Feliz Año Nuevo desde Costa Rica!!!

I thought I would post my holiday narrative that I wrote for AP Comp, since it describes what the remainder of my night will consist of. Even though no one but Alexis Gaither and Ms. Prokott read my blog, Happy New Year from Costa Rica!!!

Grapes, Suitcases, and a Costa Rican New Year’s

                It is quarter to midnight in San Jose, Costa Rica. I am scrunched next to my cousin Nana, her usual curls now thermally straightened and burnt smelling, courtesy of the hairdresser down the street. My slightly tipsy Tio Sergio shows off his English skills, or lack of, by belting out “Weelcowm to thee hotel Caleefornia” on karaoke. Forty caffeine and liquor-infused Hispanics sit on each other’s laps on the worn-out, freshly vacuumed couches lining my grandmother’s small living room. It’s the living room my mother played cards in as a child: the living room I have spent every New Year’s Eve in since I was born.

“Faltan dies para las doce,” the radio voice warns from the stereo like the voice of God. Ten minutes left. I feel like I know this mysterious Radio Man.  The way he rolls his rs like a deep-voiced mariachi has become as familiar as my uncle’s karaoke singing.  

My mom realizes she has forgotten to wash the New Year’s grapes and shrieks “ayyy, las uvas!” as she rushes into the kitchen.  She passes the bag of grapes around and we each grab twelve, a family tradition to wish for a prosperous twelve months.

The whistles blow, the fireworks erupt outside, and Radio Man leads our countdown: “Five, four, three, two, one…Feliz Año Nuevo!” With my mouth full of grapes, I join the tornado of strangling hugs and wet kisses that is making its way around the room.

Mid-hug, all I can think about is the suitcases: my favorite part of the night and the reason I wore my comfy flats. I shuffle through the flailing limbs to my cousin Meli and shout, “Las maletas!” We snag our suitcases and lead everyone into the cloud of firework smoke in the street outside. We sprint down the cracked and gum-covered sidewalk surrounded by crowded homes with metal gates and tin roofs.  We roll our suitcases behind us and holler “Feliz Año!” to the neighbors clapping at the feet of their driveways. To outsiders, we are a stampede of confused and hyper Hispanics running late to catch a bus to the airport. To our neighbors, we are just the Arguedas family doing our yearly suitcase run in the hope that the farther we run, the farther we will travel this year.    

I beat my cousin to the corner. “I’m going to Mexico!” I yell. I run to the next block, and the next, and the next. I see the coast of France in the distance. I run to India. I run to China. I check out the kangaroos in Australia and the penguins in Antarctica. When I am out of breath and realize that I am already three blocks from my grandma’s house, I turn around and pass on the suitcase to Tia Cynthia. She will most likely only get to Nicaragua, judging by the three-inch heels on her feet. 

New Year's Resolutions

I can't believe it's actually 2012. The year I graduate, the year I turn 18 and hence the year I can VOTE! As long as the world doesn't burn down around us tonight, it'll be a great year. Here are a few of my new year's resolutions:
1. STOP BITING MY NAILS! (A habit I've had since I was like 0 years old.) I currently have nails for the first time in my life...they are fake ones I got courtesy of Sally at the nail salon down the street from my grandma's house in Costa Rica. It's been crazy adapting to this lifestyle, but so worth it. I WANT NAILS.
2. Start caring about my health. Start sleeping more than five hours a night, start actually making use of those tennis shoes by going on a run every once in a while. Spend more time with friends and family and less time on the computer or in the Editor's Room.
3. Start playing that guitar that's on the floor of my bedroom.
4. Read a book for fun. In Spanish. And read the news every day. (or listen to NPR every day)
5. Work on being better at making decisions. Especially college decisions.
6. Stop getting lost while driving. I need to do something about this lack of directional ability thing.
7. Be less stressed. It's senior year and potentially our last year on this earth (mehhhhh). Make it count.

GET YOUR ORANGE HANDS OUT OF MY FACE.

