How Urban Myths Reveal Society’s Fears by Neal Gabler The story goes like this:

Question

How Urban Myths Reveal Society’s Fears by Neal Gabler

The story goes like this: During dinner at an opulent wedding reception, the groom rises from the head table and shushes the crowd. Everyone naturally assumes he is about to toast his bride and thank his guests. Instead, he solemnly announces that there has been a change of plan. He and his bride will be taking separate honeymoons and, when they return, the marriage will be annulled. The reason for this sudden turn of events, he says, is taped to the bottom of everyone’s plate. The stunned guests quickly flip their dinnerware to discover a photo of the bride in flagrante1 with the best man. At least that is the story that has been recently making the rounds up and down the Eastern seaboard and as far west as Chicago. Did this really happen? A Washington Post reporter who tracked the story was told by one source that it happened at a New Hampshire hotel. But then another source swears it happened in Medford, Massachusetts. Then again another suggests a banquet hall outside Schenectady, New York. Meanwhile, a sophisticated couple in Manhattan has heard it happened at the Pierre. In short, the whole thing appears to be another urban myth, one of those weird tales that periodically catch the public imagination. Alligators swarming the sewers after people have flushed the baby reptiles down the toilet. The babysitter who gets threatening phone calls that turn out to be coming from inside the house. The woman who turns out to have a nest of black-widow spiders in her beehive hairdo. The man who falls asleep and awakens to find his kidney has been removed. The rat that gets deep-fried and served by a fast-food outlet. Or, in a variation, the mouse that has somehow drowned in a closed Coca-Cola bottle. These tales are preposterous, but in a mass society like ours, where stories are usually manufactured by Hollywood, they just may be the most genuine form of folklore we have. Like traditional folklore, they are narratives crafted by the collective consciousness. Like traditional folklore, they give expression to the national mind. And like traditional folklore, they blend the fantastic with the routine, if only to demonstrate, in the words of University of Utah folklorist Jan Harold Brunvand, the nation’s leading expert on urban legends, “that the prosaic contemporary scene is capable of producing shocking or amazing occurrences.” Shocking and amazing, yes. But in these stories, anything can happen not because the world is a magical place rich with wonder—as in folktales of yore—but because our world is so utterly terrifying. Here, nothing is reliable and no laws of morality govern. The alligators in the sewers present an image of an urban hell inhabited by beasts—an image that might have come directly from Hades and the River Styx in Greek mythology. The babysitter and the man upstairs exploits fears that we are not even safe in our own homes. The spider in the hairdo says that even on our own persons, dangers lurk. The man who loses his kidney plays to our fears of the night and the real bogymen who prowl them. The mouse in the soda warns us of the perils of an impersonal mass-production society. As for the wedding reception tale, which one hacker on the Internet has dubbed “Wedding Revenge,” it may address the greatest terror of all: that love and commitment are chimerical2 and even friendship is meaningless. These are timeless issues, but the sudden promulgation3 of the tale suggests its special relevance in the age of AIDS, when commitment means even more than it used to, and in the age of feminism, when some men are feeling increasingly threatened by women’s freedom. Thus, the groom not only suffers betrayal and humiliation; his plight carries the hint of danger and emasculation, too. Surely, a legend for our time. Of course, folklore and fairy tales have long subsisted on terror, and even the treacly4 cartoons of Walt Disney are actually, when you parse them, dark and complex expressions of fear—from Snow White racing through the treacherous forest