New Blog
I'm rolling a few blogs into one. Go here if you're looking for something: http://wordsflyeverywhere.blogspot.com/
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The MVC Literary Journal
The Horror of Knowing by Sandra Videmsky (a longer piece)
The Horror of Knowing - A ficticious (thankfully) story by Sandra Videmsky
“The president has today made a speech declaring that everyone should be tested for this disease,” the news reporter on the screen told the eagerly watching audience. Lizzy watched silently.
The CNN logo blinked on the screen before her, and the picture switched to President Obama himself standing outside the White House, crowded by microphones labeled with various network insignias and call letters reaching over one another to catch his every word. The breath came out of his mouth at intervals foggy from the frigid cold air outside DC in the January snows. “Knowledge is to everyone’s benefit to have, to use, and to then prudently act on. I personally am convinced that this nation needs as much preparation to fight this unknown challenge armed with the knowledge that could save us. This starts with each American making use of these tests to personally determine their own situation, and then we can make steps to work together to fight this epidemic and win. There is no doubt in any person’s mind that meeting this new intelligent people, the first besides ourselves, has brought evils already, but this does not mean that this great nation will shut out a new source which we can learn from and benefit from. We will not blind ourselves with intolerance and ignore what these people can offer, including something both parties want: a cure…” No doubt that he was a great orator, Lizzy could give him that.
Those words brought her out here this freezing morning, bundled under some four layers comprised of two shirts, a sweater, and a jacket, and then still chilly. She had not seen a line like this ever. The clinic where the tests were to be administered was not even in sight. Lizzy tried to remember the sense of urgency the CNN report had instilled in her the evening before about coming to be tested herself.
“A CNN exclusive interview…” He was a scientist, he was working to administer these tests, and he was an alien. He apologized for the horror that had been unleashed on the unsuspecting world. “We apologize that first contact could not have been made on better terms.” His English was fantastic, though accented. “The tests have been successfully used on humans. We fought this disease on our world, and we won. These tests were a deciding factor. Tests tell us if the subject has the disease, and how long he or she has to live, within a few weeks’ margin of error. We will make every effort on finding a cure, but it will take time to study how the disease has jumped species…”
The disease, known as Purple Spinal Affliction, spread quietly from their world, which had long before developed immunity to it. When the alien and human worlds collided, somehow traces of the old affliction escaped and started targeting humans, who had no immunity. It was a great deal for an ignorant world to shoulder at once: discovering intelligent life from beyond the Earth, and contracting their deadly pathogens.
Lizzy was there talking with her friends, the line crawling forward at snail’s pace. Well, the President’s message had worked, maybe a little too well. A number system had been set up. Speakers had popped up overnight in every store and on their fronts announcing numbers every so often. “Three-fifty-nine, you are next, number three-fiftynine.” Lizzy eyed her slip which read 511. She sighed, but saw Suzanne, who was habitually late to arrive had number 760. At least she could sit here in Borders sipping a coffee with her friends instead of going to work, since it was closed today.
“I wonder what sort of burdensome thing this is to administer if it takes this long,” Suzanne commented.
“Maybe there are simply too many people and too few clinics and that’s why it takes so long. You know, this is the only clinic in the county. At least for us it is close to home,” Angie, number 538, offered.
“This is worsely organized than Katrina. There will be complaints this evening for certain, maybe we will even see a picket line organize before us,” Lizzy said.
“The clinics are not this sparsely spread out everywhere, though,” Suzanne pointed out.
“I heard only the aliens themselves are giving these tests,” Angie said.
“Really? I have wanted to meet one myself since they appeared,” Lizzy voiced.
Angie echoed her, “I’m so curious what they are like.”
As the ultimate gesture of goodwill and trust between the two races, President Obama was one of the first to receive a test for the deadly affliction, after the Secret Service had all done so. They didn’t show the event on television, but Lizzy and her friends could imagine what it might have been like. The door clicked where the alien scientists were waiting shyly but professionally. Some small talk began between them, but died fast from the stifling solemnity of the atmosphere. He had the needle prepped in his hand and the president offered his arm. They waited tensely…
The test was negative. He did not have the Purple Spinal Affliction.
