Step 1
My 'subject' wears a ring. It is gold in color, and has a dark colored pendant in it about the size of a dime. Engraved in this dark stone pendant is the profile image of a man with an interesting helmet on his head. The ring, although quite beautiful, is also very simple.
Step 2
This ring makes me wonder what it means to the 'subject.' Did this ring belong to a grandparent since past away and is worn in memory of them? Did the subject find this ring and think it was nice and then decided to wear it around? I cannot tell if it is real or just gilded gold, but it looks like it may have been chosen to look big, shiny and flashy, as if to resemble wealth.
Step 3
Step 4
Step 5
He told me that the ring was given to him by his father after it was purchased at an auction. The ring is important to him because his father gave it to him. He told me that he wears it because he likes the way it looks and it always reminds him of his dad when he sees it or feels it on his finger. If he were to lose it, there were three things that would makes him very sad. First, it was a gift from his father, so he would feel bad for losing a gift that his dad was so kind to buy for him. Second, he would be bummed that he lost such a nifty looking ring. And thirdly, he feels like the ring has become a part of him and if it were to be lost he would feel like a part of him was missing. Oh, and I guess I should add that if an old fuzzy guy in a gray hat told him to travel to a far away dangerous land and chuck his pretty ring into a raging river of molten lava, he would feel at least mildly disappointed.
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Feb 26th Post 7
Giving Back
Giving back to the community is important. The community is the home that has been built for us, and it is our responsibility to respect it and help keep it up and running. McCollough Park in Muncie is a beautiful place where kids and disc golfers alike can enjoy a gorgeous evening. And I'm sure that there are people who are hired to keep it looking beautiful, but there is so much that the park's daily visitors can do to keep it looking beautiful. If I am playing disc golf with some friends and I see a can sitting by a tree, I should pick that can up and carry it along with me until I find a trash can. If I am walking past the pavilion and I see a park bench that has been flipped over by a pack of wiley teenagers, I should walk over and put the bench back on its feet. If I find a nest of birds that has fallen out of a tree, I should not touch it or crush it, I should let it be so that those birds can someday flutter in the trees and make the park even more beautiful. It is so very lucky that disc golf is a free sport in Muncie, and that gives us even more responsibility to keep the park looking good for the next player who wants to enjoy a fun round of disc golf.
Giving back to the community is important. The community is the home that has been built for us, and it is our responsibility to respect it and help keep it up and running. McCollough Park in Muncie is a beautiful place where kids and disc golfers alike can enjoy a gorgeous evening. And I'm sure that there are people who are hired to keep it looking beautiful, but there is so much that the park's daily visitors can do to keep it looking beautiful. If I am playing disc golf with some friends and I see a can sitting by a tree, I should pick that can up and carry it along with me until I find a trash can. If I am walking past the pavilion and I see a park bench that has been flipped over by a pack of wiley teenagers, I should walk over and put the bench back on its feet. If I find a nest of birds that has fallen out of a tree, I should not touch it or crush it, I should let it be so that those birds can someday flutter in the trees and make the park even more beautiful. It is so very lucky that disc golf is a free sport in Muncie, and that gives us even more responsibility to keep the park looking good for the next player who wants to enjoy a fun round of disc golf.
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Feb 19 Groundwork Activity
Step 1
As long as I can remember, I have seen those little metal basket thingies with the chains dangling down everywhere. When I was really young and my dad took me to the park when I lived in Michigan, I saw them there. When I went to recess in elementary school, I saw them there. When I moved to Noblesville and went to Forrest Park for the first time, I saw them there. But it wasn't until the summer before my freshman year of highschool that I actually figured out what those things were. I remember one of my best friends saying: "Hey guys, I've got a great new game for us to try!" So we go to Morse Park & Beach and he hands me this heavy sleek disc. I look at it like 'what in the world? Is this a battle weapon? I could kill somone with this!' As I stood on the tee, I looked down toward the basket, and after having a moment of realization, I threw my very first disc. And it was awful. So awful I think I might have considered giving up right then and there. But something was strangely addictive about this game, and I love it to this day.