to Pinocchio gobbled by the whale to Dumbo being separated from his mother. But these crystallize the fears of childhood, the fears one must overcome to make the difficult transition to adulthood. Thus, the haunted forest of the fairy tales is a trope5 for haunted adolescence; the witch or crone, a trope for the spent generation one must vanquish to claim one’s place in the world, and the prince who comes to the rescue, a trope for the adult responsibilities that the heroine must now assume. Though urban legends frequently originate with college students about to enter the real world, they are different from traditional fairy tales because their terrors are not really obstacles on the road to understanding, and they are different from folklore because they cannot even be interpreted as cautionary. In urban legends, obstacles aren’t overcome, perhaps can’t be overcome, and there is nothing we can do differently to avoid the consequences. The woman, not knowing any better, eats the fried rat. The babysitter is terrorized by the stranger hiding in the house. The black widow bites the woman with the beehive hairdo. The alligators prowl the sewers. The marriage in Wedding Revenge breaks up. It is not just our fears, then, that these stories exploit. Like so much else in modern life—tabloids, exploitalk programs, real-life crime best sellers—urban legends testify to an overwhelming condition of fear and to a sense of our own impotence within it. That is why there is no accommodation in these stories, no lesson or wisdom imparted. What there is, is the stark impression that our world is anomic.6 We live in a haunted forest of skyscrapers or of suburban lawns and ranch houses, but there is no one to exorcise the evil and no prince to break the spell. Given the pressures of modern life, it isn’t surprising that we have created myths to express our malaise. But what is surprising is how many people seem committed to these myths. The Post reporter found people insisting they personally knew someone who had attended the doomed wedding reception. Others went further: They maintained they had actually attended the reception—though no such reception ever took place. Yet even those who didn’t claim to have been personally involved seemed to feel duty bound to assert the tale’s plausibility. Why this insistence? Perhaps the short answer is that people want to believe in a cosmology of dysfunction because it is the best way of explaining the inexplicable in our lives. A world in which alligators roam sewers and wedding receptions end in shock is at once terrifying and soothing—terrifying because these things happen, soothing because we are absolved of any responsibility for them. It is just the way it is. But there may be an additional reason why some people seem so willing to suspend their disbelief in the face of logic. This one has less to do with the content of these tales than with their creation. However they start, urban legends rapidly enter a national conversation in which they are embellished, heightened, reconfigured. Everyone can participate—from the people who spread the tale on talk radio to the people who discuss it on the Internet to the people who tell it to their neighbors. In effect, these legends are the product of a giant campfire around which we trade tales of terror. If this makes each of us a co-creator of the tales, it also provides us with a certain pride of authorship. Like all authors, we don’t want to see the spell of our creation broken—especially when we have formed a little community around it. It doesn’t matter whether these tales are true or not. What matters is that they plausibly reflect our world, that they have been generated from the grass roots and that we can pass them along. In a way, then, these tales of powerlessness ultimately assert a kind of authority. Urban legends permit us to become our own Stephen Kings, terrorizing ourselves to confirm one of the few powers we still possess: the power to tell stories about our world. Source: Neal Gabler, “How Urban Myths Reveal Society’s Fears,” Los Angeles Times, November 12, 1995. Reprinted by permission of the author.

