Final Portfolio Project

*= New Posts

The War of the Word "War"
9/11
2 photo analyses:
Dirty Surgery
Quiet Chaos
One group effort:
Blackwater Bridge
Two creative pieces:
*Bedtime Story
*I'm Failing
Two letter:
Dear U.S. Citizens...
*Missing Santa's Workshop...
One post using creative medium:
*18,000 Patriots
One of my own design:
*Creepy Facebook Wars

Missing Santa's Workshop...

5/4/08

Dear Friends and Family,

I am writing to you on a Sunday. I’m not sure there’s anything special about today, other than that I have enough time to write a few words. Not much is new; I see the same cities full of the same people. More friends have been hurt, and I take care of them the best I know how. When I started at this clinic, the sights, sounds, and smells I encountered from car bombings were more than I could stomach. Now, they are a part of my world. Just what I do. The other soldiers have a lottery going. It’s not your typical lottery, because it’s for our return date. We each put in one dollar and guessed the day this war will end. You would think that would make us more miserable, but I guess once you’re here you need something to look forward to.
Enough about depressing things. How is everyone? Have Steve and Tiffany had the baby yet? When does Josh start at Hartford? I can’t tell you how much your letters mean. There’s nothing like getting “good” mail even when you’re a civilian, so you can imagine how exciting it is to hear from all of you while I’m here. It really breaks up the monotony and homesickness. Please tell me everything, as if I never left, so that I can come home and all will be right back to normal.
It’s funny that I talk about coming home. As much as I miss you all and desperately want to be done with this tour, I can’t imagine what life will be like “outside”. Every time I try to picture it, I get this strange feeling in my throat. I hope you will all see me as the same Jen-Rae you watched grow up. I don’t want anything to change, but I’m sure that’s impossible. I feel different now. About life in general, what’s important to me, and this idea of “home”.
It’s as if all anyone can talk about is home. What their home was like before they left. What they’re gonna do first once their home. What it’ll be like to be home. It’s some abstract thing that everyone longs for but can’t necessarily describe. Almost like visualizing Santa and his North Pole, or something…
But anyways, that’s enough philosophy, and as there’s not anything new to report, I suppose I’ll end my letter. I miss you and love you all. Please know that your support and kind words are what keep me going.

All my love,

PFC. Jennifer Rae Cloonan
332nd Expeditionary Medical Group
Balad, Iraq

June 5th, 2055: Bedtime Story

Once upon a time, there was a GREAT, BIG war.

Our story starts with a man we'll call Prince George, who inherited his position of power from his dad King George. King George ruled the land in search of Black Gold, which is like regular gold, but much more powerful and priceless. King George would go to any lengths to get his Black Gold, including saying that others were being bad and starting fights with his neighbors. Eventually, King George’s reign was over, and after a few years, Prince George was ready to take his father’s place and carry out his legacy. Soon, Prince George was starting fights with the countries that possessed the precious Black Gold. George made these countries mad, so they decided to fight back. They attacked Prince George’s many castles spread throughout his land. This is how the big war started, and it is the biggest war the world has EVER seen.

Pretty soon, every country on the planet had joined in the third Great War. There were two sides: Prince George’s Alliance and the others. Each side used the nastiest weapons they could find, in an attempt to win the war. Around the very same time, they decided to bring out the biggest weapon of them all: the super-duper bomb. This bomb would destroy anything and everything, and would eliminate an opponent in one fell swoop. Word got out that Prince George and his enemies wanted to use these very dangerous bombs, and both sides set off the weapons before their rivals could. These bombs wiped out the whole world and the only ones who were safe were those who had been smart and moved to our world: Mars. These bombs were so dangerous, that they eliminated all life and history on the planet Earth.

And so, this is how our people got a clean start. All the bad people who caused the Great War disappeared with their planet, and the smart people started their own civilization on Mars.

The moral of our story is that you don’t start fights with people and everyone gets along and shares what they have. When everyone can play nice, they can all have fun together and live beautiful, productive lives.

