Sugar Coating with High Fructose Corn Syrup...

I ran across this job posting today for a bowling alley while I was job hunting for my consumers.

Who makes sure that our customers have a clean safe place to play? Our Lane Attendants are the key individuals that make the customer experience all that it can be! Whether they are cleaning the customer seating area, giving some advice about bowling, setting up for a corporate party, or cleaning up after a group that had the time of their lives, our Lane Attendants can make or break the visit. Do you have what it takes?

APPLY ONLINE TODAY!

If that's not the nicest, most appealing way to say, "Hey, you're going to clean up other people's shit all day" than post something better...Until then,

Steve Sykora presents his own (Insert drum roll here) "Real Men of Genius": Here's to you Mr. Creative Job Description Writer man. Because of you the unemployed feel like they can settle for a crap job all because you made it appealing. You stretch the limits of dullard writing to create something close to the next great American novel (A Dickens for America!!). You pour your soul into each word knowing that if you don't fill this spot with somebody else, it's going to be your ass in the bowling lanes (Oooo noo!). But until then, keep crafting o' wordsmith of the mediocre, and remember, without your goodwill, others would see the real job that they're applying for.

Nothing need be said...

OK, "Easiest Fucking Job Ever Award" Goes to...

The Verizon Wireless guy.

"Ok, here's the gig: We're going to show people in dramatic situations. When the camera pans out, you're just going to stand there, awkwardly grin, and pretend that that giant crowd behind you actually likes you."

"Do I have to say 'Can you hear me now?'"

"No, not anymore. Just be awkward."

"Got it."

First Day of Living in Cubix

Today started out like many days, with a shoddily cut, blackened bagel (I am yet to achieve an even cut, even with a bagel cutter). Even waking up at 6:30am wasn't beyond me, probably because even when I don't have something to do during the day, I wake up at 7:30, without the slightest possibility of falling back asleep.

But today was different. Whereas I would typically not change out of my sleep wear and use a discretionary sniff to decide whether today was bath day, on this day at 6:30am, I was showered, shaved, and dressed in slacks and a button down.

As I drove to Long Beach, a drive that I have taken often, I sat amongst the other breadwinners (or not) on an adventure that would not only take an hour, but also signify my first drive to work as an employee of the Long Beach firm. I looked around me. Would these people become familiar faces on the daily commute? Would they become freeway friends? Would we all inch towards our destinations in solidarity? Or wait for the chance to take any lane change that could "advance" our position one or two cars. How patient these southern California drivers were. Why weren't they cutting me off or trying to act like jacked up race car drivers changing lanes inches away from my bumpers? Maybe they had accepted their condition. Maybe they hoped that they were going the other direction on the freeway.

My first day of work entailed already learned lessons of company history and seemingly obvious instructions on how to fill out required paperwork. Were it not for an older Asian woman also going through "orientation", I'm sure that my supervisors would have ushered me along the process, taking for granted that I was intuitive enough to not be babied through the process.

Then came the reading. Policies, procedures, missions, statements, benefits, job descriptions and forms cluttered my mind. I read through them like a true college student, not reading every word, but focusing on concepts and reading selective passages to reinforce intuition.

Lunch.

Chinese buffet. Boss was buying. Me-likey.

The four of us sat, eating silently. Every now and then, the two would talk to each other about the job or whatever have them. They asked myself and the other woman shallow probing questions. I gathered that this was not because they didn't like us, but maybe they felt awkward too. I brought up topics that I was comfortable talking about. One of the guys lives in Irvine, a neighbor to my home-city of Tustin. We talked about the area, and the spots we liked to go. I brought up my favorite spots, which happen to be facilities for the purchase of alcohol, one new wine store in particular. Thinking that this would be a good opportunity to have an extended conversation on wine, he responded that he didn't really drink wine. Damn. Back to square one.