Step 2
I first felt very uncomfortable in my new space. I was frustrated because I didn't like not being good at something. I was also uncomfortable because I was not used to this kind of Frisbee disc. I had thrown plenty of ultimate discs in my time, but this was a new, heavy, unstable sort of disc that really bothered me. Although, it didn't take long for me to become comfortable and skilled at this game, and I started to introduce others to the game. It was then easy for me to see it from their perspective because I had been there not too long before.
Step 3
I am still an outsider in Frisbee golf because I have never played competitively. If I were to show up at a Frisbee golf tournament I would have no idea what was going on, and thus I would be an outsider. I would have to have someone explain to me the rules of play and then I would experience those rule for the first time. It would be as if I were just playing for the first time.
As long as I can remember, I have seen those little metal basket thingies with the chains dangling down everywhere. When I was really young and my dad took me to the park when I lived in Michigan, I saw them there. When I went to recess in elementary school, I saw them there. When I moved to Noblesville and went to Forrest Park for the first time, I saw them there. But it wasn't until the summer before my freshman year of highschool that I actually figured out what those things were. I remember one of my best friends saying: "Hey guys, I've got a great new game for us to try!" So we go to Morse Park & Beach and he hands me this heavy sleek disc. I look at it like 'what in the world? Is this a battle weapon? I could kill somone with this!' As I stood on the tee, I looked down toward the basket, and after having a moment of realization, I threw my very first disc. And it was awful. So awful I think I might have considered giving up right then and there. But something was strangely addictive about this game, and I love it to this day.
Step 2
I first felt very uncomfortable in my new space. I was frustrated because I didn't like not being good at something. I was also uncomfortable because I was not used to this kind of Frisbee disc. I had thrown plenty of ultimate discs in my time, but this was a new, heavy, unstable sort of disc that really bothered me. Although, it didn't take long for me to become comfortable and skilled at this game, and I started to introduce others to the game. It was then easy for me to see it from their perspective because I had been there not too long before.
Step 3
I am still an outsider in Frisbee golf because I have never played competitively. If I were to show up at a Frisbee golf tournament I would have no idea what was going on, and thus I would be an outsider. I would have to have someone explain to me the rules of play and then I would experience those rule for the first time. It would be as if I were just playing for the first time.
Starkey, Dr. Bob, and Ms. Robertson
Starkey, David. "Eighteen holes of frisbee golf." Arkansas Review: A Journal of Delta Studies 27.2 (1996): 17
This short story, entitled Eighteen Holes of Frisbee Golf, follows author David Starkey and one of his colleagues Dr. Bob as they play a round of Frisbee golf. Starkey explains that they had recently been playing "...once a week during the semester, almost every other day during vacations (Starkey 4)." As the holes progress, he describes the tricky shots that they both have to make. He also is very descriptive when it comes to Dr. Bob's frustration, because apparently Dr. Bob usually plays very well, but this round was not turning out to be his best. Something else Starkey does is he keeps score all along. For a while, Dr. Bob is up one, but after a few mistakes, Starkey ends up a few strokes ahead.
This short story could be useful in my ethnographic study if I ever wish to describe the game from the perspective of someone other than myself or someone I interview. It also provides me with a way of demonstrated the diversity of Frisbee golf, because Starkey and Dr. Bob play by slightly different rules than the ones I play by.
--------------------------------------------------------------
Robertson, Sarah. "Be a Flying-Disc Jockey!" Prevention 54.7 (2002): 84
This brief article outlines a few family traditions and rituals of Sarah Robertson, the author. She describes how her father introduced her and her siblings to the game twenty years ago and they still play with in-laws frequently. She then tells the reader her family's version of the rules of Frisbee golf, which turns out to be fairly similar to those of Starkey and Dr. Bob. There is one key difference: Robertson's family plays in doubles, which allows one to choose which shot one likes better of the two teammates' shots.
This article may be valuable to me for the same reason that Starkey's was: comparison. This gives me just one more variation of the game of Frisbee golf from yet another perspective. This article will also give me an opportunity to introduce the rules of doubles Frisbee golf.
