Reciprocal Communication

I shamelessly lifted this phrase from Anne Wysocki for several reasons:

1. I like the word reciprocal. Its sound is at once playful and refreshing.
2. The use of reciprocal to modify communication makes perfect sense to me, until I try to explain it. Like tracing an infinity symbol.
3. Wysocki argues that all communication is reciprocal, whether we are fully aware of its reciprocity or no. (e.g. the falseness of viewing "... a woman's lovely in-soft-focus-so-as-to-almost-glow white ass..." as if it were "... without social or other consequences [...] of us somehow being shaped by the viewing."
4. This seems to strike particularly close to the [he]art of blogging.

This concept holds meaning for the blogger. Wysocki presents the idea (quite persuasively) that form and content are never truly inseparable. Not fully. Even if we would like them to be. She furthermore urges that we view ourselves as “…capable of making change, of composing work that not only fits its circumstances but that also helps its audiences—and its makers—re-vision themselves and try out new and more thoughtful relations between each other.”

The whole “conversation” at hand is centered on this issue of beauty: creating, appreciating, and understanding it. In this, I think that my husband and Anne Wysocki would get along well. He is particularly fond of telling me that I am beautiful (as many husbands tell their wives), but he generally does it in such a way that shows the beauty to be a thing of his creation, rather than my possession. For example, he will say it after I find something stuck in my teeth, or when I have just woken up in my own drool. Before the women reading this induct him into sainthood, I’ll mention that he at least partially does this for kicks. It never fails to make us laugh.

But people “in love,” or those choosing to practice the art of loving others have long participated in the tradition of building beauty. Parents find their children beautiful. Spouses find each other beautiful. Dog owners find their mutts beautiful. Many children, spouses, and dogs (to make an odd collection) may possess the kind of beauty (abstract formality?) that would win them facebook contests and endorsements, but not all of us that have found ourselves lucky to be loved in one of these ways could make that claim!

So beauty is (or ought to be) reciprocal. It involves communication. Communication is reciprocal. Even blogging.

How will I understand this union of form and content that I call my blog? Is it beautiful? Will I be able to make “day-to-day particular[s] stand out against the background of the larger realm of steady social practices”? Can I make that change?

Customization

I used to be really into customizing. You know the sort: my car had to have lots of bumper stickers. I occasionally painted it myself. My hair didn’t stay the same color or length for long. I added piercings according to my mood. Notebooks couldn’t just be notebooks. I had to collage the fronts. My book bag had hand-sewn patches. I daily announced to the world that I was different. Special. Better, even?

None of this to say that I no longer like customization. For a time, it was really important to me. But I’m just not there anymore. In that time I was re-assessing myself. Trying to figure out who I was and what I wanted. I haven’t got it all pinned down now, but somehow it doesn’t bother me like it used to.

If you catch me when I’m feeling honest and ask what I want to do after graduation, I won’t give you the slop about teaching, maybe editing one day. I’ll tell you that I want to have babies and raise goats. That’s about how far I’ve gotten. I talk enough for myself, though. I don’t need my blog background to be kids and “kids” (pun intended) to tell you what I’m thinking about.

After reading Juanita’s blog, I did change to Central Time, a detail that I’d completely overlooked before. (Thanks, Juanita!) These things need to be accurate.

After all, this blog is for a class. I’m going to squeeze in plenty about myself, but I want it to be simple and accessible, so that the teacher won’t have to search for my entries. I want my words to speak louder than my template.

I like what my blog is saying. I thought about it a lot when I selected the template, which made it pretty hard for me to change anything. I’m in my January mood right now, so the dark background is appropriate. I’d prefer it was deep brown, but I didn’t like the browns in my palette options, so I stuck with the black. I even like my picture. It’s me and the dog. Winter. Nothing fancy.

With much apprehension, I changed my title from pale blue to dark purple. I think I can stick with that for now. Soon it will be February, and my mood will shift. I already know what I want the blog to look like come March, maybe even April. Colors and organization will change with the seasons, but the basics will stay the same.

Rhetorical Blogging

Rhetoric has a bad name. RET-OR-ICK. Not appealing. Or Rhett-o-rick. Like Rhett Butler. A guy you could admire without liking. Slippery. And that "or/o" in the middle keeps the first and last syllables from ever having to settle. Do we have to choose one or the other? Who is Rick?

Seriously though. The one other class response I read about rhetoric spoke of politicians, and it wasn't trying to pretty them up. This was "politicians" in the negative sense of the word, using "rhetoric" in the commonly understood sense of the word, also negative.

Rhetoric doesn't have to be that way, though. Much of it is common sense, stuff we use on a daily basis. If you google it's definition, most entries will say something to the effect of using language pleasantly and persuasively. Aren't those typical goals for everyone? Who would prefer that their language was unpleasant and unpersuasive? (Is that a rhetorical question?)

When we speak, write, text, or do whatever it is we are trying to do to communicate with the outside world, we're using rhetoric. Each time we interact, we are naturally considering our audience, our timing, and our decorum. Things that are appropriate to say to classmates aren't always appropriate with professors, and we know that without being told.

This (of course) is an over-simplification. Certainly rhetoric can be used manipulatively. But it is also a necessary part of communication, and one that most of us could stand to study a little bit more.