When we came back. I was free to walk around the office since I had "read very quickly". I picked out a cubicle, moved in a comfortable desk chair, fired up my new computer, and moved the boxes of stored files out and into the cubicle next door. Of course, the first thing that went through my mind was the scene in "Office Space" where Ron Livingston's character pushes down one of the walls of his cubicle to create a corner office. When the boxes were moved out, the prospects of space weren't so bleak, but I suddenly knew that this was a place of business, and not of day dreaming (even if I were to day dream, the southern California atmosphere isn't as picturesque as Disneyland brouchures may indicate. Being so close to Los Angeles, it would be a rarity to have a clear sky day, which failed to make the "outside" view of the cubicle next to me a selling point.

Just when I had become comfortable at my new post, my boss walked by to tell me that I was free for the day. Maybe tomorrow I'll bring a fish to gut and a bag of Cheetoes to smear with my fingers over my desk.

Dont' get me wrong, I love this job. Seriously.

The Kidz Are Freakin Crazy

It's been fairly recently that I have realized the distance between myself and adolescents.

It started most noticeably last weekend when I volunteered with my dad at a high school cross-country meet. I remember when I was in high school. I felt so old. I felt that people viewed me as an adult. Whether they did or didn't, I noticed the same swagger and bravado in these high school kids. And why not? They were high school athletes. The cream of the crop. I watched as they bantered back and forth and as I lined them up in the "boxes" designated for their team, I was the recipient of some of the smart-assiness that comes naturally to young men and women.

As I stood in the middle of the course with the starters' pistol, I thought to myself; high school doesn't feel like it was a long time ago, but when I look at these kids, I realize that high school WAS a long time ago.

I walked outside to bring the garbage cans from the curb to the side of the house today. While I was dragging cans, I heard a small collective of middle school aged children rounding the corner. As I looked, one had placed a plant in his pants so that the long stem dangled below his belt line. He was talking about adding length and width like so many of the "Extenze" commercials that inundate television these days. I didn't remember talking about my junk when I was in middle school. I was too concerned with pretending to be secret agent or using the dog poop bags as "pope" hats and being a member of the "Pope Hat" gang. My "deviance" didn't seem to be as "mature" as these ruffians.

Why can't kids play with poop bags instead of flora weiners?

Life In the Interim: Part 1 - The Beauty That is Mid-Day Television

I've long considered writing about my life living in the interim. To be clear, the interim, as it applies to me, is the 10 months between now and my admission into graduate school in the Fall of 2009. It's an interim year because 10 months is not a long time. It's too short to get a real, long-term job, and it's too long to not do anything.

While I wait for job interviews and offers, I have found myself observing some beautiful, little-known experiences that get lost in organized schedules like school and work. Having time to myself whilst waiting to hear from the inevitable job, I have, what I will probably later look back on, lived the life of the post-grad bum. If it was not for my graduate school applications and associated writing samples and other documents, and I guess this blog, I would probably feel like a waste of an individual for what I am about to discuss.

I wake up around 8am every day. By the time I've pulled a shot of espresso and had a bowl of cereal, I've already checked Facebook 3 times. When I've reasonably assured myself that nobody is going to update their profile with new pictures (the only thing that matters in Facebook), assuming it's Monday, Tuesday, or Wednesday, I attempt the crossword puzzle. Once Thursday-Sunday arrives, I find that I am not old enough to understand the often culturally charged clues that people like my mom can easily figure out. When I have to start cheating by using the internet, I am filled with self-guilt and must step away. I pull another shot of espresso, check Facebook, and sit down in front of the television.

It's 9am.