“Number four-forty-four, I won’t repeat it again. Come in two minutes, or you lose your chance…”
Lizzy was starting to feel irritated and over-caffeinated. Number 444 had quit, and others were walking away as well. She no longer had any desire to take the test, only to know her death sentence. That was all this test was. If you had the affliction, they told you how long you have to live. There was no cure; nothing was even being tried yet. If she had the disease, she was not contagious and nothing would happen to her until a week before the infection turned terminal. She would then have muscle spasms, episodes of blindness, all-over pain, and loss of motor skills culminating in paralysis and death. Essentially, she had nothing to gain and her life to lose. She figured she could always get tested later.
“I think I’m going home. I have had enough,” she announced.
“Why?” Suzanne said. “It can’t be more than thirty minutes until it is your turn, after we have already been here so long. This is important to do! Don’t you want to know?”
“Know whether or not I’m going to die if I’m not even sick? Not really. I think I will choose to live instead, not stand waiting to have my death warrant read.”
Angie stood up as well. “I agree. This scare is out of proportion. I understand getting tested for cancer because then you can get treatment, but for this there is not treatment. The apprehension would be worse than the disease.”
“I don’t want to live like that,” Lizzy proclaimed.
“Fine, then, but I’m staying right here. You should still get tested, if not today, soon,” Suzanne told them. She was always one to follow the rules to the letter. If Obama told her to get tested, she would stand out in the cold as long as it took to get tested. She didn’t even need him to take the test himself to prove his point.
Lizzy and Angie put on their sparkly dresses and red high heels that evening and went to a club that was still open. They danced and celebrated being alive while others morosely drowned the news of their deaths in alcohol. Lizzy met a handsome man as well who shared her sense of life.
Two years later, Lizzy had all but forgotten about Purple Spinal Affliction. She had a steady relationship. She and Angie never got tested and never showed symptoms of getting sick. Suzanne said her test came out negative and didn’t elaborate. The aliens had made no progress on a cure, and the condition was out of the media. Everything was fine, until when she, Angie, and Suzanne were out in Starbucks and Suzanne suddenly collapsed. She was shaking as though she was having a seizure. Angie screamed. Before Lizzy knew what was happening, the entire coffee shop was surrounding them. “Sue, what’s wrong?” She asked in a panicked voice.
“P..purp..purple s..spinal..” Suzanne stuttered. A stone dropped in Lizzy’s stomach.
“No, no! You said you didn’t have it. The tests were negative!”
The spasm had passed and Suzanne weakly heaved herself up, but could barely stand. Her voice shook as she said “I lied, okay? They told me I would die a week from today.”
“Oh, Lord,” Angie gasped, grabbing her arm to steady her.
“You made the right choice, Lizzy,” Suzanne told her slowly. “You lived. You and Angie both. You were right: it was a death warrant. I'm not even sure that it wasn't a set-up...”
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“The president has today made a speech declaring that everyone should be tested for this disease,” the news reporter on the screen told the eagerly watching audience. Lizzy watched silently.
The CNN logo blinked on the screen before her, and the picture switched to President Obama himself standing outside the White House, crowded by microphones labeled with various network insignias and call letters reaching over one another to catch his every word. The breath came out of his mouth at intervals foggy from the frigid cold air outside DC in the January snows. “Knowledge is to everyone’s benefit to have, to use, and to then prudently act on. I personally am convinced that this nation needs as much preparation to fight this unknown challenge armed with the knowledge that could save us. This starts with each American making use of these tests to personally determine their own situation, and then we can make steps to work together to fight this epidemic and win. There is no doubt in any person’s mind that meeting this new intelligent people, the first besides ourselves, has brought evils already, but this does not mean that this great nation will shut out a new source which we can learn from and benefit from. We will not blind ourselves with intolerance and ignore what these people can offer, including something both parties want: a cure…” No doubt that he was a great orator, Lizzy could give him that.
