Communication

What is the purpose of effective communication?

I have been taught my whole college career, and arguably earlier than that, that the purpose of communication was to relay a message from a sender to a receiver. Good communication is that which can be understood and processed and an exchange of ideas, thoughts or at least the interpretations of those thoughts can then be reciprocated. This, of course, goes for both verbal and non-verbal communication.

Simple examples:

Verbal communication-- "We will be studying, today, Chapter Two." This simple phrase, although spoken only by one person, shares a desired message which is easily and accurately interpreted by the recipients.

Non-verbal communication-- The students, recalling what they have read in Chapter Two (or at least processing that they understand that "chapter two" refers to a selection of pages in a book) either pull out a notebooks to take notes, pull out their textbooks or simply stare at the teacher. All of these actions are a form of non-verbal communication to the teacher to relate their level of understanding of the teacher's desires and/or their interpreted reaction to the desires of the above verbal communication.

Still with me??

I feel, at this point, that I am desperately in need of a good rant about the writing and teaching methods of many (and certainly a specific) college professor.

Teaching, if I am not mistaken, is a calling which requires you to have mastered the art of communication effectively. You need to be able to both relate to and teach your audience (also known as students). You need to be able to find what is applicable to them, creating a learning environment which will nurture their thought process and convince them either one, to agree with the ideas you are presenting to them or two, to disregard them as false.

Ineffective communication and teaching is disorganized, sporadic, self-emulating and filled with language (as in "speaking a foreign" and as in "words") which is not widely understood by the audience.

College is a time of concepts. It is a time of growth and achievement. It is a time when youth turns into adulthood and when new lengths and depths of the mind are challenged with thoughts and reactions that have before been unstimulated.

HOWEVER, that being said, when a professor teaches with ineffective communication techniques, not only is it ineffective in educating the students, it also deters and discourages them from learning information that they otherwise might need to possess or, even simply enjoy being in possession of.

Currently, I am taking a Cultural Anthropology class. Already, the teacher has violated one of my cardinal rules of bad teaching--never assign the students a text which you, yourself, have written. It seems to me that if you are an effective teacher, the students should then seek out more words from you to learn further from a good source, instead of being forced, without choice, to be subject further to your ideas (or am I wrong in this way of thinking??). In addition, his lectures are not only disorganized in structure, they are completely lacking in content. For 45 minutes (approximately, of course....sometimes more, sometimes less.....usually, though, more....)or more each class period we hear about field research that this professor did for ten years--reindeer herding in the Siberia's tundra, or about Caribou that he declined to shoot. Then, quizzed on differences in the ideas of holism, comparative method, cultural relativism and human evolutionary ecology, 88% of the class answered incorrectly. With such a poor outcome, one would think that there would be an understanding of the ineffectiveness of the communication on behalf of the teacher, not the inability of the student to retain information.

And yet the problem persists. This evening, upon reading this doctorate-holding professor's work, I have not only found multiple problems with spelling and grammar, but also with the structure and the content of the book which we are to understand and interpret as fact in the classroom.

Examples:

