Tuesday, October 11, 2005
Writing Assignment #7
The Cannon-Bard Theory fits my emotional experience the best. I actually feel that the Evolutionary Theories of Emotion fits my emotional experience the best, but that was not listed on the calk board as an option to write about. But in all essence, I don’t see a stark difference between the two theories.
According to the Cannon-Bard Theory if we are in the setting of a fearful experience then a part of our brain will send signals simultaneously creating conscious experience of emotion and the visceral reaction.
I belief the Cannon-Bard and Evolutionary theories are similar because both state that there are signals that go off in your brain that then aid you to react in a way which is pertinent to the situation. The theories differ more in their wording. I believe the Cannon-Bard theory was derived more out of the necessity to point out the flaws of the James-Lang theory. The Cannon-Bard was written in more of structuralistic manner. It seems to point out the structural differences between its ideas in comparison to the James-Lang’s theory. The Evolutionary Theories of Emotion seem to be written from a functionalistic point of view. It states the function of why the brain reacts as it does. I strongly agree through evolutions humans have innate instincts which aid to their survival…the story below is one of my reasons why I believe this.
One summer evening about four years ago I was at this party in High Lands Ranch. There was a DJ spinning in a typical insta-ghetto house in the Ranch in the sense that it looked just like any other house in the neighborhood. For being such a large place it only had two bathrooms for the mass amount of people that were there. (I remember the ground floor bathroom had a naked sketch of the host’s, which was this 20 something year old guy, mother. The only reason the party was being thrown was because his parents were out of town. So it seemed like a pretty simple upper-class house but I just remember thinking it was bizarre that this guy could be so desensitized to everyone asking him who the naked lady was in the bathroom was. Maybe I’m the weird one?
So the night progressed as I superficially chatted with many uninteresting people and offset my lack of intellectual stimulation by obsessively drinking. Only problem was I had mixed my booze, dark with light, which meant I was in for a bad night. My stomach began to give me the tell-tale signs that cramps were about to be experienced. The discomfort could be coming unexpectedly and out whatever open shoot on my body it pleased. The naked sketch bath room, my preferred place of bodily fluid ejection, was occupied so I snuck upstairs to the alternative bathroom. All of a sudden in typical Ranch entourage style three high pitched voice girls started pounding on the door. I said, “I am sick don’t come in.” Of course, they don’t listen to my request and throw open the door. I was standing perched over the lone bathroom toilet. They said I could use the bathtub for my needs because they needed to “piss.” Of course 90% of the Ranch’s population consistent of beautiful people (sort of like that Marilyn Manson song) and I’m probably overly fascist when it comes to my embrace of such “do as I please” preppy scum. They were technically pretty girls but they all sort of blend together in such a context. Their open invitation to view their dirty snatch while they pissed in front of me, as I stood midsection bent over the bathtub, didn’t exactly entice me.
Needless to say, I left. I went downstairs and started my random perusing of boring conversation. I saw some of my actual friends about ten minutes later and started talking about the “bitches” that kicked my out of the bathroom. I was inebriated and it wasn’t probably the nicest or the smartest thing I could have said. Like I said earlier, all the Ranch girls blend together so I didn’t notice one of them standing nearby. I sat down on a bench near the house’s front door and I started a conversation with my friend Stephanie when all of a sudden the host of the party, who is about my size, walks out of the house accompanied by a guy who was about three inches taller and 30 lbs heavier than I. They start their threatening interrogation about my comments (mainly because the girls kept urging them on.) They asked, “Did you call my girl a bitch?”
My brain started into classic Nick D rationalization mode. A little soliloquy played in my head saying,
O.K. there’s no need to be a dork and show fear. I made some stupid disrespectful comments. I wouldn’t like a guy calling my girl that. The insipid girls are really the ones perpetrating this event. Guys are stupid and need to look cool so they are going to be stupid and start a fight. I’m drunk so this won’t probably hurt until tomorrow and the 2-1 odds aren’t that bad. Who knows, maybe little ole’ whussy me might get a couple of good licks in before I go down.
The host’s question resonated again, “So you called my girl a bitch?” Then he began this menacing rapid fire grunt thing, “Huh, Huh, Huh…” I had had enough so I said, “yeah I called your girl a bitch.” I figured I’d better live up to my stupid comments. He looked shocked but he had a tint of pleasure in his eye as he asked it again and I affirmed my comments again. Then I stepped up and said, “So?” This is when the swarm (12 to be exact) of shrunken testicle neanderthalic males started to pour out of the house like it was the adjourning of a creatine convention. This was the fear moment. My brain stopped thinking and went into instinct mode as these ten guys started shouting unintelligible things at me while pounding their fists and pacing. My brain simultaneously sized up the situation and created a visceral reaction. My evolutionary adaptation for “flight” took over and I instinctually ran. If the Summer Olympics could have been held on those first 100-meters I dashed away from that house, I swear I would have won a gold medal that night.
