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“Our Cell Phones, Ourselves” Summary

            The article, “Our Cell Phones, Ourselves”, written by Christine Rosen is about the generation of cell phones and how it effects every day life. She points out that people have two main reasons for carrying cell phones, for safety and convenience; but it also has many bad qualities, like it destroying manners in public places.
            Christine points out that the reasons people use their mobile devices varies. In Slovakia, it’s only used to turn on the heat before they return home. In Norway, they use them to confirm their taxes. Construction workers and paramedics use camera phones to send pictures of the current task, like paramedics send pictures to the hospital of incoming patients and their injuries. 
            Rosen also points out that people are gaining a sort of dependency on them. Ninety percent of users say they make them feel safe. A study was done at a university where people were asked to keep their phones off for two days, after it was over with a lady said, “I felt like I was going to get raped if I didn’t have my cell phone in my hand...”  In 2001, the CTIA reported that about 108 wireless emergency calls were received per minute. Along with this dependency comes addiction. The Hospital of Seoul National University found that “3 out of 10 Korean high school students who carry mobile phones are reported to be ‘addicted’ to them.” Without their phones they show sign of repetitive stress injury from obsessive text messaging and become anxous.
            In the article, she also analyzes parents who buy cell phones for their children. Parents often to say it’s because the care about their safety and like to check in with their children when in reality, they are somewhat paranoid. They want to know what their children are constantly doing, they don’t trust the society, and they show a lack of trust in their child, “they choose surveillance technologies to monitor their children rather than teaching them to behave appropriately.”
            Rosen also points out how cell phone usage can effect a user’s driving. It is more common for teenage drivers with cell phones to become a victim in a car accident because of texting behind the wheel. Many people of all age groups talk and drive at the same time, which results in car accidents as well. A 2001 study concluded that approximately 600,000 drivers “are actively using cell phones at any one time” on the road.
            It has also come up that common courtesy no longer applies to the usage of cell phones. Christine points out that carrying cell phones and talking on the phone in public is a way of showing that that particular person is important, especially if it happens to be a business call. But those users no longer think about the people around them who have to listen to their obnoxious conversations. For instance a couple goes out to a nice restaurant but gets stuck in a booth next a gentleman who screams in his phone the entire night, they more than likely won’t be too thrilled. Rosen says, “We’re no longer overhearing, we are hearing.”
Another issue that cell phones raise is the lack of engagement of cell phone users with other people and the real world. They could be in a room full of people and rather text or call someone than start a conversation with a person across the room. It allows people to become “out of contact.” Christine says, “we have allowed what should be subordinate activities become dominant.”

Annotation Project

Rohypnol (Flunitrazepam)


Ideas to form questions:
  • medical use
  • use beyond medical field
  • adverse effects
  • floppy infant syndrome
  • paradoxical effects
  • date rape
  • robbery
  • suicide
  • recreational purposes 

Rohynol Roofies- the Date-Rape Drug  By Colleen Adams
Rohynol: Drug Info 
Rohynol Addiction

Ethnography: Nursing/Rehab Center

There are many types of relationships that can form between people; they vary from being just acquaintances to being married. Honesty, trust and similar hobbies and ideas are the fundamentals of a relationship; without them, a relationship cannot thrive. Nursing homes and rehabilitation centers have a mix of relationships—nurse to nurse relationships, nurse to patient relationships, and patient to patient relationships. Crawford Nursing and Rehabilitation Center is where I observed there types of relationships.

I pulled into the half-filled parking lot and put my car in park. I looked around, noticing the cleanliness out front, and the lack of color. I walk up the ramp to the back entrance and fiddled with the handle until the door opened; I hurried in and shut the door behind me so the alarm doesn’t sound. Immediately I could smell paint which gave me a headache. I hurried to the second floor, which is where the permanent residents live, and hurried through that door as well, so the alarm wouldn’t go off.

The place was tidy with low ceilings, but it smelled like age, like old people with a hint of fresh linens. I don’t really know another way of describing it; it just had the smell of old people, like dentists and hospitals also have their own indescribable smells. The lower halves of the walls were a maroon color, and the majority of the upper half was white, with speckles of light green. Throughout the whole upstairs, it had the same floral wall paper, which looked like it was painted with watercolors, or maybe it had just faded over time. On the walls hung flower-like pictures and pictures of cottages, which had the faded look too. Walking down the Oak Grove Unit hallways, I peered into the rooms noticing that most rooms had three beds, and every section of the room was decorated differently. A door on the right side of the hall had a snowman hung on it. The inside of the room had an endless flow of flowers, making it feel very bright and happy. But all rooms were not so cheerful.