THE END

18,000 Patriots

This is my postsecret. I received this picture in an email, and wrote over it with MSPaint.
This picture was taken on September 5th, 1918 in Des Moines, Iowa at Camp Dodge. 18,000 men and officers came together for one message of patriotism.

I'm Failing

Some Unholy War-Amy Winehouse

If my man was fighting
Some unholy war
I would be behind him
Straight shook up beside him
With strength he didn't know
It's you I'm fighting for
He can't lose with me in tow
I refuse to let him go
At his side and drunk on pride
We wait for the blow

We put it in writing
But who you writing for
Just us on kitchen floor
Justice done,
Reciting my stomach standing still
Like you're reading my will
He still stands in spite of what his scars say
I'll battle till this bitter finale
Just me, my dignity and this guitar case

Yes my man is fighting some unholy war
And I will stand beside you
Who you fighting for
B - I would have died too
I'd of liked to
If my man was fighting
Some unholy war
If my man was fighting

I took the lyrics of this Amy Winehouse song and wrote a poem using the same form and left the first letters of every word unchanged.

Some Unstable Water

If my moon was failing,
some unequal water,
I wish blatantly beyond humans.
Strong, shaken up beyond humankind.
Within Socrates humans discuss Krusty the Klown.
It's yesterday I'm failing for,
humans cannot lessen world morals in time.
I re-use to lessen human grunge.
At Hercules’ sunken arrest, drones of prejudice
wail wildly for the beginning.

We place initiative in wrong-doings,
but who yesterday waits for
juxtaposes undermining our Klean future.
Jailbirds drink,
relishing mistaken sorrow sans socialization.
Lastly, you're relinquishing my worries,
hastily stopping scars in spirit of when heaven's screaming stops.
I'll banish tears to basement fortresses
jealously mustering my disparity among this guilty cause.

Yes, my mood is filthy, subtract undone waste
and I want sullen banishment. You,
who yesterday flittered for,
because I wished heavily down trodden,
I would have liked to
insist my mantra was first.
Some unclean water
in my mind was filtered.

Creepy Facebook Wars

Anyone who has had a facebook for a couple years will agree: facebook has become quite stalker-ish. When I started my facebook account back in the summer of 2005, it seemed simple enough. You could "friend" people, write on their walls, and join funny groups like "If you remember this you grew up in the 90s" and "Drunk Dialers Anonymous". This went on nicely for a while, and I had my addictive moments with the online social network.

Then... DUN DUN DUNNNNN... the creep-factor went sky-high, as the news feed was introduced.

Now you can see when ANYONE does ANYTHING. Rumors flew that police could bust you for your facebook activity, and drama started over "who got invited to what" and "how dare she write that about me on so-and-so's wall!"

I even went so far as deleting my facebook account, as I had decided that things had gotten a little out of hand. However, I couldn't stay away for long, and re-opened my facebook. I was addicted, and there was no quitting cold-turkey for me.

Facebook has now morphed into something HUGE. You can add millions of applications that allow you to play games like Oregon Trail, and pacman. You can add decorative trees to your profile around Christmas time and send presents to your friends (I must admit I'm guilty of this one). You can send all kinds of gifts: I have been sent drinks (Cosmos and Long Islands) and one friend sent me a plant that sat on my profile page and grew into a snowflake over a few days.

You could spend years of your life searching and playing with these applications. I decided to type war into the search bar for these applications and see what came up.

1) You can start a war among your network over blondes vs. brunnettes vs. redheads.

2) One application, upon being posted in your profile, will give you daily quotes from Che Guevara or Sun Tzu's "The Art of War", and you can send these gems to your friends' walls.

3) A war of "Bros vs. Hos" can be started in which friends can exchange pimp slaps and booty grabs.

4) You can create virtual protests and invite friends to join your Facebook war on just about anything: war, terrorism, abortion, genocide in Darfur, Burma, global warming, politics, Bush, Clinton, Obama, Colbert, privacy issues, tasers, spam, zombies, vampires or teachers in your school. "You can make a difference!" is this application's inspirational tagline...

5) War is presented as a game that you can play with your friends with applications such as FarmWars, Thugz Passion, Cricket Wars, thumb war, and Paintball Assault.

