My little sister is blonde, beautiful, and has a big brain. Theresa has a degree in mathematics, and formerly worked on the Mathematica program for Wolfram Research, and as a result, often speaks light years over my head.
Years ago, I heard a report on NPR about parabolas, and the report went on to say that the world's best known parabola is our St. Louis Arch. Impressed with my little math fun fact, I ran it by Theresa. As usual, she was able to correct me by stating the Arch was not a parabola, but a catenary curve. She described this by saying to think of it as the chain of a necklace. If you were to take the chain, and form a dip with the gravity, this would be catenarious (ironically, the Latin word for chain). A hanging chain carrying only it's own weight is a catenary curve. However, if you were to hang a pendant on the chain, or use the curve to suspend something heavy, like a suspension bridge, it would then become parabolic. Even still, our Arch is not a true catenary, as it is thicker at the base, and thinner at the apex. So it's really more of an approximate of a catenary.
Sure enough, a couple of weeks after the broadcast that I heard, NPR had "The Math Guy" on to correct their original report. He stated everything my sister said, and then went on to state that even Galileo got this incorrect. The parabolic equation is y2=ax2a, whereas a catenary equation is much more complicated, and would require calculus; something that had not even been invented in Galileo's time, and a class I have yet to take. So, he and I were both sadly incorrect. But how totally cool is it that I have something in common with Galileo?
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
Stand and Deliver EC
Jaime Escalante is looking down at my recent 87% on my 3rd elementary algebra test, and laughing. He knows I can do better, and so do I. I have now seen “Stand and Deliver” for about the seventh time in my life, and I can appreciate the ever evolving, multi-faceted qualities of this movie, and this man. I remember my original draw to seeing it was because it had total mega-hottie, Lou Diamond Phillips (I was fourteen when the movie premiered in 1988). I left the movie being truly captivated at how much depth and story the movie had. Oh my, and seeing Lou Diamond Phillips strip down to his underwear to frolic in the ocean, was just gravy!
Now that I've added a few more years of life experience, and have completely grown out of my "Young Guns" phase, I like another side of the movie. Jaime Escalante truly excelled with math because he did not teach it as math. I feel he taught it as a philosophy, or a tool for life. Perhaps even the word “math” should be thought of completely different, and used more like a verb would be.
Jaime used math to "math" out of his native La Paz, Bolivia, and move to the United States. He arrived in the U.S. without speaking English, and no teaching credentials. He used math to "math" out an electronics degree to work for Burroughs Corporation. He then used math to "math" out a mathematics degree, and was able to teach at Garfield High School. It was here his use of math became infectious, as it caught on and influenced many young minds. His class size became boundless as the years went on, and the students he influenced to take Advanced Placement Tests, multiplied in droves every year. Every time he “mathed” his life, it made life better for him, and for many others.
I'm not sure if there were any documented patron saints of mathematics, (St. Pi-us, perhaps?), but I will certainly seek prayer and guidance on my fourth test with St. Jaime… with a sign of the cross from one hand, and co-sine from the other.
Now that I've added a few more years of life experience, and have completely grown out of my "Young Guns" phase, I like another side of the movie. Jaime Escalante truly excelled with math because he did not teach it as math. I feel he taught it as a philosophy, or a tool for life. Perhaps even the word “math” should be thought of completely different, and used more like a verb would be.
Jaime used math to "math" out of his native La Paz, Bolivia, and move to the United States. He arrived in the U.S. without speaking English, and no teaching credentials. He used math to "math" out an electronics degree to work for Burroughs Corporation. He then used math to "math" out a mathematics degree, and was able to teach at Garfield High School. It was here his use of math became infectious, as it caught on and influenced many young minds. His class size became boundless as the years went on, and the students he influenced to take Advanced Placement Tests, multiplied in droves every year. Every time he “mathed” his life, it made life better for him, and for many others.
I'm not sure if there were any documented patron saints of mathematics, (St. Pi-us, perhaps?), but I will certainly seek prayer and guidance on my fourth test with St. Jaime… with a sign of the cross from one hand, and co-sine from the other.
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
It's Only a Movie, It's Only a Movie...
"Trilogy of Terror" is a movie that has permanently scarred me for life. I don't know why it was broadcast on a UHF station on a Sunday afternoon at my grandmother's house. This was, and still is, a very scary movie, and not just from the point of view of a six year old. My mother was screaming too. Why she didn't turn it off, or banish my sister and I from viewing it, remains one of the gravest heresies of her parental skills. I feel the next several months of my sister and I shrieking from night terrors over “The Voodoo Doll", was a just punishment for her, now that I look back. I'm thirty-five years old now, and this movie still unnerves me, even though I have only seen it the one time. I don't think I could sit through it, at any age, without it inducing the same level of panic and hysteria I originally experienced. The following is testimony of how a 30-minute slice of film can follow you around the rest of your life.
First, allow me to introduce a bit of cinematic history on this film. According to my recollection, and what I could concur on www.imdb.com, "Trilogy of Terror" was a made for TV movie, filmed in 1975, starring scream queen movie star, Karen Black. The movie consists of three unrelated short horror stories directed by Dan Curtis, who was best known for his work on a vampire horror series, "Dark Shadows". Ms. Black plays four different roles of tormented women in the film, with the most chilling in the story of "Amelia". Amelia arrives home from shopping to find a package containing a Zuni hunting fetish doll. This doll has razor sharp teeth and a hunting spear, and the package also contains a scroll claiming the doll contains the spirit of a hunter, in which a gold chain on the doll traps the hunter's spirit within the fetish. Amelia then calls her mother to cancel their plans as she has a date, and we see a slightly unstable side of her, and how she suffers from her mother's overbearing behavior. As Amelia leaves the room, we see the gold chain fall off the doll. Amelia starts to prepare dinner with a carving knife. Later, she enters the room to see the doll is not on the table. As she returns to the kitchen, her carving knife is missing. The formula for your standard horror experience is then properly utilized. At this point, I will not ruin the film for you, for fear of causing you years of trauma, and honestly, I just don't want to relive the gory details. Needless to say, the doll chases her through her apartment, she is bitten, she destroys the doll in her oven, calls her mother to apologize, and invites her over to her apartment. The story ends with a feral looking Amelia, now with the same scary teeth of the doll, holding her carving knife, and waiting for her mother to arrive.
Aside from the several months of night terrors, my first conscious encounter of the impact this movie had on me, happened when I was nine years old. My sister and I were staying with friends of the family who had a house cat. We thought it would be fun to camp out inside their apartment, since it was a rainy day. So, the idea was to set up a tent for the kids, and we were to have hot dogs and s'mores for dinner that evening. However, while we were constructing the tent in the bedroom, their black cat, Tibby, crawled underneath the tent, and savagely pounced and clawed at my ankles; somewhat similar to "the bathroom scene" from "Amelia". To say I handled the situation rationally would be an understatement. We were not accustomed to inside pets, especially ones that would mindlessly attack for no warranted reason. Beyond any doubt, this episode of broken psychosis did not bode well for the remainder of the evening, as I just sat on the couch crying and sulking and watching MTV. That night, I had a nightmare. A long suppressed visit from our dear friend, the Voodoo-Zuni doll. This bothered our family friend so much, that she called my mother to pick me up the next morning.
My husband and I endured several grueling months of the name selection process, while I was pregnant. I recall him teasing me with naming the baby Amelia, even though we knew we were having a boy. I should have never confided in Jason about that movie being so terrifying to me. This teasing eventually led to yet more Voodoo-Zuni doll-based nightmares about the baby being born with the same razor sharp teeth, as well as a dream about baking the baby in the oven. When Max, and not Amelia, was finally born, I was relieved to see he was toothless, and am proud of the fact that I have always lacked the desire to bake him in a kiln.
As Max progressed with his development; I recall the moment when I witnessed his first steps. I was dozing on our couch, when a two and a half foot tall blurry something went rocketing across the living room. This momentarily conjured up the same fear I had experienced when I was six and nine. My first completely rational, split second of a thought was that the apartment was haunted by Tattoo from Fantasy Island, or we had a leprechaun, or that Voodoo-Zuni doll had come for me! Then, my delayed maternal instinct finally kicked in, and l realized Max had just run across the room... RUN ACROSS THE ROOM?!?! He went from crawling to running, with no walking in between. Again, I was not accustomed to him being independently mobile; especially in my half asleep state of mind, and it was truly a magical moment for all of us, including the Voodoo-Zuni doll, leprechaun, and Herve Villechaize.
Scary movies do indeed have a lasting effect on children; certainly in my own personal experience. In a research study, “Tales from the Screen: Enduring Fright Reactions to Scary Media, “ researcher Kristen Harrison and her colleague, Joanne Cantor found the younger the study's participants were when they viewed a scary movie and TV program, the longer-lasting the effects. This study led me to question why we even like scary movies, considering the anxieties they leave behind. I found the best reply for this question in the first statement of “Why We Crave Horror Movies”, an essay by Stephen King. “I think that we’re all mentally ill; those of us outside the asylums only hide it a little better – and maybe not all that much better, after all.”
First, allow me to introduce a bit of cinematic history on this film. According to my recollection, and what I could concur on www.imdb.com, "Trilogy of Terror" was a made for TV movie, filmed in 1975, starring scream queen movie star, Karen Black. The movie consists of three unrelated short horror stories directed by Dan Curtis, who was best known for his work on a vampire horror series, "Dark Shadows". Ms. Black plays four different roles of tormented women in the film, with the most chilling in the story of "Amelia". Amelia arrives home from shopping to find a package containing a Zuni hunting fetish doll. This doll has razor sharp teeth and a hunting spear, and the package also contains a scroll claiming the doll contains the spirit of a hunter, in which a gold chain on the doll traps the hunter's spirit within the fetish. Amelia then calls her mother to cancel their plans as she has a date, and we see a slightly unstable side of her, and how she suffers from her mother's overbearing behavior. As Amelia leaves the room, we see the gold chain fall off the doll. Amelia starts to prepare dinner with a carving knife. Later, she enters the room to see the doll is not on the table. As she returns to the kitchen, her carving knife is missing. The formula for your standard horror experience is then properly utilized. At this point, I will not ruin the film for you, for fear of causing you years of trauma, and honestly, I just don't want to relive the gory details. Needless to say, the doll chases her through her apartment, she is bitten, she destroys the doll in her oven, calls her mother to apologize, and invites her over to her apartment. The story ends with a feral looking Amelia, now with the same scary teeth of the doll, holding her carving knife, and waiting for her mother to arrive.
Aside from the several months of night terrors, my first conscious encounter of the impact this movie had on me, happened when I was nine years old. My sister and I were staying with friends of the family who had a house cat. We thought it would be fun to camp out inside their apartment, since it was a rainy day. So, the idea was to set up a tent for the kids, and we were to have hot dogs and s'mores for dinner that evening. However, while we were constructing the tent in the bedroom, their black cat, Tibby, crawled underneath the tent, and savagely pounced and clawed at my ankles; somewhat similar to "the bathroom scene" from "Amelia". To say I handled the situation rationally would be an understatement. We were not accustomed to inside pets, especially ones that would mindlessly attack for no warranted reason. Beyond any doubt, this episode of broken psychosis did not bode well for the remainder of the evening, as I just sat on the couch crying and sulking and watching MTV. That night, I had a nightmare. A long suppressed visit from our dear friend, the Voodoo-Zuni doll. This bothered our family friend so much, that she called my mother to pick me up the next morning.
My husband and I endured several grueling months of the name selection process, while I was pregnant. I recall him teasing me with naming the baby Amelia, even though we knew we were having a boy. I should have never confided in Jason about that movie being so terrifying to me. This teasing eventually led to yet more Voodoo-Zuni doll-based nightmares about the baby being born with the same razor sharp teeth, as well as a dream about baking the baby in the oven. When Max, and not Amelia, was finally born, I was relieved to see he was toothless, and am proud of the fact that I have always lacked the desire to bake him in a kiln.
As Max progressed with his development; I recall the moment when I witnessed his first steps. I was dozing on our couch, when a two and a half foot tall blurry something went rocketing across the living room. This momentarily conjured up the same fear I had experienced when I was six and nine. My first completely rational, split second of a thought was that the apartment was haunted by Tattoo from Fantasy Island, or we had a leprechaun, or that Voodoo-Zuni doll had come for me! Then, my delayed maternal instinct finally kicked in, and l realized Max had just run across the room... RUN ACROSS THE ROOM?!?! He went from crawling to running, with no walking in between. Again, I was not accustomed to him being independently mobile; especially in my half asleep state of mind, and it was truly a magical moment for all of us, including the Voodoo-Zuni doll, leprechaun, and Herve Villechaize.