• Sentence--"Khantaiskoe Ozero is in a critical economic position, with few in the community still able to practice reindeer pastoralism and commercial fishing activities limited." Anyone catch that? Rather than "commercial fishing activities limited" the sentence should read, "commercial fishing activity is limited." Hmmm....small mistake? Maybe....
• "Hunting and gathering was the dominant mode of production for 99 percent of human evolutionary history. Only relatively recently, in the last 10,000 years, have humans developed more intensive forms of production such as gardening (horticulture), keeping domestic animals (pastoralism) and intensive agriculture, upon which industrial societies are dependent." Okay....while this might not be a gross misrepresentation of facts, and the point of majority is communicated ("99 percent of human evolutionary history....last 10,000 years) consider this: Human remains have been positively identified to have existed 2.6 million years ago (that is, 2,600,000 years). In the last few weeks, there have been discoveries in Africa which may argue that humans (or a similar pre-evolutionary species) were around 3.2 million years ago (facts yet to be confirmed, so don't quote me.....but that is, 3,200,000 years) Can someone do the math for me, here? 10,000 is 1/260 of 2.6 million. The percentage of this is .384615384......... Now, I'm not a math major, but isn't that slightly less than one percent? As in, 16,000 years less than one percent....And, what exactly can happen in evolutionary (not to mention cultural) history in 16,000 years? I think that this is the point of Cultural Anthropology--to teach us that A WHOLE HECK OF A LOT can happen in that 16,000 years.
• Sentence--"The Nganasan traditionally were wild-reindeer hunters, fishermen, and trappers, and they also kept domestic reindeer for transportation (Figure 1.4)" And so I turn to "Figure 1.4" which has a caption that reads, "Figure 1.4 Ekaterina Momde displaying her Nganasan winter parka at their remote fishing and hunting spot on the Dudypta River." The picture is of a young woman in a coat with a furry hood pulled over her head--snow in the background. Please, please correct me if I'm wrong, but the purpose of that sentence SEEMS to be relaying the idea that they used to be hunters and that they kept domestic reindeer for transportation, correct? I don't know of anywhere, in that whole paragraph (which I can copy down if any want to read) where it speaks of a) women as hunter gatherers (the Nganasan, like many cultures, are a patriarchal society), b) the use of skins, firs or hides or c) even anything about the weather or the climate during the times of hunting which would acquire such apparel. Are figures in text books not supposed to represent RELATIVE information in a portion of the text? Or, when cited in a portion of the text, are they simply a good substitute for facebook when you have a picture you would like to share with the masses?
• Last example: However, their purchasing power has diminished by an order of magnitude since 1991, and most view their socioeconomic situation as continuing to worsen (Ziker 1998a: 213, Ziker and Shmetterling 1997: 84-85). The commodities produced by native hunters, such as Arctic-fox pelts, have lost considerable value since 1991 (Ziker 1998a: 211) The author's name, for the book, by the way, is John Ziker. Now go back and read these sentences again. In the course of two sentences, he has quoted his own articles THREE times. I'm sure, when he wrote the original articles, there was some source of discovery for him to come up with these "facts"....however, YOU CANNOT QUOTE YOURSELF IN AN OFFICIAL WORK AS AN AUTHORITY. Forgive me, but any semi-intelligent person can back up something that they have said with something else that they have or will say, can they not? Oh....but wait.....that would be dishonest....forget it.

....and I'm only on page eight.....

Remember the standardized testing that we all had to endure during elementary school and through the beginning of high school whihc ensure that we are all functioning at a minor level of literacy? The ones that ensured that "no child [was] left behind"? This professor's writing is like that--like some strange version of an ACT practice exam. "which sentence in paragraph eight does not belong?"

Perhaps I'm beating this point to the ground....nit-picking little inconsistencies or stretches of fact when, in reality, I can interpret the point that is being conveyed fairly accurately. And while it is true, these mistakes (along with multiple misplaced commas and sentence syntax errors) are small and I, too, am quite guilty of making the same and more mistakes, there is one major difference: I don't assign my readings, my findings, my own observations of culture to hundreds of students each semester. I don't prescribe them as ten years of research and facts, and then fail to properly edit and make concise my remarks and my writings. Those who read what I have to say do so by choice, because they come looking for it, interested in my view point and my ideas. And if no one wants to read it? All the more commentary on what I have to say and the way I communicate. Instead, these mistakes and stretching of facts are what I am paying $7,000+ to learn this semester.

Not only that, but the basics, the foundation of what this knowledge could mean (if only the information was surrendered by those in authority who know!) is not being accurately and effectively taught. Things like holism, comparative method, cultural relativism and human evolutionary ecology--things which I will be tested on and principles which will establish the foundations of my learning--are lost in stories about caribou which, however interesting in casual conversation, are not essential if we do not understand their contextual importance.

And now I submit:

WITHOUT A FOUNDATION, ALL KNOWLEDGE AND LEARNING FAILS.

WITHOUT COMMUNICATION, KNOWLEDGE AND LEARNING FAILS.

WITHOUT KNOWLEDGE AND LEARNING, GROWTH IS IMPOSSIBLE.

So what is communication? Communication is the ability to clearly and accurately relay your intentions to another. I do not expect or demand perfection from my teachers. Those teachers whose classes I have enjoyed most are those who have taught me that humanity comes with a full view of its flaws, both individual and societal. However, I do demand simple accuracy and attention to detail in my learning. I do not expect my teachers to be perfect, but I do expect for one to know his or her limits, and not to assume that because he/she is in possession of a degree of exalted education that he/she is either socially or strategically competent to teach or communicate clearly. As a student, I do not think that it is too much to demand the respect of that type of learning environment.