At 9, you have to start with the History Channel. Most likely, there will be a show about Nazis or UFO's on. Yesterday, it was both. I have grown to appreciate World War II as more than a great war to reproduce as a 1st person shooter video game. World War II was truly the epitome of the human potential. As much as Nazis could be seen as monsters especially when we consider the certain "front men" that would shape the history of the Nazi party, their ability to gather top scientific minds enabled some truly sci-fi experiments in terms of aeronautics. It was like LOST and the Dharma Initiative alive and well in 1944. These experiments pushed the envelope and before we say, "but they were NAZI scientists", we have to remember that we hired them to work for us in the United States after the war where they continued to design what the Government would cover up as UFO sightings. Yes, the government used a tactic called "mis-information" even back in the 50's to cover up strange aeronautic experiments as UFO sightings. Strange how some things don't change.

History Channel specials usually last for about 2 hours. When it's 11am, all hell breaks loose on the TV. This is when things start to get trashy. I could talk all day about Jerry Springer, but I would like to focus on "Rock of Love II" for the next few moments.

MTV and VH1 have never disappointed my taste for trashy. The great social experiment started in "The Real World" (you know, placing type casted individuals into a house with booze and hot tubs and filming their attempts to earn our confidence that they're normal, it's just their roommates that are crazy) has been replicated on so many levels that it's sick how we continue to consume the same images and dramatic solo-cam dialogues despite the change of scenery or theme. In "Rock of Love II", the same type cased women as "Flavor of Love" and "The Bachelor" meet again, this time wearing rock-n-roll apparel to win the love of the "ultra-sensitive, looking for love" Brett Michaels. Brett spends the show jet-setting with 5 busty women, free to flirt with all of them. Of course, they all act as fake as their hair color when they are all together with him, trying to show that they're different from the other girls by being civilized and totally okay with watching their competition kiss and be overtly sexual with Brett Michaels. This tension becomes immediately present as soon as the girls are left to themselves. Each girl is completely selfish and connives and manipulates the other girl's stories until innocently, they accidently drop the bomb on Brett during one of the "civilized" periods.

During elimination time, the girls dress ultra-slutty, which I guess = rock-n-roll, and act mortally wounded when they aren't selected to remain in the PG-13 rated orgy that is competitive sex. Of course, the girls that are eliminated are the ones that Brett himself identifies and innocent and genuine. He, despite the drama that happens regarding girl X, keeps her in competition because of his physical attraction and her ability to play the wounded puppy the best. What's left at the semi-final round of elimination will be two women with no substance what so ever. But, this must be the point, because if the girl were truly the one, there would be no Rock of Love II, and presumably, Rock of Love III.

While watching "Rock of Love" I kept looking over my shoulder to make sure that nobody had snuck up on me. It's one thing to watch these shows, it's another to get caught by your mom, who would probably take my interest in human affliction as lethargy (which it probably is) and offer me a great book to read. Maybe next time I'll let her catch me and take her up on her offer.

Red Meat versus SUV's

In Orange County, it's common to see expensive cars crowding the streets. Out-of-towners will "ooo" and "ahh" at luxury cars not even sold in other states. Cars alone used to be a symbol of wealth, or probably more likely, credit immorality. In Orange County, even the type of luxury car that you drive can denote your "commitment" to the assumed standard of living. For example, BMW 3 series, Mercedes 2 series, Audi A4's, and other entry level luxury cars are generally seen as cars for children and or "is that all they can afford?". For this reason, true "affection ados" will purchase luxury cars with turbo engines, navigation systems, custom tires and rims, and special colors, etc. These cars, although not so easily distinguishable from entry level cars, usually use high grade fuel and use it very quickly, demonstrating the owner's ability to not only own a non-entry level car, but also to afford the price of premium gasoline, which now a days is ridiculous.

Rising oil prices and subsequent fuel costs is causing a shift in the illusion of wealth. Many individuals who could afford the Escalades, Hummers, Surburbans, and other luxurious soccer mom trucks find themselves squeezed at the pump. I have begun to notice a sudden rise in small, compact, or hybrid cars driving in juxtaposition to large SUV's and luxury sedans. When it became apparent that the only reason why my family was going to get rid of their V8 Volvo SUV was because of its dependency on premium fuel and its ability to chug through a large gas tank without remorse, I knew that we weren't the only ones.