Scary movies do indeed have a lasting effect on children; certainly in my own personal experience. In a research study, “Tales from the Screen: Enduring Fright Reactions to Scary Media, “ researcher Kristen Harrison and her colleague, Joanne Cantor found the younger the study's participants were when they viewed a scary movie and TV program, the longer-lasting the effects. This study led me to question why we even like scary movies, considering the anxieties they leave behind. I found the best reply for this question in the first statement of “Why We Crave Horror Movies”, an essay by Stephen King. “I think that we’re all mentally ill; those of us outside the asylums only hide it a little better – and maybe not all that much better, after all.”
Self concept paper
It isn’t what they call you; it's what you answer to. - W.C. Fields
I have undergone a catastrophic trauma, and am in a complete teardown and rebuild phase of life. Some giant jackass of a god basically hit the reset button within me, and I now have to start all over. So I am developing a brand new self-concept. I am adapting to a new role in my family by being both father and mother, with the passing of my husband. As of now, I am completely at a loss of what I want to do career-wise, just something safe, which travel careers are not. I will travel to Germany with my son to see our friends at the end of this semester, and one of my goals is to visit my birthplace. I am probably the only person in the world excited about seeing an Army hospital. I also plan to visit Hanover, where I have been able to trace some lineage on my grandmother's side back to 1812. As for my gender, I've never felt stronger. I am a badass when it comes to being female. I was a surrogate mother and carried twins to full term while Jason fought off his cancer. It was as terrifying, as it was empowering to accomplish that stage of my life. Now that I've achieved a great deal of life experience, and have no job to go to, I primarily go to community college, and several bars, in hopes of finding some new career path. Right now, this is the best thing for me, as I want to actually be in school, whereas if I had gone when I was 17, I would have been there just to be there. I can see it in some of my younger classmates that they are just going through the motions and it makes me kind of crazy. I got such a crash course in life last year, and view the world so very different from how I used to. Perhaps they will too someday. Physically, I'm not much to view at first glance. I'm not pretty by conventional standards, and I'm not sure that I really want to be. It's too much to live up too, at least for me. However, my personality makes up for that, as that is my primary tool or weapon for how I attract people. To know me is to love me… or love to fear me!
I feel I have a pretty good sense of self, in the majority of these categories. My biggest challenge right now is my son, Max. Not only does he get to burst into puberty, and load up on pre-teenage angst; he also gets to mourn for his father. This is a pretty tall order for an 11 year old, or anyone really to handle. Emotionally, neither of us can predict how we are going to be from one day to the next, but we are learning and adjusting. I feel that Max and I have gotten consistently closer now. I think my college courses have really been a big help to both us, as I'm not so authoritative, and am trying to help him apply more critical thinking. It's funny how this tool of critical thinking is so rarely used in the real world. Yet, it makes such a huge impact when applied. I'm talking with more people in the past six months than I'm used too, and am feeling more confident because of it. I don't have a problem telling people where to go and how to get there now, (except for my mother-in-law, because I'm not fluent in "She-Bear"), whereas before last year, I would just keep quiet. I guess I'm in transition, and I hope it's for the better. In fact, I’m pretty sure I can walk through fire.
I have undergone a catastrophic trauma, and am in a complete teardown and rebuild phase of life. Some giant jackass of a god basically hit the reset button within me, and I now have to start all over. So I am developing a brand new self-concept. I am adapting to a new role in my family by being both father and mother, with the passing of my husband. As of now, I am completely at a loss of what I want to do career-wise, just something safe, which travel careers are not. I will travel to Germany with my son to see our friends at the end of this semester, and one of my goals is to visit my birthplace. I am probably the only person in the world excited about seeing an Army hospital. I also plan to visit Hanover, where I have been able to trace some lineage on my grandmother's side back to 1812. As for my gender, I've never felt stronger. I am a badass when it comes to being female. I was a surrogate mother and carried twins to full term while Jason fought off his cancer. It was as terrifying, as it was empowering to accomplish that stage of my life. Now that I've achieved a great deal of life experience, and have no job to go to, I primarily go to community college, and several bars, in hopes of finding some new career path. Right now, this is the best thing for me, as I want to actually be in school, whereas if I had gone when I was 17, I would have been there just to be there. I can see it in some of my younger classmates that they are just going through the motions and it makes me kind of crazy. I got such a crash course in life last year, and view the world so very different from how I used to. Perhaps they will too someday. Physically, I'm not much to view at first glance. I'm not pretty by conventional standards, and I'm not sure that I really want to be. It's too much to live up too, at least for me. However, my personality makes up for that, as that is my primary tool or weapon for how I attract people. To know me is to love me… or love to fear me!
I feel I have a pretty good sense of self, in the majority of these categories. My biggest challenge right now is my son, Max. Not only does he get to burst into puberty, and load up on pre-teenage angst; he also gets to mourn for his father. This is a pretty tall order for an 11 year old, or anyone really to handle. Emotionally, neither of us can predict how we are going to be from one day to the next, but we are learning and adjusting. I feel that Max and I have gotten consistently closer now. I think my college courses have really been a big help to both us, as I'm not so authoritative, and am trying to help him apply more critical thinking. It's funny how this tool of critical thinking is so rarely used in the real world. Yet, it makes such a huge impact when applied. I'm talking with more people in the past six months than I'm used too, and am feeling more confident because of it. I don't have a problem telling people where to go and how to get there now, (except for my mother-in-law, because I'm not fluent in "She-Bear"), whereas before last year, I would just keep quiet. I guess I'm in transition, and I hope it's for the better. In fact, I’m pretty sure I can walk through fire.
Absinthe Makes the Heart Grow Fonder - Comparison Paper
I love drinking, and I drink every chance that I get. I'm drinking right now while writing this paper. You see, I absolutely must for my research purposes. My topic for comparison is on the enchanting and hauntingly beautiful spirit known, and dearly loved, as absinthe. There is much to love about absinthe, and I hope for much success in explaining my unquenchable lust of this beverage nicknamed, "The Green Fairy." Absinthe harbors such mystery and variety, and I am currently pursuing several versions. I feel for research purposes, it would be best to compare two types of absinthe that were the first to enter the U.S. market, since the recent enactment of its 95 year ban. Absinthe was criminally banned for almost 100 years in this country; however, March 5th, 2007 was a day of requiem for such shameful persecution. Lucid is a French made verte, or green absinthe, and the first legal absinthe to gain approval for distribution in the U.S. since 1912. Mata Hari is a Czech-Bohemian brand, that arrived stateside18 months after the introduction of Lucid. Both are just so genuinely lovely in their own unique way.
The French method of preparation is alluringly ritualistic. A sugar cube is placed upon a small slotted spoon over a glass containing one ounce of absinthe. Ice water is slowly and methodically dripped onto the sugar into the glass. The bright green color of the absinthe starts to evolve into a pale and creamy jade tone. This elegant union and process is called louching. Louching releases the herbal aromas and allows them to bloom and meld into a very strong bouquet. After the sugar is completely dissolved, the consumption can begin. The Czech-Bohemian method is similar to the French, with the tantalizing addition of fire. A sugar cube is presoaked with absinthe, and placed upon a spoon over one ounce of liqueur. The cube is set ablaze and then dropped into the glass igniting the absinthe. Cooking the absinthe will sadly remove some of the alcohol. However dear friends the average alcohol content measures 145 proof so no need to worry of this small sacrifice for the greater greener good. Our "Flaming Green Fairy" is then doused with one small shot of ice water. This method produces a much stronger, but smaller in volume drink.
Now as I guzzle, or sip, (lady-like style, of course) my Lucid from my left hand, I take a moment to admire the haunting green eyes on the bottle that stare through me and view my inner most conceptions of the flavor. Anise, very similar to black licorice, completely fills the room with a pheromone-like essence. Although the flavor of this “verte” is more of a bold wallop of herbs that immediately burns me to my innermost core, as this particular brand is 122 proof. The payoff is in the finish, surprisingly creamy and candied, and soothing to my first encounter. I'm completely in such love with this one drink. So much, I'll try my fairy in my right hand now... and hold onto the table with my left. Mata Hari is charmingly serving me two glasses from the picture on her bottle. I'm not sure I can trust her offer, being that I'm so relaxed and lightheaded from my visit with the French. As I participate in the Czech-Bohemian baptism by fire, a toasted marshmallow aroma whiffs up from the sugar, and lingers only a moment longer after being extinguished. Mata's introduction is so velvety and floral on the palette. The strong, anise tang is subdued and not as prevalent as it was in Lucid. I find it to be very honey flavored in the finish as I complete my research... now lying upon the floor.
I've had a positively delightful time crafting this paper. My comparison topic for how dearly loved, and enchanted and how hauntingly beautiful I find absinthe to be, has sadly drawn to the end. I find great beauty in both sampled versions of this libation. I will continue extensive research projects on my own, as my quest is far from over. Much more is to be investigated with many, many more absinthes. From the color, the aroma, and the flavors of the many varieties, this inquisition will last as long as my liver can hold up. Good night, and I love you, and all the pretty green fairies, so many much.
The French method of preparation is alluringly ritualistic. A sugar cube is placed upon a small slotted spoon over a glass containing one ounce of absinthe. Ice water is slowly and methodically dripped onto the sugar into the glass. The bright green color of the absinthe starts to evolve into a pale and creamy jade tone. This elegant union and process is called louching. Louching releases the herbal aromas and allows them to bloom and meld into a very strong bouquet. After the sugar is completely dissolved, the consumption can begin. The Czech-Bohemian method is similar to the French, with the tantalizing addition of fire. A sugar cube is presoaked with absinthe, and placed upon a spoon over one ounce of liqueur. The cube is set ablaze and then dropped into the glass igniting the absinthe. Cooking the absinthe will sadly remove some of the alcohol. However dear friends the average alcohol content measures 145 proof so no need to worry of this small sacrifice for the greater greener good. Our "Flaming Green Fairy" is then doused with one small shot of ice water. This method produces a much stronger, but smaller in volume drink.
Now as I guzzle, or sip, (lady-like style, of course) my Lucid from my left hand, I take a moment to admire the haunting green eyes on the bottle that stare through me and view my inner most conceptions of the flavor. Anise, very similar to black licorice, completely fills the room with a pheromone-like essence. Although the flavor of this “verte” is more of a bold wallop of herbs that immediately burns me to my innermost core, as this particular brand is 122 proof. The payoff is in the finish, surprisingly creamy and candied, and soothing to my first encounter. I'm completely in such love with this one drink. So much, I'll try my fairy in my right hand now... and hold onto the table with my left. Mata Hari is charmingly serving me two glasses from the picture on her bottle. I'm not sure I can trust her offer, being that I'm so relaxed and lightheaded from my visit with the French. As I participate in the Czech-Bohemian baptism by fire, a toasted marshmallow aroma whiffs up from the sugar, and lingers only a moment longer after being extinguished. Mata's introduction is so velvety and floral on the palette. The strong, anise tang is subdued and not as prevalent as it was in Lucid. I find it to be very honey flavored in the finish as I complete my research... now lying upon the floor.
I've had a positively delightful time crafting this paper. My comparison topic for how dearly loved, and enchanted and how hauntingly beautiful I find absinthe to be, has sadly drawn to the end. I find great beauty in both sampled versions of this libation. I will continue extensive research projects on my own, as my quest is far from over. Much more is to be investigated with many, many more absinthes. From the color, the aroma, and the flavors of the many varieties, this inquisition will last as long as my liver can hold up. Good night, and I love you, and all the pretty green fairies, so many much.
Gender Paper
Why do women wear make-up and perfume?
Because they are ugly and they smell bad.
I'm not sure why, but that has always been one of my favorites jokes. It's so stupid, but I laugh every time. The punch line is such a great mix of the unexpected, misogyny, and even a little empowerment. As a woman, you’re almost always offended when you first hear it. Those feelings of, “Well, I wouldn’t spend so much time primping, if I didn’t have to be attractive to men, in an man’s world”. However, if you really give the punch line a moment, it really has it’s own hidden beauty. Now, this may be open to interpretation, but I find it to say, that there is no need for improvement. You are all ready beautiful. There is nothing wrong with highlighting or accentuating your best features. However, if you find that you really need to trowel on, or airbrush a completely different face other than your own, than that really is ugly. Less is more, as the old make-up adage goes. This little zinger is very much like the essence of woman; in it’s own poetic sense. You never know what to expect when you encounter a woman, and that may be our own greatest mystery and/or artillery. We all know true beauty is never the product of ambergris, age-defying moisturizers, or anything of Olay. It comes from within, and all that do-gooder stuff that Disney princesses preach.