Those words brought her out here this freezing morning, bundled under some four layers comprised of two shirts, a sweater, and a jacket, and then still chilly. She had not seen a line like this ever. The clinic where the tests were to be administered was not even in sight. Lizzy tried to remember the sense of urgency the CNN report had instilled in her the evening before about coming to be tested herself.
“A CNN exclusive interview…” He was a scientist, he was working to administer these tests, and he was an alien. He apologized for the horror that had been unleashed on the unsuspecting world. “We apologize that first contact could not have been made on better terms.” His English was fantastic, though accented. “The tests have been successfully used on humans. We fought this disease on our world, and we won. These tests were a deciding factor. Tests tell us if the subject has the disease, and how long he or she has to live, within a few weeks’ margin of error. We will make every effort on finding a cure, but it will take time to study how the disease has jumped species…”
The disease, known as Purple Spinal Affliction, spread quietly from their world, which had long before developed immunity to it. When the alien and human worlds collided, somehow traces of the old affliction escaped and started targeting humans, who had no immunity. It was a great deal for an ignorant world to shoulder at once: discovering intelligent life from beyond the Earth, and contracting their deadly pathogens.
Lizzy was there talking with her friends, the line crawling forward at snail’s pace. Well, the President’s message had worked, maybe a little too well. A number system had been set up. Speakers had popped up overnight in every store and on their fronts announcing numbers every so often. “Three-fifty-nine, you are next, number three-fiftynine.” Lizzy eyed her slip which read 511. She sighed, but saw Suzanne, who was habitually late to arrive had number 760. At least she could sit here in Borders sipping a coffee with her friends instead of going to work, since it was closed today.
“I wonder what sort of burdensome thing this is to administer if it takes this long,” Suzanne commented.
“Maybe there are simply too many people and too few clinics and that’s why it takes so long. You know, this is the only clinic in the county. At least for us it is close to home,” Angie, number 538, offered.
“This is worsely organized than Katrina. There will be complaints this evening for certain, maybe we will even see a picket line organize before us,” Lizzy said.
“The clinics are not this sparsely spread out everywhere, though,” Suzanne pointed out.
“I heard only the aliens themselves are giving these tests,” Angie said.
“Really? I have wanted to meet one myself since they appeared,” Lizzy voiced.
Angie echoed her, “I’m so curious what they are like.”
As the ultimate gesture of goodwill and trust between the two races, President Obama was one of the first to receive a test for the deadly affliction, after the Secret Service had all done so. They didn’t show the event on television, but Lizzy and her friends could imagine what it might have been like. The door clicked where the alien scientists were waiting shyly but professionally. Some small talk began between them, but died fast from the stifling solemnity of the atmosphere. He had the needle prepped in his hand and the president offered his arm. They waited tensely…
The test was negative. He did not have the Purple Spinal Affliction.
“Number four-forty-four, I won’t repeat it again. Come in two minutes, or you lose your chance…”
Lizzy was starting to feel irritated and over-caffeinated. Number 444 had quit, and others were walking away as well. She no longer had any desire to take the test, only to know her death sentence. That was all this test was. If you had the affliction, they told you how long you have to live. There was no cure; nothing was even being tried yet. If she had the disease, she was not contagious and nothing would happen to her until a week before the infection turned terminal. She would then have muscle spasms, episodes of blindness, all-over pain, and loss of motor skills culminating in paralysis and death. Essentially, she had nothing to gain and her life to lose. She figured she could always get tested later.
“I think I’m going home. I have had enough,” she announced.
“Why?” Suzanne said. “It can’t be more than thirty minutes until it is your turn, after we have already been here so long. This is important to do! Don’t you want to know?”
“Know whether or not I’m going to die if I’m not even sick? Not really. I think I will choose to live instead, not stand waiting to have my death warrant read.”