6) The news update application allows for bulletins about the current war in Iraq.

7) And of course, one can add the classic war card-game app. that allows you use the web to play this mindless game of our childhood.

Is it just me, or have we become desensitized to the thought of war in our everyday lives?

The War of the Word "War"

war1 [wawr]–noun
1. a conflict carried on by force of arms, as between nations or between parties within a nation; warfare, as by land, sea, or air.
2. a state or period of armed hostility or active military operations: The two nations were at war with each other.
3. a contest carried on by force of arms, as in a series of battles or campaigns: the War of 1812.
4. active hostility or contention; conflict; contest: a war of words.
5. aggressive business conflict, as through severe price cutting in the same industry or any other means of undermining competitors: a fare war among airlines; a trade war between nations.
6. a struggle: a war for men's minds; a war against poverty.
7. armed fighting, as a science, profession, activity, or art; methods or principles of waging armed conflict: War is the soldier's business.
8. Cards.
a. a game for two or more persons, played with a 52-card pack evenly divided between the players, in which each player turns up one card at a time with the higher card taking the lower, and in which, when both turned up cards match, each player lays one card face down and turns up another, the player with the higher card of the second turn taking all the cards laid down.
b. an occasion in this game when both turned up cards match.

These are just the first eight of 21 definitions that dictionary.com gives for the word war.

The word war gets used in many different ways. The most obvious is to think of physical battles that armed forces engage in. But what about the idea of war? Our government likes to use this term to describe a new agenda against bad things: the war on drugs, the war on terrorism, the war between the left and the right, etc. Basically, this is our goverment's way of offering relentless dedication to an area that is important to us citizens.

The perfect pop culture example of this is the movie "Traffic". The whole movie is about the war on drugs, but seen from each side of the war's fighters. The audience witnesses the newly appointed drug czar, whose daughter turns out to be an addict. We meet the drug dealer disguised as a Suburban family man, and watch as his family life is torn apart when the drug bust goes down. We learn what it is like for the employees of the drug business, the junkie best customer, the politicians who attempt to stamp out drugs, and the families of all these characters.

No matter what the type of war, it affects countless people. Be it violent or not, war always has primary and secondary characters, and its consequences spread much farther than what is seen at first glance.

winners...

four leaf clovers

she is lucky finding love
and tomorrow is here again
morning meadows

they walk with animals
wild broccoli pieces fell apart
and the children
laugh at green leaves

it was funny
cause she stole money
running after the bunny
a big bad bear dancing
and then he giggled

and the world molded
we jumped farther still
however could not reach
the dreams we dreamed

-team cloonan

Group Assignment

How To Kill
Under the parabola of a ball,
a child turning into a man,
I looked into the air too long.
The ball fell in my hand, it sang
in the closed fist: Open Open
Behold a gift designed to kill.

Now in my dial of glass appears
the soldier who is going to die.
He smiles, and moves about in ways
his mother knows, habits of his.
The wires touch his face: I cry
NOW. Death, like a familiar, hears

and look, has made a man of dust
of a man of flesh. This sorcery
I do. Being damned, I am amused
to see the centre of love diffused
and the wave of love travel into vacancy.
How easy it is to make a ghost.

The weightless mosquito touches
her tiny shadow on the stone,
and with how like, how infinite
a lightness, man and shadow meet.
They fuse. A shadow is a man
when the mosquito death approaches.

-Keith Douglas


The narrative of the poem is slow and seems like the person is breathing heavily, in a dangerous place, in the moment. There is a feeling of calm which we do not usually associate with killing. However, there seems to be panic and confusion beneath the calm of the poem, which becomes apparent through the sentence structure of the poem. Many of the stanzas include single run-on sentences. The confusion by this speaker is meant to evoke a similar feeling in the reader. The place where this person finds himself is not natural, and he wants the audience to know this. The speaker wants whoever may read this to understand that there is an uncomfortable ease with which we now engage in war and killing. In the beginning of the poem, the man talks about a ball being in his hands. This ball seems symbolize the fact that it is his turn to kill. The person in the poem does not seem to want the power to kill, which he realizes he has when he talks about glass balls and sorcery. This gives the impression that he is in control of a man's fate. The poem ends with a statement about the ease at which life becomes death. The speaker ends the poem with a sense of reflection, looking back at his action, and just how easy it was.