I could just be making the previous statements as an excuse for my own lack of usage in the make-up and perfume department. I rarely wear either, and when I do, I just about need to be strapped down to apply it, especially eyeliner. Very frustrating. Also, I’m usually nervous, and a little less like myself when I wear make-up, even though I’ve been experimenting with it now for decades. All of those self-doubts come bubbling right to the surface, when I’m painted. “Do I have lipstick on my teeth?” “Did I just smudge my eye, and am now taking on the appearance of a raccoon or a panda?” My sister Theresa, on the other hand, has always been a girlie-girl. Her collection of make-up would put most drag queens to shame. Her product knowledge is PhD worthy, and a portion of her will forever be lost to a research and development phase over the perfect shade of pistol packin’ pink. The genetics for cosmetics went solely to her, and she is very beautiful, inside and out, because of it.
Theresa and I have always been treated differently due to our appearance. I was a travel agent for nine years, and never once did I receive a free upgrade to first class on any of my flights, and would usually receive a Kia Rio at the rental counter. That may have something to do with me being a practical traveler. I know how to travel for comfort, and foundation and eyeliner is not a qualifier. However, my sister gets upgraded 95% of the time, on any airline, and will almost always receive the nicest car on the lot when she rents. She may forget her passport, but she does not forget her Bobbi Brown make-up collection. However, she is horribly criticized when she is not “made up”. Her co-workers will ask what is wrong with her, and comment on how tired she looks. Recently, she has begun modeling, and has had her face airbrushed to giver her a “perfect” complexion. Her stylist noticed a couple of missed spots, and graciously “fixed” them for her. So according to her, with make-up, she is a model, without, she is a tired old hag with something wrong.
I’ve never had that happen to me, because people are used to my natural face. I’ve received compliments on how nice my lips look when I am wearing Dr. Pepper flavored lip gloss, when I do put forth that much effort. Critical feedback that I consistently receive is how shocked people are when I’m at ease enough to let loose and be myself, with my filthy, vulgar mouth. I guess they hear my little voice paired with a stream of obscenities, and are always shocked by that sight. I’ll admit, a trucker mouth with watermelon lip shimmer and a weird, Kathy Ireland voice, looks and sounds strange. But there it is hanging off my face. Oh well, maybe I am just one of the guys… in a skirt. I don’t feel any less feminine because I don’t spend the duration of a movie on my appearance. I’d simply just rather watch the movie, whether it’s “Legally Blonde” or “The French Connection”.
“The emotional, sexual, and psychological stereotyping of females begins when the doctor says, "It's a girl,” - Shirley Chisholm.
Man, or woman rather, where is Shirley when you need her? When I found out that I was pregnant, I just knew I would have a boy. At least, I'd better have. I felt I would be at a complete loss with a daughter. I remember walking through the toy aisles at Target and encountering the trashy Bratz dolls, and thinking it would be the absolute death of me if someone ever gave one of those devices to my child. Why have the toy companies not evolved? Even today, it’s still split with pink on one side, and blue on the other, and nary the two shall meet.
Years ago, I was at a bookstore flipping through a photography book titled, "Girl Culture" by Lauren Greenfield. Her photography was a brutally honest collection of the many facets of the developing woman. Four-year-old "Jon-Benets", 11-year-old girls in an eating disorder clinic, girls performing martial arts, girls performing in strip clubs, breast augmentations, etc. One of the photos that really stuck with me, was of the little girls too busy dressing like Barbie rather than playing with the Barbie’s in front of them. You can't BE Barbie, no one can, not even Barbie! There are too many scientific studies showing that if Barbie were an actual human, she would not have the strength in her waistline to support her upper body, and she would be so thin, there would only be room for half of her liver, and a few inches of intestines. Yet, when we visit the toy store, they are packed floor to ceiling with Barbie’s, and not one Shirley Chisholm doll in sight.
As a mother, I’m trying to help create an equal balance for my son, Max. I’m happy for him that he is into his “boy stuff” like Star Wars, comics, and Legos, and yet, has no qualms about watching “PowerPuff Girls” and “Ella Enchanted”. I’m relieved that he is finally at an age where he is interested in lawn care, and is open to learning how to cook (with his Star Wars Cook Book), sew (his “Son of Rambow” costume), and help, albeit begrudgingly, with laundry. I am most proud of him right now as he is going through a huge 5th grade crush on a classmate, and says what he likes most about Morgan is how smart she is, because she won the classroom science fair. I certainly hope he continues to maintain that thought process about women. I certainly hope I do too. Just as soon as I get back from the store from buying the complete MAC “Beauty Tabloid” collection and Brittany Spear’s “Circus Fantasy” perfume!
Because they are ugly and they smell bad.
I'm not sure why, but that has always been one of my favorites jokes. It's so stupid, but I laugh every time. The punch line is such a great mix of the unexpected, misogyny, and even a little empowerment. As a woman, you’re almost always offended when you first hear it. Those feelings of, “Well, I wouldn’t spend so much time primping, if I didn’t have to be attractive to men, in an man’s world”. However, if you really give the punch line a moment, it really has it’s own hidden beauty. Now, this may be open to interpretation, but I find it to say, that there is no need for improvement. You are all ready beautiful. There is nothing wrong with highlighting or accentuating your best features. However, if you find that you really need to trowel on, or airbrush a completely different face other than your own, than that really is ugly. Less is more, as the old make-up adage goes. This little zinger is very much like the essence of woman; in it’s own poetic sense. You never know what to expect when you encounter a woman, and that may be our own greatest mystery and/or artillery. We all know true beauty is never the product of ambergris, age-defying moisturizers, or anything of Olay. It comes from within, and all that do-gooder stuff that Disney princesses preach.
I could just be making the previous statements as an excuse for my own lack of usage in the make-up and perfume department. I rarely wear either, and when I do, I just about need to be strapped down to apply it, especially eyeliner. Very frustrating. Also, I’m usually nervous, and a little less like myself when I wear make-up, even though I’ve been experimenting with it now for decades. All of those self-doubts come bubbling right to the surface, when I’m painted. “Do I have lipstick on my teeth?” “Did I just smudge my eye, and am now taking on the appearance of a raccoon or a panda?” My sister Theresa, on the other hand, has always been a girlie-girl. Her collection of make-up would put most drag queens to shame. Her product knowledge is PhD worthy, and a portion of her will forever be lost to a research and development phase over the perfect shade of pistol packin’ pink. The genetics for cosmetics went solely to her, and she is very beautiful, inside and out, because of it.
Theresa and I have always been treated differently due to our appearance. I was a travel agent for nine years, and never once did I receive a free upgrade to first class on any of my flights, and would usually receive a Kia Rio at the rental counter. That may have something to do with me being a practical traveler. I know how to travel for comfort, and foundation and eyeliner is not a qualifier. However, my sister gets upgraded 95% of the time, on any airline, and will almost always receive the nicest car on the lot when she rents. She may forget her passport, but she does not forget her Bobbi Brown make-up collection. However, she is horribly criticized when she is not “made up”. Her co-workers will ask what is wrong with her, and comment on how tired she looks. Recently, she has begun modeling, and has had her face airbrushed to giver her a “perfect” complexion. Her stylist noticed a couple of missed spots, and graciously “fixed” them for her. So according to her, with make-up, she is a model, without, she is a tired old hag with something wrong.
I’ve never had that happen to me, because people are used to my natural face. I’ve received compliments on how nice my lips look when I am wearing Dr. Pepper flavored lip gloss, when I do put forth that much effort. Critical feedback that I consistently receive is how shocked people are when I’m at ease enough to let loose and be myself, with my filthy, vulgar mouth. I guess they hear my little voice paired with a stream of obscenities, and are always shocked by that sight. I’ll admit, a trucker mouth with watermelon lip shimmer and a weird, Kathy Ireland voice, looks and sounds strange. But there it is hanging off my face. Oh well, maybe I am just one of the guys… in a skirt. I don’t feel any less feminine because I don’t spend the duration of a movie on my appearance. I’d simply just rather watch the movie, whether it’s “Legally Blonde” or “The French Connection”.
“The emotional, sexual, and psychological stereotyping of females begins when the doctor says, "It's a girl,” - Shirley Chisholm.
Man, or woman rather, where is Shirley when you need her? When I found out that I was pregnant, I just knew I would have a boy. At least, I'd better have. I felt I would be at a complete loss with a daughter. I remember walking through the toy aisles at Target and encountering the trashy Bratz dolls, and thinking it would be the absolute death of me if someone ever gave one of those devices to my child. Why have the toy companies not evolved? Even today, it’s still split with pink on one side, and blue on the other, and nary the two shall meet.
Years ago, I was at a bookstore flipping through a photography book titled, "Girl Culture" by Lauren Greenfield. Her photography was a brutally honest collection of the many facets of the developing woman. Four-year-old "Jon-Benets", 11-year-old girls in an eating disorder clinic, girls performing martial arts, girls performing in strip clubs, breast augmentations, etc. One of the photos that really stuck with me, was of the little girls too busy dressing like Barbie rather than playing with the Barbie’s in front of them. You can't BE Barbie, no one can, not even Barbie! There are too many scientific studies showing that if Barbie were an actual human, she would not have the strength in her waistline to support her upper body, and she would be so thin, there would only be room for half of her liver, and a few inches of intestines. Yet, when we visit the toy store, they are packed floor to ceiling with Barbie’s, and not one Shirley Chisholm doll in sight.
As a mother, I’m trying to help create an equal balance for my son, Max. I’m happy for him that he is into his “boy stuff” like Star Wars, comics, and Legos, and yet, has no qualms about watching “PowerPuff Girls” and “Ella Enchanted”. I’m relieved that he is finally at an age where he is interested in lawn care, and is open to learning how to cook (with his Star Wars Cook Book), sew (his “Son of Rambow” costume), and help, albeit begrudgingly, with laundry. I am most proud of him right now as he is going through a huge 5th grade crush on a classmate, and says what he likes most about Morgan is how smart she is, because she won the classroom science fair. I certainly hope he continues to maintain that thought process about women. I certainly hope I do too. Just as soon as I get back from the store from buying the complete MAC “Beauty Tabloid” collection and Brittany Spear’s “Circus Fantasy” perfume!
Descriptive Narrative Essay - 24 little hours
"I can't believe I have to plan my son's funeral!" cried my mother-in-law, Paula. This was the worst thing said on the worst day possible, and, of course, she spoke it. She at least tried to state this in the hallway, and not in the hospital room in front of her son, but I heard it. Most of North America can hear her, when she is in the throws of any number of her dramas. My husband, Jason, was undergoing the first twenty-four hours of a catastrophic illness diagnosis.
August 15th, 2008 was the beginning, and end, of nothing ever being the same for him again.
That Friday morning was standard issue for us, aside from Jason's uncontrollable left arm. I was making a lunch for our son, Max, when Jason came running into the kitchen.
"I can't control my arm!" Jason said with his entire left arm behaving like a seal flipper.
"What did you do now?" I rolled my eyes and smirked at him.
"I don't know, I reached in the closet for Max's gi, and it started going crazy."
"Jesus, does it hurt?" I asked more seriously.
"I don't know, I can't feel it,” he said, looking very surprised.
The shaking stopped of course, when we pulled into St Alexius's parking lot. He was able to walk into the E.R. on his own okay, and I dropped Max off at his summer karate camp. When I returned, Jason was sitting in the waiting room, rubbing his left arm. He had regained most of the feeling back, and thought about leaving, since he has always been the impatient patient.
"Well, we may as well stay, they're going to bill us anyway, so make the most of it. Steal some tongue depressors, and cotton balls!" I said leaning against the stiff back of the plastic chair.
I remember how completely silent it felt before he was called back by Tammy, the nurse. The giant E.R. doors swung open like hell gates from a bad horror movie. After several hours of evaluations, blood testing, and a CT scan, Tammy, and our E.R. trauma doc, Dr. Bussman, came back to us, both with tears in their eyes.
“It's not good,” the doctor said.