Angie stood up as well. “I agree. This scare is out of proportion. I understand getting tested for cancer because then you can get treatment, but for this there is not treatment. The apprehension would be worse than the disease.”
“I don’t want to live like that,” Lizzy proclaimed.
“Fine, then, but I’m staying right here. You should still get tested, if not today, soon,” Suzanne told them. She was always one to follow the rules to the letter. If Obama told her to get tested, she would stand out in the cold as long as it took to get tested. She didn’t even need him to take the test himself to prove his point.
Lizzy and Angie put on their sparkly dresses and red high heels that evening and went to a club that was still open. They danced and celebrated being alive while others morosely drowned the news of their deaths in alcohol. Lizzy met a handsome man as well who shared her sense of life.
Two years later, Lizzy had all but forgotten about Purple Spinal Affliction. She had a steady relationship. She and Angie never got tested and never showed symptoms of getting sick. Suzanne said her test came out negative and didn’t elaborate. The aliens had made no progress on a cure, and the condition was out of the media. Everything was fine, until when she, Angie, and Suzanne were out in Starbucks and Suzanne suddenly collapsed. She was shaking as though she was having a seizure. Angie screamed. Before Lizzy knew what was happening, the entire coffee shop was surrounding them. “Sue, what’s wrong?” She asked in a panicked voice.
“P..purp..purple s..spinal..” Suzanne stuttered. A stone dropped in Lizzy’s stomach.
“No, no! You said you didn’t have it. The tests were negative!”
The spasm had passed and Suzanne weakly heaved herself up, but could barely stand. Her voice shook as she said “I lied, okay? They told me I would die a week from today.”
“Oh, Lord,” Angie gasped, grabbing her arm to steady her.
“You made the right choice, Lizzy,” Suzanne told her slowly. “You lived. You and Angie both. You were right: it was a death warrant. I'm not even sure that it wasn't a set-up...”
Labels: AP English 2009
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Guess by Erik Scott
They devour the ambrosia, as it devours them
Who in their heightened consciousness condemn
The truth and beauty of creation.
Yes, they devour their sweet ambrosia,
As it devours a nation.
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Who in their heightened consciousness condemn
The truth and beauty of creation.
Yes, they devour their sweet ambrosia,
As it devours a nation.
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Lifeguard by Josh Parks
"I met a man, his name was Bob
He was shorter then six inches.
He told me that he wanted the job
(When I poke him he flinches).
I asked him for his credentials,
He told me he had none,
But said that he had the potential
To be my number one.
I said that I would give him
A chance to prove his worth,
So I told him jump in and swim
And this gave him much mirth.
I look upon the ocean,
It has been ten long years,
I'm starting to get the notion
That he'll never reappear.
When I look across the ocean at night
I sometimes hear a faint sound.
It gives me the chills of fright
Because I think that Bob has drowned..."
"I see the man out on the beach
The one who gave me this job.
Sadly the shore's just out of reach
And I begin to sob.
We are so close, but yet so far
He'd save me if he knew
That I sit out here upon a bar.
If only, only he had a clue..."
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He was shorter then six inches.
He told me that he wanted the job
(When I poke him he flinches).
I asked him for his credentials,
He told me he had none,
But said that he had the potential
To be my number one.
I said that I would give him
A chance to prove his worth,
So I told him jump in and swim
And this gave him much mirth.
I look upon the ocean,
It has been ten long years,
I'm starting to get the notion
That he'll never reappear.
When I look across the ocean at night
I sometimes hear a faint sound.
It gives me the chills of fright
Because I think that Bob has drowned..."
"I see the man out on the beach
The one who gave me this job.
Sadly the shore's just out of reach
And I begin to sob.
We are so close, but yet so far
He'd save me if he knew
That I sit out here upon a bar.
If only, only he had a clue..."