Whereas driving a luxury or European car used to be a good indicator of wealth. Now, it's more a matter of cars that are impractical to fill at the pump. While practical people were switching to smaller, more efficient cars, others continued to buy cars that require premium gas and require it 20 or more gallons at a time. When I see a Surburban or Hummer, or any large SUV or luxury sports car with a V12 or turbo, I think that the cost alone to fill that car indicates credit immorality or a large amount of wealth. Everybody at the pump looks at those people with one of two mentalities. 1.) that person must have a hefty bank account to buy and support that beautiful car 2.) that person is a douche bag. Number 2 is usually a result of the jealously accompanying the first.

How does red meat fit in? Probably up until about 200 years ago, and beginning somewhere around Greece and Rome, largely women were seen as the pinnacle for the ideal body type by some. Much of this was because their weight indicated their dietary habits, and their dietary habits indicated their financial ability to buy certain types of food that would enable and sustain their figure. Largely individuals were able to eat foods like red meat often and readily. The peasantry was forced to eat "lesser meats" like fish, poultry, pig, and canine. Red meat came from animals that were too necessary for other farm necessities like milk and labor. Red meat was an indicator of wealth. Even historical superstars like Jesus ate large quantities of fish and was followed by a posse of fishermen. One of the reasons (theologically) why Catholics negate red meat during lent is a symbolic self sacrifice of a luxurious lifestyle and a return to a more pious lifestyle of fish and poultry (thusly being closer to Jesus). This was due to the status of red meat as a luxurious item in biblical times.

Fuel has become our culturally relevant red meat. Where red meat fed the wealthy, now premium fuels feed their cars. Luxury cars and SUV's now symbolize a wealth beyond the sticker price. These cars represent a new illusion of wealth fueled by fuel (no pun intended) and the cost of sed fuel. What's the cost for practical people in smaller cars? These titanic vehicles pose a major threat to the plastic cars which make our lives more affordable. I'm not suggesting that we view people in luxury SUV's and turbo charged sports cars as gods and goddesses among mere mortals. Rather, we should just say: Really?

Old Skool, or Just Not Obsessed?

This posting started because of a recent event surrounding my best friend. Recently, he quit his band. I knew that he had been unhappy in this situation, and he had shown an interest in leaving for some time, but the news of his departure still came as news to me. This blog isn't about the news, but rather how I received the news.

About four years ago, Facebook came to Gonzaga, and with it, all the stalking, (cough) I mean networking that goes along with it. Facebook started out to be a humble enterprise, allowing friends to see photos and favorites of their friends, or not. What was great about Facebook was also what differentiated it from MySpace. Facebook was exclusively college students. Where MysSpace would be littered with photos of pre-pubescent girls taking pictures of themselves in mirrors, Facebook represented a true networking site for the kids in college who truly appreciated the opportunity to see other academics.

When Facebook opened it's doors to the rest of the cyber world, the floodgates were opened and teens once again cluttered the pages. About this time, Facebook introduced mini-feeds, and applications which were designed to personalize an individual's page with kooky applications and silly additions. The mini-feed was received with odd disdain when it first arrived. By popular user vote, the mini-feed was removed quickly after it had been established. In its' place, a new home screen, outlining any activity, editing, posting, or status updates from anyone on your friends list. This new feed enabled a person to "catch up" on everybody's online life instantly, whereas before, one would have to spend a few minutes browsing selected profiles.

News feeds began the end of a long tradition of communication between friends who, normally would call to get the news, but now, only had to sign in to Facebook to get the updates. Much like CNN.com, despite the page or more of news story, four bullet points at the top of the article summarize the entire story below. In some ways, this culture of brevity has invaded the networking forums as well and we accept the four bullet points about our friends rather than read the entire story at times.