Our little clock stopped forever with those three little words. Two brain lesions, suspect of signs of malignancy were found, and Jason would immediately be transferred by ambulance to Saint Louis University Hospital, for further evaluations. The doctor gave us a few, very stunned, blurry moments with each other, and then put his own cell phone, and a $20 bill in my hand, and told me to call everyone I needed to. It was official; we were in a full-throttle crisis mode. I called both of our bosses, and said I wasn't sure when either of us would return to work, and then sent out a distress call to our friends and families. The two of us then left on our first ambulance ride together.
My Dad and step mom, Dianne, met me in the E.R. at Saint Louis University Hospital, with a new cell phone.
"Here, you'll need this." she said, as she handed me a box from AT&T.
My God, we were going to need a cell phone now? We had gotten this far in life without one, and now what we always viewed as evil, was going to become a necessary evil.
At this point, Paula arrived, followed shortly by Jason's father and stepmother, Larry and Esther. My parents and I took this moment to step out and collect Max, and my car at the other hospital. When we returned, Jason was moved from the E.R., into a room on the 5th floor of the hospital. The results of the testing done that evening in the SLUH E.R. were even worse. Jason told us they found lesions on his left kidney, left hip, and right adrenal gland. A young, resident doctor came in to explain the testing and treatments that would perform over the next several days. Dianne started taking down notes, and my father asked a few questions. I shushed Esther, who was busy discussing a recipe, while the doctor was trying to speak.
"Jesus, what's wrong with her?" I thought. Jason should be the priority, not chicken and dumplings. It's like you hear in the movies, ”How can you think of food at a time like this?”
The doctor left, and most of the visitors departed soon after. I stood out in the hallway for a few moments with Jason's father.
"I feel like I haven't gotten to know Jason,” he said to me. This was such an eye-opening statement to make, almost like he was writing him off already, when we truly did not know what was wrong with him. Max was going to stay with his grandparents up in Springfield, Illinois over the weekend, allowing me to spend the night with Jason in his room.
"God, I feel like I haven't talked to you all day." I said to Jason around midnight, while I was making up my flip-out chair bed.
"I don't know what to say. There aren't words for this, Sarah." he replied.
"I'm so sorry for everything." I sobbed as I hugged him.
"Me too. I love you." he said hugging back.
That was the end of the first day of a new life for us.
August 15th, 2008 was the beginning, and end, of nothing ever being the same for him again.
That Friday morning was standard issue for us, aside from Jason's uncontrollable left arm. I was making a lunch for our son, Max, when Jason came running into the kitchen.
"I can't control my arm!" Jason said with his entire left arm behaving like a seal flipper.
"What did you do now?" I rolled my eyes and smirked at him.
"I don't know, I reached in the closet for Max's gi, and it started going crazy."
"Jesus, does it hurt?" I asked more seriously.
"I don't know, I can't feel it,” he said, looking very surprised.
The shaking stopped of course, when we pulled into St Alexius's parking lot. He was able to walk into the E.R. on his own okay, and I dropped Max off at his summer karate camp. When I returned, Jason was sitting in the waiting room, rubbing his left arm. He had regained most of the feeling back, and thought about leaving, since he has always been the impatient patient.
"Well, we may as well stay, they're going to bill us anyway, so make the most of it. Steal some tongue depressors, and cotton balls!" I said leaning against the stiff back of the plastic chair.
I remember how completely silent it felt before he was called back by Tammy, the nurse. The giant E.R. doors swung open like hell gates from a bad horror movie. After several hours of evaluations, blood testing, and a CT scan, Tammy, and our E.R. trauma doc, Dr. Bussman, came back to us, both with tears in their eyes.
“It's not good,” the doctor said.
Our little clock stopped forever with those three little words. Two brain lesions, suspect of signs of malignancy were found, and Jason would immediately be transferred by ambulance to Saint Louis University Hospital, for further evaluations. The doctor gave us a few, very stunned, blurry moments with each other, and then put his own cell phone, and a $20 bill in my hand, and told me to call everyone I needed to. It was official; we were in a full-throttle crisis mode. I called both of our bosses, and said I wasn't sure when either of us would return to work, and then sent out a distress call to our friends and families. The two of us then left on our first ambulance ride together.
My Dad and step mom, Dianne, met me in the E.R. at Saint Louis University Hospital, with a new cell phone.
"Here, you'll need this." she said, as she handed me a box from AT&T.
My God, we were going to need a cell phone now? We had gotten this far in life without one, and now what we always viewed as evil, was going to become a necessary evil.
At this point, Paula arrived, followed shortly by Jason's father and stepmother, Larry and Esther. My parents and I took this moment to step out and collect Max, and my car at the other hospital. When we returned, Jason was moved from the E.R., into a room on the 5th floor of the hospital. The results of the testing done that evening in the SLUH E.R. were even worse. Jason told us they found lesions on his left kidney, left hip, and right adrenal gland. A young, resident doctor came in to explain the testing and treatments that would perform over the next several days. Dianne started taking down notes, and my father asked a few questions. I shushed Esther, who was busy discussing a recipe, while the doctor was trying to speak.
"Jesus, what's wrong with her?" I thought. Jason should be the priority, not chicken and dumplings. It's like you hear in the movies, ”How can you think of food at a time like this?”
The doctor left, and most of the visitors departed soon after. I stood out in the hallway for a few moments with Jason's father.
"I feel like I haven't gotten to know Jason,” he said to me. This was such an eye-opening statement to make, almost like he was writing him off already, when we truly did not know what was wrong with him. Max was going to stay with his grandparents up in Springfield, Illinois over the weekend, allowing me to spend the night with Jason in his room.
"God, I feel like I haven't talked to you all day." I said to Jason around midnight, while I was making up my flip-out chair bed.
"I don't know what to say. There aren't words for this, Sarah." he replied.
"I'm so sorry for everything." I sobbed as I hugged him.
"Me too. I love you." he said hugging back.
That was the end of the first day of a new life for us.
Racism Essay
I am a wonder bread, honky, poppin' fresh, uncle daddy, vanilla, and mayonnaise mama. At least, according to the Racial Slur Data Base (www.rsdb.org). There are many, many more slurs on this website for every heritage and culture. It was really shocking to read some of the terms, as I was only familiar with maybe 10% of the slurs. The definitions are posted along side the terms, thankfully (I guess?), as I would have been completely lost as to what most of them meant. They range from being very funny, to being completely disgusting, and after researching this website for my paper, it really just made me feel very sad. There is so much ignorance in this world, and this website more than solidifies my statement.
In all actuality, I am a thirty-five year old Caucasian female from Irish/German/Polish decent. My grandfather was Irish, and my grandmother was German, on my mother's side. My grandfather was German, and my grandmother is Polish, on my father's side. None of my ancestors arrived in America until the early 1900's. However, I recall an episode where I was at a gas station, and was approached by a man who was carrying a gas can, who wanted money from me for gas. I told him I didn't carry cash that I was using my debit card to pay. I was in the middle of pumping my own gas, when he asked if I would fill up his can for him. I would have, but then he followed that request with"...that's the least you owe me!" This did not resonate very well with me, and I was shocked at his accusation. Maybe I misunderstood what he meant by how I "owed" him, but I know how I took it, and I was not very polite, and he did not get his gas.
One of my favorite books is a collection of essays by Hollis Gillespie, titled "Bleachy-Haired Honky Bitch". She took this title for her book, from an incident she had while driving, and almost ran over a man. He then screamed her aforementioned book title at her. She was amazed at the speed of the man's judgment of her, in the mere seconds they shared of this incident. The speed of judgment is almost as fast as the speed of light, sound, and a moving vehicle through a bad neighborhood.
I feel "white people" are generally perceived as intelligent, morally sound, and are less likely to commit a crime or victimize someone. Yet, our economy has suffered greatly due to decisions made by the majority rule "white people" of the banking industry. Will any of these participants be held accountable for this financial collapse? If so, would they be sent off to same type of prison system, your common thug is committed too, or would they more than likely end up in a minimum security facility, with private cells? John Edwards, Steve Phillips, and Mark Sanford have selfishly challenged the "moral standards" of themselves and their families. Some of our notorious historical figures such as Adolf Hitler, Jim Jones, and Slobodan Milosevic are responsible for human atrocities. What I have always been surprised by is the length of time; these figures were in power, before they were finally dealt with.
"White women" are perceived as victimized, damsels in distress trophies, in constant need of rescuing. I hate that because I am a woman, it's assumed that I know nothing of cars. $37 for an air filter, really Jiffy Lube? They are $11 at AutoZone. I am still a girl, meaning I do shop around. When my grandmother was a nurse in World War II, she was trained to drive ambulances. One event she recounted to us was when she had to get under the vehicle to assist with repairing a tie rod, in the middle of a live combat zone! That was in 1943, and still, over sixty years later, I need to take a man with me to buy a car, because I know I will be treated more seriously as a customer, if I do. I feel "white people" are also perceived as supreme elitists, entitled, and in my one, isolated case, former slave owners. Unfortunately, this is a history there. My own experiences with racism are not as extreme as most. I have not been the victim of a violent crime due to the color of my skin, and like everyone, certainly hope never to be. However, I have been singled out, or felt people have erroneously judged me to quickly.
In all actuality, I am a thirty-five year old Caucasian female from Irish/German/Polish decent. My grandfather was Irish, and my grandmother was German, on my mother's side. My grandfather was German, and my grandmother is Polish, on my father's side. None of my ancestors arrived in America until the early 1900's. However, I recall an episode where I was at a gas station, and was approached by a man who was carrying a gas can, who wanted money from me for gas. I told him I didn't carry cash that I was using my debit card to pay. I was in the middle of pumping my own gas, when he asked if I would fill up his can for him. I would have, but then he followed that request with"...that's the least you owe me!" This did not resonate very well with me, and I was shocked at his accusation. Maybe I misunderstood what he meant by how I "owed" him, but I know how I took it, and I was not very polite, and he did not get his gas.
One of my favorite books is a collection of essays by Hollis Gillespie, titled "Bleachy-Haired Honky Bitch". She took this title for her book, from an incident she had while driving, and almost ran over a man. He then screamed her aforementioned book title at her. She was amazed at the speed of the man's judgment of her, in the mere seconds they shared of this incident. The speed of judgment is almost as fast as the speed of light, sound, and a moving vehicle through a bad neighborhood.
I feel "white people" are generally perceived as intelligent, morally sound, and are less likely to commit a crime or victimize someone. Yet, our economy has suffered greatly due to decisions made by the majority rule "white people" of the banking industry. Will any of these participants be held accountable for this financial collapse? If so, would they be sent off to same type of prison system, your common thug is committed too, or would they more than likely end up in a minimum security facility, with private cells? John Edwards, Steve Phillips, and Mark Sanford have selfishly challenged the "moral standards" of themselves and their families. Some of our notorious historical figures such as Adolf Hitler, Jim Jones, and Slobodan Milosevic are responsible for human atrocities. What I have always been surprised by is the length of time; these figures were in power, before they were finally dealt with.
"White women" are perceived as victimized, damsels in distress trophies, in constant need of rescuing. I hate that because I am a woman, it's assumed that I know nothing of cars. $37 for an air filter, really Jiffy Lube? They are $11 at AutoZone. I am still a girl, meaning I do shop around. When my grandmother was a nurse in World War II, she was trained to drive ambulances. One event she recounted to us was when she had to get under the vehicle to assist with repairing a tie rod, in the middle of a live combat zone! That was in 1943, and still, over sixty years later, I need to take a man with me to buy a car, because I know I will be treated more seriously as a customer, if I do. I feel "white people" are also perceived as supreme elitists, entitled, and in my one, isolated case, former slave owners. Unfortunately, this is a history there. My own experiences with racism are not as extreme as most. I have not been the victim of a violent crime due to the color of my skin, and like everyone, certainly hope never to be. However, I have been singled out, or felt people have erroneously judged me to quickly.
Essay on writing essays
I would like to discuss one of the most horrific terms that has struck mortal
fear into the hearts of millions of students. Essay. "Essay" can be viewed as a
term of unspeakable horror, afflicted torture, and a weekend destroyer to the average student. Urbandictionary.com offers the following definitions of the term essay: 1. A composition that is usually a few pages long. 2. The bane of my existence. 3. A ploy conceived by English teachers to show their jaded outlook towards students who are either too stupid to do it anyway, or are smart, but prefer pin-point to the point answering rather than spending five paragraphs trying to convince "X" to do "Y". They usually give people a week or so to do the essay, but it is known fact that nobody does the stupid things until the night before it's due.