This short story, entitled Eighteen Holes of Frisbee Golf, follows author David Starkey and one of his colleagues Dr. Bob as they play a round of Frisbee golf. Starkey explains that they had recently been playing "...once a week during the semester, almost every other day during vacations (Starkey 4)." As the holes progress, he describes the tricky shots that they both have to make. He also is very descriptive when it comes to Dr. Bob's frustration, because apparently Dr. Bob usually plays very well, but this round was not turning out to be his best. Something else Starkey does is he keeps score all along. For a while, Dr. Bob is up one, but after a few mistakes, Starkey ends up a few strokes ahead.
This short story could be useful in my ethnographic study if I ever wish to describe the game from the perspective of someone other than myself or someone I interview. It also provides me with a way of demonstrated the diversity of Frisbee golf, because Starkey and Dr. Bob play by slightly different rules than the ones I play by.
--------------------------------------------------------------
Robertson, Sarah. "Be a Flying-Disc Jockey!" Prevention 54.7 (2002): 84
This brief article outlines a few family traditions and rituals of Sarah Robertson, the author. She describes how her father introduced her and her siblings to the game twenty years ago and they still play with in-laws frequently. She then tells the reader her family's version of the rules of Frisbee golf, which turns out to be fairly similar to those of Starkey and Dr. Bob. There is one key difference: Robertson's family plays in doubles, which allows one to choose which shot one likes better of the two teammates' shots.
This article may be valuable to me for the same reason that Starkey's was: comparison. This gives me just one more variation of the game of Frisbee golf from yet another perspective. This article will also give me an opportunity to introduce the rules of doubles Frisbee golf.
Monday, February 16, 2009
Feb 17th Box 18
Finding Frisbee's Focal Point
My first instinct was that, duh, the Frisbee is the focal point of Frisbee golf. I'm actually not really sure if I've decided yet, but this is the discussion I had with myself: I have concluded that although the sport of Frisbee golf revolves around the rules of golf, the primary (only) instrument of Frisbee golf is the disc. So I think that the disc is the focal point because if I was to label golf as the focal point, that would suggest that one plays the game for the rules and the competition. In the first draft I stated that I was going to try to observe Frisbee golf from several different aspects other than straight forward. The Frisbee is the center of the game, whether you're playing competitively or just with the guys. The disc is more important to the player than just the object that one throws at the basket; it a sacred relic that each and every player keeps in sight at all times. It is a means of expression (ie color, style, weight... etc). It is the tool by which every Frisbee golfer fulfills his eternal destiny: to skillfully place the disc in the wire basket where it rightfully belongs.
My first instinct was that, duh, the Frisbee is the focal point of Frisbee golf. I'm actually not really sure if I've decided yet, but this is the discussion I had with myself: I have concluded that although the sport of Frisbee golf revolves around the rules of golf, the primary (only) instrument of Frisbee golf is the disc. So I think that the disc is the focal point because if I was to label golf as the focal point, that would suggest that one plays the game for the rules and the competition. In the first draft I stated that I was going to try to observe Frisbee golf from several different aspects other than straight forward. The Frisbee is the center of the game, whether you're playing competitively or just with the guys. The disc is more important to the player than just the object that one throws at the basket; it a sacred relic that each and every player keeps in sight at all times. It is a means of expression (ie color, style, weight... etc). It is the tool by which every Frisbee golfer fulfills his eternal destiny: to skillfully place the disc in the wire basket where it rightfully belongs.
Thursday, February 12, 2009
Feb 12 Culture Shock
Indy to Newark
The Indianapolis airport terminal, not the definition of beautiful, made especially more ugly by the 1/4 mile line I'm standing in to go through security. This place seems like it was designed to be dull; large bulky gray machines, the constant hum of a dozen conveyor belts, the lazy gaze of a security guard on the 8th hour of his shift, and the hundreds of people standing in line to get felt up proved this observation. Then I sat and waited for 2 hours as announcements poured out of the loud speakers alerting me that my flight was being delayed and they're sorry for the inconvenience. Well they didn't have to be sorry, because according to their website this is what I paid for: long lines, delayed flights, and uncomfortably small airline chairs with zero leg room. If it wasn't for the bag of peanuts and that can of soda, it would have been 'no deal.'