Labels: AP English 2009
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Elise Fleishman, untitled
Intertwined ivy completely fused
standing abused
often warned about the dangers
those midnight strangers
When the darkest shadow overhangs
we cry in anguish
through the air only
can we liberate the lonely
To take the edge off
to dig out of the trough
to paste the pieces
relief the creases
Beuaty of the dark
is the night song
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standing abused
often warned about the dangers
those midnight strangers
When the darkest shadow overhangs
we cry in anguish
through the air only
can we liberate the lonely
To take the edge off
to dig out of the trough
to paste the pieces
relief the creases
Beuaty of the dark
is the night song
Labels: AP English 2009
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Love is a Messy Thing by Haley Samuelson
Throughout life, we are presented with opportunity in different shapes and sizes. These particular opportunities transform into choices. Choices outline, and categorize us as individuals. Society varies in numerous ways, in relation to: perspective, demeanor, countanence, and appearance. Despite this, there is universality: happiness. Each person, distinctive, follows their own pursuit of happiness. Presenting myself with the mere question: What is real? The majority of teenagers have a warped perception of what is real. To bring the topic of love into a personal level, I'm intrigued by the intricacy. The idea of its fragility and strength combined into one formula that is endless. Being young, there is naivety within that is not deliberate, or there is any cure for. Where does love fit in the scheme of things? Wouldn't our lives hold serenity and meaning if we looked to what has no beginning and end as our reality? Love is a messy thing. There is need for maturity. It has to be taken care of, maintained, let alone pushed aside, or given minimal effort.
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Labels: AP English 2009
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Time by Jessica Gaubatz
Time is like the neverending
circle of life.
It stops for no one,
but renders man with
age,
infirmity,
demise,
unsympathetic to pleasure,
promise, youth, or bloom.
It judges not, it hastens not,
nor can it be rewound.
It contines, slipping
through the hands of fate,
like grains of sand.
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circle of life.
It stops for no one,
but renders man with
age,
infirmity,
demise,
unsympathetic to pleasure,
promise, youth, or bloom.
It judges not, it hastens not,
nor can it be rewound.
It contines, slipping
through the hands of fate,
like grains of sand.
Labels: AP English 2009
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Untitled by Enrique A. Guzman
Leave me a scent in a bottle,
So i may never desire air.
Give me a piece of your heart,
For I may save mine from despair.
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So i may never desire air.
Give me a piece of your heart,
For I may save mine from despair.
Labels: AP English 2009
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Shelby Wilson "The Secret Life of the American Otaku"
Here’s the thing. On the outside, I look completely normal. Nothing suspicious here at all my appearance says. Nothing suspicious at all. Little do people know that lurking just below the surface is the beast known as the otaku fan girl. I’ve tried to curb her ferocious appetite with books and romance movies on the women’s channel, really I’ve tried, but I just cannot quell the ravenous appetite for all things Japan related. As if being an American fan girl wasn’t bad enough…I had to go global.
But despite the near constant cravings for manga and the like I have somehow fooled everyone into thinking that I am completely common. It’s quite sad that the vast majority of the world comes up with a certain image when they think anime-lover. Sometimes this image is of the pervy old man that you see in the manga aisle, chuckling to himself over scantily clad, big breasted Japanese (and those two words never seem to go together in real life, but for some reason in the world of manga and anime they abound) women. Rarely is it the honor roll student in a t-shirt and jeans harassing the Borders staff about the latest edition of The Wallflower that they still haven’t received. Of course, this is not to say that you cannot be into anime and manga unless you are a pervy old man, I am a case in point, I just haven’t found a lot of these people yet. So suffice it to say that I am a world class, completely obsessed otaku. And by otaku I mean zealous fan girl of all things manga/anime/Japanese related.
I should probably start out by saying which level of otaku I am at. You see, there are the really crazed otakus, and by really crazed I mean the people whose rooms are covered in anime figurines and go to comic conventions in outrageous costumes and generally live in the big black hole that once was their room streaming anime offline. And then there are the people who are into anime and stuff, but really don’t talk about it all that much and for the most part live on the fringes between occasional bursts of fan girl love and could live without it. I am somewhere in the middle of the two.