How sad is that when, instead of inspired, students are instead repulsed by a history which adds insight the question we all continually ask: "Why?"

I want to be able to answer "why".

Is what I want impossible? Could it all just be a dream? I wrote long ago that the greatest battle I will have to face in life is knowing myself...but that is wrong...the greatest battle I will have is in knowing my desire is not that of another. It is in knowing that everything that I love and cherish and want will not be mine because it is not my decision to make or for my effort to bring about--for I have already made my selfish choice.


Then again, we do always tend to think that the hardest thing is that which we are dealing with right now.

Impulse

I have the sudden impulse to do something dangerous, something stupid....something to get my heart pumping and to put me into hyper-speed. I want to run. I want to fly. I want to jump and soar. I want to say all those things to all those people that I've always wanted to say but have been stopped because of proriety.
I wouldn't say I feel self-distructive right now....I just feel this need to do things how I really want to, bluntly and in the reality of the situation. I want to push where I should stand still. I want to fight where I should cede.

...just in time for the roses to die....what ironic timing....

Letters

I wrote a letter today to someone....and while I was doing it, I realized how much I miss being a pen pal! Remember when I was writing like 2 or 3 missionaries regularly? That time of my life was amazing! It was so fun! I wish I still had a pen pal....I miss it....that may just be my new hobby....letter writing....I like it.

Cake and Pie

I had a conversation about a year ago with a friend....let's call him Daven....about having your cake and eating it too. He is firmly against the idea of this being a posibility. He believes that this is a perfect truth because there is no way you can possibly hope to have a cake, and eat it.
I tried to argue with him about this. I tried several theories with him. I tried the "what if you only ate part of the cake" theory. He didn't buy that. He said that then you wouldn't really HAVE the cake, and it would detract from the beauty of it. I then tried the "what if you had two cakes and ate one and looked at the other" theory. He disagreed and said that then you wouldn't have the same cake that you loved so it's not the same thing. You can't have THAT cake that you just ate.
Finally, I told him that I didn't really like cake.....and that I'd rather have pie.
Right now....that's what I have. I have pie. I love pie. I like pie a lot better than I like cake, in fact. It's invigorating. It's delicious. It's flavorful. It's comfortable. It's complex. But....that doesn't solve the problem of me wanting cake in my life.....and cake or pie....I still can't have it both ways.

...........


....my mom makes this pie....it has a cake mix for the crust. It is amazing. That is what I want. I want my cake. I want my pie. And I want to fully consume them both.

blah blah blah blah blah blah blah.


UGH!


blah.

Importance.

Sometimes, there are people who come into your life unexpectedly. These people are different than others. Important in some way...for some reason. You look at them and there is a closeness to self, a sameness. An instinctive undersatnding. Sometimes these people stay and you are able to discover just what significance they have in your life. Others go away and the memory of them fades with time. You no longer remember how you could look into their eyes and see bits and pieces of yourself mixed in with other things that were foreign, strange, exciting. Instead they just become a name from some long forgotten past life. A chance that you could have had--a choice--that passed.
There's someone like that in my life right now. I don't know why. I can't really explain it. But I just know that this perosn is important to me. It's instinctive. But what will happen? This person will move on, go away, and become someone that I used to know, once, from that one place I lived for a short time.
I wonder sometimes if people ever feel this, too. If I ever show up and someone thinks, "Wow....do I know her? I sure want to. She's important."
Maybe it's just that I haven't lived enough life, yet, to see these things come full circle. Maybe, someday, all these important people who have crossed my path will some day show themselves again and then, finally, I'll understand those feelings. Or maybe these people really do represent the opportunities that my life could have were I to make a different choice.
But what if I were to fight for some of these people? I have before. And never won. But the people who have been important (and, I mean more than familiar....more than friends. Really IMPORTANT. I don't know of a different way to describe it...) who have stayed of their own choice? Man....have they been impactful.
I don't really know where I'm going with this....except that it's interesting to wonder and think about. If yesterday could happen again and if I had been different or the situations had been somehow different...if not my own choice but that of an important person had been different, how would I be different now? ....would I be having these thoughts about how important people are to me in life? Or would I just know that, to someone, I'm that important person, too.
What-ifs are useless unless you put them into a practice for our future.