Dear Cheetos kid,
I know I haven't seen your prematurely mustached face since you sat behind me in World History sophomore year. You were probably a nice kid but I can't seem to recall those details. I don't really remember a thing from World History. Except for the use of the guillotine during the French Reign of Terror. Would you like to know why I remember the guillotine?
Because all I wanted to do during that class was stick your cheetos-covered, freshly licked fingers under the blade and sever them from the rest of your filthy hands.
You are the reason I no longer eat cheetos.
It wasn't the fact that you ate an entire bag of cheetos puffs every single day, at 9:00 in the morning.
It's the way you felt the need to lick every single finger after every single time you stuck a cheeto in your mouth.
It's how your orange appendages forced me to remember a joke all the pre-puberty boys whispered to each other in 7th grade; it was the first time I ever overheard the phrase "jacking off". It involved cheetos. Thanks for the scarring flashback, bud.
It's how you raised your hand to answer a question and continued to chew on your cheetos with your mouth open and orange chunks stuck in your teeth while you talked about how you want to convert to Confucianism.
It's how every time I had to pass back a sheet of paper from Mr. Tillotson you decided to shove those flaming claws in my face and cover the paper in a film of sticky orange goo. I can imagine poor Mr. T grading your papers and trying to identify the orange, potentially toxic substance covering the corner of each assignment. I sure hope you got a grade drop because of it.

You must be blinded by a cloud of orange powder because you obviously don't see people's reaction to your eating habits. Unless it's the creepy girl from the Breakfast Club who shakes out her dandruff to pretend it's snowing, there is no member of the opposite sex that I can think of that would be sexually aroused by the sight of your fiery sausage links. Good luck asking a girl to prom when your face is smothered in that sticky concoction of spit and artificial cheese.
Thank you so much for helping me develop an innate ability to sense the presence of cheetos being eaten. It has succeeded in making me sick to my stomach for a good two years now.
Thank you for ruining my relationship with Chester the Cheetah.
I hope you puke orange chunks.
Sincerely,
Samantha

Thank you, AP Comp

I have definitely noticed my improvement in writing expanding to other aspects of my daily life. The other day I was talking to Alexis about how my form of speaking with friends and family has become more and more Prokottian (the AP Comp version of Orwellian). I have noticed myself using more random and quirky metaphors and concrete images in everyday speech. Earlier today my bedroom was freezing so I brought in my small oscillating heater and shut my door tightly. About two hours later, I said to my mom, "My bedroom is as warm as a womb right now." Who knows where I got the image of the womb (maybe it's from all those readings about babies we have read in this class) but I know that I would not have thought of that a few months ago. Lately, I have also been reacting to funny or unique occurences with the thought, "I want to write about this!" That's how the sock-matching blog post below came to be. I was looking at my unmatched socks on my feet and thought, hmmm that's a blog post right there! It has also made me a more observant reader. On Mopro source analysis sheets, I start subconsiously saying things like, "The writer damages his ethos with the line..." It might be brain-washing, but I am so glad I took this class before graduating because it has actually made a huge difference in the way I write, read, and look at the world.

Don't conform. Don't waste time. Don't Discriminate: Don't match your socks!

I could write about how stressed I am about the 10349278346 hours of ap comp, mopro, and college apps I have to get done. Or I could write about how my sister thinks I'm her personal chauffeur and uses me to drive her friends around the west metro. But as I look at my feet, and at the pile of laundry in my room, I feel the need to discuss something that I feel very passionately about:
Matching Socks.
First of all, how is it humanly possible for a pair of socks to stay together? For all you
conscientious clean-freaks, I feel like there is an invisible string tying the two socks together, because I don't know how else you keep the same exact two socks together. My washer must swallow socks. I put a pair of nice pink costco brand socks in the washer, and by the time I fold and put everything away (usually ages later...I like to procrastinate putting away clothes) I can only find one sock. WHERE DID THE OTHER ONE GO? I will never solve this mystery of the missing sock.

But this is beside my point. In the grand scheme of things, I really don't care if I lose a sock because I am perfectly fine wearing a pair of two distinct and unique foot coverings. Why must I be racist to my black socks and only wear whites together? Whatever happened to integration? Brown vs. Board of Education would disapprove of all you sock matchers.
Why would I take the time to dig through my laundry and search for the missing sock? The only time I wear socks is in the winter, and why would I care what my feet look like if NO ONE IS LOOKING AT THEM? As long as I'm wearing some sort of stockings that keep my toes warm in my boots, I am a happy camper.

I challenge anyone who matches their socks to make a New Year's Resolution to spend their time doing something more interesting than matching socks. Be a non-conformist and non-discriminatory individual and wear two different colored socks. It might sound crazy and taboo, but wearing a blue polka dotted ankle sock with a Christmas reindeer fuzzy sock is a lot more fun than just plain white.

Ms. Prokott is making me write this...