Considering the Rhetorical Star

1.What is the main subject of Gabler’s descriptive essay? Is the specific topic engaging? Why or why not?

2.Who is the intended audience for the story? How do you know?

3.What is the author’s main purpose (to inform, to interpret, to persuade, to entertain, to express feelings) for the essay? Does he use a combination of purposes? How effective is his approach? Explain.

4.The author uses description as the primary strategy for the story. Does he employ any other writing strategies? What are they, and how do they affect the piece?

5.What is the design of the work? Is it effective? Why or why not?

Considering Writing Strategies

1.Which specific passages in Gabler’s essay appeal to the reader’s senses? What do these passages add to the piece? Explain.

2.What dominant impression is Gabler trying to get across to the reader? How successful is he at making his point? Explain your answer.

3.What specific details caught your attention in the essay? Why are those particular ideas more memorable than others?

"Rudeness at the Movies"

Is this actually happening or am I dreaming? I am at the movies, settling into my seat, eager with anticipation at the prospect of seeing a long-awaited film of obvious quality. The theater is absolutely full for the late show on this weekend evening, as the reviews have been ecstatic for this cinema masterpiece. Directly in front of me sits a man an inch or two taller than the Jolly Green Giant. His wife, sitting on his left, sports the very latest in fashionable hairdos, a gathering of her locks into a shape that resembles a drawbridge when it’s open. On his right, a woman spritzes herself liberally with perfume that her popcorn-munching husband got her for Valentine’s Day, a scent that should be renamed “Essence of Elk.” The row in which I am sitting quickly fills up with members of Cub Scout Troop 432, on an outing to the movies because rain has canceled their overnight hike. One of the boys, demonstrating the competitive spirit for which Scouts are renowned worldwide, announces to the rest of the troop the rules in the Best Sound Made from an Empty Good-n-Plenty’s Box contest, about to begin. Directly behind me, a man and his wife are ushering three other couples into their seats. I hear the woman say to the couple next to her: “You’ll love it. You’ll just love it. This is our fourth time and we enjoy it more and more each time. Don’t we, Harry? Tell them about the pie-fight scene, Harry. Wait’ll you see it. It comes just before you find out that the daughter killed her boyfriend. It’s great.” The woman has more to say—much more—but she is drowned out at the moment by the wailing of a six-month-old infant in the row behind her. The baby is crying because his mother, who has brought her twins to the theater to save on babysitting costs, can change only one diaper at a time. Suddenly, the lights dim. The music starts. The credits roll. And I panic. I plead with everyone around me to let me enjoy the movie. All I ask, I wail, is to be able to see the images and hear the dialogue and not find out in advance what is about to happen. Is that so much to expect for six bucks, I ask, now engulfed by a cloud of self-pity. I begin weeping unashamedly. Then, as if on cue, the Jolly Green Giant slumps down in his seat, his wife removes her wig, the Elk lady changes her seat, the Scouts drop their candy boxes on the floor, the play-by-play commentator takes out her teeth, and the young mother takes her two bawling babies home. Of course I am dreaming, I realize, as I gain a certain but shaky consciousness. I notice that I am in a cold sweat. Not because the dream is scary, but from the shock of people being that cooperative. I realize that I have awakened to protect my system from having to handle a jolt like that. For never—NEVER—would that happen in real life. Not on this planet. I used to wonder whether I was the only one who feared bad audience behavior more than bad moviemaking. But I know now that I am not. Not by a long shot. The most frequent complaint I have heard in the last few months about the moviegoing experience has had nothing to do with the films themselves. No. What folks have been complaining about is the audience. Indeed, there seems to be an epidemic of galling inconsiderateness and outrageous rudeness. It is not that difficult to forgive a person’s excessive height, or malodorous perfume, or perhaps even an inadvisable but understandable need to bring very young children to adult movies. But the talking: that is not easy to forgive. It is inexcusable. Talking—loud, constant, and invariably superfluous—seems to be standard operating procedure on the part of many movie patrons these days. It is true, I admit, that after a movie critic has seen several hundred movies in the ideal setting of an almost-empty screening room with no one but other politely silent movie critics around him, it does tend to spoil him for the packed-theater experience. And something is lost viewing a movie in almost total isolation—a fact that movie distributors acknowledge with their reluctance to screen certain audience-pleasing movies for small groups of critics. Especially with comedies, the infectiousness of laughter is an important ingredient of movie-watching pleasure. But it is a decidedly uphill battle to enjoy a movie—no matter how suspenseful or hilarious or moving—with nonstop gabbers sitting within earshot. And they come in sizes, ages, sexes, colors, and motivations of every kind. Some chat as if there is no movie playing. Some greet friends as if at a picnic. Some alert those around them to what is going to happen, either because they have seen the film before, or because they are self-proclaimed experts on the predictability of plotting and want to be seen as prescient geniuses. Some describe in graphic terms exactly what is happening as if they were doing the commentary for a sporting event on radio. (“Ooh, look, he’s sitting down. Now he’s looking at that green car. A banana—she’s eating a banana.”) Some audition for film critic Gene Shalit’s job by waxing witty as they critique the movie right before your very ears. And all act as if it is their constitutional or God-given right. As if their admission price allows them to ruin the experience for anyone and everyone else in the building. But why? Good question. I wish I knew. Maybe rock concerts and ball games—both environments which condone or even encourage hootin’ and hollerin’—have conditioned us to voice our approval and disapproval and just about anything else we can spit out of our mouths at the slightest provocation when we are part of an audience. But my guess lies elsewhere. The villain, I’m afraid, is the tube. We have seen the enemy and it is television. We have gotten conditioned over the last few decades to spending most of our screen-viewing time in front of a little box in our living rooms and bedrooms. And when we watch that piece of furniture, regardless of what is on it—be it commercial, Super Bowl, soap opera, funeral procession, prime-time sitcom, Shakespeare play—we chat. Boy, do we chat. Because TV viewing tends to be an informal, gregarious, friendly, casually interruptible experience, we talk whenever the spirit moves us. Which is often. All of this is fine. But we have carried behavior that is perfectly acceptable in the living room right to our neighborhood movie theater. And that isn’t fine. In fact, it is turning lots of people off to what used to be a truly pleasurable experience: sitting in a jammed movie theater and watching a crowd-pleasing movie. And that’s a first-class shame. Nobody wants Fascist-like ushers, yet that may be where we’re headed of necessity. Let’s hope not. But something’s got to give. Movies during this Age of Television may or may not be better than ever. About audiences, however, there is no question. They are worse.