Anne (from Anne of Green Gables): "I read in a book once that a rose by any other name would smell as sweet, but I was never able to believe it. A rose just couldn't smell as sweet if it was a thistle or a skunk-cabbage."

Raggedy Anne: "Maybe rhetoric is like a skunk-cabbage rose. Its odious name is covering up its sweet side. But I always liked the word 'thistle.' It's kind of soft and pleasant, like whistle with an odd lisp. Not even remotely prickly."

The Times, They Are A-Changin'

Before this class, I had never heard of Web 2.0. Really. But to be fair, I also had never heard of del.icio.us, folksonomy, RSS, or most any other buzzwords and topics related to the concept. To my credit, I was aware of flickr, but this was from my techno-savvy friend in Suriname. She e-mailed me the link so I could see her pictures.

A coworker of mine who shared my interest in English as a subject used to call me a Luddite. To my shame, I had to look up the term (though I never admitted it to him), and after discovering what he meant, I’d have to agree. Most people would just say I’m a technophobe. Not an extreme case (I’d like to think), but I just got rid of my phone line and internet yesterday. They cost too much, and I don’t really need those amenities at home. I can get online at school any time. I like to write by hand. I like to bake bread, kneading it by hand. I like to grow my own food. What can I say? I feel more connected, more alive somehow by doing things the “old-fashioned way.” Canned broth? No thanks, I’ll make my own stock. It tastes better.
So this is a prime time for me to rediscover the internet. The first thing that drew my attention was the term “folksonomy.” The more I read (and Googled) about it, the more I liked it. I like folk. I like folk music. Folky things in general are right down my alley. The idea of collaboration for something larger, some sort of “greater good,” is what I like. It may just be a glorified word for tagging, but it helped me to see things in a different light. Suddenly it isn’t big, scary, faceless technology, its ordinary people giving their ordinary contributions. Sharing what they know.
The idea that business models can be founded on an “architecture of participation” was another exciting one. I like to think of software as a service, rather than a product. I like the unity that comes from these concepts.

To me, technology has often been a means of isolation. Computer geeks shut themselves in their apartments and don’t know how to behave in society. Kids play video games and don’t talk to their parents or play outside. Families watch TV instead of interacting with each other. It becomes possible to live a live where we no longer know that apples grow on trees, or potatoes underground, or that hamburgers come from cows. It becomes possible to go through a whole day- working, paying bills, shopping- without ever stepping outside the front door or seeing another human. It’s no wonder I’m afraid.

But maybe the winds of technology are changing. Maybe there’s hope for a balance where people can interact in more than one way, that our lives can be enhanced by these networks instead of warped by them. I’m exaggerating, I know. These things have been possible for a long time, but right now they seem a whole lot more likely.

Faces in the crowd

I have been a facebook user for a few months now. Within this short period of time, I’ve used facebook to rediscover old friends from my first college. My virtual reunion with "Will" came just in time for his wedding. Andy and I hadn’t talked with Will in two years, but a month later we were down in Greensboro, GA to celebrate with him and his new bride.

This experience cemented my infatuation. I like the purported privacy of facebook: people can find my name, but unless I consent to being their “friend,” they can’t access my information. What’s more, I like the little sneaky feeling that I get from checking out other people’s “Walls.”
For example, when I found out Will was getting married, I became friends with his new fiancée. Then I began to snoop. I didn’t have to ask this girl about herself, I could find things out. I read the quotes she had posted. I looked at her profile. From comments posted on her Wall, I found out that another old friend would be at the wedding. Another comment tipped me off that she was studying to be a pediatrician. What really won me over was the picture of her with her Chocolate Lab and three-legged Corgi mix. *Aww.* Instant approval.

But I sense a dark side. I expect that this girl probably snooped me out too, but what would have happened if we actually e-mailed, or *gasp* talked on the phone to get to know each other? There is something rather voyeuristic about the whole thing. I am more in touch than ever, but it’s been a really long time since I've heard most of these people’s voices. Or interacted with them face-to-face. Most of the time, they don't even know when I'm checking them out.

That isn’t all. The funny thing I have discovered from facebook and blogging and other applications of Web 2.0 is that I am a narcissist. OK, maybe that shouldn’t have come as such a big surprise, but all of us out here are talking up storms with the expectation that we are important enough to listen to. Just listen to me. I like the sound of my own voice. I want you to like it too. It’s OK if you peek through my windows. Don’t expect to see me, because I’ll be out looking into yours. It’s a brave new world, people!

Why Raggedy?

1. This blog is for a class. As such, I had less than five minutes to decide on a name.
2. My name is Anne. As a child, I was often given Raggedy Ann dolls, despite the difference in spelling, which annoyed me. Worse yet, those dolls have ugly red yarn hair and triangle felt eyes. My older sister got pretty dolls with hair that looked real, all because her name wasn't Anne. Or Ann.
3. My husband's name is Andy. This is just one of God's many tantalizing ways to make me laugh at myself. Out of all the men in the world, I fell for one named Andy. We got Raggedy Ann & Andy quilts, candlesticks, figurines, picture frames, Christmas ornaments, and dolls for our wedding. I still think they're ugly.
4. When I look honestly at myself, I am a rather Raggedy character. A work in progress at best. It seemed applicable.