Down the hall on the left was a room that belonged to a woman by the name, Blanche Lafrance. From what I gathered from the nurses, she was not a very nice or friendly woman. She didn’t get along with any of the patients, and hardly any of the nurses. A nurse told me that she once pushed another patient down, causing her to break her hip. Blanche was also very picky, for instance, there was only one nurse that worked there that she allowed to clip her nails. Her room was filled with shadows, which made it very cold to me. In the middle of the room stood an isolated bed with a fan at the foot of it. On the opposing side of the room was a dresser which reflected little light from the window. That was it. No roommates, no personal touches, not even a T.V.

On my way to the living room area, I could hear the nurses bickering with one another; it almost sounded like they were having a dispute about who has to do what with the patient they were tending to. Beside the livingroom was the Oak Grove Unit desk, with maroon countertops and record books, matching the color scheme. To the left of the desk were patients all lined up; these were the “high-risk” patients, meaning they were at a high risk of falling if they were left unattended. Sitting there, half of them were asleep in their wheelchairs. The others which were awake, muttered to one another quietly every once and a while. All the patients in this area had three things in common-- gray hair, wrinkles, and saggy bags below their eyes.

Through the threshold of the living room sat four elderly people, all of them were as silent as can be. The television was turned on and tuned to the USA channel, an action movie was playing. There were four couches, four chairs, fake plants and two bay windows which were accompanied by a coffee table, a regular table and a green floor. I noticed that this room was the only room with another type of wallpaper; the wallpaper resembled small diamonds. In the far right corner sat a little TV stand and a rather large TV, which made the room flow nice. On the walls hung art the patients had obviously colored- the kind that had the felt that outlined a picture and all you had to do was color the white empty spots.

The last spot I observed in was the diningroom. There wasn’t much to the room. The walls were purple and cream, the room was filled with tables, at the far end there were two huge windows. By the windows were more fake plants, but I guess they’re better than nothing. Soft rock played while the people did activities such as bingo; others just ate.

The Oak Grove Unit is a place where elderly people can find a new home that accommodates their needs considering that most patients there have dementia or some type of heart or respiratory problems. Most of the people here are from the age of 60 to 80; but some are as young as 30 and others as old as 104. There are two couples here who are married. The rest of the people didn’t know each other before they were admitted. Because the families of these patients don’t see them very often, they have formed very close bonds with other patients as well as the nurses. This is not only a large group of people, it’s a large group of friends- they’re so close, you could call them a family.

Six Sentences

I lay on my bed, tears running down my face, unable to speak or grasp what was going on. My father put down his bags and wrapped his arms around me, his cold leather jacket evoking goose bumps on my skin. He drew back and squatted down beside my bed with his hand in mine. I could see water forming in his green hazel eyes—I knew it was all he could do not to break down crying. With a little crack in his voice, he said, “It’s only for a little while.” As he stood, he kissed my forehead and hugged me one last time before he grabbed his bags and left.

Very Rough Personal Essay Draft

Growing up in a world full of people is hard for someone like me. Having to meet and interact with people everywhere I go is hard. People like me don’t go to school functions, join any kind of team or club, we never raise our hands in class, even if we know the answer. Public speaking is out of the question. I and others alike don’t like doing anything around other people, we keep to ourselves. People like me, have Social Anxiety Disorder.

I’ve had Social Anxiety since I could remember. When I was little, my teachers just thought I was shy. They’d want me to do things with other children, but I was afraid. And if I told them I didn’t want to do it or that I didn’t feel comfortable doing it, I’d get in trouble. I was afraid people were watching me, judging me. Even though I realize my fears are silly, I still can’t get over them.

Since my parents divorced when I was eight, I’ve been moving from place to place to place. I have lived in a total of four states, Pennsylvania, Virginia, North Carolina, and Massachusetts, and I have moved a total of twelve times. The hardest part about moving is changing schools and trying to make new friends. Every school I went to just felt so weird to me, I felt out of place. I would wander the halls in circles trying to find my classes because I was too afraid to ask someone for help.