My experience with the aforementioned definitions is true, as well as timeless. I am now faced with the challenge of writing an essay in college during 2010, when my prior experience was in high school, 20 years ago. I really struggled with writing in high school, and I hope now that I am an older, more serious college student, that I can successfully accomplish writing this paper, even though so much has changed in two decades.
The last time I wrote an essay was in the year 1990. I was a sophomore in Ms. Best's European History class at Ursuline Academy in Springfield, Illinois. Our essays were to be 3-5 pages long, double-spaced, either handwritten or typed. We would also present our papers in front of the class. She allowed us to choose from a list of historical figures, and I had selected Marie Antoinette. January 19th, 2010 is my first official day in Mrs. Malouf's English Comp class at Saint Louis Community College at Forest Park. This is also the first day I started researching my first essay topic. Our essays are to be 3-5 pages, double-spaced, and typed in minimum font size of 12. We will need to submit both a paper copy, and an electronic copy through a school program called "Blackboard". We are able to write about anything we choose. Originally, I thought I would write about a personal experience. However, according to our syllabus, we will be studying descriptive, narrative essays on February 11th, 2010. A personal experience would be better suited for that style of essay, according to Mrs. Malouf.
I selected a popular historical figure for my paper for European History, as I felt there would be several sources to reference. My first research attempt was unsuccessful, as my then boyfriend's '85 Pontiac Firebird broke down on the way to the public library. My next attempt, in my mother's Chevy, got me downtown to the library, albeit, not as stylishly as the Firebird would have. However, even though there were many sources listed in the card catalog, only one book was available for me to reference and borrow. Marie Antoinette was certainly popular, not only among the French, but also the several thousand high school students residing in Springfield. My final attempt at obtaining research materials was again, unsuccessful, as I contacted several video stores to find the 1938 movie, “Marie Antoinette". Of course, this movie was not available to rent anywhere in Springfield, but 600 copies of “Weekend at Bernie's” were certainly at my disposal.
Now, flash forward 20 years to my research attempts for my English Comp essay. I drove my dependable '05 Scion xb, not to the public library, but home, where my computer is. My first research attempt was to google "college essay topics". This yielded 2,390,000 results. I checked several websites over several days, obtained some good ideas, and then paranoia set in. Mrs. Malouf advised us on our first day that all electronic papers are screened for plagiarism. I then thought writing an essay about my experience writing essays would certainly avoid plagiarism accusations. I am correct in my thinking, as again, I googled "essays on writing essays", and google could not locate anything. Now, I’m finally ready to write about my topic.
I have never repeatedly hit the delete button on my computer so much in my entire life. I'm concerned about wearing it out. Of course, I remember burning through several erasers writing my Marie Antoinette paper. After all, erasable ink was a modern invention for the time. It has taken a solid day of writing, checking, deleting, and rewriting to just get out a rough draft. I'm a completely different person from who I was in high school, yet my writing style is still the very same, just digital. I'm glad I started crafting this paper early. I had learned from my past experience as Marie Antoinette, that waiting until the night before is not the way to handle a major writing and presentation assignment. I guess I shouldn't have stayed up late watching "Weekend at Bernie's".
My grade result was a "B" for Marie. Although, my essay writing was fine, my presentation was not so good. I was visibly nervous, and ignorantly mispronounced "Versailles" several times. "It's Ver-SIGH, not Ver-SAILS, Sarah.” said Ms. Best. Thanks. Perhaps if I had been able to obtain my movie, I would have picked up on that, as I had never heard the pronunciation before. I took Spanish, not French, for my foreign language credit. (Vive la Espanol!)
This paper is nearly finished now. I'm not sure of my grade on this essay. However, I am certainly more confident with this paper than I was with my Marie Antoinette project. After all, I don't have to present in front of this class.
Essays are still a challenge to compose, no matter what decade you grow up in, or what generation you are from. They will still consume a week of your time, whether you go to a library, or sit down in front of your computer. You may face delays from outside sources whether you have a solid mode of transportation, or a cracked distributor cap. Challenge is still there if you have too little material, or too much, to reference.
fear into the hearts of millions of students. Essay. "Essay" can be viewed as a
term of unspeakable horror, afflicted torture, and a weekend destroyer to the average student. Urbandictionary.com offers the following definitions of the term essay: 1. A composition that is usually a few pages long. 2. The bane of my existence. 3. A ploy conceived by English teachers to show their jaded outlook towards students who are either too stupid to do it anyway, or are smart, but prefer pin-point to the point answering rather than spending five paragraphs trying to convince "X" to do "Y". They usually give people a week or so to do the essay, but it is known fact that nobody does the stupid things until the night before it's due.
My experience with the aforementioned definitions is true, as well as timeless. I am now faced with the challenge of writing an essay in college during 2010, when my prior experience was in high school, 20 years ago. I really struggled with writing in high school, and I hope now that I am an older, more serious college student, that I can successfully accomplish writing this paper, even though so much has changed in two decades.
The last time I wrote an essay was in the year 1990. I was a sophomore in Ms. Best's European History class at Ursuline Academy in Springfield, Illinois. Our essays were to be 3-5 pages long, double-spaced, either handwritten or typed. We would also present our papers in front of the class. She allowed us to choose from a list of historical figures, and I had selected Marie Antoinette. January 19th, 2010 is my first official day in Mrs. Malouf's English Comp class at Saint Louis Community College at Forest Park. This is also the first day I started researching my first essay topic. Our essays are to be 3-5 pages, double-spaced, and typed in minimum font size of 12. We will need to submit both a paper copy, and an electronic copy through a school program called "Blackboard". We are able to write about anything we choose. Originally, I thought I would write about a personal experience. However, according to our syllabus, we will be studying descriptive, narrative essays on February 11th, 2010. A personal experience would be better suited for that style of essay, according to Mrs. Malouf.
I selected a popular historical figure for my paper for European History, as I felt there would be several sources to reference. My first research attempt was unsuccessful, as my then boyfriend's '85 Pontiac Firebird broke down on the way to the public library. My next attempt, in my mother's Chevy, got me downtown to the library, albeit, not as stylishly as the Firebird would have. However, even though there were many sources listed in the card catalog, only one book was available for me to reference and borrow. Marie Antoinette was certainly popular, not only among the French, but also the several thousand high school students residing in Springfield. My final attempt at obtaining research materials was again, unsuccessful, as I contacted several video stores to find the 1938 movie, “Marie Antoinette". Of course, this movie was not available to rent anywhere in Springfield, but 600 copies of “Weekend at Bernie's” were certainly at my disposal.
Now, flash forward 20 years to my research attempts for my English Comp essay. I drove my dependable '05 Scion xb, not to the public library, but home, where my computer is. My first research attempt was to google "college essay topics". This yielded 2,390,000 results. I checked several websites over several days, obtained some good ideas, and then paranoia set in. Mrs. Malouf advised us on our first day that all electronic papers are screened for plagiarism. I then thought writing an essay about my experience writing essays would certainly avoid plagiarism accusations. I am correct in my thinking, as again, I googled "essays on writing essays", and google could not locate anything. Now, I’m finally ready to write about my topic.
I have never repeatedly hit the delete button on my computer so much in my entire life. I'm concerned about wearing it out. Of course, I remember burning through several erasers writing my Marie Antoinette paper. After all, erasable ink was a modern invention for the time. It has taken a solid day of writing, checking, deleting, and rewriting to just get out a rough draft. I'm a completely different person from who I was in high school, yet my writing style is still the very same, just digital. I'm glad I started crafting this paper early. I had learned from my past experience as Marie Antoinette, that waiting until the night before is not the way to handle a major writing and presentation assignment. I guess I shouldn't have stayed up late watching "Weekend at Bernie's".
My grade result was a "B" for Marie. Although, my essay writing was fine, my presentation was not so good. I was visibly nervous, and ignorantly mispronounced "Versailles" several times. "It's Ver-SIGH, not Ver-SAILS, Sarah.” said Ms. Best. Thanks. Perhaps if I had been able to obtain my movie, I would have picked up on that, as I had never heard the pronunciation before. I took Spanish, not French, for my foreign language credit. (Vive la Espanol!)
This paper is nearly finished now. I'm not sure of my grade on this essay. However, I am certainly more confident with this paper than I was with my Marie Antoinette project. After all, I don't have to present in front of this class.
Essays are still a challenge to compose, no matter what decade you grow up in, or what generation you are from. They will still consume a week of your time, whether you go to a library, or sit down in front of your computer. You may face delays from outside sources whether you have a solid mode of transportation, or a cracked distributor cap. Challenge is still there if you have too little material, or too much, to reference.
Thursday, March 4, 2010
Day 14 o' school
English:
This is the first time I was REALLY late to school. Our electric was out in our kitchen and office, and when I checked out the circuit breakers, the box started sizzling. I didn't want to leave in case the house exploded, which doesn't make a whole lot of sense, and may explain why I attend community college. Well, two hundred dollars for an electrician to come out and quarter-turn a screw, and I was running into class by 10a. Only to be told by the professor that she rescheduled the midterm test date for today. I'm going to be able to take it on Thursday, thank friggin God.
Algebra:
We are finally doing some old school Algebra that I remember from WA-AY back. Awww yeah, got my fa-reek on with some FOIL and polynomials! We took yet another quiz, and blew out of class early.
Oral Comm:
More work with the group. All five of us were there today. We ended up doing research in the library. Golem played with her phone. This is concerning to the rest of the group, and we decided to put a safety net in place, in case she doesn't show up on the presentation day. I think you can set your watch to that. This was my first time to the library, and I was pretty impressed with the size of it. It's like a real school and everything.
Media:
My only class I was present for the entire time. We just went over terms for our third chapter. Pretty tame compared to last class. Last night, I emailed the professor to tell her what a stupendous badass I thought she was with the way she handled the sixth graders. She stopped me on the way out, and told me she appreciated my message, and sadly that probably wouldn't be the last time she has to babysit. Oh, college kids and their diaper changes.
This is the first time I was REALLY late to school. Our electric was out in our kitchen and office, and when I checked out the circuit breakers, the box started sizzling. I didn't want to leave in case the house exploded, which doesn't make a whole lot of sense, and may explain why I attend community college. Well, two hundred dollars for an electrician to come out and quarter-turn a screw, and I was running into class by 10a. Only to be told by the professor that she rescheduled the midterm test date for today. I'm going to be able to take it on Thursday, thank friggin God.
Algebra:
We are finally doing some old school Algebra that I remember from WA-AY back. Awww yeah, got my fa-reek on with some FOIL and polynomials! We took yet another quiz, and blew out of class early.
Oral Comm:
More work with the group. All five of us were there today. We ended up doing research in the library. Golem played with her phone. This is concerning to the rest of the group, and we decided to put a safety net in place, in case she doesn't show up on the presentation day. I think you can set your watch to that. This was my first time to the library, and I was pretty impressed with the size of it. It's like a real school and everything.
Media:
My only class I was present for the entire time. We just went over terms for our third chapter. Pretty tame compared to last class. Last night, I emailed the professor to tell her what a stupendous badass I thought she was with the way she handled the sixth graders. She stopped me on the way out, and told me she appreciated my message, and sadly that probably wouldn't be the last time she has to babysit. Oh, college kids and their diaper changes.
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
Day 13 o' school
English Comp:
We turned in our essays today. As I turned in my paper, she handed me a contract for the honor's program. Wow, it's so very official looking, like mortgage paperwork or something. We then went over our third essay which will be a comparison/contrast paper. I had asked her if I could turn in a paper that I had all ready wrote for another class. She said as long as it met her specifications, it would be fine. So I may just tweak and turn in my paper on THe Daily Show and NBC Nightly News. I'm trying to figure out what to write about for this honor's paper. Maybe our surrogacy experience, or how Starbucks went to, over, and around the moon and stars for us with Jason's illness.
Algebra:
I got a 93 on my test. There were eight of the tests lying on the table by the entrance, and mine was swimming in a pile of papers with nothing higher than a 58%, so that made me feel pretty good. I was a little late getting into class, since one of my classmates asked me if he could "check his answers". This new street term or "cred" that I have now learned really means copy your work, as there were no "answers" on his blank pages. He actually took a phone photo of my cumulative review. It was all so very Watergate just for 20 points. Now I have to change my route from getting to English to Algebra, so I can dodge this guy in the halls.
