love for writing and reading did too. Today I genuinely love writing. Sometimes being in classes that require thirty or more pages of material is daunting but when it’s over I feel like I honestly accomplished something.
This event came at exactly the right moment in my life. I was so lost and didn’t have anything in particular to look forward to. I never viewed myself as talented at anything in those days. This was a major contributor to my lack of identity. I lashed out for something and didn’t seem to get it. It was the sudden stroke of inspiration and the follow-through in class that made me pursue an education in my native language.
This event also propelled me into more books by different authors. I hadn’t read since the Trumbo book. After the event I read anything I could find. At first I had trouble finding good books by interesting authors but after a while I began to figure out what I liked. Vonnegut and Ginsberg are two names I never would have known if I hadn’t been for this event.
I still haven’t answered my question. I still don’t know who Dan Feuerbach is. Everyday I get a slightly better picture, but it’s still blurry, the camera is still shaking. I definitely am closer now then I was back when this happened. If it hadn’t been for that fateful day in my high school English class, I might still be lost in my fog of self-pity.
I still think about Mrs. Upton, once in a while. Her faith in me gave me the confidence to write my story. I respect her for trying to reach out and I’ll never forget her. We never got too close though. I was still emotionally unavailable after the event. It’s too bad though because I never really thanked her for her help.
Somewhere in all the stupid shit I did in high school there is a lesson. That lesson is if you try to hard to be something you’re not then eventually it will collapse. It’s best to be who you are. My attempts to fit into the jock world and the music scene were doomed to fail from day one. Hindsight is twenty-twenty, though and I definitely needed something to latch onto, even if for a little while until I figured myself out.
The final point I need to make is that the event signifies a remarkable shift in my definition of literacy. Up until that point I viewed literacy as being able to read and write. That’s all it was to me. I knew how to make the words and I knew what they sounded like. When I read that paper though, I knew what it meant to be truly literate. After almost six years I can finally articulate it. Literacy is the ability to read, write, use, understand and express concepts, whether abstract or concrete and to understand the emotional impact behind the words.