Well somebody called me a hipster the other day. I usually make fun of hipsters. It's quite the fascinating trend and I'm not sure if anyone truly classifies as one besides Nick Furfaro (if you know who I'm talking about, you understand me). This has also been slightly inspired by Stuff White People Like, because I'm sure I will classify under many of those stereotypes. For the record, I think I'm way too much of a suck up to be a hipster. I actually like school for one thing. I am also a dedicated Catholic, which is quite the contradiction. I also don't own big headphones, a record player, or a ukelele. But here ya go, these are the reasons why I could be called a "hipster":
(In no particular order):
1. I listen to the current religiously. And I think Dave Ryan on KDWB is annoying. (or KDWB in general).
2. I listen to NPR when I'm in the mood, or just want to piss off my sisters.
3. My favorite shoes consist of oxford flats, lace up boots, and TOMS (before my dog ate them)
4. I read the Huffington post for fun
5. I wear a pluthura of native american bracelets, most of them bought for a couple of bucks in costa rica or from the guatemalan ladies at the state fair.
6. I don't tweet
7. I don't wear uggs
8. I have a guitar in my room (in its box unplayed...I'll get to that this summer)
9. I am on a Kiva micro-lending team.
10. I have gone backpacking and want to go back.
11. I actually enjoy the Walker Art Museum
12. I have pins on my backpack
13. I want to punch Herman Cain in the face (I think that shows what political party I claim to be a part of)
14. I use the word "capitalism" in everyday speech...and in newspaper opinion article headlines (read the Trojan Tribune!)
15. I want to turn 18 just so I can go to 18+ concerts
16. I want to major in journalism, even if it's "dying"
17. I am obsessed with antique stores and seconhand/rummage sales (and no, I do not call them "vintage boutiques")
18. I have about 15 pandora playlists
19. I want to study abroad in the Middle East, or somewhere of the sort.
20. I wish I lived in the 1960's
21. I drink herbal tea and foreign coffee
22. I sometimes take plastic bottles out of trash cans and put them in recycling bins
23. I torrent music off the internet (shhhh....)
24. One of my favorite saturdays I've spent this year has consisted of an all-day foreign policy discussion group convention! (This list is turning into reasons why I'm a nerd)
25. I've never spent a New Year's Eve in the united states.
26. I just forgot to capitalize the United States
27. I brag about how cheap I buy my clothes/stuff. (I just bought a "torquoise" necklace for 3 bucks!)
28. I have only stepped inside a country club like twice, and I think both were for some choir Christmas caroling...
29. ^However I have been to Cheapo in Uptown like ten times
30. I actually like posting on this blog and will probably continue to do so after AP Comp is over...
Nevertheless, I am not a hipster and I don't want to be, even though I love my hipster friends. While the hipsters are curled up reading philosophy while listening to [insert unknown indie breathy band or dead guy here] in an uptown coffeeshop, I will be teaching Sunday School at church and having dinner with my family. Time to work on my cookie-cutter AP Stats homework.

The Fourth of July we almost drowned

   It is strange to think about the summer days on the lake when we are in the middle of this chilly November weather, but when it comes to family holidays, there is one Fourth of July weekend that my family will never forget.
   It was back when all of my aunts, uncles and cousins on my dad's side would actually come up to our cabin to celebrate the Fourth. (These days, everyone is too busy to make the effort, and we end up spening the holiday with friends)
   My mom had bought everyone matching Faded Glory brand t-shirts from the St. Croix falls Walmart and everyone, even my grandma, was wearing the same white t-shirt with the big American flag on the front. These were the days before we had our big ski boat. We owned a tiny red pontoon boat that didn't have build in seats; we had to bring plastic chairs on the boat with us for people to sit on. My dad decided that he would ignore the weight restrictions on the boat's fading warning label, just so we could get the entire family on the boat for the annual boat parade. At around 1:00, we all climbed aboard the recently patriotically decorated pontoon boat and joined in the train of boats circling around the lake. Due to the lack of seating, it occured to my parents that we would have all of the kids sit in the front with their legs hanging over the ledge. There I was, waving my American flag and laughing with my cousins, when all of a sudden I felt my feet go deeper into the water. I looked over at my cousin Campbell, and I saw him also start to slowly sink down. The entire front of the pontoon was sinking. The boat started to slant like the frickin Titanic. (That's an exxageration, but that was what my seven-year old mind was imagining). My mom shrieked to my dad, "Stop the boat!" and rushed to tell all of the kids to get their feet out of the water and get to the other side of the boat NOW. Needless to say, we survived the almost Titanic boat sinking that afternoon, but thanks to all the water, the red from the flags on our shirts had bled to a bright fuschia. To this day, I sometimes find that pink Faded Glory T-shirt in my laundry and I am reminded of that eventful boat parade. The glory on those t-shirts almost did fade away that day, into the depths of Half Moon Lake.