Oral Comm:
Today we worked more on our group project. One of our members was not there, and that's a shame, because she was really good on our last presentation. We have it narrowed down to three topics: Food, Entertainment, and Health. Now we need to hammer down six objects that will need to go into our time capsule. I'm about ready to put "the mouth of Golem" in our capsule, just for shuttin' up purposes.
Media:
This was doozy. We finished the rest of our gender movie. Before it even got started, "Steel Trap" was asking if they are working on something that could be shot into gays and lesbians to "fix" them. She actually said she viewed them all as mutants like X-men. Unbelievable. The professor actually had to explain to her that X-men aren't real. And her retort was people with seven fingers are mutants just like gays. The rest of the documentary went on about other cultures and genders, such at the Thai ladyboys, and hishra's of India. This group of youngin's was just coming undone over this. Our professor came down pretty hard on them for not taking it seriously. She told them there was no point in them even showing up to school if they weren't there to learn, and they were not going to get anywhere in the world, with their little St. Louis mentalities, when there is a world of over a thousand cultures. Man, I like her.
We turned in our essays today. As I turned in my paper, she handed me a contract for the honor's program. Wow, it's so very official looking, like mortgage paperwork or something. We then went over our third essay which will be a comparison/contrast paper. I had asked her if I could turn in a paper that I had all ready wrote for another class. She said as long as it met her specifications, it would be fine. So I may just tweak and turn in my paper on THe Daily Show and NBC Nightly News. I'm trying to figure out what to write about for this honor's paper. Maybe our surrogacy experience, or how Starbucks went to, over, and around the moon and stars for us with Jason's illness.
Algebra:
I got a 93 on my test. There were eight of the tests lying on the table by the entrance, and mine was swimming in a pile of papers with nothing higher than a 58%, so that made me feel pretty good. I was a little late getting into class, since one of my classmates asked me if he could "check his answers". This new street term or "cred" that I have now learned really means copy your work, as there were no "answers" on his blank pages. He actually took a phone photo of my cumulative review. It was all so very Watergate just for 20 points. Now I have to change my route from getting to English to Algebra, so I can dodge this guy in the halls.
Oral Comm:
Today we worked more on our group project. One of our members was not there, and that's a shame, because she was really good on our last presentation. We have it narrowed down to three topics: Food, Entertainment, and Health. Now we need to hammer down six objects that will need to go into our time capsule. I'm about ready to put "the mouth of Golem" in our capsule, just for shuttin' up purposes.
Media:
This was doozy. We finished the rest of our gender movie. Before it even got started, "Steel Trap" was asking if they are working on something that could be shot into gays and lesbians to "fix" them. She actually said she viewed them all as mutants like X-men. Unbelievable. The professor actually had to explain to her that X-men aren't real. And her retort was people with seven fingers are mutants just like gays. The rest of the documentary went on about other cultures and genders, such at the Thai ladyboys, and hishra's of India. This group of youngin's was just coming undone over this. Our professor came down pretty hard on them for not taking it seriously. She told them there was no point in them even showing up to school if they weren't there to learn, and they were not going to get anywhere in the world, with their little St. Louis mentalities, when there is a world of over a thousand cultures. Man, I like her.
Friday, February 26, 2010
Day 11 and 12 of school
English:
Tuesday, we discussed "Once More to the Lake" by E.B. White. I could not get into reading this essay at all. I HATED it, and hated him even more for writing it! I think it just has bad timing, since I spent most of the weekend writing my rough draft on Jason's diagnosis. The last thing you want to read is some rich, white guy bonding with his son at the lake he and his father used to "summer" at for a month. Weirdly, I was more physically emotional reading this crap about his "... groin feeling the cold chill of death" when his son put on a wet swimsuit, than writing Jason's essay. Suck it, E.B. White! You, Wilbur, Charlotte, and and your flacid vitals need to quit making me cry. I guess the whole what- was- once- was, and what coulda, shoulda been, was conflicting. I got 3 out of 5 on the "Didja read it, 'cause I assigned it" paper.
So I got a glowing review on my first essay. It's probably the best grade that I have ever received on anything ever. She said she was going to keep a copy on file and present it to students who asked what it took to get an A. She told me that for honor's I need to write a ten page paper, and I should not have any problem whipping out something like that. We'll see.
Thursday, we had our peer review of our rough draft of our descriptive narrative essays. This was really hard, long, and probably deeply psychotic to write. I started this on Friday around 10am, and didn't stop until Max was banging on the front door, since he was home from school. This paper is only to be 2-3 pages long, and I had seven pages before we even left the first hospital. There is just so much to a day like that. All the details would get so suffocating, that I would cry and have to lay on the floor a few times. Poor Max came home to a deeply disturbed woman. But I finished it with a little help with my pop's, sister-pants, good friends, and wine. There were two others in my peer group. One had written an essay about her family of nine growing up in a two bedroom apartment, which was pretty good. The other had a handwritten six pages of the longest run-on sentence ever recorded by man. It was about her and high school friend getting in a fist fight with other girls that weren't respecting them. I think she had the best response to my rough draft. She asked if it was a true story, and if I was okay. I told her yes to the first and no to the second.
Algebra:
Quiz 3 was Tuesday. So was a discussion on inequalities. A very long discussion. There are certainly all sorts of inequalities sitting in the desks in this room.
Thursday, I got 14/15 on my quiz. Stupid negative integers screwing up my stuff! It's the little things that get you. I get the feeling that a lot in our class are struggling due to every single quiz problem was questioned. I really admire this instructor. She is a true Zen master among the hopelessly ignorant. We then took our test on Chapters 3 and 4. There were just a few word problems that seemed kind of dumbed down compared to what our homework from our textbook is. For that, I thank her. I can figure out 20% off an $80 blouse at Macy's, AND show my work. I can figure out m+35=5(m+7)-4m. Woo-hoo, all real numbers. Let's see how we keep up the momentum on this though.
Oral Comm:
Tuesday was review for our test. After our review, we broke into groups with new people. We have a 15 minute group presentation on three topics from present day that will go into a time capsule. Our group had hammered down food, and either health, entertainment, or politics. This seems like a real Motley Crue.
Thursday, was on test on perception. It was a little more difficult than I thought it would be. I think because we just took a test on perception in Media, and a lot of the terms were somewhat similar, yet different too. After the test, we broke into groups again. One of our group members is profoundly unstable. One of those who talks out her thoughts... on ev-er-y-thing. At one point, I think she was just talking to her self, but looking at all of us. I think we have food, health, and entertainment decided upon, but I think we could have accomplished a lot more, if I could clothespin Golem's mouth. This ought to be a very "precious" presentation.
Media:
Tuesday was a test day, so once we took it, we were out the door.
Thursday, we got our test back, and I got an 86%. I'm a little shocked by that one, but I see what went wrong where. We watched our Genders studies movie, and then watched a student with a mind like a steal trap, not comprehend any of it.
Why are the ignorant always the loudest? There still is a little more of it to see on next Tuesday, so I'm sure we'll be even more exposed to a human booster shot of stupid. Can't wait.
Tuesday, we discussed "Once More to the Lake" by E.B. White. I could not get into reading this essay at all. I HATED it, and hated him even more for writing it! I think it just has bad timing, since I spent most of the weekend writing my rough draft on Jason's diagnosis. The last thing you want to read is some rich, white guy bonding with his son at the lake he and his father used to "summer" at for a month. Weirdly, I was more physically emotional reading this crap about his "... groin feeling the cold chill of death" when his son put on a wet swimsuit, than writing Jason's essay. Suck it, E.B. White! You, Wilbur, Charlotte, and and your flacid vitals need to quit making me cry. I guess the whole what- was- once- was, and what coulda, shoulda been, was conflicting. I got 3 out of 5 on the "Didja read it, 'cause I assigned it" paper.
So I got a glowing review on my first essay. It's probably the best grade that I have ever received on anything ever. She said she was going to keep a copy on file and present it to students who asked what it took to get an A. She told me that for honor's I need to write a ten page paper, and I should not have any problem whipping out something like that. We'll see.
Thursday, we had our peer review of our rough draft of our descriptive narrative essays. This was really hard, long, and probably deeply psychotic to write. I started this on Friday around 10am, and didn't stop until Max was banging on the front door, since he was home from school. This paper is only to be 2-3 pages long, and I had seven pages before we even left the first hospital. There is just so much to a day like that. All the details would get so suffocating, that I would cry and have to lay on the floor a few times. Poor Max came home to a deeply disturbed woman. But I finished it with a little help with my pop's, sister-pants, good friends, and wine. There were two others in my peer group. One had written an essay about her family of nine growing up in a two bedroom apartment, which was pretty good. The other had a handwritten six pages of the longest run-on sentence ever recorded by man. It was about her and high school friend getting in a fist fight with other girls that weren't respecting them. I think she had the best response to my rough draft. She asked if it was a true story, and if I was okay. I told her yes to the first and no to the second.
Algebra:
Quiz 3 was Tuesday. So was a discussion on inequalities. A very long discussion. There are certainly all sorts of inequalities sitting in the desks in this room.
Thursday, I got 14/15 on my quiz. Stupid negative integers screwing up my stuff! It's the little things that get you. I get the feeling that a lot in our class are struggling due to every single quiz problem was questioned. I really admire this instructor. She is a true Zen master among the hopelessly ignorant. We then took our test on Chapters 3 and 4. There were just a few word problems that seemed kind of dumbed down compared to what our homework from our textbook is. For that, I thank her. I can figure out 20% off an $80 blouse at Macy's, AND show my work. I can figure out m+35=5(m+7)-4m. Woo-hoo, all real numbers. Let's see how we keep up the momentum on this though.
Oral Comm:
Tuesday was review for our test. After our review, we broke into groups with new people. We have a 15 minute group presentation on three topics from present day that will go into a time capsule. Our group had hammered down food, and either health, entertainment, or politics. This seems like a real Motley Crue.
Thursday, was on test on perception. It was a little more difficult than I thought it would be. I think because we just took a test on perception in Media, and a lot of the terms were somewhat similar, yet different too. After the test, we broke into groups again. One of our group members is profoundly unstable. One of those who talks out her thoughts... on ev-er-y-thing. At one point, I think she was just talking to her self, but looking at all of us. I think we have food, health, and entertainment decided upon, but I think we could have accomplished a lot more, if I could clothespin Golem's mouth. This ought to be a very "precious" presentation.
Media:
Tuesday was a test day, so once we took it, we were out the door.
Thursday, we got our test back, and I got an 86%. I'm a little shocked by that one, but I see what went wrong where. We watched our Genders studies movie, and then watched a student with a mind like a steal trap, not comprehend any of it.
Why are the ignorant always the loudest? There still is a little more of it to see on next Tuesday, so I'm sure we'll be even more exposed to a human booster shot of stupid. Can't wait.
Monday, February 22, 2010
Day 10 - first fight with campus cop
Yeah, I don't think that will be my last encounter either. I get to school, and the parking lots are full, so I park on one of the side streets, like I've done for the past month. Only this time, I get stopped by an "Excuse me, ma'am, did you just park there?" Ok, don't EVER "ma'am" me. Nothing flips me into bitch mode quicker than the "M" word. I said, "Yeah, I park there all the time." She told me I couldn't, even though, there were no signs, even though, there were no parking cones, even though I pulled up behind 6six cars that were all ready parked there, even though three cars pulled up and parked behind me. I told her to just write her ticket, that I didn't have time for this. I'm glad I called her bluff, because there was no ticket on my car, or anyone else's when I went out after class. Puh, campus cops are lower than mall cops. At least mall cops will throw their keys at you.
English:
So, I was just stewing about that broad, and not very participatory in discussion, as I was envisioning my car be towed by the company "You Paid For It" - Elliott Davis is always chasing. Ironically, we read some of Sherman Alexie, a Native American writer, who wrote some great essays about the oppression he experienced growing up on a campus... uhhh... reservation. Man, I could relate to Cries-Like-A-White-Boy. Also, I was really amused by my class mate, who was DRINKING from her can of BBQ Pringles. I guess she couldn't get her massive hamhock-like fist down the tube, down to her processed foods goodness, and was applying a basic rule of physics. Yum. Our professor, told me to wait a moment after class, and I thought I was going to get a talking to from her. It was actually really nice, she told me to sign up for the honor's program, that me and a couple of others were good enough writers to seek that out. I thanked her and then had asked her if she knew who I could talk to about about these pigeonholing campus cops. She sighed and rolled her eyes, and gave me a couple of phone numbers. She, I like.