tag literacy original

Dan Feuerbach
English 354
2-16-2006

Downtown Lincoln on a Saturday is a zoo of people. From all corners of Lincoln, from all socio-economic classes, there is some representation of everyone. Homeless people on one corner will ask for change, stiletto-wearing sorority sisters stumble and gawk as they go to the next bar and businessmen relax after a tough week of work with martinis, but on the corner of thirteenth and “P” streets there is a different kind of people in this zoo.
On the corner by the Coffee House a cluster of people will be gathered. Some will be smiling, some will be smoking. Some wear collared shirts and others have biker jackets with band names written in paint by the owner. These are the men and women of XXXXtreme Urban Street Tag.
XXXXtreme Urban Street Tag, or tag, is a subculture that requires using an easily learned literacy to participate. This literacy takes places within the game itself but also permeates to the world outside of the game. Before I explain the role literacy plays in tag, I am going to give some background information.
Tag, is a continuation of the classic childhood ritual. When weather permits, at nine-thirty in the evening the group of roughly thirty-five people will assemble. The game is simple, about a forth of the people will be “it” and the rest will try to avoid being “tagged” by them. This event lasts roughly two hours and three games lasting thirty minutes will be played. In between there are five to ten minute breaks for players to catch their breath.
At the start of the evening, the administrator, who I will be referring to as “J” calls for their attention. All conversation ceases immediately as he shouts off a list of rules. Most of the people will have heard them already, but listen anyways, because the game is about to begin.
“J” calls for the cluster to form a circle and counts to twenty-seven sequentially pointing at a different person for each number. Once roughly a forth of the people have been selected to be “it,” they will count to twenty-seven while the remaining players leave the area. For thirty minutes people will chase each other down alleys, sidewalks and any place possible.
Within this seemingly simple context, a type of literacy has developed that, although easy to learn, is essential to maximize enjoyment for all people involved. The communication falls into two categories: internal and external. Internal refers to all messages within a game of tag. External refers to all contact outside the actual game. The medium for this communication can be oral, written or visual, but it will fall into one of these two categories, although sometimes both.
The one aspect that falls into both of these categories is the nine rules that hold tag together. At anytime during or between tag sessions these rules can be found and interpreted for both the recently exposed and indoctrinated. The rules have been quoted in this website from the XXXXtreme Urban Street Tag facebook group.
“1. Do not hit other pedestrians.2. Be honest when asked if you are "it".3. No entering of buildings4. You must stay within one city block - no crossing of streets.5. No Douchebags6. Keep It Awesome7. No tagbacks8. Keep It Sober9. No Bears”
External communication is done through two mediums. The first is facebook; the second is group member contact. In any given week these ways of passing on information combined could happen dozens of times.
Members of tag will log on to facebook. Sometimes there will be a message waiting for them there. They will discover that the message is a “call to arms” by J to let people know the session is going to happen. Often the message will be nothing more than two or three sentences.
This is effective because large numbers of players will find out with in a week. In one swoop the majority of the people will know that there is going to be a tag session on the upcoming Saturday. This requires tag members to be literate in facebook. They must know how to get information from it and respond if necessary.
The second external communication is word of mouth discussion between members. Often two members will bump into each other at the union or between classes. They will discuss tag and agree that it will be fun. Although that is a bit of a generalization, it does happen quite often.
Internal communications consist of three different things. First of all is the initial gathering, followed by the “not it” arm raise and verbal warnings/expulsion. These three main ways of sending information are mostly oral, but are absolutely essential to any game of tag.
The initial gathering which signifies the beginning of the tag session uses terms like “awesome,” “douche bag” and “no bears.” To anybody walking by these things may seem slightly confusing, even mind boggling, but to the people this terms have specific, narrow definitions.
The rule “keep it awesome” refers to player moving, not sitting around chatting and not shirking the responsibilities of being “it.” “Don’t be a douche bag” means not causing and petty internal politics or ruining other people’s enjoyment of the block the game is played on. “No bears” is a continuation of an inside joke which basically means what it says, but isn’t funny to people who are tag-illiterate.
When any of these or the six other rules is bent or broken, communication is sent via a verbal warning to members. If they are, in fact, “being douche bags” they will be told on the spot and if the behavior persists, expelled from the game and possibly banned.
In the middle of game players are required to signify if they are it. When asked they must respond by either saying “I’m it” or raising their hands above their head to form an “X” which translates into “I’m not it” to those who are tag literate. This visual communication serves to give people time to get away or pursue, reaching the height of tag pleasure.
In conclusion, tag is a loose community. The rules and regulations are fairly self-explanatory, but essential to its continued operation. While the eclectic mix of people might at times seem rough, they are above all else at tag to play the game. If the communication between members continues, tag has a long, happy future ahead of it.

Original, half-assed synopsis

Dan Feuerbach
English 352
1-30-06
Synopsis

The novel which I am about to begin has no official title. As for right now I have been referring to it as “The Green Quilt of Stupid.” It’s the story of an embalmer, a funereal home director and the accountant who get into a conflict about selling body parts on the black market to medical schools in a city that I have yet to determine.
The novel begins with Everett Gibson, a slow ass kissing embalmer who is good at his job, but doesn’t have good social skills. He wants to deal directly with customers who need funereal arrangements, but his boss and funereal home director, Harvey Kopelson, knows better.
Kopelson uses Gibson as a way to get the grunt, more basic work done, leaving him free to deal with customers and set up funerals. Whenever Gibson approaches Kopelson for more responsibilities, Kopelson changes the topics and Gibson, a bright but inarticulate sycophant, gets confused and returns to the basement to ponder his role in the company and become bitter.
The accountant, Tom Menke, is in charge of arranging payments with clients. He is also in charge of the books. He is the only one with a family, which he loves dearly. He desires that they can have the things he never did in life and has a destructive tendency to live beyond his means. He is good with people and is later given responsibilities to not only figures but work directly with families, eclipsing Gibson.
As debt gets worse with his family, Menke runs into an old friend from college who is the head of a local medical school named Lawrence Sekula. Over drunks Sekula divulges his desperate need for cadavers, whole or partial, at his school. Menke asks for some semblance of how much can be made. When Sekula tells him, he begins to plot a way to get the parts to the school.
Meanwhile, Gibson is getting disgruntled at his job. He isn’t sure how to handle his glass ceiling situation and Kopelson is digging into him more and more. Menke begins to get on his good side by laughing at his jokes, inviting him to dinner and other things along these lines. Gibson is suspicious at first but grows comfortable after a while, thinking he has found a friend, enjoying the human interaction that he has experienced from many other people in his life, including Kopelson.
After a train wreck, business begins to boom. Menke decides to put his plan into action. One night Kopelson tells Menke to lock the place up, he’s going home early. Gibson is furious and vents his frustrations about working late and doing Kopelson’s work. Menke convinces Gibson that he could make enough money selling cadavers to start his own funereal home. This idea appeals to Gibson and he decides to help.
All is going well for the corrupt businessmen. However, one day Kopelson shows up at the wrong time and Gibson cracks. Upon hearing of their creativity, Kopelson decides to join in, but he gets half of the profits since they are using his facilities. The three agree and business continues.
As his debt begins to lessen and things look up, Menke decides to quit because he gets a better job offer. When Kopelson finds out, he makes sure Menke knows that he can’t rat the operation out without getting himself in trouble and, more importantly, embarrassing his family. Menke acknowledges that he is aware of the situation and proceeds to leave. As he walks out the door, he is confronted by Gibson.
Gibson, still thinking that Tom is actually his friends, is worried about being left alone to work with Kopelson. When asked why he wouldn’t quit, Gibson says he doesn’t want to go to jail. Menke says he shouldn’t worry about it since Kopelson will get in trouble too. The two shake hands and go separate ways.
After confronting Kopelson, Gibson discovers he is trapped. Kopelson has the option of not telling anyone since he got in on the scheme late. He never attached his name to anything and merely provided the means to Menke and Gibson’s end.
After this, things spiral out of control. After a series of attempts to resolve the situation peacefully, Gibson and Menke are forced to use physical violence. The particulars are not planned out yet, but the basic ending for the story will involve the death of Harvey Kopelson.