The Cannon-Bard Theory fits my emotional experience the best. I actually feel that the Evolutionary Theories of Emotion fits my emotional experience the best, but that was not listed on the calk board as an option to write about. But in all essence, I don’t see a stark difference between the two theories.
According to the Cannon-Bard Theory if we are in the setting of a fearful experience then a part of our brain will send signals simultaneously creating conscious experience of emotion and the visceral reaction.
I belief the Cannon-Bard and Evolutionary theories are similar because both state that there are signals that go off in your brain that then aid you to react in a way which is pertinent to the situation. The theories differ more in their wording. I believe the Cannon-Bard theory was derived more out of the necessity to point out the flaws of the James-Lang theory. The Cannon-Bard was written in more of structuralistic manner. It seems to point out the structural differences between its ideas in comparison to the James-Lang’s theory. The Evolutionary Theories of Emotion seem to be written from a functionalistic point of view. It states the function of why the brain reacts as it does. I strongly agree through evolutions humans have innate instincts which aid to their survival…the story below is one of my reasons why I believe this.
One summer evening about four years ago I was at this party in High Lands Ranch. There was a DJ spinning in a typical insta-ghetto house in the Ranch in the sense that it looked just like any other house in the neighborhood. For being such a large place it only had two bathrooms for the mass amount of people that were there. (I remember the ground floor bathroom had a naked sketch of the host’s, which was this 20 something year old guy, mother. The only reason the party was being thrown was because his parents were out of town. So it seemed like a pretty simple upper-class house but I just remember thinking it was bizarre that this guy could be so desensitized to everyone asking him who the naked lady was in the bathroom was. Maybe I’m the weird one?
So the night progressed as I superficially chatted with many uninteresting people and offset my lack of intellectual stimulation by obsessively drinking. Only problem was I had mixed my booze, dark with light, which meant I was in for a bad night. My stomach began to give me the tell-tale signs that cramps were about to be experienced. The discomfort could be coming unexpectedly and out whatever open shoot on my body it pleased. The naked sketch bath room, my preferred place of bodily fluid ejection, was occupied so I snuck upstairs to the alternative bathroom. All of a sudden in typical Ranch entourage style three high pitched voice girls started pounding on the door. I said, “I am sick don’t come in.” Of course, they don’t listen to my request and throw open the door. I was standing perched over the lone bathroom toilet. They said I could use the bathtub for my needs because they needed to “piss.” Of course 90% of the Ranch’s population consistent of beautiful people (sort of like that Marilyn Manson song) and I’m probably overly fascist when it comes to my embrace of such “do as I please” preppy scum. They were technically pretty girls but they all sort of blend together in such a context. Their open invitation to view their dirty snatch while they pissed in front of me, as I stood midsection bent over the bathtub, didn’t exactly entice me.
Needless to say, I left. I went downstairs and started my random perusing of boring conversation. I saw some of my actual friends about ten minutes later and started talking about the “bitches” that kicked my out of the bathroom. I was inebriated and it wasn’t probably the nicest or the smartest thing I could have said. Like I said earlier, all the Ranch girls blend together so I didn’t notice one of them standing nearby. I sat down on a bench near the house’s front door and I started a conversation with my friend Stephanie when all of a sudden the host of the party, who is about my size, walks out of the house accompanied by a guy who was about three inches taller and 30 lbs heavier than I. They start their threatening interrogation about my comments (mainly because the girls kept urging them on.) They asked, “Did you call my girl a bitch?”
My brain started into classic Nick D rationalization mode. A little soliloquy played in my head saying,
O.K. there’s no need to be a dork and show fear. I made some stupid disrespectful comments. I wouldn’t like a guy calling my girl that. The insipid girls are really the ones perpetrating this event. Guys are stupid and need to look cool so they are going to be stupid and start a fight. I’m drunk so this won’t probably hurt until tomorrow and the 2-1 odds aren’t that bad. Who knows, maybe little ole’ whussy me might get a couple of good licks in before I go down.
The host’s question resonated again, “So you called my girl a bitch?” Then he began this menacing rapid fire grunt thing, “Huh, Huh, Huh…” I had had enough so I said, “yeah I called your girl a bitch.” I figured I’d better live up to my stupid comments. He looked shocked but he had a tint of pleasure in his eye as he asked it again and I affirmed my comments again. Then I stepped up and said, “So?” This is when the swarm (12 to be exact) of shrunken testicle neanderthalic males started to pour out of the house like it was the adjourning of a creatine convention. This was the fear moment. My brain stopped thinking and went into instinct mode as these ten guys started shouting unintelligible things at me while pounding their fists and pacing. My brain simultaneously sized up the situation and created a visceral reaction. My evolutionary adaptation for “flight” took over and I instinctually ran. If the Summer Olympics could have been held on those first 100-meters I dashed away from that house, I swear I would have won a gold medal that night.
# posted by Nick D @ 10:21 PM 