For a Milinial, I would still consider myself to be old school. When a News Feed on Facebook told me online that my best friend had quit the band before he had a chance to do so himself, I knew that best friending had changed in general. I'm not expecting him to call. Maybe he, like so many others, considers the status update to be instantly seen by all, thereby eliminating his need to tell us all in person. He wouldn't be incorrect to assume that within a few hours of posting, a few dozen people have already heard the news, and most don't care enough anyway to follow up.

This also presents the double edged sword of Facebook. Is knowing something before your friend tells you considered stalking? Is Facebook normalizing us to stalk each other? Could this behavior eventually stretch out into the larger social community? Sure the government was a fine model for "legitimate stalking" with the Patriot Act, but how much stalking can a normal American do with an internet connection? The answer would probably and most unequivocally be a lot.

From letters, to telegrams, to telephones, to chat, to cell phones, to texting, and finally online social networks and news feeds, we are becoming more impersonal by the generation. For a generation told to utilize technology from an early age, we evolve as quickly as the technology itself. But while we adapt to a quickly changing cyber-environment, and since most of us don't see the world with a sociological imagination, we fail to see that we are alienating ourselves from each other. It is possible in this day and age to have online friends only, and to create a false identity for ourselves on the internet that others have no choice but to accept. False identities show others what we like to be perceived as in the "real world", but for an individual who finds benefit in the friendships gained by his/her false portrayal, what's the point of having real friends? Time will quickly let us know.

My Chicken Is Dry: And Other Consequences of an Over-Litigious Society

I couldn’t help but to chuckle a little bit when I read the news about Nalgene. Nalgene has always been represented to the most eco-conscious mountaineers/sportspersons as the consummate water bottle. In the Pacific Northwest, the humble Nalgene is equated with fashionable drinking. But right before faux-stone studded Nalgene hit the shelves at Nordstroms, I was awakened from my tree hugging revelry by the shocking headlines: “Nalgene Sued Over Toxic Claims.” I felt like a felled Sequoia.
Are we really surprised though? Everywhere we look, something once touted as healthy, eco-friendly or just merely popular falls to the axe of litigation. From the lead-based paints from our forbearers’ childhoods (can you tell that Uncle Joey chewed the windowsills?), to “Hot Beverage” on the side of a coffee cups (when was coffee ever supposed to be served luke- warm?), and let us not forget, all of the beautiful explosions: Pintos, catalytic converters, Firestone tires, cruise controls, laptop and cell phone batteries, airplane wiring, just to name some of the notorious and recent. Parents now hyper insulate their tykes from danger in state of the art car seats, shopping cart pads, and the ever-ready bottle of disinfectant gel just in case they should engage in any of the myriad of now unsafe behaviors that the generations before us miraculously survived (except Uncle Joey, of course).
We live in a culture of fear induced by consumerism. We expect to be warned of all potential hazard, seen and unseen. Every lurking danger and its consequence must be addressed by manufacturers or Sokolove and his vanguard team of lawyers stand ready to produce their next late-night ad letting us know we’ve been duped in ways we never even imagined possible. I see an American dilemma arising. We all know the drill, as we created it: we crave cheaper items, companies are sending their labor overseas in order to produce them under less stringent standards than many Americans would like to preserve profit margins. We want to have our cake and eat it too. Being cheap is killing us. If an extra dollar means that a product was made in the United States, or at least in an approved factory overseas, than I would say that the extra dollar is worth it.
In the meantime, defective products are not a conspiracy by companies or nations trying to rise into global primacy. The most dangerous products are the frivolous lawsuits that generate greed and useless fear, result in higher costs, and hurt manufacturers with perfectly functional products. The world isn’t perfect: our chicken is dry, our paint peels, our airplane probably wasn’t inspected properly, our coffee cups continue to sport insulting and obvious warnings, my future kids will probably eat some dirt when I’m not watching, and as I write this, my battery may explode. Thanks a lot.