silly sonnet

Dan-

Penelope-

I had know idea when I saw you in class
that you would ever grab my ass.
I like your charm and I like your sass.
The comments I make might sound crass
But I like you more than fishing for bass
You are tiny, little lass
But you definitely have enough brain mass
To get through college and easily pass

college. I want to live on the moon with you

Stealing Inventories

Dan Feuerbach
English 352
3-29-2006
Stealing Inventories

Miss Lonelyhearts:
1- Main character is male, but referred to throughout entire novel as Ms. Lonelyhearts.
2- Voice is third person but could easily have been told in first.
3- On page three Ms. Lonelyhearts says Christ is the answer but he needs to avoid Him unless he wants to get sick. However when he tries other forms of escape (i.e.: drinking, sex, love) he gets sick.
4- On several occasions before his epiphany he is sick or cold, then after his epiphany he is described as a furnace. (page fifty-six)
5- He doesn’t like Betty, just the idea of her. This is displayed in the quote “He begged the party dress to marry him.” (page fifty-six)
6- Lucy’s disdain for her husband is shown by her referring to him by his last name. (page thirty)
7- Tone in setting: The snow in May and lack of signs of spring set up a depressing, dismal tone.
8- His fear of his own personal disorder is shown through his insane desire to order everything he owns. (page ten)
9- Metaphor: On page eight he has a Jesus off of a Crucifix nailed to his wall that is described as “calmly decorative,” which reflects Jesus’ role in Miss Lonelyheart’s life.
10- Macro-setting: The prohibition era is demonstrated by the characters going to speak-easies.

Ironweed:
1- His mother is fiddling with dandelions on page two, which grow on her foe Katrina’s grave on page one-hundred and fifty-four.
2- Helen’s saintly image backed up by her putting two pennies in a collection box at church which is remarkably similar to the widow who did the same thing in the New Testament.
3- Mirroring: The story takes place on Halloween, All Saints Day and All Souls Day.
4- Macro-setting: On page twelve Francis and Rudy reference the Orson Welles’ broadcast of “War of the Worlds.”
5- Living Object: Francis’ right shoe being busted, this is carried out through the entire novel and characters consistently refer to it. It is introduced on page nine.
6- Michael and Gerald, his family members are referred to as “crooked” after they die. However when Helen dies she isn’t crooked.(page two-hundred and twenty-two)
7- The three most influential women in Francis’ life (Katrina, his mother and Helen) are compared to the Fates in Greek Mythology.
8- The first thing Francis notices in the mission on page six is that Helen isn’t there. This establishes an important, but undisclosed relationship between the two.
9- On page twenty-four characters talk about the Erie Canal, which serves to ground this novel in Albany.
10- Francis comes to life a little more by getting a personal cliché. “Katie bar the door too wet to plow. He says this several times in the novel. It is introduced on page twenty-seven.