Algebra:
We got our take home quiz back, and I got 17/15. Thank God for bonus points, I'm going to take those where I can get them.
It's starting to sound more like a dead language class, as we are venturing further down the rabbit hole with story problems, and less with the linear stuff. Here is where I'm going to need to take the blue pill or the red pill. I guess that would make our instructor the Caterpillar, or maybe the Mad Hatter... and we're just a bunch of tweedle-dums.
Oral Comm:
This was a jiffy class, in by 12:30 and out by 1:10. She gave us back our group presentation grade, and ours was 18/15. Woo-hoo, more bonus points. 5th graders rule! We have another test on Tuesday about perception. NOt really a whole lot to communicate on this class about communication.
Media:
I talked with the professor about my B, and she "uped" me to a B+. She said mine was one of the first papers she read, and she didn't have a grade gauge established for the whole class assignment yet. I'm still not real happy with that either, but I don't want to start arguing for grades this early on. She said that was one of the higher grades in my class, where the class average was around a C-. Wow, I guess I get to tow the line. Last night, on the Simpsons, Lisa gave a powerpoint presentation, and at the end of it, she tagged it with "Targeted Grade: A/A+" I might lift that for my next paper for her.
English:
So, I was just stewing about that broad, and not very participatory in discussion, as I was envisioning my car be towed by the company "You Paid For It" - Elliott Davis is always chasing. Ironically, we read some of Sherman Alexie, a Native American writer, who wrote some great essays about the oppression he experienced growing up on a campus... uhhh... reservation. Man, I could relate to Cries-Like-A-White-Boy. Also, I was really amused by my class mate, who was DRINKING from her can of BBQ Pringles. I guess she couldn't get her massive hamhock-like fist down the tube, down to her processed foods goodness, and was applying a basic rule of physics. Yum. Our professor, told me to wait a moment after class, and I thought I was going to get a talking to from her. It was actually really nice, she told me to sign up for the honor's program, that me and a couple of others were good enough writers to seek that out. I thanked her and then had asked her if she knew who I could talk to about about these pigeonholing campus cops. She sighed and rolled her eyes, and gave me a couple of phone numbers. She, I like.
Algebra:
We got our take home quiz back, and I got 17/15. Thank God for bonus points, I'm going to take those where I can get them.
It's starting to sound more like a dead language class, as we are venturing further down the rabbit hole with story problems, and less with the linear stuff. Here is where I'm going to need to take the blue pill or the red pill. I guess that would make our instructor the Caterpillar, or maybe the Mad Hatter... and we're just a bunch of tweedle-dums.
Oral Comm:
This was a jiffy class, in by 12:30 and out by 1:10. She gave us back our group presentation grade, and ours was 18/15. Woo-hoo, more bonus points. 5th graders rule! We have another test on Tuesday about perception. NOt really a whole lot to communicate on this class about communication.
Media:
I talked with the professor about my B, and she "uped" me to a B+. She said mine was one of the first papers she read, and she didn't have a grade gauge established for the whole class assignment yet. I'm still not real happy with that either, but I don't want to start arguing for grades this early on. She said that was one of the higher grades in my class, where the class average was around a C-. Wow, I guess I get to tow the line. Last night, on the Simpsons, Lisa gave a powerpoint presentation, and at the end of it, she tagged it with "Targeted Grade: A/A+" I might lift that for my next paper for her.
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
Day 9 o' school
English:
My classmates are starting to grow on me like bread mold.
Our instructor left our reading assignment handout in her office.
When she left to go get them, one of the younger ones announced that she had candy for sale.
The guy next to her asked if her kid was selling it for school, and she said she was selling it for her wedding.
So, a line of about seven form to buy snickers bars in the back of the class.
Our instructor had returned, when she was on her 4th transaction, and started passing out our assignment.
She teacher-glared at the last little candy girl, who actually said to her, "What, I can't do that?"
She firmly told her to sit down.
We read, "The DIscus Thrower" by Richard Selzer, which was really hard to digest, as it was about a patient in the final stages of dying. I don't think I blinked once, just so I could keep my eyes good and dry.
Later in the class, we broke into groups to do a narrative dialogue.
My partner and I got Peter Pumpkin Eater and Wife. That was another little slice, as I would sometimes call Jason that when I was angry at him. The only nice thing about that class was when one of the chip girls got a candy bar wrapper stuck to her shoe, when we were leaving.
Algebra:
We had to turn in our take home quiz today. The whole class was passing around each other's test to see if we even came close to our answers. It's weirdly a little reassuring to see so many people struggling. We have another quiz tomorrow, and I'd rather put tacks in my gums than take it. Two words:story problems. No one speaks that way. NO ONE!
Oral Comm:
Today we had our group presentation. It was pretty fun, and got lots of giggles. I think ours was pretty well received. Our instructor seemed pretty pleased, and said it was creative. Next class is just review for another test. Ya-hey.
Media:
We got our perceived racism papers back, and I got a "B". Not sure why, there weren't any comments. "B"'s are all that bad, but I think that is the best I'm going to be able to write. She had quoted my paper in class too, so it couldn't have been all that awful. I'll talk to her about it tomorrow, but man, I wonder what it takes to get an A.
My classmates are starting to grow on me like bread mold.
Our instructor left our reading assignment handout in her office.
When she left to go get them, one of the younger ones announced that she had candy for sale.
The guy next to her asked if her kid was selling it for school, and she said she was selling it for her wedding.
So, a line of about seven form to buy snickers bars in the back of the class.
Our instructor had returned, when she was on her 4th transaction, and started passing out our assignment.
She teacher-glared at the last little candy girl, who actually said to her, "What, I can't do that?"
She firmly told her to sit down.
We read, "The DIscus Thrower" by Richard Selzer, which was really hard to digest, as it was about a patient in the final stages of dying. I don't think I blinked once, just so I could keep my eyes good and dry.
Later in the class, we broke into groups to do a narrative dialogue.
My partner and I got Peter Pumpkin Eater and Wife. That was another little slice, as I would sometimes call Jason that when I was angry at him. The only nice thing about that class was when one of the chip girls got a candy bar wrapper stuck to her shoe, when we were leaving.
Algebra:
We had to turn in our take home quiz today. The whole class was passing around each other's test to see if we even came close to our answers. It's weirdly a little reassuring to see so many people struggling. We have another quiz tomorrow, and I'd rather put tacks in my gums than take it. Two words:story problems. No one speaks that way. NO ONE!
Oral Comm:
Today we had our group presentation. It was pretty fun, and got lots of giggles. I think ours was pretty well received. Our instructor seemed pretty pleased, and said it was creative. Next class is just review for another test. Ya-hey.
Media:
We got our perceived racism papers back, and I got a "B". Not sure why, there weren't any comments. "B"'s are all that bad, but I think that is the best I'm going to be able to write. She had quoted my paper in class too, so it couldn't have been all that awful. I'll talk to her about it tomorrow, but man, I wonder what it takes to get an A.
Sunday, February 14, 2010
8th day o' school
My seventh day of community college was a snow day for me and Max. My best day of community college ever!
Here is my recap of my eighth day:
English:
I turned in my paper draft of my example essay, and am eager to see what my grade will be.
We started discussing our next paper, a narrative, descriptive essay. I'm thinking about writing about the
first twenty-four hours of Jason's cancer diagnosis, but I'm not sure, if I'm ready to start to digging at that wide open wound, yet. I do like how our professor told us we could not write about the birth of babies, or our graduation day. I can't imagine what is has to be like to be her. Just to sit and devote at least a half a day to reading so many clunk-il-ly written papers. It's a struggle sometimes to read good writing, much less developing writing.
Algebra:
We got our first tests back, and I got a 95%! We were given an additional 5 points because our instructor was unable to display the information through our blackboard program. The couple of errors that I made were just stupid little ones, like leaving off a negative sign, or basic arithmetic. At least I'm getting the gist, I just need to be more careful with the details.
Oral Comm:
I got an A- on my first test. We broke into groups in order to discuss our next presentation. Me and my group of four are doing a version of "Are You Smarter Than a Fifth Grader?", and are to engage our audience with some of the terms we have learned about perception. I really hope me and my community college oral comm class are smarter than fifth graders, but that remains to be seen until Tuesday. I should bring Max in to assist.
Media:
I turned in my 3 page paper on "How I am Perceived In My Race." My introduction started: "I am a wonder bread, honky, poppin' fresh, uncle daddy, vanilla, mayonnaise mama. At least, according to the Racial Slur Data Base (www.rsdb.org)."...and it went on and on from there. RSDB is really one of the worst sites in the world. There are over 2000 slurs, and it just keeps growing. It really is amazing how stupid we people is.
This class wasn't as much fun as normal, as we just went over terms from the first chapter. Oh well, can't be a party all the time.
Here is my recap of my eighth day:
English:
I turned in my paper draft of my example essay, and am eager to see what my grade will be.
We started discussing our next paper, a narrative, descriptive essay. I'm thinking about writing about the
first twenty-four hours of Jason's cancer diagnosis, but I'm not sure, if I'm ready to start to digging at that wide open wound, yet. I do like how our professor told us we could not write about the birth of babies, or our graduation day. I can't imagine what is has to be like to be her. Just to sit and devote at least a half a day to reading so many clunk-il-ly written papers. It's a struggle sometimes to read good writing, much less developing writing.
Algebra:
We got our first tests back, and I got a 95%! We were given an additional 5 points because our instructor was unable to display the information through our blackboard program. The couple of errors that I made were just stupid little ones, like leaving off a negative sign, or basic arithmetic. At least I'm getting the gist, I just need to be more careful with the details.
Oral Comm:
I got an A- on my first test. We broke into groups in order to discuss our next presentation. Me and my group of four are doing a version of "Are You Smarter Than a Fifth Grader?", and are to engage our audience with some of the terms we have learned about perception. I really hope me and my community college oral comm class are smarter than fifth graders, but that remains to be seen until Tuesday. I should bring Max in to assist.
Media:
I turned in my 3 page paper on "How I am Perceived In My Race." My introduction started: "I am a wonder bread, honky, poppin' fresh, uncle daddy, vanilla, mayonnaise mama. At least, according to the Racial Slur Data Base (www.rsdb.org)."...and it went on and on from there. RSDB is really one of the worst sites in the world. There are over 2000 slurs, and it just keeps growing. It really is amazing how stupid we people is.
This class wasn't as much fun as normal, as we just went over terms from the first chapter. Oh well, can't be a party all the time.
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
Day 6 o' school
Okay, sorry I missed a couple of days. My algebra book finally arrived, and I had to play a lot of catch up with homework.
English:
Today, our rough drafts of our example essay were due. My paper was about my experience writing an essay in 1990 and 2010.
We broke into small groups, and the other two peer papers were about kid and gangs and becoming a teenage mom. Once we filled out our peer review sheets, we could leave. My peers took the entire class to read all four pages and review my paper. I made the mistake of opening my water bottle in class, and found out that it still contained vodka from last night. So, I should explain last night, now. I had seen on Alton Brown, that you can pour vodka through a water filter a few times, and that it would improve the flavor. So, I tried this "experiment", and it really works. I flushed my filter with water after I drained the vodka out of it, and then refilled it. I guess it's going to require a few more filter flushings, or I'm going to take Mr. & Mrs. T Rich and Spicy Bloody Mary Mix to English.
Algebra:
Today was our first test. I had studied for it like a crazy person, so I'm hoping for a good grade. My teacher informed me that I was not on her electronic roster, and would need to go to admissions to find out why. Great, I never even needed to be in that class! So after the test, and twenty minutes waiting in line at admissions, I found out it all came down to a clerical typo, and I was where I need to be.
Oral Comm:
We had our first test in this class, too. Easy and all definitions, and we were set free, when we were done. THis class gets cut early quite a bit. I like that aspect of it.
Media:
Our professor is back on tour with her play, so no class today, again. I ended up getting 9 out of 10 points on my paper comparing THe Daily Show and NBC Nightly News, because I didn't have my name at the top. Our next paper topic is "How people view you on your perceived race". We need 2 sources, 1 being a hardcopy, and work cited MLA form... oh, and NO wikipedia! It's great she even has to state that.
English:
Today, our rough drafts of our example essay were due. My paper was about my experience writing an essay in 1990 and 2010.
