Hello all!
Just a reminder! We have our first meeting of the year! Come one, come all!
See you tomorrow in room 105!!
Mrs. Gaboury
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
Thursday, September 11, 2008
Welcome back!
Hi!
I hope everyone had a wonderful break from SCHOOL! AHHH! :-)
Well, we are back to it! How 'bout a meeting next Thursday??
Anyone up to making some interest posters? If so, show me your ideas and you can create and post around the school.
Hope all is good and that everyone feels good a creative!
Love,
Mrs. Gaboury
I hope everyone had a wonderful break from SCHOOL! AHHH! :-)
Well, we are back to it! How 'bout a meeting next Thursday??
Anyone up to making some interest posters? If so, show me your ideas and you can create and post around the school.
Hope all is good and that everyone feels good a creative!
Love,
Mrs. Gaboury
Sunday, June 29, 2008
Summer and the Poor
Happy Summer everyone!
I hope everyone has been having a marvelous Summer, doing whatever your heart desires. I have been having quite a good one myself, although more and more I am wishing there were more time in a day. A few parties, tennis matches, and nights out to eat and... Wow, it is still June! Weeeeee!
I'm assuming that most of the people here are not like the many who shut down intellectually over the Summer, or my sister, who says she doesn't have to think when it is Summer, Saturday, Sunday, Friday, a holiday, mornings, and nights.
I thought I'd share with you my thoughts on a particular topic, and see what all of you thought about it as well.
I was recently thinking about the poor. There is a quote that goes "When I give food to the poor, they call me a saint. When I ask why the poor have no food, they call me a Communist."(Dom Helder Camara, Brazilian archbishop) So, from this quote, I am gathering that it is a good thing to give to the poor, but it is a bad thing to ask why people are poor. Why he picked Communist in particular, for those unfamiliar with the concept, is because under Communism there would be no poor people.
From this question stems some of the questions I'd like to impose:
1. Is capitalism really the way to go? Is Communism a possible solution to the poor?
2. We give food and money via charity to poor people all the time. How should one determine what poor people get what kind of food or money, and how much? How does one pick the poor who have to starve while picking others that live by the donation? Is it better to give to some poor or no poor? Is one poor person to be more privileged than another?
3. And finally, let's help the good archbishop with his question by getting to the root of the problem. Why are there poor people?
Here are my thoughts.
1. Communism is a possible solution that has yet to be tried in its fullest. Anarcho-communism would be the ultimate communism and it would eliminate poor people. As a reference, let me point out that there are no poor bees. They all work together to achieve group sustenance. Perhaps if it were tried in small steps, like having a colony practice Communism for a while. Capitalism works well, but it is only the dominant economic system on the premise that humans can not work together or efficiently with no incentive to climb higher in the bureaucracy and earn more money. Perhaps this is true, but that can be fixed.
2. This is the main question I had been pondering. As a throwback to OAFK (sorry) and Lionel, why did Sir Colgreivance and the hermit have to die while he lived? Why should some poor people die while others survive? By giving food to the poor, we are Gods. We are controlling the fates of people. We pick who lives, who dies. Personally, that makes me feel sick and powerful at the same time. The earth seems to have been a free for all, where countries competed for power and now the richest most powerful countries have prosperous citizens and the other countries have people who are dieing of starvation. If no one was poor, this problem would not exist. I honestly have no answer for this question. If only there were no poor... Which brings me to my next answer.
3. Why are people poor? Well, people are starving because of unequal food distribution. Food is thrown away in the US and Europe while Africans are dieing of starvation. Perhaps a thousand extra helicopters to make trips to Africa... Oh wait, oil is limited. Well maybe we can just go to war for more... Wait a minute, that would also be against what clearly more than half the country wants... Well maybe if we paid more for oil and gas... Wait, we're already complaining about the prices. Gosh darnit, sorry poor people. In any case, there are poor people for a much simpler reason than what this paragraph has amounted to. There are poor people because there are rich people. There has to be a certain medium of wealth per person. If certain people horde massive amounts of money, others will have to suffer for it. So equality, such as under Communism, would be the way to get rid of the poor because everyone becomes equal. Part of Communism involves a classless society, mainly economically classless. So perhaps Communism is the solution
Anyway, these are just some of my thoughts I've been having. I thought I'd share and see what everyone else thought about the poor. Maybe someone has better solutions to the problem than I do (probably).
~Tyler
I hope everyone has been having a marvelous Summer, doing whatever your heart desires. I have been having quite a good one myself, although more and more I am wishing there were more time in a day. A few parties, tennis matches, and nights out to eat and... Wow, it is still June! Weeeeee!
I'm assuming that most of the people here are not like the many who shut down intellectually over the Summer, or my sister, who says she doesn't have to think when it is Summer, Saturday, Sunday, Friday, a holiday, mornings, and nights.
I thought I'd share with you my thoughts on a particular topic, and see what all of you thought about it as well.
I was recently thinking about the poor. There is a quote that goes "When I give food to the poor, they call me a saint. When I ask why the poor have no food, they call me a Communist."(Dom Helder Camara, Brazilian archbishop) So, from this quote, I am gathering that it is a good thing to give to the poor, but it is a bad thing to ask why people are poor. Why he picked Communist in particular, for those unfamiliar with the concept, is because under Communism there would be no poor people.
From this question stems some of the questions I'd like to impose:
1. Is capitalism really the way to go? Is Communism a possible solution to the poor?
2. We give food and money via charity to poor people all the time. How should one determine what poor people get what kind of food or money, and how much? How does one pick the poor who have to starve while picking others that live by the donation? Is it better to give to some poor or no poor? Is one poor person to be more privileged than another?
3. And finally, let's help the good archbishop with his question by getting to the root of the problem. Why are there poor people?
Here are my thoughts.
1. Communism is a possible solution that has yet to be tried in its fullest. Anarcho-communism would be the ultimate communism and it would eliminate poor people. As a reference, let me point out that there are no poor bees. They all work together to achieve group sustenance. Perhaps if it were tried in small steps, like having a colony practice Communism for a while. Capitalism works well, but it is only the dominant economic system on the premise that humans can not work together or efficiently with no incentive to climb higher in the bureaucracy and earn more money. Perhaps this is true, but that can be fixed.
2. This is the main question I had been pondering. As a throwback to OAFK (sorry) and Lionel, why did Sir Colgreivance and the hermit have to die while he lived? Why should some poor people die while others survive? By giving food to the poor, we are Gods. We are controlling the fates of people. We pick who lives, who dies. Personally, that makes me feel sick and powerful at the same time. The earth seems to have been a free for all, where countries competed for power and now the richest most powerful countries have prosperous citizens and the other countries have people who are dieing of starvation. If no one was poor, this problem would not exist. I honestly have no answer for this question. If only there were no poor... Which brings me to my next answer.
3. Why are people poor? Well, people are starving because of unequal food distribution. Food is thrown away in the US and Europe while Africans are dieing of starvation. Perhaps a thousand extra helicopters to make trips to Africa... Oh wait, oil is limited. Well maybe we can just go to war for more... Wait a minute, that would also be against what clearly more than half the country wants... Well maybe if we paid more for oil and gas... Wait, we're already complaining about the prices. Gosh darnit, sorry poor people. In any case, there are poor people for a much simpler reason than what this paragraph has amounted to. There are poor people because there are rich people. There has to be a certain medium of wealth per person. If certain people horde massive amounts of money, others will have to suffer for it. So equality, such as under Communism, would be the way to get rid of the poor because everyone becomes equal. Part of Communism involves a classless society, mainly economically classless. So perhaps Communism is the solution
Anyway, these are just some of my thoughts I've been having. I thought I'd share and see what everyone else thought about the poor. Maybe someone has better solutions to the problem than I do (probably).
~Tyler
Thursday, June 19, 2008
Great Job!
Hey, I just wanted to say thanks for a great year to the whole Undefined team. Although, we only got one issue out; we still got an issue out! And, a good issue at that. Anyway, thanks again, and I can't wait to see your future issues! Have a good summer.
Peace,
Stephen Roff
P.S. - Has anyone read their copy of the Poetry magazine? I'm reading it right now, and there are some really good stuff in there, especially Yves Bonnefoy's San Biagio, at Montepulciano. I would love to discuss some of these poems; keep in touch.
Peace,
Stephen Roff
P.S. - Has anyone read their copy of the Poetry magazine? I'm reading it right now, and there are some really good stuff in there, especially Yves Bonnefoy's San Biagio, at Montepulciano. I would love to discuss some of these poems; keep in touch.
Tuesday, June 3, 2008
Time to Copy & Print!!!!
Hey guys,
Thanks to all who could make flat night last Friday; we've successfully put together the first undefined manuscript for this year (and although it will most likely be our only), it is now time to send them to print make our voices heard! Mrs. Gaboury is swamped with copying this 30-some-odd manuscript to make official copies. Thus, if you have ANY free time to help her out, please do so. A lunch, afterschool, a study-hall; whatever, we can't get our issue out there until we have copies to give out. So time to copy!
-Stephen Roff
Thanks to all who could make flat night last Friday; we've successfully put together the first undefined manuscript for this year (and although it will most likely be our only), it is now time to send them to print make our voices heard! Mrs. Gaboury is swamped with copying this 30-some-odd manuscript to make official copies. Thus, if you have ANY free time to help her out, please do so. A lunch, afterschool, a study-hall; whatever, we can't get our issue out there until we have copies to give out. So time to copy!
-Stephen Roff
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
Flat Night
WE ARE PUBLISHING THIS FRIDAY. ALL MEMBERS MUST BE AT MRS. GABOURY'S ROOM THIS FRIDAY. WE WILL MEET AT 2:30 IN MRS. GABOURY'S ROOM AND WILL MOST LIKELY BE USING THE COMPUTER LAB TO EDIT AND PRINT FINAL DRAFTS OF OUR FIRST UNDEFINED LITERARY PUBLICATION. WE WILL MOST LIKELY BE ORDERING PIZZA SO BRING A COUPLE BUCKS. I'LL SEE YOU THERE!!!
-S. Roff
-S. Roff
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
Deadline
Ok busy busy people. Tomorrow is the last day Editor S Roff is accepting submissions for his editing for this issue. Please send him anything and everything you want published. Or send it to me and I will fwd it to him if you don't have his email address (forgot to ask him if I could post it!).