But one move was different from the rest; my move from York, Pa to Fall River, Ma. The night before the Friday that school started, I felt sick to my stomach. I tossed and turned all night. I daydreamed about how my first day would turn out. That night, I barely slept. I was still awake when my alarm clock went off. My mom walked into my room to grab her uniform for work, and saw me lying in bed, my face beat red, sweat running down my face. I couldn’t believe it. I was so afraid of starting school at Durfee, that my body had an actual reaction, causing me to become sick. Having that said, I did not go to school that day. On Monday however, my mother forced me to go to school.

I was extremely nervous when I woke up for my first day of school, I don’t know why. Maybe it was the fact that I was a new student in a huge, gigantic school in an unfamiliar city. I’ve never even lived in a city before. I was afraid I wouldn’t know my way around the school. I was afraid people would pick on me. I was afraid that I wouldn’t be able to find my way home. I was afraid the classes would be too hard. My fear was greater that day than I could ever remember.

Walking up to the building, I could feel my legs becoming jello beneath me. I was shaking and sweating profusely. But, I managed to walk into the building. I also managed to find my classes that day. When I walked through the halls, I felt as if no one even noticed I existed. In class, I felt like everyone watched every little thing I did. At lunch, I felt like a loner. I didn’t sit with anyone. I didn’t eat; I refused. The first couple weeks went on like that. Every morning when I woke up, the feeling would repeat. Every single morning. I was miserable and completely dreaded going to school.

But from there, it kind of got better. Day after day, seeing the same people, I found out which ones I liked from the way they acted and the things they said and did. I knew what teachers I liked, and knew which ones I disliked. I eventually warmed up to some of my fellow peers and began socializing with them on a regular basis. It was like I had just won a marathon, that’s how ecstatic I was. I had people to talk to, walk with, and even eat lunch with. I didn’t feel so alone anymore.

That was a big accomplishment for me. In my past, I was more of the person who sat in the back of the room and was just there, more of a decoration than a human being. And in the classes I did well in, I was known as some kind of nerd or geek. If people wanted to talk to me, they would approach me, I would never approach them.

In my other schools, I didn’t have very many friends; I had a very close, small circle of friends though. And at Durfee, I had more friends than I had in all my other schools put together. Walking around in the school, I was at ease. I knew people. They’d talk to me. If I seen them in the hall, they’d smile and wave, and I’d return the gesture. It made me happy that I was able to work around my disorder.


As dawn approached, large raindrops descended from the sky, dancing across the streets of Dallas, Texas. Inside a small hotel, a young man began preparing himself for the long, draining day ahead of him. His heartbeat accelerated at just the thought of the Vex Robotic World Championship being held only hours away.

            Before the pale, dark-haired boy departed the hotel room, he took one last look in the mirror and gave himself a weak smile. Down in the lobby, his scanty robotics team awaited his arrival. From the window, they clearly saw that the rain was pounding the saturated earth; they quickly obtained translucent plastic from a nearby table, from which other people were seated. The material easily contoured to their bodies, taking the shape of a poncho within an instant before they dashed out the doors and down the street.
            When the team came to a halt outside the building, Kevin felt as if it towered over him. His heart fluttered faster than a hummingbird; he could hear the constant pattering of his heartbeat in his ears. Through the threshold, the building was overly-congested with people. Entering the building, he could feel his knees becoming weak and his hands growing clammy in his pockets. He disposed of the damp plastic that was molded to his body and took a seat up against the wall where the other competitors sat.
            Over time, his mouth grew dry in anticipation of being called to perform in the arena. When the speaker called his name, he stood; rosy red coloring flooded his cheeks. Feeling a little nauseous, he squatted to grab his robot and tools. With his voice a little raspy and shaken, he managed to mutter to his robot, “Let’s do this, Scudmeoba”.

Reflection on Brainstorming

I had a hard time coming up with ideas for my personal essay. I had a couple ideas but, I didn't know how I could get my personal experiences to connect with my readers. After sitting at my computer desk for hours, I gave up and laid in bed. Then it hit me like a ton of bricks. I got out of bed and began jotting down ideas rapidly over at my desk. My personal essay is based upon fear and nervousness, more along the lines of getting over certain fears so I'm not as nervous in the future. I thought this was a great topic to write about because everyone has had a time in their life that they had a fear they needed to conquer, or felt somewhat nervous about something. My essay is how I began coping with my Social Anxiety Disorder.