Part of me was hoping that Newark would be a little better than Indianapolis as far as their standards for airport terminals was concerned. Well, I guess it's not fair to compare because it's always more frustrating to fly out than it is to fly in. So far I only had to wait in one line, and that's because the stupid baggage claim machine was holding my luggage hostage! I swear I saw the same red-trimmed suitcase 4 times before I even saw mine once!
Finally out of airport land, a cab drove us to downtown Jersey City, just 2 stone throws away from the Hudson, and maybe a dozen more stone throws from Manhattan. This was so exciting, even though all I'd seen of Jersey so far was from the interior of an airport taxi cab. Stepping out of the cab, I was blown off my feet. I was standing on the curb of a narrow street with apartment facades flanking it, and straight down the street I could see a perfectly framed view of downtown Manhattan. Amazing.
The Indianapolis airport terminal, not the definition of beautiful, made especially more ugly by the 1/4 mile line I'm standing in to go through security. This place seems like it was designed to be dull; large bulky gray machines, the constant hum of a dozen conveyor belts, the lazy gaze of a security guard on the 8th hour of his shift, and the hundreds of people standing in line to get felt up proved this observation. Then I sat and waited for 2 hours as announcements poured out of the loud speakers alerting me that my flight was being delayed and they're sorry for the inconvenience. Well they didn't have to be sorry, because according to their website this is what I paid for: long lines, delayed flights, and uncomfortably small airline chairs with zero leg room. If it wasn't for the bag of peanuts and that can of soda, it would have been 'no deal.'
Part of me was hoping that Newark would be a little better than Indianapolis as far as their standards for airport terminals was concerned. Well, I guess it's not fair to compare because it's always more frustrating to fly out than it is to fly in. So far I only had to wait in one line, and that's because the stupid baggage claim machine was holding my luggage hostage! I swear I saw the same red-trimmed suitcase 4 times before I even saw mine once!
Finally out of airport land, a cab drove us to downtown Jersey City, just 2 stone throws away from the Hudson, and maybe a dozen more stone throws from Manhattan. This was so exciting, even though all I'd seen of Jersey so far was from the interior of an airport taxi cab. Stepping out of the cab, I was blown off my feet. I was standing on the curb of a narrow street with apartment facades flanking it, and straight down the street I could see a perfectly framed view of downtown Manhattan. Amazing.
Feb 10th Blog Posting 5
Looking to the Future
I realize that I have a lot more work to do. I know I need to find sources in the library, but I'm worried that there aren't many. Even though Frisbee golf has been around for at least a decade, the last time I searched "frisbee golf" in the library database I came up with 1 result! And even then, it was just a magazine clipping where an author talks about how a game of frisbee golf inspired one of the chapters of his new book.
Anyway, putting my anxieties about library sources aside, I look forward to visiting my field-site if this spring warmth keeps up. Although I must admit, I'm much more thrilled about actually playing Frisbee golf than I am doing field research. However, if I can manage to multi-task correctly, I could see myself doing field research and getting in 18 holes in one visit. And not only that, but I can get some of the interviews out of the way in the next few days because I know the guys who I play with.
So, other than time dedicated to library research and field research, the last thing I can see myself doing is sitting where I am now and actually composing the sob... I mean, mini-ethnography. (Which I'm not particularly thrilled about, but life goes on...)
I realize that I have a lot more work to do. I know I need to find sources in the library, but I'm worried that there aren't many. Even though Frisbee golf has been around for at least a decade, the last time I searched "frisbee golf" in the library database I came up with 1 result! And even then, it was just a magazine clipping where an author talks about how a game of frisbee golf inspired one of the chapters of his new book.