So some of you have been working on pieces on the blog--submit those to him! And anything else--like pieces of writing exercises you really enjoyed . . .children's/self written stories/ territory papers gone crazy.
Enjoy! Keep writing!
V Gaboury :-)
So some of you have been working on pieces on the blog--submit those to him! And anything else--like pieces of writing exercises you really enjoyed . . .children's/self written stories/ territory papers gone crazy.
Enjoy! Keep writing!
V Gaboury :-)
Sunday, May 18, 2008
A meeting?!
Hello! Remember me? Just goshing yas. Especially since many of you see me every other day. (g)
Anyway--how about a meeting on Wed in my room after school?
VG
Anyway--how about a meeting on Wed in my room after school?
VG
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
Newly Written Poem
Hey, hey, people. As some of you may or may not know, I write poetry occasionally in my free time. Basically, I get an idea in my head, and I am just sort of thinking about it for a while. Keep in mind that I don't know I'm going to have a poem while I'm thinking about this stuff. Then, I'll describe the event in some way and it will come across in my head as something poetic. Then I'll find a type of poem I feel up to writing and write it.
In any case, I've recently written another poem, in this case, a haiku, and I thought I would share it with you all.
EDIT: Thanks to you two who responded (Matt and Kit) and you both were right, I do have 6 syllables in the first line. The revised poem is now above the original. Thanks again.
I left my blunder on the original if you were curious to know what it was.
In any case, I've recently written another poem, in this case, a haiku, and I thought I would share it with you all.
EDIT: Thanks to you two who responded (Matt and Kit) and you both were right, I do have 6 syllables in the first line. The revised poem is now above the original. Thanks again.
Non-Reciprocated Love
The love is one-way
I love her and she shuns me
My mistress is sleep
The love is one-way
I love her and she shuns me
My mistress is sleep
I left my blunder on the original if you were curious to know what it was.
Non-Reciprocated Love
With her love is one-way
I love her and she shuns me
My mistress is sleep
I'm also posting it here to get some feedback on it. I mean, the idea that I'm trying to get across in the poem is simply that I don't sleep well. How well did that come across? Also, how did you think the subtlety of the last line was? My mom thought it was a little to direct, but I don't know, I think the direct approach somehow fits.
I'll think on it.
~Tyler
I'm also posting it here to get some feedback on it. I mean, the idea that I'm trying to get across in the poem is simply that I don't sleep well. How well did that come across? Also, how did you think the subtlety of the last line was? My mom thought it was a little to direct, but I don't know, I think the direct approach somehow fits.
I'll think on it.
~Tyler
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
TUESDAY
Hello busy, busy people!
Let's have a meeting Tuesday the 13th. Brng anything you are working on, wanting to submit, works from friends and so on.
I'll bring baked goods!
Mrs. Gaboury
Let's have a meeting Tuesday the 13th. Brng anything you are working on, wanting to submit, works from friends and so on.
I'll bring baked goods!
Mrs. Gaboury
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
READ Stephen's Post
Hi!! Time to get back to it!
I am posting this to check and see if the email notification works--please post a comment to let me known if you received notification of a new post.
Read Stephen's wonderful idea in the post below.
Enjoy your writing!
Mrs. Gaboury
I am posting this to check and see if the email notification works--please post a comment to let me known if you received notification of a new post.
Read Stephen's wonderful idea in the post below.
Enjoy your writing!
Mrs. Gaboury
The Real Deal!
So...my long lost team, there will be an uber-important meeting concerning everyone in the group and the future of Undefined going down in Mrs. Gaboury's room on May 7th, Wednesday. It is super important that you're there! As we will be discussing four upcoming projects: one, getting together a spring and summer issue of our collective Undefined work (including outside submissions as well); the introduction of a new, radical, and hopefully fun, Undefined meeting called *Flat Nights; and third, planning a couple days to discuss the poetry magazine we all received (if you didn't receive your copy, see Mrs. Gaboury), and spending a week or two to discuss our thoughts and maybe do something with the book, Bird by Bird. If you have any questions, feel free to contact me or Mrs. Gaboury during the day or by email. My email address is NrSlik@Yahoo.com. Mrs. Gaboury's is Vsgaboury@aol.com.
Peace,
Stephen Roff
*So what are Flat Nights...well Flat Nights kind of work like this. Some day on a given week during every other month, our team stays and works at the high school (most likely the computer lab) finishing up and editing articles, poems, stories, artwork, what have you, for the upcoming publication of our literary magazine. We'll most likely buy pizza for dinner at the high school and we probably work until 7:30ish; however, this is just an estimate, as the point nobody leaves until the manuscript for publication is ready to be sent off for publication the next day. It should be a lot of fun and this is something we will discuss further at our May 7th meeting.
Peace,
Stephen Roff
*So what are Flat Nights...well Flat Nights kind of work like this. Some day on a given week during every other month, our team stays and works at the high school (most likely the computer lab) finishing up and editing articles, poems, stories, artwork, what have you, for the upcoming publication of our literary magazine. We'll most likely buy pizza for dinner at the high school and we probably work until 7:30ish; however, this is just an estimate, as the point nobody leaves until the manuscript for publication is ready to be sent off for publication the next day. It should be a lot of fun and this is something we will discuss further at our May 7th meeting.
Monday, April 21, 2008
Meeting? Submissions?
As happy as I am that you like blogging . . .I don't see many updates. I am also not real sure you are writing, so I am going to bug you. Where's your writing???
My guys--we are doing creative writing in class . . .why not double dip? Submit your work here.
I would like to get some feedback on something I am working on if anyone has time.
Mrs. Gaboury
My guys--we are doing creative writing in class . . .why not double dip? Submit your work here.
I would like to get some feedback on something I am working on if anyone has time.
Mrs. Gaboury
Thursday, March 20, 2008
An Undefined Meeting!
Hey,
So...sometime ago, I contacted the poetry foundation about a high school program they were doing--they were giving away free April issues of their poetry magazine to high school groups interested in using their material for reading and discussion. Exhilarated by the perfect chance for our group I sent a saccharine email asking if they would be nice enough to donate this upcoming month's magazine issue to our group and they sent me 9 copies for our group. So how about a meeting April 1st/2nd (whichever day Mrs. Gaboury is after)? What do you guys think? Hit me up...and enjoy your break!
Peace,
Stephen Roff
So...sometime ago, I contacted the poetry foundation about a high school program they were doing--they were giving away free April issues of their poetry magazine to high school groups interested in using their material for reading and discussion. Exhilarated by the perfect chance for our group I sent a saccharine email asking if they would be nice enough to donate this upcoming month's magazine issue to our group and they sent me 9 copies for our group. So how about a meeting April 1st/2nd (whichever day Mrs. Gaboury is after)? What do you guys think? Hit me up...and enjoy your break!
Peace,
Stephen Roff
Thursday, February 14, 2008
Hello and Sorry and a DEADLINE
Hey guys.
Sorry I have been so absent. As many of you know-life got crazier than me.
I would like to get us to print. I am wondering if it is possible to actually start getting it going during break. What do you think? Can you email me the pieces you want published?--Or hand me a disk tomorrow?
Including that great cover????
Thoughts?
On another note==I thought maybe this would be a good time to get our book club going. Do you want to read a writing book like Bird By Bird or does anyone have any other ideas?
miss you all.
Mrs. Gaboury
Ok, so about the dreaded deadline--how about Tuesday next week everyone contacts me with their stuff?
Sorry I have been so absent. As many of you know-life got crazier than me.
I would like to get us to print. I am wondering if it is possible to actually start getting it going during break. What do you think? Can you email me the pieces you want published?--Or hand me a disk tomorrow?
Including that great cover????
Thoughts?
On another note==I thought maybe this would be a good time to get our book club going. Do you want to read a writing book like Bird By Bird or does anyone have any other ideas?
miss you all.
Mrs. Gaboury
Ok, so about the dreaded deadline--how about Tuesday next week everyone contacts me with their stuff?
Thursday, February 7, 2008
Rules v. Situational Ethics
Write down everything you'd like to do in a day; you don't have any obligations, just write down everything...a trip to the mall, waking up and brushing your teeth, taking your dog for a walk; whatever it is you do, just jot it down.
And so I began to make what would become a foundation for my life, a fundamental anchor for the day, holding me steady through the angry white caps and the calm ripples. She called it, "Your Perfect Day", and it sounded great. You could do whatever you wanted for that entire day, time and money binding, yet this day was absolutely yours.
I couldn't help but smile, because this was awesome. The freedom to do everything that you want to do in your grasp. Of course this was eighth grade home and career skills, so nobody took the teacher or the assignment seriously, but a couple years down the line, I found myself coming back to this idea. It was different, it was radical (at least organizationally) for me. I created a daily schedule, "My Daily Schedule", and I intended to follow it to the t. I incorporated everything that was mandatory: breakfast, school, dinner, homework, sleep, waking up; and then I took what I considered important to me: practicing my sax, reading, etc. and thus created a master schedule. It made perfect sense; just follow the schedule and you get everything that you need or want done in your day. Just follow it to the t...well, that didn't go over so well.
Theoretically, my schedule was perfect, but realistically it had some faults. Some mornings I woke up late, or it was simply raining out so I couldn't go out for a run, or I had a rehearsal; whatever, something always came up or messed with things. Thus, with Murphy's law in full effect, these new situations provided obstacles for my daily schedule. In order to undertake my "Most Efficient Day" (My Master Schedule), I would almost always have to change or adapt my schedule to the new circumstances. However, this proved a breach of moral: in order to adapt to my situation at hand (which after adapting to, would prove most efficient) I would have to go against my word set in stone.
So let's step back to examine the bigger question: At what point does it become okay to change/ignore/bend the rules for certain situations, or is it even okay to sway from the rules? This is a tough question because it in itself poses a concrete law, and laws are meant to be all encompassing, unless otherwise noted. I believe that regardless of circumstances, rules are meant to be set in stone. And by setting these laws in stone one ensures the best, if not, most efficient, means of ensuring the intended outcome of a certain rule. Granted there will be victims of circumstance, but aren't there always? This should be no determent from those who wish to secure the good for their fellow man through a set of concrete rules and laws. Because ultimately, rules pose a necessary and irreplaceable means of obtaining a just (to the greatest extent feasible), orderly, and good society.