Rhetorical Modes

1.       There are two aspects of Pride. It is the feeling of being proud, the satisfaction one receives when one accomplishes a feat. It is also the feeling of one’s own dignity or superiority, the feeling of self-worth, of pleasure in one’s current way of being. Pride can be happy and joyful, but it can also be snobbish and conceited. Without pride, one holds no emotional connection to successes, resulting in a less meaningful and satisfying life. With excessive pride, one becomes vain and arrogant.

2. The difference between pride and conceit is in the way in which each emotion is expressed. Pride is something that is felt, and conceit is the extreme expression of pride.  One can feel pride without showing it to others. If an employee gets a raise at work, he can celebrate this success with his family without boasting about it to others. Pride is an internal sense of satisfaction, conceit is an overwhelming sense of vanity and self-righteousness conveyed to others.

3. Have you ever met a person who only talks about their own successes, and always brags about their possessions? Too much pride makes one act as if they are above others. When we act conceited, it can cause others to look down on us and even isolate them us as friends. It is important to find pleasure in our lives and be thankful for our possessions, but humility is the key to good relationships with others. Feeling pride but acting with humility will draw others to us and will create for much more enjoyable conversation. 

4. I was a nail-biting and chatty fifth grader sitting on the gym floor at Stagecoach theatre camp. The director was slowly and alphabetically announcing the names of each camper and what role they would play in that year’s production of AnnieJr. My heart was racing. “Allie Rose: Miss Hannigan, Samantha Schmidt: Annie…” My jaw dropped. I felt like dancing and screaming and hugging my mom. I felt like I was on top of the world, floating on a cloud. The rest of that day I walked with my head held high and a little more bounce in my step. I was the lead, the main orphan, and the spotlights would be on me this year. I spent the whole afternoon singing “Tomorrow” into a hairbrush in my bedroom.

5. Pride is a satisfaction or connection one feels with one’s successes or one’s one life. It can be seen in a person who thinks highly of his of her own ability, such as an athlete who is confident in his team’s athletic skill after winning a big game. It can also be seen in someone who feels a strong connection to his or her family, such as the Capulets and Montagues in Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet.

6. The referee blows the whistle and the crowd cheers as the soccer cleats brush against the grass. One cheer is louder than the others. It is coming from a thirty-five year old, mini-van driving woman. Her blonde hair is in a ponytail, she has sneakers on her feet and her two year old daughter is tugging the bottom of her khaki shorts. She has her eyes locked on player number 12, her star striker. She can see the sweat building on his forehead as he races down the field. He has the ball now. She gasps and yells,“Go, Johnny, go!  As the ball flies into the net, the woman jumps two feet into the air, her eyes watering and her heart filled with pride.

National Geographic's most recognizable photo: Afghan Girl

Agent: This photo was taken by Steve McCurry, a National Geographic photojournalist, in 1984.
Act: The photograph shows the plight of Afghans during the Soviet Invasion. It conveys the fear and anguish that this 12 year old girl feels, and reveals the human side of war and destruction. It also shows the strength of an Afghan woman, a strength and identity that is rarely revealed as a photographed face, because their faces are so often covered. It argues that these women do have an identity and that it should be captured and appreciated.
Agency: The photograph was published on the cover of National Geographic in June 1985, complementing a story on the Afghan refugees. The photo was edited and printed large enough to cover the front page, allowing the features of the photo subject to be accentuated and provocative. The woman's piercing green eyes show the trauma she has had to face, and her tattered garment shows the struggle of her two-week flee. The way she is hunched over and peeking out of her shawl give the audience a feeling that we have caught her in a moment; that it is a raw and candid glance and that she is almost telling us a secret. The warm color of her skin and garment also reveal her culture and gives the photo an exotic feel.
Scene: The photograph was taken at a refugee camp in Pakistan in 1984. After the Soviet invasion of Afganistan, during which this young girl's village and family were destroyed, she was forced to make the two week trip to the camp on the Pakistan-Afghanistan border. Her name is Sharbat Gula. The audience of this photograph is any reader of National Geographic, someone who is interested in the story behind the Soviet Invasion of Afghanistan or even just any consumer who sees the photo on the cover of the magazine.
Purpose: The photojournalist aims to reveal the struggles that these Afghan refugees have had to face. He wants to tell their story. He says that when he saw the girl's face, he jumped on the chance to capture her emotion, since he rarely gets to photograph Afghan womens' faces. McCurry says,“This portrait summed up for me the trauma and plight, and the whole situation of suddenly having to flee your home and end up in refugee camp, hundreds of miles away." The photograph also had a monetary motive behind it, both for the photographer and the magazine. They hope to sell copies and win recognition and awards for their work.

I have always been obessesed with this photo. I think it is one of the most stunning faces I have ever seen. Breathtaking.