53 Days Away

I've found myself to be incredibly anti-social this semester. I don't choose to not hang out, but I have found a certain nagging indifference when social activities are presented to me. As senior year winds down, I am confronted with the loss of stability. College is a zone of uninhibited comfort. Seniors can feel this comfort dissipate with every friend's job acceptance and career move. Other students who we have felt better than suddenly seem to be making the strides that we had wished to see ourselves take. Am I unprepared for my future, or are other students making me look bad?

Senioritis is real. The same indifference that plagues social life has infiltrated my classes as well. Maybe essays have become part of the robotic student process. The romanticized essays of high school AP classes and freshman year English classes have now become the day-in, day-out regurgitations of the senior machine. It's easy to feel like you're going through the motions in life when your college academic career has been a series of tweaks to essay writing void of any spirit but full of juxtaposed paragraphs in text books. That's not to say that all essays are BS, but it is easy to replace the stress of 'proper essay' writing with the lack luster professor-approved, formulaic, "easy-way-out".

And it's a slippery slope. In seminar class, an area of unabashed free speech, seniors fail to engage material to a level that sparks others' interest. We just want to leave, and yet not. You can cut the senior tension with a knife. Tension causes irrationality and irrationality causes widespread senior panic. We have all been trained to be productive members of society and yet we fail to see our own potential in light of other's successes. Every day feels like a day I should have capitalized on, and yet, maybe I'm supposed to be here right now.

18 years in a row of school. I feel that my decision, although maybe forced, to take a year off may be the best thing that could have happened to me at this point in my life. A chance to re-root in the comforts of irreplaceable old friends and family may provide me with the vigor required to get my money's worth out of graduate school. I am never void of a plan, just often void of direction.

I believe in the power of unseen pathways clouded by conventional means of goal realization. I believe in my power to remain myself despite the growing fears of failure. I believe that my actions yesterday have directed me to today and that today is a good place to be. I believe that I will find a way to actualize my potential in life. Despite the apparent instant success of peers and the obvious direction laid out for others, I refuse to compare myself to their standards of success.
I will graduate.
I will loose weight.
I will reconnect.
I will deviate from the routine motions of college life.

The Media is Hungry

We read an article discussing the effects of crime in the media. Generally, the theme centered around the ability of the media to create and maintain a 'culture of fear' which turns Americans into sheep. The culture of fear goes beyond whatever news station you follow on a daily basis. Every station has something to offer you in a manner to which you may not like it. The media has the power to turn isolated incidents into pandemics stretching in every home in every neighborhood. Of course, many of the things that we fear as Americans have never touched our doorstep or the doorsteps of our friends. Rather we live vicariously through the sufferings of others perpetuating an ideology that the world we live in is a dangerous place.

We're hungry as Americans. When we're hungry, often times the best food isn't the food that we choose to consume. We sacrifice quality for temporary satisfactoriness. American media only offers us snacks. In search for real news, reporters 'stake out' like policemen, hoping that they'll catch the latest and greatest celebrity misdemeanor. Due to a fortunate loophole in the system, slander only applies to the non-famous allowing some media stations to produce 'slander stations' romanticizing and over emphasizing the importance of love lives, pregnancies, drug addictions, D.U.I.'s etc. In the feeding frenzy that is entertainment press, being the first to cover the story trumps the factual journalism that Americans are hungry for. What happens now is the portrayal of accusations or presumptions which may or may not eventually lead to a moment of truth. Day after day, the same story takes a new twist as the media strains to wrangle our attention for just one more story. It doesn't take a genius to realize that facts take time, especially when it comes to crimes. Why is it then that we desire immediate results? We are really just setting ourselves up to be lied to by the media day after day until the final truth has been reveled. When truth is revealed, we don't hold the station accountable for the series of misfires along the way, we seem to be content knowing that it's all over and anything that happened in the middle were just bumps along the way.