And so I began to make what would become a foundation for my life, a fundamental anchor for the day, holding me steady through the angry white caps and the calm ripples. She called it, "Your Perfect Day", and it sounded great. You could do whatever you wanted for that entire day, time and money binding, yet this day was absolutely yours.
I couldn't help but smile, because this was awesome. The freedom to do everything that you want to do in your grasp. Of course this was eighth grade home and career skills, so nobody took the teacher or the assignment seriously, but a couple years down the line, I found myself coming back to this idea. It was different, it was radical (at least organizationally) for me. I created a daily schedule, "My Daily Schedule", and I intended to follow it to the t. I incorporated everything that was mandatory: breakfast, school, dinner, homework, sleep, waking up; and then I took what I considered important to me: practicing my sax, reading, etc. and thus created a master schedule. It made perfect sense; just follow the schedule and you get everything that you need or want done in your day. Just follow it to the t...well, that didn't go over so well.
Theoretically, my schedule was perfect, but realistically it had some faults. Some mornings I woke up late, or it was simply raining out so I couldn't go out for a run, or I had a rehearsal; whatever, something always came up or messed with things. Thus, with Murphy's law in full effect, these new situations provided obstacles for my daily schedule. In order to undertake my "Most Efficient Day" (My Master Schedule), I would almost always have to change or adapt my schedule to the new circumstances. However, this proved a breach of moral: in order to adapt to my situation at hand (which after adapting to, would prove most efficient) I would have to go against my word set in stone.
So let's step back to examine the bigger question: At what point does it become okay to change/ignore/bend the rules for certain situations, or is it even okay to sway from the rules? This is a tough question because it in itself poses a concrete law, and laws are meant to be all encompassing, unless otherwise noted. I believe that regardless of circumstances, rules are meant to be set in stone. And by setting these laws in stone one ensures the best, if not, most efficient, means of ensuring the intended outcome of a certain rule. Granted there will be victims of circumstance, but aren't there always? This should be no determent from those who wish to secure the good for their fellow man through a set of concrete rules and laws. Because ultimately, rules pose a necessary and irreplaceable means of obtaining a just (to the greatest extent feasible), orderly, and good society.
Book Recommendations!!!
Hey, Ali here! Just wanted to let you guys know about a great book I'm reading right now. That's right, I haven't even finished it, and yet I'm recommending it to you. Ya know it's gotta be good. The book is "Over a Thousand Hills I Walk With You" by Hanna Jansen. It's based on the true story of a girl named Jeanne whose entire family was killed in the 1994 Rwandan genocide, when she was only 8 years old. The book is written by her German foster mother, and translated into English by, umm....some translator whose identity I am not sure of. I'm about halfway through, and it's really great so far - a horrible event told through the eyes of a young girl who really isn't sure what it's all about. It's also really well written...translated...whatever. Anyway, I really suggest this book to anyone who likes reading true stories....or just reading in general.
Lotsa love,
Ali
Lotsa love,
Ali
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Undefined Cover
Let me cut to the chase...I made a cover for the Undefined magazine...here it is...
So...How do ya like it? Post comments PLEASE!
-BO
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Yes!
Good question! (See below) Anybody know? Could someone who has Mrs. Gaboury for English please ask her.
Peace,
Stephen Roff
Peace,
Stephen Roff
Monday, January 28, 2008
Monday, January 14, 2008
Eduardo and the Room of Doom - Chapter 2
Well, here's chapter 2! if you haven't read Chapter 1, scroll down a bit. It's there.
Mrs. Gaboury - I know I have about 3 blogs waaaaay overdue! I'm sorry! I'll have them finished by the end of this week! I promise I promise I promise I promise!!!!!!!!!!!
Chapter Two – MachoChibi Floofypants II
Eduardo stood at the door of his parent’s house, shifting nervously from foot to foot. 何をしますか？何を言いますか？ he thought. He liked to try out different languages from time to time, so that he didn’t get too rusty. Even the perfect must practice. Reverting back to English, he wondered, What will I do? What will I say?
He moved his pack from his right shoulder to his left and kicked a pebble lying several miles away. He nervously glanced up at his mother. She smiled and gave him a hug. His father handed him some of his best homemade cheese bread and said, “Good luck, son. I’m sure that you’ll find some way to get the things you want. Whatever they were again…”
Eduardo grinned and waved to his parents. Maybe this will be okay after all, he thought. After all, I can just send them a letter whenever I want to. I can do anything.
Sauntering down the lane, Eduardo blew a kiss to Melinda and air-fived Felipe. Suddenly realizing that he didn’t have to walk, he bounded over the great green mountains surrounding their little valley and vanished into the distance. At the same instant, a bouquet of brightly-colored and fake-looking flowers appeared in Melinda’s hand. “What a lovely boy,” she said. “He turned out wonderfully.”
“I still think we should have named him Pancho,” sighed his father.
Skipping down the lane, Eduardo came upon a sudden forest.
Was it the same lane that he was sauntering down earlier?
No, no, you silly twit. He bounded away over the mountains, remember? This is an entirely different lane in an entirely different place. Now back to our hero.
Skipping down the lane, Eduardo came upon a sudden forest. Surprised, he skipped right into a tree. (Hardy har har – physical comedy. Told you this was an absurd story, didn’t I? ) Seeing as he had nothing else to do and seeing as the narrator says he did, Eduardo walked into the forest. It was certainly a very odd forest. There were lots of very odd noises and shadows that were there but really, really shouldn’t be.
As Eduardo could do anything, this made him very brave and rather conceited, so he kept on going into the very odd and sudden forest. He kept on going and going and going for so long that if I were to describe it all, why, I wouldn’t receive a grade at all because poor Mrs. Gaboury would have fallen asleep and dropped this comedic adventure epic on her face. But eventually (thank goodness for the poor bored narrator), something that was not boring happened to Eduardo. It was actually quite a downright interesting thing.
Eduardo was walking along, same as before, when a chinchilla dropped out of the nearest elm tree and onto his forehead. “HEY, BUDDY!” it squeaked, “GOT ANY SEVENS?”
Sevens? What in the world?
Shut up. Please, shut up. It’s my story, so let me tell it.
“Eh, sevens of what?” Eduardo replied.
“Cards, you idiot! I'm playing Go Fish. Got any sevens?”
“Um, no, unfortunately. But may I ask you who you are?”
“My name is MachoChibi Floofypants II, I’m a chinchilla, and my hair is better than yours!”
It was then that Eduardo noticed that the chinchilla had a pink mohawk.
------------------------
ooooooh...a cliffhanger :)
Anyway, the thing about Mrs. Gaboury grading me on this is in there because I wrote this story for my Territory #2 paper. If you were wondering.
Also, if some random boxes happen to appear on your screen at the beginning of the chapter instead of words, that's because I typed in Japanese there. Just letting you know, in case Blogger or your computer can't read Japanese characters.
--Ali
P.S. Please take a look at Bo's blog, RANDOM JUNK, to read the round-robin story that he and I are currently writing! It's funny! I love it! But it's full of private jokes that other people might not get....oh well. It was fun to write. High-five, Bo!
Mrs. Gaboury - I know I have about 3 blogs waaaaay overdue! I'm sorry! I'll have them finished by the end of this week! I promise I promise I promise I promise!!!!!!!!!!!
Chapter Two – MachoChibi Floofypants II
Eduardo stood at the door of his parent’s house, shifting nervously from foot to foot. 何をしますか？何を言いますか？ he thought. He liked to try out different languages from time to time, so that he didn’t get too rusty. Even the perfect must practice. Reverting back to English, he wondered, What will I do? What will I say?
He moved his pack from his right shoulder to his left and kicked a pebble lying several miles away. He nervously glanced up at his mother. She smiled and gave him a hug. His father handed him some of his best homemade cheese bread and said, “Good luck, son. I’m sure that you’ll find some way to get the things you want. Whatever they were again…”
Eduardo grinned and waved to his parents. Maybe this will be okay after all, he thought. After all, I can just send them a letter whenever I want to. I can do anything.
Sauntering down the lane, Eduardo blew a kiss to Melinda and air-fived Felipe. Suddenly realizing that he didn’t have to walk, he bounded over the great green mountains surrounding their little valley and vanished into the distance. At the same instant, a bouquet of brightly-colored and fake-looking flowers appeared in Melinda’s hand. “What a lovely boy,” she said. “He turned out wonderfully.”
“I still think we should have named him Pancho,” sighed his father.
Skipping down the lane, Eduardo came upon a sudden forest.
Was it the same lane that he was sauntering down earlier?
No, no, you silly twit. He bounded away over the mountains, remember? This is an entirely different lane in an entirely different place. Now back to our hero.
Skipping down the lane, Eduardo came upon a sudden forest. Surprised, he skipped right into a tree. (Hardy har har – physical comedy. Told you this was an absurd story, didn’t I? ) Seeing as he had nothing else to do and seeing as the narrator says he did, Eduardo walked into the forest. It was certainly a very odd forest. There were lots of very odd noises and shadows that were there but really, really shouldn’t be.
As Eduardo could do anything, this made him very brave and rather conceited, so he kept on going into the very odd and sudden forest. He kept on going and going and going for so long that if I were to describe it all, why, I wouldn’t receive a grade at all because poor Mrs. Gaboury would have fallen asleep and dropped this comedic adventure epic on her face. But eventually (thank goodness for the poor bored narrator), something that was not boring happened to Eduardo. It was actually quite a downright interesting thing.
Eduardo was walking along, same as before, when a chinchilla dropped out of the nearest elm tree and onto his forehead. “HEY, BUDDY!” it squeaked, “GOT ANY SEVENS?”
Sevens? What in the world?
Shut up. Please, shut up. It’s my story, so let me tell it.
“Eh, sevens of what?” Eduardo replied.
“Cards, you idiot! I'm playing Go Fish. Got any sevens?”
“Um, no, unfortunately. But may I ask you who you are?”
“My name is MachoChibi Floofypants II, I’m a chinchilla, and my hair is better than yours!”
It was then that Eduardo noticed that the chinchilla had a pink mohawk.