Anyway, putting my anxieties about library sources aside, I look forward to visiting my field-site if this spring warmth keeps up. Although I must admit, I'm much more thrilled about actually playing Frisbee golf than I am doing field research. However, if I can manage to multi-task correctly, I could see myself doing field research and getting in 18 holes in one visit. And not only that, but I can get some of the interviews out of the way in the next few days because I know the guys who I play with.
So, other than time dedicated to library research and field research, the last thing I can see myself doing is sitting where I am now and actually composing the sob... I mean, mini-ethnography. (Which I'm not particularly thrilled about, but life goes on...)
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
Feb 10 Favorite Spot
The Fishing Hole
I've lived in Noblesville, Indiana since the day that I turned five, and nearly every memory that I can conjure can be traced to that Indiana home. We moved into the house we still live in now, a two story ranch with pale khaki siding and forest green shudders. And when a hot summer day came along where any activity more extensive than walking made you sweat buckets, we voyaged to the greatest place in the neighborhood: the fishing hole. We'd pack up our tackle boxes and fishing poles and jump on our bikes (it was worth the sweaty ride). Dropping our bikes off at the curb a few minutes later, we'd grab our gear and embark on our journey through back yards, along picket fences, and past shady locks of forest. Finally, we'd come to an old path, complete with dilapidated wooden steps that led straight down to Morse reservoir. We would pertch ourselves on that little rock shelf in the shade of that massive beech tree and start to bait our hooks and test our reels. The sun would try its hardest to beat down and burn our small unprotected faces, but to no avail. The large beech with over grown ivy winding up its trunk stood guard as chatted and laughed in the shade of its strong branches. The water would come up to the rock shelf and splash against it ever so gently. From where we sat, we could see the occasional speed boat go whomping by with screaming water skier in close pursuit. It would then be only a couple of minutes before the waves from the passing machine would come and smack against the stone shelf, probably scaring away any fish that had been there seconds before.
If I recall correctly, we never really caught any fish of noteworthy size at this fishing hole. Usually just 4 or 5 inch blue gill or the occasional sunfish (my favorite because they're absolutely gorgeous). There was that one time that my wily neighbor convinced me to replace my bait worm with bread and I ended up catching a 2 foot carp (the most vile and disgusting fish I've ever seen). It just dangled on the end of my line because no one wanted to touch it and finally the line snapped under the fat creature's weight and it swam away with a little token of our gratitude still lodged in its lower lip. No, it's not the fishing that brings back the memories, its the smell. The fishy, stagnant water smell that completely filled that little fishing cove. Thinking about it now, I probably wouldn't be able to stand it for more that a few minutes, but along with the smell was the scenery. Tall, strong beech tree and the overgrown ivy. The rock shelf where one may find a decent skipping rock amongst the broken glass and rusty fish hooks. The old wooden steps, adjacent to an old rotting deck where one can't help but imagine a lively family barbeque taking place sometime many years ago. All these things enhance the experience into something more than a day trip to the fishing spot.
I've lived in Noblesville, Indiana since the day that I turned five, and nearly every memory that I can conjure can be traced to that Indiana home. We moved into the house we still live in now, a two story ranch with pale khaki siding and forest green shudders. And when a hot summer day came along where any activity more extensive than walking made you sweat buckets, we voyaged to the greatest place in the neighborhood: the fishing hole. We'd pack up our tackle boxes and fishing poles and jump on our bikes (it was worth the sweaty ride). Dropping our bikes off at the curb a few minutes later, we'd grab our gear and embark on our journey through back yards, along picket fences, and past shady locks of forest. Finally, we'd come to an old path, complete with dilapidated wooden steps that led straight down to Morse reservoir. We would pertch ourselves on that little rock shelf in the shade of that massive beech tree and start to bait our hooks and test our reels. The sun would try its hardest to beat down and burn our small unprotected faces, but to no avail. The large beech with over grown ivy winding up its trunk stood guard as chatted and laughed in the shade of its strong branches. The water would come up to the rock shelf and splash against it ever so gently. From where we sat, we could see the occasional speed boat go whomping by with screaming water skier in close pursuit. It would then be only a couple of minutes before the waves from the passing machine would come and smack against the stone shelf, probably scaring away any fish that had been there seconds before.