-Puja, Jennie, Erin, Niki, Eytan, Matt

A Civilian War

The first picture is of a Croatian boy at his father's funeral and the second of Bosnian prisoners. These are two examples of what happens to civililians who are not directly involved with the war. We often see photos of exhausted soldiers and destroyed buildings, yet these are the effects on bystanders.

The most obvious thing in the first photograph is undoubtedly the boy crying. Not only is his face contorted in anguish by the idea of his father being gone, but he is wearing a white shirt that starkly contrasts the black all the adults are wearing. White is often associated with purity or peace, and for the young boy to be wearing this color represents his innocence. Also, the elderly woman has a white handkerchief in her hands that she is crying into. This small square of fabric is offering some peace to her pain in this moment. The building behind these people once lent perfect lines and shapes to any background, but is now crumbling on this sad day.

Sometimes we forget that the repercussions of war are widespread and far-reaching. Beyond the soldiers that fight the war, and the leadership that instigates war, there are those that had no choice in the war - the mothers, the sisters, the husbands, the wives, the children, the citizens of a country at war who have no choice but to live the life of a country at war. The Bosnian prisoners shown in this picture may or may not have had a choice to participate in the war; the caption is unclear. However, the effects of war on these prisoners is undoubtedly clear. Eyes are first drawn to the ribs of the man at the center of the photograph; you can count every single rib easily. His hip bones jut out in a manner that girls at the gym would be envious of, but I doubt that was the look he was going for. For him, it is a look of circumstance. A look that speaks of days without food and proper nourishment, days of craving home cooked meals and comfortable conditions, days of illness and insanity. The angles of the bodies in this picture contrast with the smooth blue sky in the background, leaving the focus solely on the bones. The bones of skeletons still alive.

-Puja and Jennie

9/11

I remember this day perfectly. I don't remember anything about 9/10 or 9/12, but I have such vivid memories of Sept. 11th. I woke up and went to school, just like any other day. I was in 9th grade at the time, but in my school district, this meant I was still in Junior High. None of the teachers were allowed to tell us anything, for fear of scaring the 7th graders. We knew something was up. The few people that had come in late that day were spreading rumors of what they saw on TV. By 6th hour the story had shifted to: "People are bombing every major building in every major city! The Renaissance Center downtown is next!" Oh immature gossip...

Finally at the end of the day, the principal came over the PA system and told us a watered-down version of what happened. They treated us like children, even though we all knew something major was happening. The TVs were not allowed to be turned on, and all the teachers were huddling in the hallways whispering as their eyes darted back and forth nervously. The school sent us home with some lame letter explaining what had happened that day, and if anyone needed counseling, it was available.

Then, I got home and found the REAL story. Every news station was playing the same stuff every 15 minutes, so I was caught up pretty quickly. I just cried. I didn't know what else to do.

When my dad got home, I sat on his lap like I used to when I was 5. We cried together. This place had a special meaning to us. We had visited there before. We had stood in that monstrous tower. Now it was gone...

Then the adult gossip started. Immediately, everyone searched for a culprit. Everyone had to have something to contribute to this ongoing conversation. "It must've been Saddam Hussein!" "I heard from my cousin that his wife's brother's father-in-law is a suicide bomber, and THIS is gonna happen next!" "Sweetie, don't talk to anyone in your class that wears a turbin around their head. It's more safe that way..."

Oh gossip...

Chuck E. Cheese

In Deep Shit

Dirty Surgery

Civil War Medical Care

This is an area of war that fascinates me. The evolution of medicine can be seen throughout America's involvement in war. As the website in the link above discusses, medicine at the time of the Civil War was "barbaric to barely competent". During the Civil War, a soldier had a 1 in 4 chance of not surviving, and many died from infections that are easily treated with antibiotics today. As we saw from the film "Alive Day" today's soldiers survive things such as brain injury and the loss of multiple limbs. Medicine has transformed into a science of superhuman capabilities.