The media of the masses

As an aspiring journalist, I obviously hold some respect for the media. It is essential to democracy and civilizations in general for the public to be aware of what is occurring in their surroundings. As the article "Extended Language" described, voters need to be educated in current topics and candidates, and society members must know what is happening around them in order to develop their own opinions or relate occurrences to their own lives. The innate idea of the media, especially of news, is a necessity to society and can often become a very helpful source of information or an entertaining or enlightening experience for its audience.  The medium in which this information is given to the audience, and the way in which media outlets choose what information and images to present, is where the negatives aspects of the media come into play.  I will speak specifically about television broadcast news. For the most part, the events and topics described in a typical evening news segment all actually occurred or are of timely significance. On the surface, it appears as though the news are a reflection of society; the newsworthy stories came before the news show itself. But how did the show choose which stories to run? It always seems as if only the news shown these days are negative, death-related stories. By deciding to run an overwhelming amount of stories such as kidnappings, robberies, and scandals, the evening news show is telling the people at home that they are surrounded by violence and corrupt actions. At the same time, they are deciding to show segments that they believe will attract the most viewers, not necessarily showing the most important or valuable stories. For example, Kare 11 might decide to run a story about a man who collects millions of Pez dispensers instead of running a story on how tax levies are impacting school budgets, just because it is more entertaining or interesting to their idea of a typical consumer of news. This selective nature of the media gives society a blurred perception of what is happening around them. Therefore, the media does create values and tastes. In addition, the flawless smiling face of the anchor giving the news conveys the idea that all young women look like the anchor. The entire appearance of the news show is fake, from the smiles and perfect hair of the anchors to the obnoxious casual conversation they make with each other.

Here is an example about how the U.S. is particularly guilty of altering news coverage to what they think society wants. This is the same issue of Newsweek, in which Latin America, Europe, and Asia all had the same front page about the war in Afganistan. Instead of making the front page about the important issues with the war, U.S. Newsweek made it about a new book by a famous photographer...

Is it even possible to fix these problems with broadcast journalism, or journalism in general? Maybe not. But we can be responsible consumer of news by attempting to decipher the true from the false. And in my opinion, radio news are way cooler. There's just nothing like the raw voice of British reporter on MPR. 

Oh the joys of my dogs

I tend to complain about the funny/ridiculous/annoying aspects of my life on this blog, so I might as well bring up another. I am a dog-lover. I don't know what I would do without Candy, my bichon/maltese mix or Lucy, my yellow lab. But sometimes I just want to strangle them or throw them  a bone so far that they never come back. Anyone who has been to my house would know that it is a jungle. If you are visiting my house, I know when you have arrived before you have even walked up the drive way because my dogs both begin barking uncontrollably (but then again, they could just be barking at an invisible squirrel running across the street). Then as soon as you come inside, you will continue to hear a chorus of low-pitched lucy barks and high-pitched candy yips, a hideous harmony of never-ending barks that will give you a headache. Candy will be jumping all over you and Lucy will be running around in circles with your shoe in her mouth (she will then come up to you with the shoe still in her mouth, giving it to you like a present).
My mom gives the "they're actually very well-behaved, they just act up when guests arrive" schpeel to the guest, whether it is the Schwann man or my sister's newest sophomore crush. It is all a lie. Yeah, we tried to train them. But let's face it, we failed. Candy is only about 8 years old, but she acts like a menopausal woman. She often seems to be blind (when she claims there is a squirrel outside when there really isn't), demential (she seems to forget that you were JUST in the house, you simply went outside to get the mail), and bipolar (one second she is cuddling in bed with you, the next she is growling at you like a rabid beast). Not to mention her addiction to ripping up any underwear that I leave on my bedroom floor...

Lucy is a different story. I really do love her. She's adorable, and when she rests her head on my knee with her sad eyes while I'm eating a slice of pizza, I can't help but rip her off a piece of crust. But she just drives me  INSANE sometimes. Instead of going all "Marley and Me crazy labrador stories" on you, I'll just let you enjoy the photo on the right to capture the frustration I was feeling toward Lucy on Friday morning.

P.S. My TOMS were my favorite pair of shoes ever. I bought them last spring in a California Whole Foods and they have become a part of me. This is a memorial for them, and all that they helped me through. Rest in peace, olive green Whole Foods store TOMS. You lived a great life.

This is halloween, halloween, halloween.