The thing about manga is that it is a great mind relaxer. With a normal book you have to visualize what the words are describing to you, but with manga everything is all laid out before you in pretty pretty pictures. Absolutely no brainpower required whatsoever! Manga, or as I sometimes call it, man-ga, of the persuasion I read is also full of drop dead gorgeous, I wish you would just leap out of this book and come alive right now men. And I do believe that they can turn just about any book from bad to good in about a nanosecond. Of course, there is serious manga as well, that actually deals with real life situations, but I don’t bother with it. I prefer escapism.
The first manga I ever read was Fruits Basket, which is the most popular manga for girls in the US. And it’s not hard to see why: hot men abound. I borrowed it from a friend who I noticed reading it one day and I was hooked. So what if I couldn’t’ tell the boys from the girls half the time? (Once you had figured out it was a boy you could not deny the inherent hotness.) I still loved it.
Yet another thing I love about Japan, besides the glorious gift of manga, is the country’s broad definition of what is stylish. And by broad I pretty much mean anything goes. In Shibuya (a district of Tokyo) for instance, there are a group of people who dress up in furry animal costumes and go about their business as, let’s say, a hamster. That is acceptance right there. The Japanese don’t sneak up on these people when they are unaware and drag them off to What not to Wear to cure them of their fashion ills, instead they just let them go about their hamstery business. Now that is pretty spiffy.
Of course, being the Japan freak that I am I am also an avid watcher of anime. And not just any anime either. You see, I wouldn’t be so bad if I just watched “adult” anime such as Cowboy Bebop and Death Note, I could at least defend myself with that. Instead, for the most part I happily choose to destroy my IQ by watching what is basically pure, unadulterated fluff. What makes it even better is that it is fluff aimed at ten year old girls. Magical girl characters and pointless plot twists abound. But I cannot help but be riveted. My theory is that my brain is so full of AP lit books all the time that I have to watch something with positively no literary merit whatsoever in order to detox myself. And cartoons aimed at little girls are just the answer. Of course, I do watch some serious stuff too but nothing can beat that guilty-pleasure thrill of watching happily every after unfold, in Japanese no less.
So suffice it to say that I am hooked, absolutely and utterly gone, don’t even try to drag me back because I will kick and scream the whole time, clutching my manga for dear life. It took me a while to accept something about myself which I basically viewed as something only geeks were into, but once I had opened up to it I realized what a dummy I had been. There’s nothing wrong with having a passion for something, and if my passion happens to be watching a cartoon with the damning name Save Me! Lollipop, then at least I know the ride will be fun.
Nakajo, Hisaya. Hana Kimi: For You in Full Blossom. San Francisco: Viz Media LLC, 2004.
Absolutely classic example of shoujo (girl’s) manga. Mizuki dresses up in drag and attends an all boy’s school in order to meet Sano, a boy who she idolized from afar in sports magazines. Mizuki sounding like a crazed stalker is the least of this story’s problems though. What is much more important is that Sano has quit the high jump (GASP!) and that Mizuki is falling for him (SHOCKING!). This twenty-three volume series chronicles Mizuki’s various exploits as she tries to keep her gender a secret and Sano tries to pretend he doesn’t know about it. And you have to give the boy some credit. After all, the two were roommates and he somehow managed to keep his hands off her for twenty-one of those twenty-three volumes…although I kind of wish he’d made up his mind a little sooner, watching him long for Mizuki as she slept in the bed above his was torture. I mean, get on with it already!
Konomi, Takeshi. The Prince of Tennis. San Francisco: Viz Media LLC, 2004.
Sports manga = shonen = Prince of Tennis. This epic masterpiece follows Ryoma Echizen, a strangely pretty boy (all of the guy characters in manga tend to be scarily attractive) who plays on his school’s tennis team. Once he realizes that younger students are looked down upon on the team he makes it his mission to defeat all comers, and win equal status for all. How the Japanese have been able to stomach twenty-eight plus volumes of tennis driven testosterone I cannot tell you, they even loved it so much the made a musical out of it.