The picture above exemplifies the simplicity of the medical field during the 1800s. I think any one of today's surgeons would cringe at the thought of operating on a slab of wood held up by two barrels. Sterilizing and aseptic techniques were essentially non-existent back then.

The lines of the tent and table create a frame for the photograph. I like the way the white towel stands out against the black backdrop. This highlights the vulnerability of the man on the table. The dirt and leaves on the ground give the photo texture and draw the viewer's eye to focus on the raw environment which this surgeon is operating in.

Black Water Bridge

Four Blackwater private security employees are killed in Falluja; the mutilated bodies of two of the men are hung from a bridge over the Euphrates River.

This picture is outrageous. Everyone is celebrating the bodies they have destroyed and hung from this bridge. It's hard to even tell they are humans dangling there. The angle of the shot makes the man with his arm up look as big as the massive structure behind him. This gives the feeling that he is larger than his surroundings and more than human to have the power to steal away life. The shapes of the metal bridge columns give the photo structure while utter pandemonium goes on all throughout. When first looking at this picture, it's hard to decide what to look at first. The man off to the right clinging to the steel column looks animalistic. Below him, another man holds a piece of paper, undoubtedly including some sort of anti-American sentiment. Far off in the distance, you can see palm trees. These are out of focus, and this is likely intentional to not give emphasis to objects that are normally associated with vacations on the beach. This situation is neither calm nor relaxing and the photographer portrays that perfectly.

~Jennie~Erin~Puja~

Quiet Chaos

As soon as I saw this image, it mesmerized me. The fact that the subject is sleeping next to a gun is my favorite part. I love the juxtaposition of innocent, peaceful sleep against the hard, cold metal of the gun. I think the focus is intentional, as the background is quite blurry. This is meant to highlight the awkwardness of sleeping with a rifle. I also appreciate the rough texture that the straw creates in comparison to the softness of the blurred backdrop. Upon intense examination of the photo it looks like the person is sleeping among some sort of farm enclosure, this is possibly a nod to the symbolism of the constraints of war. There appears to be an animal behind them, and a pen-like fence next to their head. The straw, fence, and guns create many lines in opposing directions. This lends a bit of chaos to the picture and further contrasts the comfortable sleep the subject is engaged in. The theme is one of extremes: soft against hard, calm vs. disorder, quiet sleep next to an otherwise noisy gun.

Matt Rotando's 104 Blog

www.104aboutwar.blogspot.com

Dear U.S. Citizens...

Dear United States of America,

I am writing this letter today in hopes that you will WAKE UP! War is going on all around us, and we don't even know how to talk about it. I'll give you the good news first: we openly debate with one another, and make our voices known. This is good. Even if discussion gets one more person thinking about these issues, it is working.

Now my criticism: the quality of debate is poor, at best. It seems that we are only capable of placing blame and searching for the culprit. Instead, we need to accept our situation and find a solution. The past is history, and looking back to criticize what our leaders should or should not have done only breeds frustration, anger, and resentment. Why don't we be productive instead of destructive? Dividing our country down the middle will not solve the war that is so present today. We need to work together to find a solution that most will be happy with. These are the types of things that need to be discussed when all of the self-proclaimed professionals get together and chat. We, as Americans, need to start thinking about what we want for our future and how we are going to go about achieving it.

"Fuck politics. We're here. All the rest is bullshit."

-Troy, "Jarhead"

We are in this situation. We have found ourselves immersed in a war, and it is now irrelevant whether we should have started it or not. We now have two options: continue complaining about where we are, or come to some sort of conclusion and move on.

The solution will contain an exit strategy. We need to bring our soldiers home, as the majority of our nation would agree. We also need to find a good way to finish what we started. This is a compromise that Americans need to reach together, and the basis of our future discussions about war.