Considering Writing Strategies

1.Which parts of the essay seem to have a sarcastic tone? Refer to specific quotes from the essay to support your answer. What effect does Wine’s sarcasm have on the reader? 2.Find examples of similes and metaphors in Wine’s essay. Which ones do you find to be most interesting or humorous? How do they enhance the essay?

3. Which parts of the essay do you find to be most descriptive? What senses does Wine appeal to? Identify specific examples.

Writing Suggestions (1 1/2 pages) Write a description of an event you observed, such as a concert or football game. You might capture what is happening on the stage or field as well as what the spectators are doing. Create a dominant impression for the reader, and use as many sensory details as are appropriate for your subject. Help your readers to feel as if they are attending the event. Watch a television show or movie and choose one aspect of it to describe. You might write about a character, a scene, or an object that you find to be noteworthy. Use a multitude of adjectives in your description so that your readers can visualize your subject.

Explanation / Answer

Urban Myths Reveal Society’s Fears,” Los Angeles Times, November 12, 1995. Reprinted by permission of the author.

Considering the Rhetorical Star

1.      What is the main subject of Gabler’s descriptive essay? Is the specific topic engaging? Why or why not?

·         The main subject of Gabler’s essay is the need to generate gossips and create an unnatural situation to encourage discussion, interaction and sharing of information amongst people online and offline.

·         Yes the topic is very engaging for the following reasons:

a.      It is discussing a real aspect of human nature where a person is attracted to wild rumors and surreal situations.

b.      The article started with a very nice suspense and a storyline, which is very engaging.

c.       The article discussed absurdness of certain happenings and how the intelligent human mind is ready to accept that such a situation can arise. For example, alligators in the sewers or a cooked rat served in a restaurant.

2.      Who is the intended audience for the story? How do you know?

·         The audience for the story is students, homemakers, gossipmongers, retired people, critics and people who have a lot of time to dwell on these weird instances or believe such activities actually took place.

·         This is known because they are targeting gullible, naive minds who also need such weird discussion and also need something to talk about.

·         This is also an attractive story for the critics who are always critical of a weird situation and surreal happenings reported.

3.      What is the author’s main purpose (to inform, to interpret, to persuade, to entertain, to express feelings) for the essay? Does he use a combination of purposes? How effective is his approach? Explain.

·         The author's purpose is as follows:

a.      To express his opinion on why such absurd gossip should not be spread and discussed.

b.      To highlight the various weird news reported and to persuade people not to get influenced or drawn into debating of these issues.

c.       He is also trying to analyze the reasons why people like such topics and why they promote discussion on such instances.

d.      The author is also trying to understand the human psychology.

·         He uses a combination of entertaining incidents while reflecting on the need to spread such rumors. He also uses entertaining instances to reflect on how human being discuss and react to this news. He makes efforts to analyze human behavior and reactions in an engaging manner.

·         His approach is not very effective as the beginning is really entertaining but later on the reader is getting confused and is not able to comprehend what he is trying to discuss.

4.      The author uses the description as the primary strategy for the story. Does he employ any other writing strategies? What are they, and how do they affect the piece?

·         He is using a lot of examples and analytical techniques

·         He is creating imagery in the mind of the reader

·         He is also trying to identify with the reader.

His concept is clear but the explanation is confusing the reader. His article has become long drawn and boring in the end.

*Answering first 4 question, as per guidelines can answer up to 4 questions or 4 parts of a question.”

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