------------------------
ooooooh...a cliffhanger :)
Anyway, the thing about Mrs. Gaboury grading me on this is in there because I wrote this story for my Territory #2 paper. If you were wondering.
Also, if some random boxes happen to appear on your screen at the beginning of the chapter instead of words, that's because I typed in Japanese there. Just letting you know, in case Blogger or your computer can't read Japanese characters.
--Ali
P.S. Please take a look at Bo's blog, RANDOM JUNK, to read the round-robin story that he and I are currently writing! It's funny! I love it! But it's full of private jokes that other people might not get....oh well. It was fun to write. High-five, Bo!
Saturday, January 12, 2008
Reading #2
Hey! Its me again! A couple of weeks ago I finished a very good book. This book is called Tuesdays with Morrie. It is an inspiring nonfiction story about a professor (Morrie), his student (Mitch), and the heartwarming conversations they share. In this story Morrie is slowly dying from ALS (Lou Gehrig's Disease) and with the last few moments he has left, he wants to teach the world about life...from experience. He shares these moments every Tuesday with his former student Mitch and they talk about subjects such as Death, Aging, Money, Marriage, Culture, and Love. This was a very inspiring story, and even though it was 200 pages, it was one of the best books I have ever read. By reading this book you will question your values and realize how precious life is.
Happy Reading
-BO
Happy Reading
-BO
Thursday, January 10, 2008
Youth Politics
Well, I've decided to make a blog dedicated to the discussion of politics among we young folk. Its called Youth Politics, and I invite you to join the discussions.
http://tyler-youthpolitics.blogspot.com/
See you there, hopefully.
~Tyler
http://tyler-youthpolitics.blogspot.com/
See you there, hopefully.
~Tyler
Wednesday, January 9, 2008
Thursday, January 3, 2008
2008 Election
Well, I must say. I am in a real confuddlement on the 2008 election. I've never really been this involved. I mean, four years ago, I couldn't tell you most of the beliefs of Kerry or Bush. I have made some efforts to enlighten myself this time around, though. I'll be eightteen next election, so the time for my opinion to mean something is close, and I plan on being ready. But this post is about the 2008 election.
For this election, I have followed some of the leading candidates including Obama, Clinton, Guliani, Thompson, Huckabee, Romney, and partially Edwards. Until recently, I have been 99% behind Obama, for several reasons. For one, I agree with him on many issues, including some of the ones I care about especially (Energy, the Environment, Immigration, the Economy, Stem Cell Research). I also believe that the election of a black president will make a statement about America to the rest of the world, proclaiming its status as a leader in the absence of racial hate and the presence of equality in civil rights. Then again, I suppose that Hilary's election would be a different means to a similar end.
I disagree on some issues with Obama, though. For example, he seems to want to focus on early education (elementary school), where I believe the problems are later on and should be addressed then. Also, his lack of experience is one of his weaknesses. This did not affect my opinion much, though. The real heart breaker has been that I recently found out that not only did he inhale drugs in high school (I knew that for some time), but that he currently smokes cigarettes. I mean, we are thinking of electing someone to lead our country; Don't you think that person should be somewhat of a role model to the children, teens, and people of the States? What kind of role model is someone who has done illegal drugs and currently smokes cigarettes. I know it is hard to stop, but the issue remains at hand. Now, I am not so sure I like Obama all that much anymore, because I can think of other candidates, the like of which I agree with less issues on, but they have more experience and set a better example. Just my little speech on Barack.
In other news, the Iowa Caucus is going on right now. For those who don't know what that is, it is the voting of people in Iowa on who they want for president, but it isn't their official votes. It helps figure out the feelings of a state before the voite, and the state becomes more informed on candidates. My personal prediction is the Obama will be the head of the democratic side and Romney will head the republican side. Some think that Edwards could win the democratic, and alot think that Huckabee will be the republican favorite. What do you think? UPDATE! UPDATE! Obama won the dem and Huckabee won the rep. Find an article on whatever news site and read more.
Now, on to some other stuff. On Hilary Clinton... I believe that her views are a little too left wing/democratic/liberal. There is a fine line between American liberalism and socialism. She is playing on several things, not the least of which are the idea of a woman president and the strong desire of many an American to get out of Iraq. I think she is an extremist, as I mentioned before, and personally, I would not vote for her were I given the chance.
The republican candidates do not appeal to me for the most part. However, I do think that Mitt Romney would make a pretty good president. Unfortunately, I know that many will not vote for him because of his religious denomination (He's a Mormon).
Anyway, that pretty much concludes my post. I'm wondering what other people are thinking on the topic of the 2008 election. Who do you support and why? Who do you not like? What do you think about some of the things I've said?
Well, Happy New Year, everyone.
~Tyler
For this election, I have followed some of the leading candidates including Obama, Clinton, Guliani, Thompson, Huckabee, Romney, and partially Edwards. Until recently, I have been 99% behind Obama, for several reasons. For one, I agree with him on many issues, including some of the ones I care about especially (Energy, the Environment, Immigration, the Economy, Stem Cell Research). I also believe that the election of a black president will make a statement about America to the rest of the world, proclaiming its status as a leader in the absence of racial hate and the presence of equality in civil rights. Then again, I suppose that Hilary's election would be a different means to a similar end.
I disagree on some issues with Obama, though. For example, he seems to want to focus on early education (elementary school), where I believe the problems are later on and should be addressed then. Also, his lack of experience is one of his weaknesses. This did not affect my opinion much, though. The real heart breaker has been that I recently found out that not only did he inhale drugs in high school (I knew that for some time), but that he currently smokes cigarettes. I mean, we are thinking of electing someone to lead our country; Don't you think that person should be somewhat of a role model to the children, teens, and people of the States? What kind of role model is someone who has done illegal drugs and currently smokes cigarettes. I know it is hard to stop, but the issue remains at hand. Now, I am not so sure I like Obama all that much anymore, because I can think of other candidates, the like of which I agree with less issues on, but they have more experience and set a better example. Just my little speech on Barack.
In other news, the Iowa Caucus is going on right now. For those who don't know what that is, it is the voting of people in Iowa on who they want for president, but it isn't their official votes. It helps figure out the feelings of a state before the voite, and the state becomes more informed on candidates. My personal prediction is the Obama will be the head of the democratic side and Romney will head the republican side. Some think that Edwards could win the democratic, and alot think that Huckabee will be the republican favorite. What do you think? UPDATE! UPDATE! Obama won the dem and Huckabee won the rep. Find an article on whatever news site and read more.
Now, on to some other stuff. On Hilary Clinton... I believe that her views are a little too left wing/democratic/liberal. There is a fine line between American liberalism and socialism. She is playing on several things, not the least of which are the idea of a woman president and the strong desire of many an American to get out of Iraq. I think she is an extremist, as I mentioned before, and personally, I would not vote for her were I given the chance.
The republican candidates do not appeal to me for the most part. However, I do think that Mitt Romney would make a pretty good president. Unfortunately, I know that many will not vote for him because of his religious denomination (He's a Mormon).
Anyway, that pretty much concludes my post. I'm wondering what other people are thinking on the topic of the 2008 election. Who do you support and why? Who do you not like? What do you think about some of the things I've said?
Well, Happy New Year, everyone.
~Tyler
Saturday, December 29, 2007
Aaaaand Here's a Poem!
Title speaks for itself.
This haiku is dedicated to Alison. :-)
Abnormal Larry
With purse he likes to carry
Rather kinky, eh?
Hope you enjoyed it.
~Kitstah
This haiku is dedicated to Alison. :-)
Abnormal Larry
With purse he likes to carry
Rather kinky, eh?
Hope you enjoyed it.
~Kitstah
Saturday, December 22, 2007
Reading Club??
Greetings all!
So, writers I hear you want to read too? Cool beans.
Why don't we post our ideas here and then we will vote! Everyone should post their ideas and then at the end of the week I will make a poll--hopefully it will work! And then we can start reading! Sound good?
Mrs. Gaboury
EDIT: Mrs. G, I don't know how, but the blog somehow gave me the power to edit other peoples' posts in addition to commenting. How cool is that? I made your text purple for fun!
~Tyler
UPDATE: It would also appear that I can edit the blog in whatever manner I wish, which manipulating the layout and security of the blog. How cool is that?!?! As you can see, the O RLY? owl now has an honorable position as poster child of undefined. I also fixed that spelling error on your previous post (Kudos, not cudos. Man, that was killing me).
Ah--but I like Cudos better!-VG
Heehee, i can edit too! So there, Tyler, now your text is colorful.
--Ali
Now it's bold and italicized! You're right! This is fun!
Kitster
Wo0Oo0Oo0O I can manipulate your words!!! Larger Font! Muhahaha! I feel powerful!
-Bo ☺
So, writers I hear you want to read too? Cool beans.
Why don't we post our ideas here and then we will vote! Everyone should post their ideas and then at the end of the week I will make a poll--hopefully it will work! And then we can start reading! Sound good?
Mrs. Gaboury
EDIT: Mrs. G, I don't know how, but the blog somehow gave me the power to edit other peoples' posts in addition to commenting. How cool is that? I made your text purple for fun!
~Tyler
UPDATE: It would also appear that I can edit the blog in whatever manner I wish, which manipulating the layout and security of the blog. How cool is that?!?! As you can see, the O RLY? owl now has an honorable position as poster child of undefined. I also fixed that spelling error on your previous post (Kudos, not cudos. Man, that was killing me).
Ah--but I like Cudos better!-VG
Heehee, i can edit too! So there, Tyler, now your text is colorful.
--Ali
Now it's bold and italicized! You're right! This is fun!
Kitster
Wo0Oo0Oo0O I can manipulate your words!!! Larger Font! Muhahaha! I feel powerful!
-Bo ☺
Friday, December 21, 2007
Reading
I love a good book, but most of the time there are books that I read that are not "well known". So I feel that you should know about a great book that I read at the beginning of the school year that was great even though it was not a classic. The book is called "Surrender" by Sonya Hartnett. It is a very thrilling fiction book that is told from two perspectives and the author uses very descriptive writing. It is about 200 pages (I think) and a little short for people who read insanely big books, but I don't read very fast and I choose books kind of on the shorter end. This book is found in the APHS library, and if you choose to read it I hope you like it!