Fiskadoro:
1- Marie, Cheung and Fiskadoro represent the past, present, and future of the current society.
2- On page twelve an important piece of foreshadowing can be seen: “…the only one ready when we came.”
3- The languages give validity to the post-apocalyptic world they live in. The fusion of multiple languages and dialects and child-like sentence structures make this world come to life.
4- Cheung’s intellectual yet comical nature is displayed on paged one-hundred and twenty six in which he recites an incorrect version of the Declaration of Independence.
5- On page one-hundred and ninety-six the setting is described as grey and foreboding, at the end of the section Fiskadoro’s mother is dead.
6- Jimmy Hidalgo’s clarinet is a living object.
7- The sub-incision is a re-birth for Fiskadoro. He is a completely different type of human being when he returns from the swamp.
8- Novel ties apocalypse in with the rise of communism by intertwining a narrative about Marie being evacuated from Vietnam.
9- The sub-incision has been a part of Voodoo for a considerable amount of time. The use by the Voodoo tribe is given validity by its use in the novel.
10- On page one-hundred and seventy-nine Fiskadoro is anointed by the Voodoo tribe’s men.
11- Intellectual discussion becomes a kind of game. When the scientific community in the novel assembles to read a book about the atomic bombings the members mock and disrupt the meeting. (page one-hundred and fifty-two)
12- The scientific community has illiterate members and reads fiction like it’s fact. (page forty-six)
13- The name Twicetown is explained on page fifty-one. This fictional history is makes the reader become curious as to what exactly happened at Key West.
14- The survival of the island people is explained on page four. They become a food facility during quarantine.
15- On page seventeen the inhabitants use car-parts for decorations, which makes sense because there’s really not much else to use and no purpose for cars.


The Butterfly Stories:
1- All characters except prostitutes and “wise men” are referred to by occupation.
2- In the second section the main character is taking anti-psychotics regularly but the drug is never mentioned again in the rest of the book.
3- The book is told like a fairy tale, i.e.: “Once upon a time.” (Page forty-three.)
4- Gender crossing for sexual fulfillment. The Journalist goes from prostitutes to his wife to a transvestite to a man.
5- The Photographer and the Journalist are sex addicts. When they actually do their jobs on page one-hundred and six they are thinking of fucking whores the entire time.
6- The Journalist’s detachment from reality is displayed on page one-hundred and sixty-nine when he is embarrassed that he used a condom.
7- On page one-hundred and ninety-three his obsession with his life in Cambodia is shown by his carrying around the money that made people pretend to like him.
8- Narrator changes man characters name to reflect his standing in life. The main character is the butterfly boy, the man who wanted to be a journalist, the journalist, the husband and ultimately, Vanna’s husband.
9- On page one-hundred and three there is an abrupt perspective switch where the narrator pleads with the audience to feel sympathy for the Journalist.
10- The Journalist tells every woman he fools around with or wants to fool around with that he loves her, or he thinks it to himself.
11- The reason he is so attached to Cambodia is he has money which gives him power which makes him feel like God. (Page ninety-nine.)
12- On page one hundred and two the Photographer and the Journalist are compared and contrasted. The Photographer wants to hurt people, the Journalist wants to help but ultimately both ruin lives.
13- The state of the main character’s marriage is shown on page one-hundred and seventy-three where he says his wife looks “so adorable behind window-glass.”
14- The only reason he seems to love Vanna is she “married” him by default and he decides to run with it.
15- Images of butterflies abound in the book. They are used for metaphors, similes, descriptions, dialogue and setting. This gives the title a purpose and serves as an image system.