The lack of accountability is appalling, but at the same time, Americans seem to be hungry for the piecemeal interpretation of stories. If a major drug company engaged in the same behavior of only providing piecemeal perspective and truth, a country would be up in arms. Why then, do we allow ourselves only satisfactory 'snacks' when we should be holding out for a worthy meal? Yes, the fast food nation reference can also be applied to our media consumption. 'I don't care if it tastes like shit, I just want something to fill up on.'

How it all began...

I started college like many others; determined to establish a new identity but looking in the wrong places. I figured that my standing as a business major would afford me some academic respect from my peers who were members of 'soft sciences' or communication/public relations. Looking back, it was incredibly shallow to believe that somehow being a business major would place me above the 'soft majors' and afford me jobs right out of college. I never had ideas of grandeur, I didn't want to own a Fortune 500, but I envisioned a comfortable business with the nuclear family.

Having friends in the business school helped me to justify my academic placement. Being part of the 'business gang' felt empowering. Being collectively frustrated over economics or accounting homework somehow made us feel special, as if being challenged was a measure of the solidarity between business students, similar to law students or med students, living the college dream by having late night study sessions before a weekend of binge drinking.

Sophomore year, the 'business gang' was disbanded. My close friend transferred to 'follow his dream', going to a school that specialized in his area of interest. By second semester of sophomore year, he was gone and I was left with my own desire to transfer to a school that specialized in my area of interest. Of course I was slowly realizing that where as my other business buddies could study very little and maintain great grades, I worked very hard and seemed to just be scraping by. This left me in an anomic state, completely uncertain as to the direction my life should take.

Due to long and extensive core requirements by the university, I found myself in a Sociology 101 course to fulfill a social science credit requirement. The course was taught by a young, charismatic, and unorthodox professor. Of course, a 101 course is supposed to be as all encompassing as possible, often times sacrificing depth for breadth. But he wasn't teaching theory, or statistics, or even imposing his breadth of knowledge upon young and impressionable undergraduates. He was teaching us how to think. Sure, rattling off some statistics, or identifying the norms for a specific demographic makes an individual book smart, but not necessarily (to borrow from C. Wright Mills) Sociologically imaginative.

I felt natural in the following sociology classes that I took. Although my vocabulary and theory came to me in bits in pieces, a majority of it coming in my last three semesters, I realized that I could come up with original concepts and projects, and discovered that I had a keen social eye and an ability to write sufficiently enough to covey the wanderings of my mind in an academic manner. My perspective of society and social interactions earned me the ear of the charismatic professor who helped me to channel and direct my intelligence. He would become my academic adviser when I switched majors during the first semester of my junior year.

With his help, I'd discover the ability for sociology to collage my passions and interests into one academic discipline. As my classes provided me with the vocabulary and theory to sociologically define and legitimate my observations, I found my niche at the intersection of my passion for people with disabilities and my background of social justice and community service. I decided that I would focus my research and hopeful graduate school work on the Sociology of disabilities, which preliminary evidence would suggest is a sparse topic in sociology. My exposure to people with disabilities and their culture is extensive not only because of the disability of a family member, but also due to my, as of summer '08, four years of service at a residential summer camp for children through adults with a wide array of disabilities. These experiences have placed me in a unique situation where I have not only personal, but extensive knowledge of many types of disabilities and disabled individuals.

As I approach the final months of my undergraduate tenure, my graduate school applications are in, and my sociological imagination is working overtime for my 499 Sociological Analysis class. This blog will convey my thoughts as I explore my sociological imagination through the exploration of texts and ethnographic observations. Sometimes I play the devils advocate and this can lead to what some would call an 'elitist' or 'insensitive rich boy' perspective. I can be assured that this is not the case, rather, by examining critically the communities and social structure in which I directly live in I find perspectives that bear some truth, even if these truths can transcend my own justice oriented philosophy.