-BO
-BO
Vacation
I bid you farewell, my people, as I depart for the great unknown (aka, Virginia, Maryland, North Carolina, and Florida). I will probably think about all of those projects due after school. Yet another thing I can be thankful for. In any case, my limited access to the computer will render my comments... Rather lacking. Ahh well. Enjoy your break, everyone.
You stay classy, Averill Park.
~Tyler
You stay classy, Averill Park.
~Tyler
I must say I am impressed
Hello all,
I cannot believe how wonderful this site is turning out for you to communicate with one another, to have a forum. This is exactly what I hoped for! Yeah for you guys!
Keep up the promising work and the words of encourgement.
Cudos!
Enjoy and happy writing!
PS Anyone interested in a reading club component? Post your reply as comment to this post.
Mrs. Gaboury
I cannot believe how wonderful this site is turning out for you to communicate with one another, to have a forum. This is exactly what I hoped for! Yeah for you guys!
Keep up the promising work and the words of encourgement.
Cudos!
Enjoy and happy writing!
PS Anyone interested in a reading club component? Post your reply as comment to this post.
Mrs. Gaboury
Sunday, December 16, 2007
Eduardo and the Room of Doom - Chapter 1
Alrighty. I hate to be following the crowd here, but I'm gonna post (part of) my Territory #2 here, because Kit said so. My paper was a (completely zany and stupid (in the good way)) story about a guy named Eduardo. If you insult my stupid jokes, I will be forced to attack you with my e-Pitchfork o' Doom. Don't make me do that, guys. Here's the first chapter:
Chapter One – Eduardo, the Flugelhorn and Crumpets (also known as The Beginning) (or the Origination)
This, dear readers, is the tale of Eduardo.
Who’s Eduardo?
You will find out soon enough.
Does he have a last name?
No, he does not. Thank you for asking, though. Are there any more questions?
Nope. Carry on.
Good. On with the story.
Eduardo was born on a small farm, out in the hilly (it was actually more mountainous than hilly) countryside. His parents, named Melinda and Felipe, were really quite nice people, and aside from the fact that Felipe suffered from slight short-term memory loss they got along fine. Right away, they began to notice that their son could, well, do anything. And I mean anything. He could lift elephants on his pinky finger. Melinda and Felipe realized that there were no naturally occurring elephants in the hilly countryside, so they were forced to ask Eduardo how he had obtained them. He replied, at the tender age of two, that he had summoned them from Africa by playing Beethoven’s “Für Elise” on his flugelhorn. Flabbergasted, his parents retreated back into their cozy little cottage to sit around for a while, because no one really cares what the parents do in dramatic tales like these. Said Melinda to Felipe, “Darling, what’s a flugelhorn?”
“I believe that it’s closely related to the trumpet.”
“So it’s a thick buttery pastry eaten toasted with tea?
“No, that’s a crumpet.”
“Dear,” said Felipe, “about Eduardo…”
“Yes?”, Melinda.
“I think we should have named him Pancho.”
Well, this went on for quite some time – fifteen years, actually. Not this specific conversation, of course. I was talking about Eduardo’s astonishing behavior and Melinda and Felipe’s complete and utter amazement at their son’s very random and not-quite-plausible abilities.
But then, one fateful night, Melinda, Felipe and Eduardo decided to experiment with Eduardo’s powers, to test his limits. It was then that they discovered a horrible thing – a thing so stunning, so monumental, that you could have knocked them down with a feather. It seems that there was one thing – just one thing – that Eduardo could not do. Eduardo, dear readers, could not eat a crowbar.
A crowbar?!?!?
Yes.
But why a crowbar?
We’re really not quite sure. Maybe the old, overworked man in the sky who muddles around with the gene pool just got lazy. I have my team of top research scientists working hard in their laboratory right now, attempting find a reason. But sadly, the world may never know.
No matter how many times he tried, Eduardo just could not get his jaws around that big metal stick with a flat end that you use to lever things up with. His parents were even more flabbergasted than they had been when he first started doing anything. Over all of that elapsed time, they had truly come to believe that his abilities extended to everything in the near universe.
When he recovered from the shock, Eduardo was faced with a difficult decision. He could remain home with his parents and become a farmer, albeit a farmer with amazing abilities, or he could go on a journey to discover a way to eradicate his only inability. Said journey would be fantastic, entertaining, and highly appealing to publishers and/or English teachers. Because this is an adventure story, he went on the fantastic and entertaining journey. Because this is a comedy, he tripped on his way out the door.
----------------- End chapter 1.
Remember the pitchfork, guys.
--Ali
Chapter One – Eduardo, the Flugelhorn and Crumpets (also known as The Beginning) (or the Origination)
This, dear readers, is the tale of Eduardo.
Who’s Eduardo?
You will find out soon enough.
Does he have a last name?
No, he does not. Thank you for asking, though. Are there any more questions?
Nope. Carry on.
Good. On with the story.
Eduardo was born on a small farm, out in the hilly (it was actually more mountainous than hilly) countryside. His parents, named Melinda and Felipe, were really quite nice people, and aside from the fact that Felipe suffered from slight short-term memory loss they got along fine. Right away, they began to notice that their son could, well, do anything. And I mean anything. He could lift elephants on his pinky finger. Melinda and Felipe realized that there were no naturally occurring elephants in the hilly countryside, so they were forced to ask Eduardo how he had obtained them. He replied, at the tender age of two, that he had summoned them from Africa by playing Beethoven’s “Für Elise” on his flugelhorn. Flabbergasted, his parents retreated back into their cozy little cottage to sit around for a while, because no one really cares what the parents do in dramatic tales like these. Said Melinda to Felipe, “Darling, what’s a flugelhorn?”
“I believe that it’s closely related to the trumpet.”
“So it’s a thick buttery pastry eaten toasted with tea?
“No, that’s a crumpet.”
“Dear,” said Felipe, “about Eduardo…”
“Yes?”, Melinda.
“I think we should have named him Pancho.”
Well, this went on for quite some time – fifteen years, actually. Not this specific conversation, of course. I was talking about Eduardo’s astonishing behavior and Melinda and Felipe’s complete and utter amazement at their son’s very random and not-quite-plausible abilities.
But then, one fateful night, Melinda, Felipe and Eduardo decided to experiment with Eduardo’s powers, to test his limits. It was then that they discovered a horrible thing – a thing so stunning, so monumental, that you could have knocked them down with a feather. It seems that there was one thing – just one thing – that Eduardo could not do. Eduardo, dear readers, could not eat a crowbar.
A crowbar?!?!?
Yes.
But why a crowbar?
We’re really not quite sure. Maybe the old, overworked man in the sky who muddles around with the gene pool just got lazy. I have my team of top research scientists working hard in their laboratory right now, attempting find a reason. But sadly, the world may never know.
No matter how many times he tried, Eduardo just could not get his jaws around that big metal stick with a flat end that you use to lever things up with. His parents were even more flabbergasted than they had been when he first started doing anything. Over all of that elapsed time, they had truly come to believe that his abilities extended to everything in the near universe.
When he recovered from the shock, Eduardo was faced with a difficult decision. He could remain home with his parents and become a farmer, albeit a farmer with amazing abilities, or he could go on a journey to discover a way to eradicate his only inability. Said journey would be fantastic, entertaining, and highly appealing to publishers and/or English teachers. Because this is an adventure story, he went on the fantastic and entertaining journey. Because this is a comedy, he tripped on his way out the door.
----------------- End chapter 1.
Remember the pitchfork, guys.
--Ali
Saturday, December 15, 2007
Kit's Hopefully Humorous Essay
Alrighty then; Matt's ridiculously good humorous essay has inspired me to post my #2 Territory paper as well. Granted, it is rather weird and not all that funny...Please don't be offended if you find it really stupid...And kindly don't deem me a freak for the weirdness of this essay. It seemed like a good idea at the time, and it was really fun to write. So here goes.
*****
Our country is in bad shape. Corrupt officials, drug abuse, violent crimes, troubled youths – America is, most indisputably, in the middle of a disturbingly rapid downward spiral. Concerned individuals all across the nation are pondering the same question regarding this national crisis: how did this decline start? What on Earth could have caused it all? Thankfully, the answer to these troubling questions has finally surfaced, and the answer is that many of these problems have originated right in the root of society, in the schools of America*.
If people would take the time to peek into the agenda book of an average American schoolchild, the answer would become apparent to them, too. If one would look in the back pages of said books, they would realize that, amazingly, only four pages are devoted to hall passage forms. Apparently America thinks that children can survive on only one page of bathroom or water fountain breaks per quarter of the school year! Any school-going individual knows that this notion is quite preposterous.
Moreover, the schools of the United States are contaminated by so many teachers who care not for the physical comfort of their students. It is many a teacher who will refuse to let a student use the restroom when they feel the need! Such teachers lack empathy, and common sense as well. Teachers who repeatedly ask their students the embarrassing question, “Is it an emergency?” have obviously never been asked this question themselves, or have been so scarred by this humiliation that they feel the need to inflict this experience on other people. Many people believe that being forced to state whether or not their particular need is an “emergency” or not – in front of their peers, no less – is juvenile and awkward. As for the lack of common sense in aforementioned teachers – how are students supposed to concentrate if uncomfortable?
Come now, people of America, think hard – back to the days when you were in school. Now, many people associate school with agony, misery, or other unease. Have you ever thought about why this may be? Excess homework, unnecessary rules, limited time for fun, creative suffocation, and social awkwardness are only minor reasons for so many label the overall school experience as “bad.” It is the small, seemingly insignificant – but ever-accumulating – nuances of experiences that matter to humans the most, even if we realize them only subconsciously. Almost every American will agree that knowing that they, for example, are having a particularly bad hair day can ruin their whole mood. Surely being in constant discomfort at a place of learning can, over time, seriously hurt a person’s overall opinion of said place of learning.
The discomfort of not being allowed to use the facilities can damage a person’s personality indirectly in other ways as well. If the bulk of a person’s attention is focused on the fact that they have not been able to use the bathroom in five hours, their coherency, happiness, and level of how much fun they are to be around, will surely regress. A person whose main thought is how strong their call of the wild is will suffer socially, as they will not be able to focus on how to communicate, act with intelligence, and fulfill other social functions. If a student experiences this often enough (this is known as Personal Relief Initiating Social Slippage in Youngsters, or PRISSY), the peers of said PRISSY-plagued person will grow to think of them as strange, dislike them, and eventually ostracize them from the youth society*.
