Class Notes

Urban Sociology #2

How I took notes in my Contemporary Cities class 3/08/12

Cities cause alienation and isolation

Father Marx what’s up with all this exploitation?

Maximizing profit, workers united,

Overthrowing capitalist

Ideology isn’t just corrupt, it’s the people within it

Yo, you amp’t off that city life, trippin’

Sophistication, anonymity leads to over mental stimulation

Simmel calculate this, open our minds. Satisfaction

Small towns don’t see differences

Identity lost, no more compasses

Guiding the way for social acceptance

Louis Wirth, Determinist Theory

Is it still happening today?

So what if a nanny raises a child

The parents working by the green mile

Everyday I’m hustling, minimum wage

Wait what? I gotta pay to meet people?

Group-control mechanisms, isn’t that illegal?

I’m just saying

Values should be learned in the youth

Parents pay attention, it’s the truth

You are just a piece to a puzzle

Constructed on a table, middle of nowhere

Cultural knowledge leads to cultural pride

Yet there is no common law we all share

Education is down, teaching all different types of curriculums

They’re tryin’ to cripple us

Succeeding to instill in us

Acceptance of a caste system

picture: http://www.facebook.com/pages/KASHMIR-AGAINST-THE-CASTE-SYSTEM/95755694407

Short Story

                                                                       My Street

 

My street is what some would consider small. Cunningham Street is many things however lengthy is not one of them. Stationed towards the bottom lies a dead end street, which gives homes to many despite its petite stature. My street can be lively and my street can be silent. As a hill, walking down my street is a breeze however the uphill commute may leave one’s legs a little unsteady upon reaching the top. Just before one reaches the top, my house will come into view surrounded by a fence with a no parking sign in front of the driveway.

A car alarm awakes the street, a sure sign of a restless morning. Today is Wednesday, Trash day. Looking out the window, I can see the car omitting that piercing sound while the owner fumbles for the keys. I watch the man drive away; trying to enjoy the few times my street’s in silence. I watch the leaves blow sporadically. Birds are softly chirping in the tress while pigeons walk aimlessly on the sidewalks looking for food. My attention is now fixed on the roaring sound of garbage man coming to collect the trash put out the night before.

I make my way outside as the truck disappears around the corner. Outside is a beautiful day. The leaves I saw blowing earlier managed to collect themselves into a nice heap at the bottom of my stairs. I see some of my neighbors upon my retrieval of the trash bins, wave whist giving a friendly ‘good morning’ are the only recognitions given. A man, his name is Mr. Adams, is raking leaves and picking up trash in front of his house. He is an old man yet age does not deter him from assuring his section of the street is clean. A group of kids, maybe middle school, make their way up the hill. They are having a conversation that does not travel to my ears but the similes on their faces and their laugher help me presume that their journey will be enjoyable. A school bus picks up a girl waiting with her mother at the corner of my street and the dead end one. A brother and sister, running past me hand in hand with oversized book bags and metal lunchboxes, try to catch the yellow automobile before they miss their only ride to school. Bins placed where they belong leave my morning observations for a later time.

The mailman brings in the afternoon. My street is pretty empty. Cars that usually populate the morning are now randomly scatted along the street. Music blaring focuses my attention on an all black car parked in the driveway across the street. This is an everyday occurrence. Whether this car or another, people on my street feel the need to showcase their music preferences for all to hear. The women next door to me is shaking out her rug over her porch while whacking it with a straw broom. Yelling brings my gaze to a group of kids, ranging from eight to about thirteen, getting reading to play a game of some sort in the street. One is holding a football while another a small bat. Two of the children had skateboards as the rest ran around. To each his own.

Red and blue lights appear by my living room window. The time is evening. My street has since lain dormant, engulfed in a stillness well deserved. The view from my porch allows me to better assess the trouble of my street. I am not the only one who has sparked an interest in the street’s nightly routine. Whether perched on one’s porch or shielded slightly by a window curtain all eyes are locked on the scene displayed. Cunningham Street is the name, with a crime watch sign at the corner. Muffled voices over car radio frequencies leave onlookers puzzled. Nightly patrols are common. Neighborhood safety is a goal of our small community with the hopes to gain reassurance that criminal activity has waned due to this established support group.

It is unclear what transpired that night. It was neither the first nor the last for Cunningham Street. On brighter days we are all eyes seeking something greater, something worth chasing, in order to provide the youth with a community full of role models, instilling education, compassion, concern for others, as well as correct conduct.

picture: http://www.canyontx.com/index.aspx?NID=202