If I recall correctly, we never really caught any fish of noteworthy size at this fishing hole. Usually just 4 or 5 inch blue gill or the occasional sunfish (my favorite because they're absolutely gorgeous). There was that one time that my wily neighbor convinced me to replace my bait worm with bread and I ended up catching a 2 foot carp (the most vile and disgusting fish I've ever seen). It just dangled on the end of my line because no one wanted to touch it and finally the line snapped under the fat creature's weight and it swam away with a little token of our gratitude still lodged in its lower lip. No, it's not the fishing that brings back the memories, its the smell. The fishy, stagnant water smell that completely filled that little fishing cove. Thinking about it now, I probably wouldn't be able to stand it for more that a few minutes, but along with the smell was the scenery. Tall, strong beech tree and the overgrown ivy. The rock shelf where one may find a decent skipping rock amongst the broken glass and rusty fish hooks. The old wooden steps, adjacent to an old rotting deck where one can't help but imagine a lively family barbeque taking place sometime many years ago. All these things enhance the experience into something more than a day trip to the fishing spot.
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
Feb. 5th Respose: General Conclusions
I have many conclusions about my subculture, however they are not 'general' conclusions because I already have the experiences that verify those conclusions. Because I have been a Frisbee golfer for a great deal of time, it is difficult for me to remember what my general conclusions were when I first encountered the sport. I first remember thinking that it was kind of silly: the idea of throwing a Frisbee toward a little bucket on a stick. Previous to my introduction to Frisbee golf, I thought a Frisbee was just an object you threw back and forth between two people. It really was not a game to me, more of a fun activity for a day in the park or on the beach. So I suppose one of my general conclusions about Frisbee is that it was originally not a sport to me, but now it is of course. My next general conclusion was probably that it was going to be easy. This is a common general conclusion with sports though, and usually that sport turns out to be far more difficult that you had previously thought. That is what I soon discovered, and so that was a general conclusion that turned out to be false. I have played for more than four years now and Frisbee golf is still nowhere near easy!
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
Feb 3rd Privileges Discussion
PRIVILEGES
--Freedoms I possess
--Having a loving, supportive, Christian family
--Having amazing, loving friends
--Blessed with many skills, especially as an artist
--Having enough money to go to college
--White male in American society
These privileges will play a role in how I observe my subculture and the positions I take. In my first draft, I pointed out that I observed that men seem to be much more attracted to Frisbee golf than women. Being a privileged caucasian male American will definitely influence the way that I observe the sport of Frisbee golfing and some of the assumptions that I make about who plays it. Also, I feel that I have been blessed with a natural skill for Frisbee golf. This privilege may cause me make some assumptions about the game that make sense to me but not to an outsider. I have to be very careful about this because it will be very easy for me to talk to my audience as if they are a seasoned Frisbee golfer; however, they may have never played the sport in their life. I am also very comfortable with playing with my friends, and when I do research I will have to be careful to do some of it alone so that those friends do not influence my positions.
--Freedoms I possess
--Having a loving, supportive, Christian family
--Having amazing, loving friends
--Blessed with many skills, especially as an artist
--Having enough money to go to college
--White male in American society
These privileges will play a role in how I observe my subculture and the positions I take. In my first draft, I pointed out that I observed that men seem to be much more attracted to Frisbee golf than women. Being a privileged caucasian male American will definitely influence the way that I observe the sport of Frisbee golfing and some of the assumptions that I make about who plays it. Also, I feel that I have been blessed with a natural skill for Frisbee golf. This privilege may cause me make some assumptions about the game that make sense to me but not to an outsider. I have to be very careful about this because it will be very easy for me to talk to my audience as if they are a seasoned Frisbee golfer; however, they may have never played the sport in their life. I am also very comfortable with playing with my friends, and when I do research I will have to be careful to do some of it alone so that those friends do not influence my positions.
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