If upon reading that title any of you are singing along to the tune of the song from Tim Burton's halloween movie (the Corpse Bride?) , then you are truly in the halloween spirit. Halloween is on the horizon and I am planning on spending my entire night working on my Mopro Part 1 (WHAT HAS THE WORLD COME TO!) but I might as well try to feel the spirit, despite the lack of Halloween candy in my stomach. When I see my sister carving pumpkins and picking out her warmest costume for trick-or-treating, I feel some major nostalgia of haunted houses, apple cider, pictures on the front porch, and the movie "Hocus Pocus." In retrospect the movie Hocus Pocus is a slightly disturbing and messed up movie for an 8 year old to be watching on a monthly basis, but that was my childhood at my grandma's house. Oh how I loved watching Sara Jessica Parker singing "Come little children I'll take thee away" on her broomstick or Bette Midler melting into nonexistence. No wonder I turned into such a strange kid.

I went to a Catholic elementary school, and despite the opinions of the witchcraft-hating nuns who ran the place, we had an unbelievable Halloween carnival every year. It may have just been a bunch of lame booths in a church basement, but it was definitely the highlight of the year. Not only would we get to win awesome prizes (I probably collected about ten jars of goldfish from those carnivals over the years) and get completely spooked in the HUGE haunted house, we would get to see all of our friends and teachers decked out in their crazy costumes. Every time Halloween rolls around and I see all the girls wearing their skimpy "costumes" (seriously, how is lingerie a witch costume?) I wish I could travel back to the magical halloween nights of the past. Maybe stealing some of my sister's Reese's cups will help treat the nostalgia. 

Pet Peeves (in order of what first popped into my head)

1. Negative people (this actually is my #1 pet peeve).
2. When you ask a question to people around you and no one feels the need to answer.
3. When someone who has say, perfect hair, says "Ugh my hair looks gross today."
4. People who fish for complements.
5. Newspaper staff writers who use the excuse "My source didn't email me back." I don't care if they didn't email you back. Get off your butt and go hunt them down.
6. Vending machines that eat your money.
7. How on some days you will have absolutely nothing going on and then on other days every thing seems to fall on you all at once.
8. When the spiral from a spiral notebook comes out of place. I HATE THIS.
9. Country music.
10. When people? Talk like this? With rising inflection? Do they realize how dumb they sound?
11. When my mom says, "Sorry doesn't fix it." What am I supposed to say then??
12. People who complain about mopro. Come on, this stuff is actually interesting!
13. When my sister changes the radio station from the Current to KDWB.
14. When people respond "maybe" on facebook events and then the day of the event they decide they will grace you with their presence.
15. Party crashers.
16. When the person sitting in front of you cracks their back, neck, and/or knuckles.
17. When guys talk about sports/cars/fantasy football/COD. Do you realize that A. I don't understand a thing you are saying and B. I really do not care?
18. When drivers don't use their blinkers.
19. Rihanna's music. Specifically her newest song...something like "Let's drink to the freakin weekend." Those are some classy, quality lyrics.
20. When people ask me, "You are like Mexican or Puerto Rican or something right?"
I will add more as they come to me...

We can all be tiger students, as long as we want to be.

The topic of American students vs. Chinese and Indian students has been of major interest to me ever since I saw 2 million minutes a few years ago and especially after the TIME magazine article about Amy Chua's Battle Hymn of a Tiger Mother was published last year. I decided to write a feature about Asian student lifestyles in the school newspaper last year. When I began reporting, I hypothesized that the key to success for Asian students was the pressure from their parents. The responses I received from four Asian students, as well as their parents, expressed that many Asian students grow up with a hard work mentality. They appreciate the amount of effort that their parents had to dedicate in order to come to work in the United States, and they hope to live up to the high expectations of their parents. The students overwhelmingly responded that their high grades and test scores came as a result of self - motivation. This is what 2 million minutes and "For once, blame the student" are arguing. I agree that American students can definitely learn from our Asian counterparts because of their exceptional dedication to their schoolwork and their drive to succeed, but we must also remember that within our American schools, we are comparing a large heterogeneous group of Caucasian students to a select group of Asian students who are descendants of a select group of very intelligent and hard working Asian immigrants. At the same time, I do realize the cultural difference in work ethics displayed in 2 million minutes. While Asian students are taught to focus solely on their academic work, American students have a much wider variety of activities and distractions. As a personal example, I don't spend nearly as much time on my homework as I could on a regular afternoon because I might have rehearsal for the musical, a meeting for a school club, or a set of emails that I need to send regarding one of my leadership roles. This does not make me any less dedicated to my school work, it just gives my life some balance and allows me to apply myself in a setting outside of school. I think this balance is what many of the students in 2 million minutes are lacking. Social life, sports, and extra curricular activities are an important part of the high school experience.
But don't get me wrong, I agree completely with Mike Rose and Patrick Welsh when they  frown upon the lack of motivation and focus that many American students have. I love the following quote from I Just Wanna Be Average, "Bullshit, of course, is everything you - and the others - fear is beyond you." I feel that too many American students focus too much on the present and not enough on their future. I believe that oftentimes, the slackers are afraid of what is ahead of them: college, a job, the need to make a living for oneself. They would rather go to that party instead of working on their Mopro because they can deal with the consequences later. I think that the difference between someone who barely gets by in school and someone who succeeds in AP classes is not only their level of intelligence. It is whether they view high school as simply a memorable experience or as preparation for something much bigger in their future.