If an obsticle is what keeps you apart, then what ever could be strong enough to keep you together?

Last week, my mom found out what her baby is going to be! It's a girl! Anyone have name ideas?

Boise

So...I've made the decision to move to Boise this fall. I'm pretty much excited. Teeny bit nervous. I'm worried about not having anyone to live with when I get there. I'd of course LOVE to have my own apartment....but let's be serious, that's financially not really possible.

Anyone know someone who's looking?

This is, like, my 4th college now that I'm going to? It's about time I buckle down and just stay in one place long enough to actually graducate....and to actually take the classes....and I'm worried that if I work, then I'll just have a little bit of a freak out and want to just work instead of go to school...It's happened. So....my plan right now is to just go to school, live off of scholarships and student loans, and then figure out the rest later.

Is that even a good idea, though? So far, I have a 3/4 tuition scholarship....which is good...and I think I can get another scholarship to finish it out...and then I still have to worry about books.....and housing....and food....oh, yeah.....and my car....

I remember my first year at school....things were so simple! I walked everywhere, never did much as far as recreation....watched a whole bunch of movies....and, thinking back on it, was quite happy! It was a simple life. Why do I have to like nice things, now? A car....makeup...shopping sprees...can't I just go back?

Maybe that's what this new move will be....again....

But what if I didn't move? What if I chose instead to stay? Am I giving up on an opportunity that is worthwhile? Let's say I stayed....I'd have a place to live--my parents are moving anyway, and have been looking for places with a separate apartment attached, I'd not have to worry about food costs aside from buying stuff that I specifically wanted....I could still go to school....Portland State has open enrollment....of course, I'd miss out on mucho scholarships....but the price of tuition is a lot cheaper, too. Plus, I have a job that is flexible. I could totally go to school in the morning and work at night....or work in the mornings and go to school at night. Part time, fairly okay pay....

But, am I happy here? I don't know. And what would it take to make me happy here? I don't know that, either. Maybe if I did, then I would have a starting place....or maybe just a stopping.

But for now, I'm excited at the prospect of something new....excited to start a new chapter in my life....

haha....again....

I heard this song for the first time tonight while watching an operatic musical from the 1930s. The way that they sing it and the way that it just kind of tumbles....it's wonderful! And the movie is HILARIOUS! If anyone gets the chance to watch it, do! It's amazing.

Ah! The sweet mystery

Of life at last I've found thee

Ah! At last I know the secret of it all!

All the longing, seeking, striving, waiting, yearning

The burning hopes, the joy and idle tears that fall

I've a very strange feeling I've never felt before

'Tis a kind of grind of depression

My heart's aching strangly; it feels rather sore

At least it gives me that impression

My pulses leap madly without any cause

Believe me I'm telling you truly

I'm gay without pause

Then sad without pause

Yes, I'm falling in love with someone,

Plain to see

I'm sure I could love someone madly

If only someone would love me.

--Naughty Marietta (1935)

I just love old movies/musicals!!!

Enchanted

I'm sitting here, watching Enchanted. There are several scenes in it when the evil queen's hunchman is trying to kill Giselle. As we all know, at the end, the hunchman (Nathaniel) ends up turning on the queen, denouncing his feelings for her and blaming her for the terror that has been caused. What would have happened if the he had succeeded, though? What would have happened if Giselle was killed by that very first candied apple and Nathaniel had gone back home. He probably would have lived out his life as a survant, always pining for what he wanted and never being happy with what he had. He would have lived at the foot of evil and never even had that satisfaction of tasting of that power himself. Instead, he turned good. Wrote an inspirational book.....etc, etc, etc.
Is it possible, then, that sometimes our biggest obsticle is our own success? That, sometimes, our acheivements in life are the very things that hold us back from another potential? One that, perhaps is less glorious, and perhaps is not the one we had in mind, but is one that we are better to fulfill? Sometimes, maybe it's good to fail.
Thoughts, anyone?