It addition to the embarrassment before and isolation from peers, the actual discomfort itself of some teacher’s ban on bathroom breaks has a severe mental effect on American students. Scientists have found that a high percentage of youths involved with violent crimes – young gang members, students who have been involved in fights on school grounds, et cetera – have medical evidence of severe bladder stress. Many recent studies provide solid evidence that this is, most likely, not a coincidence*.
In conclusion, the infestation of bathroom break-fearing teachers in America’s public school system is a major cause of many of the large problems befouling today’s society. The inability to use the facilities provides physical harm, humiliation, social regression, and isolation for American youngsters. All of these gifts from the United States’ public education system have lead to deep-seated mental and emotional scarring, leading to violent, troubled, or otherwise bad behavior*. There should be no doubt in any intelligent person’s mind that the shortage of bathroom breaks has lead to the horrible consequences that we see everyday in American society. For the sake of the children’s sanity and the sake of the nation, the PRISSY child must be abolished!
*This is absolutely and in no way true, and if it actually is, I was not aware of it.
*****
Our country is in bad shape. Corrupt officials, drug abuse, violent crimes, troubled youths – America is, most indisputably, in the middle of a disturbingly rapid downward spiral. Concerned individuals all across the nation are pondering the same question regarding this national crisis: how did this decline start? What on Earth could have caused it all? Thankfully, the answer to these troubling questions has finally surfaced, and the answer is that many of these problems have originated right in the root of society, in the schools of America*.
If people would take the time to peek into the agenda book of an average American schoolchild, the answer would become apparent to them, too. If one would look in the back pages of said books, they would realize that, amazingly, only four pages are devoted to hall passage forms. Apparently America thinks that children can survive on only one page of bathroom or water fountain breaks per quarter of the school year! Any school-going individual knows that this notion is quite preposterous.
Moreover, the schools of the United States are contaminated by so many teachers who care not for the physical comfort of their students. It is many a teacher who will refuse to let a student use the restroom when they feel the need! Such teachers lack empathy, and common sense as well. Teachers who repeatedly ask their students the embarrassing question, “Is it an emergency?” have obviously never been asked this question themselves, or have been so scarred by this humiliation that they feel the need to inflict this experience on other people. Many people believe that being forced to state whether or not their particular need is an “emergency” or not – in front of their peers, no less – is juvenile and awkward. As for the lack of common sense in aforementioned teachers – how are students supposed to concentrate if uncomfortable?
Come now, people of America, think hard – back to the days when you were in school. Now, many people associate school with agony, misery, or other unease. Have you ever thought about why this may be? Excess homework, unnecessary rules, limited time for fun, creative suffocation, and social awkwardness are only minor reasons for so many label the overall school experience as “bad.” It is the small, seemingly insignificant – but ever-accumulating – nuances of experiences that matter to humans the most, even if we realize them only subconsciously. Almost every American will agree that knowing that they, for example, are having a particularly bad hair day can ruin their whole mood. Surely being in constant discomfort at a place of learning can, over time, seriously hurt a person’s overall opinion of said place of learning.
The discomfort of not being allowed to use the facilities can damage a person’s personality indirectly in other ways as well. If the bulk of a person’s attention is focused on the fact that they have not been able to use the bathroom in five hours, their coherency, happiness, and level of how much fun they are to be around, will surely regress. A person whose main thought is how strong their call of the wild is will suffer socially, as they will not be able to focus on how to communicate, act with intelligence, and fulfill other social functions. If a student experiences this often enough (this is known as Personal Relief Initiating Social Slippage in Youngsters, or PRISSY), the peers of said PRISSY-plagued person will grow to think of them as strange, dislike them, and eventually ostracize them from the youth society*.
It addition to the embarrassment before and isolation from peers, the actual discomfort itself of some teacher’s ban on bathroom breaks has a severe mental effect on American students. Scientists have found that a high percentage of youths involved with violent crimes – young gang members, students who have been involved in fights on school grounds, et cetera – have medical evidence of severe bladder stress. Many recent studies provide solid evidence that this is, most likely, not a coincidence*.
In conclusion, the infestation of bathroom break-fearing teachers in America’s public school system is a major cause of many of the large problems befouling today’s society. The inability to use the facilities provides physical harm, humiliation, social regression, and isolation for American youngsters. All of these gifts from the United States’ public education system have lead to deep-seated mental and emotional scarring, leading to violent, troubled, or otherwise bad behavior*. There should be no doubt in any intelligent person’s mind that the shortage of bathroom breaks has lead to the horrible consequences that we see everyday in American society. For the sake of the children’s sanity and the sake of the nation, the PRISSY child must be abolished!
*This is absolutely and in no way true, and if it actually is, I was not aware of it.
I’m not going to write a title, because I don’t want to be restricted. That’s ok, right? I mean, should I write a title? Will my words be lost without one? Nah, maybe they’ll be fine. I take a deep breath and stare at the blank page—just write—I remind myself, the words will come...
And so they do. I don’t choose all of them, sometimes they choose me. I look at them and give them their one decisive factor in life: whether they make the page or not. They cycle through this massive line of words, each waiting in anticipation, hoping that this is their one chance, that today is their day, that this page is their new home. Hmmmm...next! And “buffoonery” quietly proceeds to the back of the line. The words come to me and I just paste them on the page. I’m just the zookeeper, watching the crazy animals run the show. Most of the time its amusing, other times its not. Sometimes they change into floating streams of water and silk braids, glistening under a dark set moonlight. The web of water and silk comes together into a frozen vortex; a shy tornado of blue diamonds. And sometimes, it’s all blue. Every word falls back to blue and all I can see is blue. Sometimes, I can’t see anything at all, and I have to close my eyes and pretend, pretend that I can. Some days, it’s so tough, I look at the crowd gathered in my head, and stare in amazement. This? This is the best you can do? I shake my head and return to my dimly lit bedroom. I don’t know. Honestly, most of the time, I just stare at a blank page. I prod an unopened cardboard box...nothing. Writing is so ambiguous and so random and so paradoxical, that it is like trying to grasp a feather in flight, one that slips and glides with the wind when you think that you’ve finally gotten it in your grasp; it’s like trying to be a bear. You look at the stream flowing downhill into the meadows and there they are, hundreds of them, fish of every color and shape, and you gently tip toe forward, you, with your big hairy feet and bear-ish toes, you wait until the right moment, there it is a bright orange striped fish, and you lunge head first like a dog into the water. Upon impact you realize, you no longer are a bear or even a dog, you’re a minnow, a minnow trying to eat a fish, and you’re trying to swim upstream. The thunderous noise of the water, the calamity of rocks and mad fish are all flowing with the violent current and this stream is now a river rapid, and you can’t even see, the water is so blinding that you get swept up in the furious crash of the waves and you can’t do it any longer; the biting waves sweep you away into the sea. Sometimes, that is how it feels to write, to try to grasp an idea that’s swimming around in your head. It can get scary so fast, but then you just have to remember: it’s ok, I’m only going to test the waters; if it feels good, then I’ll go in for a dip.
Writing is as much a tool for the living as it is a tool of the dead. Stories, histories, past events, that one time grandma came over and set the kitchen on fire, the day your goldfish died, old friends with long sherbert hair, and days that smelled of cribs and diapers, and deceased relatives, and friends who’ve moved away, and mysterious cats in the night; and all these things are as much alive as they are dead. The cat that crept in the shadows was hit by a eighteen-wheeler later that week, but it still exists as a cat of the darkness in you. Sitting by the fireplace at your family’s Christmas party with bodies awkwardly scattered throughout the house; that feeling of safety and security, that comfort of family, it still exists somewhere inside you. Inside your heart, perhaps. And writing is the excavator’s brush which grabs the dying flame in us all, the flame, smothered by words and time, which holds us together, the passion which is us. Life and the reason for living. That is the journal upon which writing’s fountain pen may write. It is the exercise that grants us truth. It is the delicate dance of reality. As Ray Bradbury puts it, “...writing is survival...You must stay drunk on writing so reality cannot destroy you” (xii - xiii).
These random strokes of an ink cartridge form symbols, and these symbols form even more elaborate symbols that emerge out of the paper as colorful pictures and thoughts. Hieroglyphic blocks of awkward symbols emerge—they emerge! How beautiful this emergence is, and in the process they transcend the lines of chicken-scratch that they are. And they make us laugh, and they make us cry, and they make us ponder, and they make us think. This emergence of thought: a wild horse beating its long, powerful, black tail; it leaps out of the page, snorting through its big black nostrils; front legs tucked, its beady eyes swim around frantically as it enters our world, its big, powerful, sleek black body follows; its muscles, extravagant; its presence, awing. Writing is not a formula—
No! It is not! Writing isn’t fill in the blanks. You don’t turn the crank on a magical essay box and violá: writing. Writing is ugliness. It’s being crude and sass. Its uniform freedom and expression. It is intention and ambiguity. To write means to try. To fail and get better. To experiment. To speak and speak whatever your heart may desire. Writing is a process of self-discovery. It is truth, in all its forms. There is no facade on these words. Writing is no doubt, one of the most open, personal, and sentimental means of communication that exists today (Pirie, 1997, 76). Well known American writer, Joyce Carol Oates, puts it this way, “I've never thought of writing as the mere arrangement of words on the page but as the attempted embodiment of a vision: a complex of emotions, raw experience.”
Where else can someone visit the past? Where too can bunnies fly and pigs speak? Show me also where one can proudly proclaim, I really don’t know what I’m doing, and not be fired! Furthermore, where else is someone accomplished in trying? In a world of perfection, writing offers an alternative. A cultivated stream, that recognizes the beauty of imperfections, that sees past the mainstream and the brain-drained social scene. It offers a lush valley of green meadows—of meadows of thinkers, and doers, and triers. It is a vacant land, where the turtle surely does beat the hare. Where rest is plentiful. A land where you may sit down to think and not be persecuted by the ‘faster, faster, faster’, blitz-paced society. A land where dreaming is reality, and to think otherwise would be foolish (Bradbury, 1990, 46).