A diet of herbal tea and vitamin C.

Who else was absolutely in love with the weather today? I never knew Minnesota would be generous enough to give us 80 degree sunny weather at the same time as rich fall colors and that smell of apple cider and pumpkin pie on the autumn breeze.
If only I could actually smell it.
I'm sick, yet again. I know my entire last blog post was about why my life is a failure. Don't get me wrong, I am 100% happy with my life and like to see myself as an optimist, but I can't help but find yet another unfortunate trend in my luck. I always seem to catch colds at the worst possible time. Let me provide some examples to get some "logos" up in here. Sophomore year had quite a few interesting colds. Cold #1 was during South Pacific auditions. Guess who did not make the musical sophomore year? Later on in the year, I got one of my worst colds during Concert Choir auditions, where I missed the mark by one point. That same week I had my regional solo-contest performance, on the same day as a big track meet. I can still remember the tissues that were pouring out of my bedroom garbage bin that week. The list can go on forever. One other favorite example of mine is from the beginning of this last summer. I had been working on a song for over a week that I was going to perform at a benefit concert at a coffeeshop; my first performance of this kind. Obviously, I woke up and could not speak.
Let's just say that I have gotten used to living on Throat Coat tea, cough drops, Dayquill, and a very noisy humidifier. I have even tried stuffing baking soda down my throat (one of my mom's sworn-by remedies that never works). I have learned to embrace my horrible immune system; it's a lifestyle. This week I have Vive Voce auditions, I have to sing at church, musical rehearsals for 2 hours every day, and supposedly a jazz performance at the Depot coffeehouse. I am surprisingly calm at the fact that I know I won't be participating in any of these thanks to my lovely stuffy nose and manly voice. Maybe I should get some sleep? Considering it is 11:00 pm and I have yet to finish my homework, that will not be happening.

"Let's get to work," says Obama.

Barack Obama's "Back to School" Speech anaylsis:
-Obama walks up the podium with a smile on his face, greeting those around him, standing with poise and wearing a formal suit. This shows his proffesionalism and evokes a sense of trust from the audience.
-He uses very effective eye contact, moving his head to different areas of the crowd each time.
-Obama refers to the audience as "You" from the very beginning, as if speaking directly to one student. He relates to the students by mentioning the everyday responsibilities and difficulties of school, such as academics, sports and social lives. He get's down to their level by using simple language and saying "I don't want to just be just an adult up here talking to you."
-Obama uses hand gestures throughout the presentation in a smooth and fluid way. He points to the audience when directly encouraging them to do something, he points upwards or holds out one of his hands in order to emphasize a point.
-Obama uses climactic order frequently, going from a description of a specific student to the importance of education on a national scale. For example, when using the examples of the student who did cancer research or the student who began a non-profit, he related everything back to his statement, "You don't have to wait to make a difference." He also transitions from high school into college graduation, or from immediate action to success "down the road."
- He uses sign posts that are engaging to the young audience, such as "Let me fill you in on a secret."
-Repetition:  He repeats questions such as "What does it mean?," when talking about the questions that all students should be asking themselves. He also repeats the phrase "Right now" frequently and with a very affirmed voice throughout the speech, creating an overall theme that the time for students to become engaged in their academics and society is now.
- He often pauses between words at the ends of sentences for dramatic effect, such as in the phrase "Seeing you learn." He also pauses in the middle of his description of the cancer research teen in order to emphasize the power of the story.
-Overall, he uses a very simple and organized flow of of thoughts with several concrete examples as pathos.

Really, Jim Crow?

When on the topic of segregation, I am always disturbed and astounded by the cruelty of the whites and the way they treated blacks as if they weren't even human. After reading the Jim Crow laws, I am not only disturbed but embarrassed.  It seems as though the Southern state governments went out of their way to find every single establishment and daily task in society and make it impossible for blacks to take part in. Were the lawmakers really so insecure, afraid, and inhumane that they would make dead African Americans perish in a lesser, separate burial ground? Or force the blind, who can't even visualize the superficial difference between their race and that of the person next to them, to be treated and cared for in separate buildings?  Is it really SUCH an offense towards John, a white fisherman, for Joe,black fisherman, to be minding his own business fishing for his daily catch of trout on the opposite side of the lake? And was it really necessary for the lawmakers to include this rule, as well as the exact distance apart two segregated entrances to a circus should be, on their list of laws that are oh-so beneficial to a respectable Southern society? The Jim Crow Laws were not just morally wrong, they were ridiculously anal and unjustified. Not only did these Southerners need to get a heart, they need to get a life.