Democracy:
1- Fragmented style pushes reader though narrative.
2- On page eleven the narrator says “He said to her.” The phrase makes Jack Lovett seem like a king or master who hand selects Inez.
3- On pages nineteen, four paragraphs start with the word abandon. This repetition makes the reader want to see what is being thrown aside.
4- Chapter four of section one describes several firsts for the narrator, Inez and Lovett. It seems to mock the idea of love at first sight.
5- On page forty-two the word “marvelous” is over used by guests at a party. This makes their lives seem superficial and phony.
6- Inez feels (or is) plays a support role for her husband. This is displayed on page one-hundred and six: “In twenty-eight states and at least four languages Inez said she was very happy to be here today with her husband.”
7- Almost, but not all chapters start with Didion giving some kind of explanation about what will happen in the next section, several chapters end like this as well.
8- On page two-hundred and seven and eight an earlier reference to Inez’s detached indifference comes to full bloom during an epiphany: “ …and it occurred to her that for the first time in almost twenty years she was not particularly interested in any of them.”
9- Great piece of humor: “‘The ‘problem at hand,’ as you put it, is substance habituation.’ The therapist opened the drawer and extracted an ashtray…’I notice you smoke.’” Page sixty-three.
10- Theme: page fifty-one. Inez explains the biggest problem of her life is the loss of her memory. This recurs throughout the novel. It can also be argued this theme is the reason for the author’s style choice.
11- Macro-setting: The novel takes place during the fall of Saigon.
12- Set up: Page one-hundred and sixteen, The narrator announces something major with the first line “It was Billy Dillon who told Inez.” Fourteen lines later we find out what: “Janet was not dead.” In between time is slowed down to give the moment more impact.
13- Show-not-tell: Inez’s feelings toward Adlai and Harry shown in the phrase “Inez had not mentioned the jobs in Vietnam to either Harry or Adlai.” This is on page one-hundred and nineteen.
14- On page one-hundred and seventy-four Harry spouts elected-official jargon at his daughter in detox when she announces what she wants to move on with her life. “A plan. Two plans actually. Which dove-tail. A long-range plan and a short-range plan.”
15- Living object: Jessie’s tennis visor. It is mentioned repeatedly in the novel. It is what she is wearing when she leaves for Vietnam and when Lovett finds he later on.

Three Favorite Poems

Saturday Night
Dan Feuerbach

Self-server uploadedinto a shoot-'em-up worldof ogres, escaped demons,missed class this month
for the third timesixteen, twenty-six, thirty-six hour
dance passed,
wordless, in the blink
of a square-eyed bitch-boxmaggots writhedin garbage by the bedand became the fliesaround his head,the scale tilted, loweredeyes fried like motherboardsduring the all-night gigabytelock-in, locked-up self-serverpaused long enough to noticethe fast-food-wrapper carpetand finally bite into the apple
of codependent roller coasters,unzipping to the messageof teenage beautyor middle-age lies.


The Ex-Girlfriend
Dan Feuerbach

I still want her. I must be stupid. My stomach carriedJack Daniels and Keystone. She filled her lungs
with hash. Her eyes were bloodshot. Each horizontalsurface was covered with empty beer cans;
the smell of marijuana invaded my nostrils and primalurges surfaced. She wrapped her arms around my neck.My pants became restrictive. I wanted her. Her whitestockings went up to the middle of her thighs; her skirtbarely hid her thong. She was wearing boots like girlsthat star in porn Guys had been looking at her all night,girls wanted her dead. She knew it, she loved it. We whisperedslurred desires to each other, positions, and when it wouldhappen. She ran her hand down my chest. She wanted to smoke.She wanted her purse. She wanted my keys. She took
them away as soon as they were out of my pocket. She walkedthrough the crowd and I talked with friends about how difficultshe was to resist…for twenty minutes. My brother
came in and looked at me. The frown on his face
told me something was wrong. I called her twice
and got her voicemail. I pushed aside friends, acquaintances
and strangers. I got outside and found two black marks going south.
I kicked a rock as hard as I could. If only it had been her.
I went inside and tell my friends.She came back then. I had the munchies she said. I didn’tthink you would mind since you’re so drunk. She threw my keysat me and walked back into the house.




It’s Not Fair
Dan Feuerbach

One month—chatting families, polishedpigs, joyful screams, the FerrisWheel—the Nebraska State Fair Grounds.Next month—
the 4-Hleaves,the animals becomemeals—
an empty wasteland.
Last month—
buildings sat like tombstones,surrounded byemptyparking lots covered in ice—
nobody visited.
Tomorrow—
horse stalls fill withrotting leaves. Patient anddesperatepale lights shine
on forgotten pavement.