We broke into small groups, and the other two peer papers were about kid and gangs and becoming a teenage mom. Once we filled out our peer review sheets, we could leave. My peers took the entire class to read all four pages and review my paper. I made the mistake of opening my water bottle in class, and found out that it still contained vodka from last night. So, I should explain last night, now. I had seen on Alton Brown, that you can pour vodka through a water filter a few times, and that it would improve the flavor. So, I tried this "experiment", and it really works. I flushed my filter with water after I drained the vodka out of it, and then refilled it. I guess it's going to require a few more filter flushings, or I'm going to take Mr. & Mrs. T Rich and Spicy Bloody Mary Mix to English.
Algebra:
Today was our first test. I had studied for it like a crazy person, so I'm hoping for a good grade. My teacher informed me that I was not on her electronic roster, and would need to go to admissions to find out why. Great, I never even needed to be in that class! So after the test, and twenty minutes waiting in line at admissions, I found out it all came down to a clerical typo, and I was where I need to be.
Oral Comm:
We had our first test in this class, too. Easy and all definitions, and we were set free, when we were done. THis class gets cut early quite a bit. I like that aspect of it.
Media:
Our professor is back on tour with her play, so no class today, again. I ended up getting 9 out of 10 points on my paper comparing THe Daily Show and NBC Nightly News, because I didn't have my name at the top. Our next paper topic is "How people view you on your perceived race". We need 2 sources, 1 being a hardcopy, and work cited MLA form... oh, and NO wikipedia! It's great she even has to state that.
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
3rd day o' school
English Comp:
Today, we had a substitute. Our assignment was to write an essay about three animals we closely identify with. I chose the octopus, sloth, and mama grizzly bear. My title was "An octopus, sloth, and mama grizzly bear walk into a bar." I haven't written anything by hand in a long time, and it really reflected in my penmanship. Think Katherine Hepburn on cappuccino in her late eighties, and I'm sure her skill with a pen would be more legible than what I scrawled. I think it was an okay paper, I just hope she can read it. Even though I was far enough away from the "feedbag row", it was still very audible as the room was so quiet. I can imagine the title of some of those future essays: "How to shiv an English professor with a Red Hot Riblet."
Algebra:
Today we had a quiz. I have absolutely no confidence in what I turned in. The quiz was at the end of the class, and long after we were assaulted with review from Chapter 2. Whereas, last week, I was able to keep up with the problems, today, she threw all sorts of hypothetical curveballs our way. Great, confuse me before a quiz. I guess the main problem is I'm still waiting on my Algebra book to show up from Amazon, so I haven't been able to do any homework. When I got home from school, it had finally arrived, and I played catch up for the next three hours at home. I called my mathematically-degreed sister to help with one problemI better go wine shopping for this teacher, and myself, pretty soon.
Oral Comm:
This class was great in the fact that she let us go a half-hour early. Our professor is still struggling with Leviticus's name, calling him Leveculi today. Damn pagans! She is a give-a-way type of instructor, as she informed us that anything written on the board would be on a test. This I can handle. The presentations are going to be the challenge.
Media:
The professor is still touring... woo-hoo!
Today, we had a substitute. Our assignment was to write an essay about three animals we closely identify with. I chose the octopus, sloth, and mama grizzly bear. My title was "An octopus, sloth, and mama grizzly bear walk into a bar." I haven't written anything by hand in a long time, and it really reflected in my penmanship. Think Katherine Hepburn on cappuccino in her late eighties, and I'm sure her skill with a pen would be more legible than what I scrawled. I think it was an okay paper, I just hope she can read it. Even though I was far enough away from the "feedbag row", it was still very audible as the room was so quiet. I can imagine the title of some of those future essays: "How to shiv an English professor with a Red Hot Riblet."
Algebra:
Today we had a quiz. I have absolutely no confidence in what I turned in. The quiz was at the end of the class, and long after we were assaulted with review from Chapter 2. Whereas, last week, I was able to keep up with the problems, today, she threw all sorts of hypothetical curveballs our way. Great, confuse me before a quiz. I guess the main problem is I'm still waiting on my Algebra book to show up from Amazon, so I haven't been able to do any homework. When I got home from school, it had finally arrived, and I played catch up for the next three hours at home. I called my mathematically-degreed sister to help with one problemI better go wine shopping for this teacher, and myself, pretty soon.
Oral Comm:
This class was great in the fact that she let us go a half-hour early. Our professor is still struggling with Leviticus's name, calling him Leveculi today. Damn pagans! She is a give-a-way type of instructor, as she informed us that anything written on the board would be on a test. This I can handle. The presentations are going to be the challenge.
Media:
The professor is still touring... woo-hoo!
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
2nd day o' school
English Comp:
I just squeaked into class under the wire today. I was delayed by a phone call from AAA about a job that won't pan out.
So, I ran from the "yonder back forty" of the campus parking lot, through the wind and rain, to Tower A room 217.
I was completely out of breath, and had visible snot hanging from my nose. I felt pretty. I had to sit on the late row by the classroom door.
Apparently, the row next to me is what we'll call the "feedbag row", as all four students were consuming junk food from loud, crinkly bags.
All.friggin.class.long.
It's 9:30a, and I guess when the call for Hot Fries and Rap Snacks, complemented with open-mouth chewing, answers, then you just pick that red line right up.
Today we discussed the elements of righting a good essay.
I think my title will be, "My Dumb,Fat Ass Classmates are Retards", or "I Can Hear Your Diabetes".
Algebra:
Algebra was okay. I was able to correctly do the problems she presented.
The only thing out of left field, was when she mentioned she was a Christian and did not like language that pertained to bodily functions.
I didn't hear anyone say that myself, but then she went on to say that she was always open to discuss her faith with us on her off time.
Oh boy... or Lord, rather.
Our first quiz is next class.
Oral Comm:
Ms. Moody had us do a small group project. We had 12 minutes to cut words or pictures that represented us out of magazines, and present in front of the class.
Had I known that, I would have picked up a copy of "Modern Drunkard" or "Garden and Gun".
Seriously, those are real publications:
http://www.moderndrunkardmagazine.com/
http://gardenandgun.com/
Instead, I found a picture of a little row boat in the ocean. I can identify with that.
The rest of my group found jewelry, money, an aluminum water bottle, and a heart shaped cut-out of some soap opera star or model-looking fellow.
This exercise was to show us how to prepare for a presentation.
I may use my English essay title again.
Media:
Cancelled due to to the professor being on tour.
This was my favorite class today.
Now, me and my chicken fingers need to get our drink on!
I just squeaked into class under the wire today. I was delayed by a phone call from AAA about a job that won't pan out.
So, I ran from the "yonder back forty" of the campus parking lot, through the wind and rain, to Tower A room 217.
I was completely out of breath, and had visible snot hanging from my nose. I felt pretty. I had to sit on the late row by the classroom door.
Apparently, the row next to me is what we'll call the "feedbag row", as all four students were consuming junk food from loud, crinkly bags.
All.friggin.class.long.
It's 9:30a, and I guess when the call for Hot Fries and Rap Snacks, complemented with open-mouth chewing, answers, then you just pick that red line right up.
Today we discussed the elements of righting a good essay.
I think my title will be, "My Dumb,Fat Ass Classmates are Retards", or "I Can Hear Your Diabetes".
Algebra:
Algebra was okay. I was able to correctly do the problems she presented.
The only thing out of left field, was when she mentioned she was a Christian and did not like language that pertained to bodily functions.
I didn't hear anyone say that myself, but then she went on to say that she was always open to discuss her faith with us on her off time.
Oh boy... or Lord, rather.
Our first quiz is next class.
Oral Comm:
Ms. Moody had us do a small group project. We had 12 minutes to cut words or pictures that represented us out of magazines, and present in front of the class.
Had I known that, I would have picked up a copy of "Modern Drunkard" or "Garden and Gun".
Seriously, those are real publications:
http://www.moderndrunkardmagazine.com/
http://gardenandgun.com/
Instead, I found a picture of a little row boat in the ocean. I can identify with that.
The rest of my group found jewelry, money, an aluminum water bottle, and a heart shaped cut-out of some soap opera star or model-looking fellow.
This exercise was to show us how to prepare for a presentation.
I may use my English essay title again.
Media:
Cancelled due to to the professor being on tour.
This was my favorite class today.
Now, me and my chicken fingers need to get our drink on!
1st day o' school
Ok, so here is how it all went down yesterday.
English Comp:
K. M. is my teacher.
She seemed pretty cool until she mentioned that one of the essays we would be discussing is titled "Black Men and Public Space" by Brent Staples.
After making this announcement, she then stated that the security was excellent at the school, and they are usually here within a matter of minutes of an "incident".
I am one of three caucasoids in the class, with the majority being african-american boys/men.
The other two girls are clearly under the age of 19, and will probably skip out on that discussion day.
I may need to wear a dashiki to that discussion on Jan 28th.
Twice, she had to ask people to quit fucking with their phones.
Twice.
Algebra:
M. H. is my teacher.
Her class is incredibly quick. I took 6 pages of notes on the first day!
She has very grey teeth, so I think she can be bribed with wine.
She taught Algebra for 30 some odd years in Belleville, and still lives over there, so we may run into her at the Wine Tap someday.
A young girl sat next to me with big, clunky, bracelets that sounded like cowbells.
She could not sit still at all, screwing with her phone, rambling through her bag, drinking, chewing gum, just AHHHH!!!!!
I plan to seek out the most isolated seat in the room on Thursday or prepare blow-darts of Fentanyl.
Oral Comm:
Ms. C. M. is my teacher.
She is a strong, black, sister (her words, not mine), who stressed the Ms. in her name.
Not Mrs., not Miss, but MS.
Her class terrifies me the most.
25 students to stand up in front for 5 presentations with my stupid, little, voice.
She had surprisingly screwed up one the students names.
Leviticus seemed very put off, and half of the girls exchanged glaring glances.
It surprised me too, but I guess I should not assume that all come from a Christian background.
Communication Breakdown, Perceptual Differences, and Media Portrayals of Tragic Events:
M. R. is my teacher, or Adjunct Professor.
I like this class a lot.
She will miss two classes due to her play going on tour.
She seems like a rabble-rouser, as she said she expected intelligent discussion at all times, on all subjects.
Even when she was "crackin' on Christians".
This made the girl with the 3 WWJD bracelets and olive wood cross pendant face turn very red.
Our first assignment is to compare the values of two television shows.
I'd like to do Trailer Park Boys, but I'm not sure what else yet.
All and all, the day flew by, and I feel I can return there on Thursday.
English Comp:
K. M. is my teacher.
She seemed pretty cool until she mentioned that one of the essays we would be discussing is titled "Black Men and Public Space" by Brent Staples.
After making this announcement, she then stated that the security was excellent at the school, and they are usually here within a matter of minutes of an "incident".
I am one of three caucasoids in the class, with the majority being african-american boys/men.
The other two girls are clearly under the age of 19, and will probably skip out on that discussion day.
I may need to wear a dashiki to that discussion on Jan 28th.
Twice, she had to ask people to quit fucking with their phones.
Twice.
Algebra:
M. H. is my teacher.
Her class is incredibly quick. I took 6 pages of notes on the first day!
She has very grey teeth, so I think she can be bribed with wine.
She taught Algebra for 30 some odd years in Belleville, and still lives over there, so we may run into her at the Wine Tap someday.
A young girl sat next to me with big, clunky, bracelets that sounded like cowbells.
She could not sit still at all, screwing with her phone, rambling through her bag, drinking, chewing gum, just AHHHH!!!!!
I plan to seek out the most isolated seat in the room on Thursday or prepare blow-darts of Fentanyl.
Oral Comm:
Ms. C. M. is my teacher.
She is a strong, black, sister (her words, not mine), who stressed the Ms. in her name.
Not Mrs., not Miss, but MS.
Her class terrifies me the most.
25 students to stand up in front for 5 presentations with my stupid, little, voice.
She had surprisingly screwed up one the students names.
Leviticus seemed very put off, and half of the girls exchanged glaring glances.
It surprised me too, but I guess I should not assume that all come from a Christian background.
Communication Breakdown, Perceptual Differences, and Media Portrayals of Tragic Events:
M. R. is my teacher, or Adjunct Professor.
I like this class a lot.
She will miss two classes due to her play going on tour.
She seems like a rabble-rouser, as she said she expected intelligent discussion at all times, on all subjects.
Even when she was "crackin' on Christians".
This made the girl with the 3 WWJD bracelets and olive wood cross pendant face turn very red.
Our first assignment is to compare the values of two television shows.
I'd like to do Trailer Park Boys, but I'm not sure what else yet.
All and all, the day flew by, and I feel I can return there on Thursday.
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