The epic failures of my daily life.

Since I am pretty sure I will become addicted to this blog, I might as well open up a little. If you ask any of friends, they will tell you that I am one of the clumsiest, most forgetful, and most awkward people you will ever meet. My friend Leah calls me a "scatter-brain." This probably has something to do with the fact that I am constantly trying to juggle a million things at once (metaphorically) that I end up dropping some of them (not metaphorically). I might be exaggerating somewhat but I seriously do make a fool out of myself every day. This summer I was even considering making a blog where I could confess the many failures I encounter every day. I might still follow through with that.
It is impossible to describe only one of my many mishaps, but as a funny example, I will tell you about my paella spill in Spain. I was in Spain for a pilgrimage called World Youth Day (2 million Catholics from all over the world partying it up with the Pope...minus the partying). One of the days we were in Valencia, and the town decided to cook a MASSIVE pot of paella (like the size of Ms. Prokott's classroom) and gave each WYD participant a plate. As my group and I were walking back to our eating spot, we had to walk in front of groups of people from all over the world. It was a huge grassy area and there were Germans, Italians, Egyptians, Chileans, Russians, Brazilians, basically any country you could think of, all sitting around eating Paella. It was very picturesque, I must admit. There I was, walking with my precious plate of famous Paella, so excited to finally have something to eat that wasn't salami sandwiches and tuna salad (that was all they fed us at the church we were staying). You can imagine where this is going. The next thing I know, I trip slightly and my entire plate of paella goes falling to the ground, in front of the huge crowd of people. I was hoping that nobody noticed but soon enough, I hear a unanimous "Ohhhhhhhhhh....." from all the foreigners trying to hold back their laughter. This experience taught me two things: I am a lost cause when it comes to poise and holding any type of food, and embarrassing moments can break through any cultural and language barriers. Even though those people couldn't speak my language, they knew exactly how to react to me making a fool out of myself. Well, there's more where that came from. Until next time, make sure to stay away from me when I am holding my tray at lunch.

Why I Write

"I knew that I was no legitimate resident in any world of ideas. I knew I couldn't think."

When I first read this line in Joan Didion's essay, Why I Write, I was shocked. In my opinion, writers are the most in-depth and creative thinkers out there. I now identify with her words because I realize that I often find myself trying too hard to seem as though I have knowledge on a subject; I pretend to be an intellectual that I am not. When it comes to knowledge, I am 95% curiosity. It is this curiosity and desire to understand myself and the world around me that makes me crave writing. I am constantly asking questions, and writing is my attempt to answer these questions. If I am wondering about a new development around the school, my journalistic instincts would be to ask questions, research, and write about it. If I find myself tugging with my true feelings on a subject or on an event in my life, I pull out my journal and write.
I write because I love the feeling of typing the period after an amazing sentence and of seeing the fresh ink on the paper of a story I am extremely proud of. I write because at midnight when my mind is racing, my friends are asleep and the counting of sheep is an utter failure, there is nothing else I can do. I write because it is the only way to truly remember experiences in life. A picture may be worth a thousand words, but a thousand words can do an unbelievable job at explaining every detail, every aspect of a memory. I write because it is the moment in which a person is the most alive and the most aware of the world around them and the world inside of them. 

Alexie's "Superman and Me"

What I really enjoy about Sherman Alexie's narrative, and did not expect, is the way that he depicts a  childhood memory of reading and connects it to his entire culture and upbringing. Alexie's description of his Superman comic book leads beautifully into a devoted appreciation for his own superhero as a child, his father. He writes parts of his narrative in 3rd person,  allowing himself to appear to have an outside perspective on his life.  Overall, I love how the author is able to draw the reader in with a very mainstream, relatable image and turn it into an entire life story, ending with a mission of helping struggling Native American students.

This narrative has inspired me to dig deeper into my narrative for ideas on how to weave together my literacy beginnings and the effect that they had on my life. I might end up writing about my current life towards the end, as Alexie did, in order to show how my early experiences with literature and writing have shaped me as a student. I strive to be able to use humor and voice as Alexie does and become less structural and more creative in my essay writing style. 

Now all I have to do is start!