Steinberger, Aimee Major. Japan Ai: A Tall Girl’s Adventures in Japan. San Francisco: Go!Comi, 2007.
This travel manga follows Aimee, a six foot tall woman, and her two friends as they travel through Japan. The travel diary format gives the reader a great example of Japanese culture through the eyes of an American. Important lessons are learned such as: 1)Bring your own clothes because no way no how is Japanese women’s clothing going to fit over your boobs, not to mention your thighs. 2) If you have a tattoo you better not just hop into a public bath all willy-nilly because the Japanese women in the bath will think you are with the yakuza (read Japanese mafia) and will fear for their lives. 3) Be prepared to live the life of no personal space whatsoever because Tokyo real estate is crammed at best and “get me out of here or I’m going to die of asphyxiation right now” at worst. These and many other very very important lessons can be learned by reading this book, such as what exactly is a maid café, but I simply just don’t have enough space to truly show its otaku brilliance.
My Neighbor Totoro. Dir. Hayao Miyazaki. Perf. Kitoshi Takagi and Noriko Hidaka. DVD. 20th Century Fox: 2002.
Quite possibly the cutest movie known to mankind, and a classic children’s film in Japan. Why is it that the Asian countries are able to pop out stuff so cute that anything frumpy old America puts out looks ugly in comparison? My Neighbor Totoro makes you want to leave the world of American animation far behind you it’s so sweet. It’s almost like a vortex of cuteness that sucks up everything in its path. So long Toy Story. Good bye Shrek. It was good while it lasted Disney. This has them all beat. The film tells the story of Satsuki and Mei, sisters who moved to the country with their father in order to be closer to their mother who is in the hospital. While exploring the forest outside their home they come across Totoro, the king of the forest (He’s so cute you just want o give him a big fat hug, which come to think of it isn’t exactly an attribute you look for in a king, but whatever.)When the girls are led to believe that their mother’s condition has worsened Mei runs away, but in the true spirit of children’s entertainment is saved by Satsuki and Totoro (with some help from the Cat Bus) and they all live happily ever after.
Evers, Izumi and Macias, Patrick. Japanese Schoolgirl Inferno: Tokyo Teen Fashion Subculture Handbook. San Francisco: Chronicle Books, 2007.
Ah, the world of Japanese teenage fashion. How I love it so. I mean, You’ve got to respect a country where it is fashionably acceptable in a very large circle to spray tan yourself until you look like a burnt orange, dye your hair silver, slather tons of make-up on your face, and wear short skirts. Or you could go for the Goth Lolita look, and dress up like a suicidal Victorian doll. Black ruffles with lace are expected. I mean, don’t you just want to go and live there just for that. It’s like Halloween every day. This book even goes into what boyfriend you should have in order to best compliment you preferred style.
Takaya, Natsuki. Fruits Basket. Los Angeles: TokyoPop, 2004.
Ah, the start of my expensive ($10 a pop!) addiction to manga. This series follows teenager Tohru Honda, who was recently orphaned and through various circumstances comes to live with the Sohma family. Only problem is the Sohma family is possessed by the thirteen animals of the Chinese zodiac, and will turn into said animal when embraced by a member of the opposite sex. Of course, this makes romance kind of an issue for poor Tohru, but no matter! Love conquers all! Or at least some strategically placed barrier in the hug does.
Hayakawa, Tomoko. The Wallflower. New York: Del Ray, 2004.