Why is it that we limit ourselves? We stay close to the familiar. We keep to ourselves. Why is that? Why is it that we don't take the opportunity of the open road? I want to fly! I want to run! I want to jump into the river and ride it all the way to mother sea. But I don't. Even my escape plan for the day--my chance to get away and have "me" time takes me only a few blocks away....but even as I am wanting to move...even as I frustratingly bang my fists on the metaphorical door, screaming to get out, to change, to be done...I can't. I won't. My feet do not move.

I am an island.

I told a friend today that I wished for love. Every day, at 11:11, I make a wish. I figure that, with all of those wishes floating around in the cosmos, one of them is bound to come true.
I've been thinking about that wish today. About love. About how and why I want it. About what it means.
But I know what it means. Because I have it. I can wish for it and wish for it...and it'll be like wishing for rain here in Oregon. It comes. I have it. It's not always raining...but that moisture is always there. There's always the residual. Always the effect.
I've wondered for a long time why I'm not loved. What is it about me that seems to distance myself? My own personal motto has turned into "boy did the poets ever get this wrong...man really can be his (or in my case, her) own island."
And maybe I am. Maybe I am an island. Floating there in the sea. Solitary. One to my own. But you know what that means? That means that, at night, I am the last one that to whom the sun grants his kiss. That means that I shine out on an ocean of sameness as one difference...one hope for human life. That means that, within the arms of my shores, I hold a world different from any other. That means that what and who I am is preserved--waiting and pleading and desiring to be discovered.
And love? Isn't that what love is? Hope for life. Hope for the good things in life. Hope for all those things that make us who we are?
I'm not unlovable, though I am alone. I have amazing friends and an amazing family. I have the love of those people who support me every day simply by being there when I call.
And maybe it's not everything...maybe it's not what I want. But it's something...something amazing. And for now? It's going to be enough. Because even though that island may be going through a time of drought and famine...it still represents that hope. And, someday, that hope will be mine.

Is it possible for me to say "it figures" When it comes to change? Is it possible for me to just take it as it comes? Maybe it's a sign of maturity. Or maybe it's a sign of fatigue.
Either way, I'm tired. I'm sick of work...but whatever. I'll just keep plugging through. Because some day it'll change.
My mother is pregnant. Merry Christmas! Who knows what this is going to mean for life? A complete change once again? For sure. Life is never going to be the same again. But then again, it never is the same, is it? Things change every day. Why should this be any different?
I'm happy for my mother. I really am....although I wonder if she's happy for herself? This seems to point a finger of direction for my life, where before I was questioning what I would be doing with my life in a few months more time. Staying here? Moving back to Provo? Now I know. I can't forsee myself moving. I can't imagine myself somewhere else. Not when life is beginning again here.
But not my life. Where is my life? I need a life. I want to start my life anew as well. Some day maybe it'll happen. For now, I move minute to minute, thought to thought.

Three Men

Time has been staring me in the face lately. Maybe not time so much as age.

The other day at work, this old man came up to me while I was pacing around the jewelry counter on the lookout for any unsuspecting customers that I could pounce on (haha) and just started talking. He told me that he had been married for 43 years, and that this was his first Christmas that he would be spending all by himself. He said that he had had a girlfriend, but he just couldn't love her. Couldn't commit. "After all, how could [he] ever love anyone else after 43 years of marriage?" He asked. I had no response. He said he was spoiling himself this eyar, because of it. He bought himself a watch and a wallet. He then gave me some advice. He said, "Find someone. Find someone and give them everything you have. It's not worth anything if you keep it all for yourself." How could he know?? How could he know how alone I am right now? How could he possibly know that though I am home for Christmas for the first time in a few years, I have no one to spend the holiday with--no one to give my everything to. How could he know that is one of the greatest longings of my heart?

There's another man at work--but this one a coworker, not a customer--that I've been meaning to write about for some time. His name is Robert. When I first started talking to Robert, he told me that he dreams in poetry. He said he dreams something, and this string of words just comes out when he wakes up. And he remembers it. He recites it to me sometimes. Or did. Robert is Dying. Cancer has spread through all of his body. It's only a matter of time, now...and not much of it. I encouraged him to write this poetry down. Preserve him. I told him the poetry was a gift and that he should preserve it for his family. Then I found out his oldest son also died of cancer. Poetry really is Robert's gift. He dreams of the eternities. He dreams of a renewal of the soul.