Sincerely yours,
Jennifer Cloonan

Recent War Article

Georgia soldier's widow has his sperm extracted after death in quest to have his child
By Harry R. Weber
THE ASSOCIATED PRESS
Tucson, Arizona Published: 04.08.2008
http://www.azstarnet.com/allheadlines/233362.php

This article is all about a widow of a soldier who died in Iraq. Like many of the tragedies heard from the current war, this particular soldier's vehicle was blown up by a nearby explosive. The widow asserts that her and her husband talked frequently about having children and got a judge to allow a medical representative to extract sperm from her late husband's body. Many medical professionals weighed in on the subject, and it seems doubtful that the woman will be able to conceive a child from the sperm because it took four days to obtain it.

The author, Harry Weber, uses little emotional stradegy and much logic in his piece. The text uses many different quotes from medical sources, all of which say that it is extremely unlikely that the woman will be able to get pregnant with her deceased husband's child. The article spends much time explaining why this isn't going to happen and the debate that is surrounding this woman's attempt to have a child with the man she loves. I get the sense the author hopes that it doesn't work out, because he barely discusses the emotional side of the story and only talks about the negative aspects. Weber presents the message that all odds are against this woman.

I don't remember...

I don't remember much of my 3rd birthday. All I know is that I had a Little Mermaid cake. I was crying because the picture of Ariel was made of wax and I couldn't eat it. I was left with boring white frosting. How dare they deface my Ariel cake?!
I don't remember my grandma dying. I was three years old. She died on my brother's 7th birthday, which is the fourth of July. I was always jealous that he got fireworks for his birthday. That must have been shitty for Jason. He was old enough to remember her and know what was going on. He was probably confused. I doubt he even cried, he's so unemotional. Sometimes I think he doesn't care. I called him on Easter and he yelled at me cuz I disturbed his nap. He was taking a nap because he was full. Full from the wonderful dinner that my entire family shared while I sat in my apartment 2000 miles away. He doesn't deserve that dinner. He doesn't even care. I'm not sure why I care. Easter isn't even a holiday to me.

I Remember...

I remember these two days so vividly. The first one was the summer before my freshman year in college, three years ago. I was asleep, and my dad came upstairs with tears in his eyes. He said, "You have to come down..." He didn't have to say anything further, through my half-asleep state I knew quite clearly what was going on. I had to say goodbye to my dog, Harley. We had her for 8 years, yet she still seemed too young. For the past 6 months she had accumulated multiple tumors on her stumpy, basset hound frame. She was in too much pain, and we only wanted her to be comfortable. I curled up next to her and she kissed by nose.
The second time this happened was a few weeks ago. This time it was a little more sudden, yet somehow I still knew without being told. Taylor, our other basset hound and Harley's best friend, had been frequenting the vet a little too often. She hadn't been eating, which for a pudgy basset is really unheard of. This time, I was 2000 miles away and didn't get to say goodbye. The story seems strangely familiar though. It was my mom who told me, over the telephone, with a quivering voice. Hopefully I get to say goodbye properly when I go back to Michigan this summer, but for now, her UofA collar and dog tags are displayed proudly in my small apartment.

The French I Know

The French I Know

Tandy's okay, Less crashes rogues, Della my trail

Syphen it out leisure, par line fine I do, kill blue

Key car lattes overts, prays DeRoy, kills Rylie

Crow lent Less battle on scene, mass Edens left you



Tandy's quite unfull, I plow that table bro E

Eat fate decent Millers, domes unties fume Aunt

Pause resorts! Dan's leet Dan's lerb, Dance to joy!

Not to worry! Oh toy WiFis says homie's sentiment...



Illest hundo, cure it, axe, napes, day, mass ease...

Days, autos, Al lessens, axe grants calices door

Key dance lemur cement days hose Anna's indoor



It serves ill, when those mares ram asses

Dance langosta, eat plural Sues, leer view, bone it no are

Louis dunnit on gross soul, I dance, lure moo chair.

My Kitties

My kitties are helping me as I make this... They like to stand on the keyboard and sit on my hands while I attempt to type. It only seems fitting to include pics of them. The black tabby is Zygmundt, or Ziggy; and the calico is named Eleanor, but I call her Ella. They love laundry and Miller Lite... Two passions we share:-)