Reading Responses 12,13,14

Dan Feuerbach
English 354
3-30-06
Reading Response Twelve

As the semester begins to wind down, the study of literacy has taken an interesting turn. The twelfth assignment for this class was to read two papers by James Paul Gee on literacy, discourse, and linguistics. The reading was composed of two papers he wrote on topics related to reading. The ideas presented were somewhat controversial. Enough so to warrant to next assignment to actually offer counter-arguments to Gee’s assertions.
The first section he wrote is entitled “Introduction.” In it he details the ways in which language and grammar are two different things. He suggests that using language is a purely contextual thing. One doesn’t go up to a tattooed biker in a run-down bar and say “May I please have a match?”, but speaks in a simplified diction.
In the second section, “What is Literacy?” Gee defines the word literacy but defines several other words because he doesn’t believe that the literacy can be defined without certain terms that also need to be defined. When it’s all said and done he gives the idea that literacy is being able to command language in various aspects.
His basic message is that being literate is much more than being able to read and write. These are aspects of it, but language as a whole is so much more. It is a political, social and cultural aspect that people defined based on their positions in these situations. He also suggests that the illiteracies a person is born into continue through the individual’s life, and it is difficult, nearly impossible to break into new illiteracies, and when an individual of lower status/literacy achieves higher status/literacy he or she will be conflicted between the new and the old.
The last two sentences have set a fire in the literacy-study world. For more information about this topic, I would recommend the reader to reference my thirteenth reading response.
I have to commend Gee for having the guts to say what he says. Although the reading was only mildly interesting to me as an outsider of the academic world, I still think he stood up for something that many people wouldn’t have the guts to stand up for.
In conclusion, Gee’s idea’s about literacy as a symbol of socio-economic class and the difficulty of breaking out are an important, though not amazing read. I respect him for what he did. I think the stand he took was good, but this means little to me. I am glad I read this but I probably won’t read it again.










Dan Feuerbach
English 354
3-30-06
Reading Response Thirteen

The controversy set of by James Paul Gee in his articles on literacy was countered with an equally compelling essay by Lisa Delpit. In her article “The Politics of Teaching Literate Discourse” she addresses his article and tries to persuade her audience that his points aren’t set in stone and the social obstacles faced by those of lower-literacy are not insurmountable.
Delpit begins her article by praising certain aspects of Gee’s work. She states she agrees with him on many ideas. She believes that language is part of a larger political entity. When illiteracies are added up it becomes something new, called discourse. She also agrees that dominant groups try to keep the statuses in line by the way language is presented on tests.
However, two of Gee’s arguments are stated to be “problematic.” She finds them to be not necessarily true and tries to dissuade people from just rolling over and taking it. She argues that if Gee’s ideas are correct then there is no reason to try and fix the situation.
The first argument she addresses is the “people in a literacy class probably won’t get out.” Delpit says this is a bad philosophy. It reminds her of Nazi geneticists, but instead of being locked into a social class by genes, a person is locked into place by social standing. She argues that this philosophy will leave teachers hopeless to affect change and students no bothering to learn.
The second argument she addresses is the “conflict by moving up” idea. She again says it is similar to the Nazi geneticists and she argues that these two philosophies combined could have dangerous affects on the students and teachers of America.
I thought this was an interesting read. Delpit’s call for change was an important thing for me to read as a person considering a career in teaching. People are willing to learn and make their lives better and as a teacher I would have to be willing to forego the idea of people being locked into their class for life. I agree with her in agreeing with some of Gee’s ideas but I am more inclined to side with her on this issue.
A good read, and better than the Gee article. Although sometimes the language was a little too academic for me I pulled it together and managed to get the main points of the article. I would read this again because I found it very compelling.










Dan Feuerbach
English 354
3-30-06
Reading Response Fourteen

The final response assignment was written by Deborah Brandt and is entitled “Sponsors of Literacy.” This article summarized the experiences that so many people who become literate have. Inevitably there is a person or people that guide the illiterate into the world of literacy. This struck a chord with me because I know I have my mother and father to thank for my current abilities with reading and writing.
The most interesting idea about literacy in this narrative is it is viewed as a resource. Much like lumber or gold, literacy can be “measured” and used to turn economic profits. This article follows Dwayne Lowery on his journey though the systems involved in his life as he gets promoted in the post-World War Two economy. His changing literacy is explained and who was there to guide him to the next level of literacy.
This was cool. As I have grown-up I have had new people be introduced into my life who taught me different types of illiteracies for different situations and social circles. Whether it was being taught how to politely ask for my first paycheck or where the cheapest places to by cigarettes are, my evolution in literacy has definitely gone beyond the simple bedtime stories my parents read. And each new phase has brought new literacy sponsors to show me how to act.
I didn’t really have a problem with this article. The narrative is pretty straight-forward, the language is comprehensible. I can understand what is happening and I want to continue to find out what happens. This was a good piece on Brandt’s part. If I were to grade it would receive a B.
In conclusion, the evolution of Dwayne Lowery’s literacy is somewhat similar to mine. Although we come from different eras, the idea that for each phase of literacy there is going to be new sponsors that will teach you and that have something to gain from it is part of my life and I’m probably sure anybody else’s.