Before he worked for Macy's in his retirement years, Robert was a business man. I asked him how that was throughout his life, and he said that he never thought about things. It just was what it was. He didn't take the time to look deeper. After his son's death he decided that he neded to. That he must. And that's when he found his poetry. That's when he found depth in life...and sadly came to a realization that so many areas of it--his marriage, his profession, etc--were lacking it completely.

I'm not really sure that I have a good excuse about why I didn't write about Rober sooner...except that I haven't really known exactly what to say. He is the man who dreams of poetry. Poetry that has more meaning to him and his spirituality than he ever got from any book or man. He feels these dreams as if they are real. And so he believes them. And they are beautiful. And they are good. And I hope that God looks after him. I know he will. And I know that in Heaven, he'll dream of poetry more.

My next door neighbor is dying of cancer, also. Pancriatic. It's only a matter of a couple of weeks for him, too. It's sad. He's a bitter old man. Ornery. He and his wife live in the second half of our duplex. I don't know what to say to him. With Robert, it's easy to know that he'll be okay. He's filled with that inner strength and resolve. With Frank? It seems like he just doesn't know what to do. Doesn't know what to think. Doesn't know what to feel. He is a man who is weakened by the thing that he has always counted on. A man who is stripped of what he knows and loves and feels to be real. A man whose one power--one surity--one constant is now gone. And he's scared.

I think of these three men: A man of Heart. A man of Mind. A man of Body. And I see reality. I see the bones of mankind. The hopes. The fears. The strenght. The resolve. The memories of life as it once was, always has been and never will be again. I think of these three men and I'm not sure how to feel. I'm not sure what to think.

It's the middle of the night right now. I'm sitting alone in my room....thinking. Searching. Where do I fit in? Where is my place with these men? WHere is my place in this world.

I feel open. Like a door in my mind and in my heart has been flung open and I'm standing on the threshhold...my face turned toward the light and I'm searching....searching....but the picture hasn't flipped. I'm still looking at myself in the search. I have yet to find. I have yet to see the target of my searching. I have yet to find my mark.

I want to know what it is I'm searching for. I want to know so that I can pursue it with my whole life. Is it love? Is it education? Or is it just the never ending trail toward finding happiness? I really can't be sure....
...I really want to be sure....
...I really want to know.

The Phantom of the Opera

How completely different would we view The Phantom of the Opera if instead of the phantom being a large, imposing man with seductive prowess he was instead Christine's alter-ego. Picture it. She's singing into her mirror "Look at your face in the mirror--I am here inside" and for once Christine realizes that the person who has been causing these mysterious happenings around the opera house is her. The person who duals Raul in the graveyard is actually Christine herself--posessed by a power that she, because of her other weaker personality--is unable to override. Because of some abuse in her childhood or some other tragedy (the death of her father, perhaps?) she becomes the phantom. One part in the play she sings "I am the mask you wear" (when she is taken to the dungeon for the first time)...she wear that mask--the guise of Christine so that she can operate in the real world--but the source of her genius is the derangement of her mind. The whole show, then, becomes a struggle of self--rather than good against evil. It isn't until Raul says that he would do anything for her--and attempts to prove it (or perhaps that is also one of her mad dreams?) that she finally is able to let go of the phantom inside her and she is free to be the mask that she has shown to the world--however incommplete that makes her, and however painful the death/distruction/disappearance of the phantom will be.

Is that the lesson of the Phantom of the Opera? Or is it really just two really attractive (who cares about a little bit of face distortion, anyway? Have you SEEN me in the morning??) guys with amazing voices going after the same non-commital girl? Bad boy vs. good girl dillema?

Perhaps we all have a bit of the Phantom in our own minds....

Each of the last three books that I've read have had the name "Blythe" either as a dedication to or as a main character. Blythe. Did I miss this baby naming craze? Is Blythe the new Stephanie, Megan and Jessica?
Wow...I totally missed that one.

Language

I sometimes wonder what the point of language is if not to be beautiful--a beauty like the people who use it--each sentence different. Some coarse and unrefined...other smooth as silk. I wish every sentence could be a poem. Every paragraph a testament to language itself. I want to explore each new avenue that each new spelling entrusts in me. But life isn't that simple. Not everything is beautiful. Some things just are. Some things just need to be. And by their being, the beauty shines through and finds its place as something unique and special and marvelous.