“What if the man could see Beauty Itself; pure, unalloyed, stripped of mortality and all its pollution, stains, and vanities, unchanging, divine, the man becoming, in that communion, the friend of God, himself immortal;... would that be a life to disregard?” —Plato (Dillard, 1989, 23)
I ask you, what beauty exists that isn’t more wondrous and real than writing? It is too often, that we search for what we already have...and it is our word. Our truth. Our story. Writing and literature is the unending hymn of the universe. It is life, with its squabbles, and its ups and downs, and its smiles and frowns, on paper. There is no more true form, than that which is the product of a paper and pen. Shhhhh. Can you hear it? The lost laughter of our childhood. The worrisome fear of tomorrow and the future. The convolution of being. Life and its trivialities. A freckled face. A chocolate truffle. Writing.
By: S. Roff
And so they do. I don’t choose all of them, sometimes they choose me. I look at them and give them their one decisive factor in life: whether they make the page or not. They cycle through this massive line of words, each waiting in anticipation, hoping that this is their one chance, that today is their day, that this page is their new home. Hmmmm...next! And “buffoonery” quietly proceeds to the back of the line. The words come to me and I just paste them on the page. I’m just the zookeeper, watching the crazy animals run the show. Most of the time its amusing, other times its not. Sometimes they change into floating streams of water and silk braids, glistening under a dark set moonlight. The web of water and silk comes together into a frozen vortex; a shy tornado of blue diamonds. And sometimes, it’s all blue. Every word falls back to blue and all I can see is blue. Sometimes, I can’t see anything at all, and I have to close my eyes and pretend, pretend that I can. Some days, it’s so tough, I look at the crowd gathered in my head, and stare in amazement. This? This is the best you can do? I shake my head and return to my dimly lit bedroom. I don’t know. Honestly, most of the time, I just stare at a blank page. I prod an unopened cardboard box...nothing. Writing is so ambiguous and so random and so paradoxical, that it is like trying to grasp a feather in flight, one that slips and glides with the wind when you think that you’ve finally gotten it in your grasp; it’s like trying to be a bear. You look at the stream flowing downhill into the meadows and there they are, hundreds of them, fish of every color and shape, and you gently tip toe forward, you, with your big hairy feet and bear-ish toes, you wait until the right moment, there it is a bright orange striped fish, and you lunge head first like a dog into the water. Upon impact you realize, you no longer are a bear or even a dog, you’re a minnow, a minnow trying to eat a fish, and you’re trying to swim upstream. The thunderous noise of the water, the calamity of rocks and mad fish are all flowing with the violent current and this stream is now a river rapid, and you can’t even see, the water is so blinding that you get swept up in the furious crash of the waves and you can’t do it any longer; the biting waves sweep you away into the sea. Sometimes, that is how it feels to write, to try to grasp an idea that’s swimming around in your head. It can get scary so fast, but then you just have to remember: it’s ok, I’m only going to test the waters; if it feels good, then I’ll go in for a dip.
Writing is as much a tool for the living as it is a tool of the dead. Stories, histories, past events, that one time grandma came over and set the kitchen on fire, the day your goldfish died, old friends with long sherbert hair, and days that smelled of cribs and diapers, and deceased relatives, and friends who’ve moved away, and mysterious cats in the night; and all these things are as much alive as they are dead. The cat that crept in the shadows was hit by a eighteen-wheeler later that week, but it still exists as a cat of the darkness in you. Sitting by the fireplace at your family’s Christmas party with bodies awkwardly scattered throughout the house; that feeling of safety and security, that comfort of family, it still exists somewhere inside you. Inside your heart, perhaps. And writing is the excavator’s brush which grabs the dying flame in us all, the flame, smothered by words and time, which holds us together, the passion which is us. Life and the reason for living. That is the journal upon which writing’s fountain pen may write. It is the exercise that grants us truth. It is the delicate dance of reality. As Ray Bradbury puts it, “...writing is survival...You must stay drunk on writing so reality cannot destroy you” (xii - xiii).
These random strokes of an ink cartridge form symbols, and these symbols form even more elaborate symbols that emerge out of the paper as colorful pictures and thoughts. Hieroglyphic blocks of awkward symbols emerge—they emerge! How beautiful this emergence is, and in the process they transcend the lines of chicken-scratch that they are. And they make us laugh, and they make us cry, and they make us ponder, and they make us think. This emergence of thought: a wild horse beating its long, powerful, black tail; it leaps out of the page, snorting through its big black nostrils; front legs tucked, its beady eyes swim around frantically as it enters our world, its big, powerful, sleek black body follows; its muscles, extravagant; its presence, awing. Writing is not a formula—
No! It is not! Writing isn’t fill in the blanks. You don’t turn the crank on a magical essay box and violá: writing. Writing is ugliness. It’s being crude and sass. Its uniform freedom and expression. It is intention and ambiguity. To write means to try. To fail and get better. To experiment. To speak and speak whatever your heart may desire. Writing is a process of self-discovery. It is truth, in all its forms. There is no facade on these words. Writing is no doubt, one of the most open, personal, and sentimental means of communication that exists today (Pirie, 1997, 76). Well known American writer, Joyce Carol Oates, puts it this way, “I've never thought of writing as the mere arrangement of words on the page but as the attempted embodiment of a vision: a complex of emotions, raw experience.”
Where else can someone visit the past? Where too can bunnies fly and pigs speak? Show me also where one can proudly proclaim, I really don’t know what I’m doing, and not be fired! Furthermore, where else is someone accomplished in trying? In a world of perfection, writing offers an alternative. A cultivated stream, that recognizes the beauty of imperfections, that sees past the mainstream and the brain-drained social scene. It offers a lush valley of green meadows—of meadows of thinkers, and doers, and triers. It is a vacant land, where the turtle surely does beat the hare. Where rest is plentiful. A land where you may sit down to think and not be persecuted by the ‘faster, faster, faster’, blitz-paced society. A land where dreaming is reality, and to think otherwise would be foolish (Bradbury, 1990, 46).
“What if the man could see Beauty Itself; pure, unalloyed, stripped of mortality and all its pollution, stains, and vanities, unchanging, divine, the man becoming, in that communion, the friend of God, himself immortal;... would that be a life to disregard?” —Plato (Dillard, 1989, 23)
I ask you, what beauty exists that isn’t more wondrous and real than writing? It is too often, that we search for what we already have...and it is our word. Our truth. Our story. Writing and literature is the unending hymn of the universe. It is life, with its squabbles, and its ups and downs, and its smiles and frowns, on paper. There is no more true form, than that which is the product of a paper and pen. Shhhhh. Can you hear it? The lost laughter of our childhood. The worrisome fear of tomorrow and the future. The convolution of being. Life and its trivialities. A freckled face. A chocolate truffle. Writing.
By: S. Roff
Thursday, December 13, 2007
Humerus Essays
I love humerus essays, it is one of my favorite ganras of writing. so when Mrs. Gaboury has assigned us to write something i tried it out so here is the first one i wrote. please comment and give me feed back and suggestions. note i copied and pasted from word document and there may be some problems.
The Great Napkin War
For the last five to six years now my mother has attempted to "civilize" my siblings and me. So in between my brothers yelling of "your mom" and "I'm going to punch you in the face!" my mom will tell us to put our napkin's in our laps. And for the last five or six years my siblings and I have been coming up with every argument we can come up with to fight our mothers stand on manners and more specifically her stand on the napkin in the lap instead of on the table and by the hands where it is of actual use. So every dinner from then on was another battle in The Great Napkin Wars.
During The Great Napkin Wars dinner time would go something like this: my mom would say to me "Matt can you go get your siblings for dinner" I would proceed to take about five steps out of the kitchen and scream "Sam, Katy, Melissa! Dinner!" They would respond with one of the following, "Coming!" or "Just a sec'" or "Be there in a minute!" So about five to ten minutes later my siblings will come slowly down the stairs or come crawling up from the basement. It would be five or so minutes into the meal when my mom would turn to one of us (usually Sam or me I guess she's just sexist like that) and say "Ahem, aren't you forgetting something?" Sam and me being the smart mouths that we are would reply in the most falsely innocent voice we could manage would say something along the lines of "No, whatever do you mean mother?" then she would give us that look that says ha ha that's cute now shut up then she would hold up her napkin and of course our sisters would come to our aid and the arguments would begin:
For the last five to six years now my mother has attempted to "civilize" my siblings and me. So in between my brothers yelling of "your mom" and "I'm going to punch you in the face!" my mom will tell us to put our napkin's in our laps. And for the last five or six years my siblings and I have been coming up with every argument we can come up with to fight our mothers stand on manners and more specifically her stand on the napkin in the lap instead of on the table and by the hands where it is of actual use. So every dinner from then on was another battle in The Great Napkin Wars.
During The Great Napkin Wars dinner time would go something like this: my mom would say to me "Matt can you go get your siblings for dinner" I would proceed to take about five steps out of the kitchen and scream "Sam, Katy, Melissa! Dinner!" They would respond with one of the following, "Coming!" or "Just a sec'" or "Be there in a minute!" So about five to ten minutes later my siblings will come slowly down the stairs or come crawling up from the basement. It would be five or so minutes into the meal when my mom would turn to one of us (usually Sam or me I guess she's just sexist like that) and say "Ahem, aren't you forgetting something?" Sam and me being the smart mouths that we are would reply in the most falsely innocent voice we could manage would say something along the lines of "No, whatever do you mean mother?" then she would give us that look that says ha ha that's cute now shut up then she would hold up her napkin and of course our sisters would come to our aid and the arguments would begin:
Siblings: What's the point of putting napkins in your lap?
Mom: It's polite.
Mom: It's polite.
Siblings: It's pointless.
Mom: When you grow up people will wonder who raised such poorly mannered, uncivilized, rude, barbarians.
Siblings: Yah because people will totally ignore our intelligence, generally pleasant personalities, and interesting input to conversation and see us as barbarians just because we don't have napkins in our laps. And it they ask us who raised us we will totally deny any affiliation with you.
Mom: But what if you're on a date don't you want your girlfriend to think you're a gentleman? Siblings: I don't want to be a relationship with someone who would judge me solely on weather I put a napkin in my lap.
The argument normally goes on for about seven minutes until my sisters and I usually give up. We figure it's not that big of a deal and that you should probably not get the person that pays your allowance too angry. Unfortunately my brother Sam, who believes that "Shut up!" and "Go eat yourself!" is a great argument by anyone's standards, does not share this view. He will continue to fight using the same arguments as long as he can go before Mom threatens to take away allowance or computer privileges.
Now don't get me wrong I love my mom. She makes homemade dinners all the time, she gives me a large allowance, and she makes cookies practically on demand. But sometimes she is a little bit hypercritical. Recently she has tried to become an environmentalist. My mom will take canvas bags to the grocery store so she doesn't have to use plastic ones and yells at us if we accidentally leave the lights on (by we I mean Sam who will go into two to three other peoples rooms in the morning for reasons unknown to me and leave the lights on in every single one of them). This is all fine except for the fact that my mom will leave her TV on (rarely), leave her lights on (occasionally), and leave the stove or oven on (frequently). Now this does relate to the Great Napkin Wars for the napkin that my mother forcibly places upon my lap goes to little use and with our sisters at college I needed a new argument to use on my mother. I tend to grab another paper napkin from the holder and put it to its actual use, the cleaning and de-greasing of hands. So at the end of the meal two napkins are thrown away only one of which is actually used. Those several extra napkins every night will add up, in just my family by not wasting those napkins can save three trees a year and enough electricity to run our house for hours (those statistics are completely made up but I assume that they can't be that far off).
It has been about five years since the beginning of the Great Napkin Wars. The side of the McFadden children has lost two of its soldiers to colleges but the two remaining have refined the arguments that first started this epic battle to nigh perfection. There is still no end in sight to the Great Napkin War with Mom being convinced that she is right and that this is for our own good and Sam still being in the obnoxious, stubborn teenager phase, which doesn't look like it will ever end. As for me well I still never put my napkin in my lap without being told, and neither do I fight as much as I used to. I just remind my mother how wrong she is and then I do what she wants. My mom still insist that this is going to ruin my future but I still don't see a problem in it as long as I don't fall in love with someone who is incredibly shallow, who only likes me for my amazing hair, and who, like my mother, believes that the napkin should go in the lap.
Now don't get me wrong I love my mom. She makes homemade dinners all the time, she gives me a large allowance, and she makes cookies practically on demand. But sometimes she is a little bit hypercritical. Recently she has tried to become an environmentalist. My mom will take canvas bags to the grocery store so she doesn't have to use plastic ones and yells at us if we accidentally leave the lights on (by we I mean Sam who will go into two to three other peoples rooms in the morning for reasons unknown to me and leave the lights on in every single one of them). This is all fine except for the fact that my mom will leave her TV on (rarely), leave her lights on (occasionally), and leave the stove or oven on (frequently). Now this does relate to the Great Napkin Wars for the napkin that my mother forcibly places upon my lap goes to little use and with our sisters at college I needed a new argument to use on my mother. I tend to grab another paper napkin from the holder and put it to its actual use, the cleaning and de-greasing of hands. So at the end of the meal two napkins are thrown away only one of which is actually used. Those several extra napkins every night will add up, in just my family by not wasting those napkins can save three trees a year and enough electricity to run our house for hours (those statistics are completely made up but I assume that they can't be that far off).
It has been about five years since the beginning of the Great Napkin Wars. The side of the McFadden children has lost two of its soldiers to colleges but the two remaining have refined the arguments that first started this epic battle to nigh perfection. There is still no end in sight to the Great Napkin War with Mom being convinced that she is right and that this is for our own good and Sam still being in the obnoxious, stubborn teenager phase, which doesn't look like it will ever end. As for me well I still never put my napkin in my lap without being told, and neither do I fight as much as I used to. I just remind my mother how wrong she is and then I do what she wants. My mom still insist that this is going to ruin my future but I still don't see a problem in it as long as I don't fall in love with someone who is incredibly shallow, who only likes me for my amazing hair, and who, like my mother, believes that the napkin should go in the lap.
Sunday, December 9, 2007
Welcome
Setting up.
We are going to post our work as a blog allowing comments, but each of you invited peoples ;-) may take a section of the page and dedicate yourself to it and the art of writing.
Enjoy!
More later!
Mrs. Gaboury
We are going to post our work as a blog allowing comments, but each of you invited peoples ;-) may take a section of the page and dedicate yourself to it and the art of writing.
Enjoy!
More later!
Mrs. Gaboury
Saturday, December 8, 2007
Kit's Writing Exercise!
I have this thing that I like to do that, incidentally, has to do with writing.
Lately (by that I mean the past year), it's been kind of difficult for me to think up topics for poems, and because of that, I have not written many poems just for fun.
But I do occasionally do this thingy which I will call an "exercise" for the sake of making it sound like a legit writing activity and not just near-plagiarism.
I take song lyrics (that somebody else wrote) and change the punctuation and create enjambed lines to make a different flow and try to make a different meaning or feel of the words by doing so.
One song I have done this to is "And So It Goes" by Billy Joel. I have written it out as such:
In every heart
there
is a
room. a sanctuary,
safe, and
sound--to heal
the wounds______from lovers past;
until
a new
one comes
along.
I spoke to
you________in
cautious
tones;
you answered me with
no
pretense.
And still I fear I said too
much;
my silence is
my
self-defense.
It goes on. I dearly hope this kind of "exercise" will actually help me or other writers in some way, and that doing it here is not illegal.
Lately (by that I mean the past year), it's been kind of difficult for me to think up topics for poems, and because of that, I have not written many poems just for fun.
But I do occasionally do this thingy which I will call an "exercise" for the sake of making it sound like a legit writing activity and not just near-plagiarism.
I take song lyrics (that somebody else wrote) and change the punctuation and create enjambed lines to make a different flow and try to make a different meaning or feel of the words by doing so.
One song I have done this to is "And So It Goes" by Billy Joel. I have written it out as such:
In every heart
there
is a
room. a sanctuary,
safe, and
sound--to heal
the wounds______from lovers past;
until
a new
one comes
along.
I spoke to
you________in
cautious
tones;
you answered me with
no
pretense.
And still I fear I said too
much;
my silence is
my
self-defense.
It goes on. I dearly hope this kind of "exercise" will actually help me or other writers in some way, and that doing it here is not illegal.
Thursday, December 6, 2007
Draft
The Appeal
By: S. Roff
By: S. Roff
Please, a chair...so I may sit.
The older man across the table motioned to the wooden chair in front of him. He pulled the chair out and sat down. His right shoelace came undone.
I, I...I hoped—
Forget it.
The clock grew louder. The room was dark except for the dimly lit window pane. A pale night, interrupted by the occasional car, nothing. Silence.
I wanted to speak with you,
A long pause.
about tomorrow. I don’t think it’s safe.
The man's cold lips slipped into a frown.
—I mean, I think the suppliers are safe. Everything’s clean. This isn’t like ‘97. That definitely won’t happen again.
The man across the table rolled up his sleeve to read his silver Rolex. He pulled his sleeve back and ran his old fingers across his cashmere sweater, smoothening out the ruffles.
Well...
I think we shouldn’t show.
I have a bad feeling about this one.
At that instant the world stopped. Light shot into the room, shadows danced across the walls; the hollow yellow ran swift shades across his face. They revealed a pallid complexion, stubble covered his chin, his long graying hair pushed back in gentle waves behind his white, translucent, ghastly ears. He looked to be in his late fifties; his eyes were tired, his gaze impassive.
...(a muffled cough)
The light which had shone like brilliant rays exposing some—some darkness, was gone.
It left the room. It had come and gone, but now it was gone. Only darkness. Darkness and the faint moonshine of the night.
I’m sorry, I, I sh—I wasn’t, what was I thinking?
I’m sorry for interrupting you.
The face across the table slowly began to nod. His eyes were closed, lips shut, his heavy chin cradled in his hand.
He got up from the small wooden table, pushed in his chair and grabbed his coat. He turned and left.
Distant footsteps...and then the silence returned.
It crept back into the room, slowly filling every corner and every wall with its empty presence.
The younger man pulled out a worn, tattered photograph, it was folded in half. He opened it and stared at the boy in the picture for some time. The boy was young, five maybe six, dressed in an oversized blue plaid-button down. His hair, a bowl of black curls and his smile...overflowed with the happiness of being a child. The wooden chair creaked and its distant cry reverberated throughout the hall. Holding the torn photo he folded it in the palm of his weary hands.
His head fell down and he began to cry.
Quiet sobs.
The distant echoes of life.
Each tear gently caressing his face, falling down to the wooden table. The warm beads rolling, gently rolling off his cold skin and on the wood. He could hear the soft fall of the watery beads.
He glanced at his wrist, one AM. Wiping his face with his shirt, the man pushed back his chair, rose and left. The old piece of wood sat there, pulled out from the small table.
--Please comment on style and any and all areas that you think need improvement. Thank you.
Stephen Roff
Question of the Day
Can grayscale be psychadelic?
I say, yes, it can. I am thinking that psychadelic is more of a state of mind -- an essence, really -- than just a visual thing. So if said grayscale visual makes you feel psychadelic, there you are.
That was a test. I wanted to post something that wasn't being graded and that was what my fingers gave me.
This is a blog about writing. Here is my message of writing for you:
Writing is Good. Make sure to Write.
I like writing. Now I should practice drums.
Peace out, reader!
I say, yes, it can. I am thinking that psychadelic is more of a state of mind -- an essence, really -- than just a visual thing. So if said grayscale visual makes you feel psychadelic, there you are.
That was a test. I wanted to post something that wasn't being graded and that was what my fingers gave me.
This is a blog about writing. Here is my message of writing for you:
Writing is Good. Make sure to Write.
I like writing. Now I should practice drums.
Peace out, reader!
Random Junk
Hey everyone! I just wanted to say that I put a link to my blog Random Junk! I started it about 2 weeks ago and I just post what I think. I put a lot of time into it...SO READ IT OR ELSE!!!
Tuesday, December 4, 2007
Baby Steps
Hey guys,
I just wanted to let you know that I just created my first ever column! (Thought Provoked), please check it out and leave comments!!!
Peace,
Stephen Roff
I just wanted to let you know that I just created my first ever column! (Thought Provoked), please check it out and leave comments!!!
Peace,
Stephen Roff
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