This series’ heroine is pretty much the antithesis of every other shoujo heroine ever created. Sunako Nakahara hates her appearance, is into all things horror/goth/death related and cannot even look at a good looking boy without getting a nosebleed (the Japanese equivalent of being turned on). Of course, to fill the dark hole that was once the standard shoujo plotline that Sunako has brutally destroyed, Hayakawa has her living in a house full of four bishonen (literally “beautiful boys”) men. Sunako’s aunt has offered these four free rent if they turn Sunako into a lady, and of course they accept before they actually see what they have to work with. Part of the series’ charm is the artist’s ramblings in the extra pages. She goes on about various J-rock bands with reckless fan girl abandon. It’s always good to know that there are people out there just as obsessed as you.
Pretear. Dir. Kiyoko Sayama. Perf. Sayuri Yoshida and Shotaru Morikubo. DVD. ADV Films: 2004.
This show is basically pure fluff aimed at twelve year old girls that has been brought to life by brilliant Japanese animators. That being said, it is completely redeemed by the main character’s love interest Hayate. The main premise is that Himeno, a girl whose father has remarried a very wealthy woman with two daughters, must join forces with the leafe knights as the pretear in order to fight the Princess of Darkness (Cheesiest title ever! And don’t the Leafe Knights sound like some sort of deranged cult!?) and save the world. Himeno accepts and learns that leafe is what keeps all things alive, and that the POD wants it all to take revenge on Hayate, the leafe knight of wind, who rejected her love. Will Himeno save the world!? Will she master her pretear abilities?! Will the POD’s hurt feelings finally be soothed in an unexpected plot twist?! The answer of course is yes, but that doesn’t make watching any less fun.
Hatori, Bisco. Ouran High School Host Club. San Francisco: Viz Media LLC, 2005.
One of this series main purposes is to make as much fun of standardized shoujo manga as it possibly can. For starters, one of the main character’s love interests, Tamaki Suoh, is a completely narcissistic crybaby who acts like a total drama queen all the time. Of course, this type of character is not alien to the world of shoujo, just not as a main love interest. Instead, he would be the love interest’s goofy best friend. Of course, the series does follow the mold in some cases. Scholarship student Haruhi Fugioka is forced to join the Ouran High School Host Club after breaking an expensive vase. The club is made up entirely of males, who have nothing better to do than entertain all the females that come to their club. Problem is Haruhi is a girl, and to pay off her debt with the vase she has to dress up as a guy and get one hundred customers. So the reverse harem plotline ensues, with half the guys ending up falling in love with her. What makes this fun is that the author doesn’t take things too seriously. She knows that in the end, what she is writing is a shoujo manga, and is happy to take it where shoujo is bound to go.
Bryson, Jodi. Gothic and Lolita Bible. Los Angeles: TokyoPop, 2008.
The fan girls were waiting with bated breath for this one, let me tell you. After a twenty volume plus run in Japan the holy handbook of all things Goth Lolita has finally been translated. Of course, there was some grumbling over the fact that there weren’t any patterns for dresses, and pinafores (yes, pinafores) and such, but the fan girls have taken what they could get. Another interesting note is that this is advertised as a mook, which is apparently a book/magazine hybrid. Was this actually a word before Gothic and Lolita Bible or was it so special that they had to come up with their own word for it? I will never know. Suffice it to say that this is the supreme power in informing all the little American goth loli people on what to do to stay at the height of goth loli fashion. I will admit that many of the dresses are rather cute… but you will never catch me wearing a frilly apron and crinolines to math class.
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But despite the near constant cravings for manga and the like I have somehow fooled everyone into thinking that I am completely common. It’s quite sad that the vast majority of the world comes up with a certain image when they think anime-lover. Sometimes this image is of the pervy old man that you see in the manga aisle, chuckling to himself over scantily clad, big breasted Japanese (and those two words never seem to go together in real life, but for some reason in the world of manga and anime they abound) women. Rarely is it the honor roll student in a t-shirt and jeans harassing the Borders staff about the latest edition of The Wallflower that they still haven’t received. Of course, this is not to say that you cannot be into anime and manga unless you are a pervy old man, I am a case in point, I just haven’t found a lot of these people yet. So suffice it to say that I am a world class, completely obsessed otaku. And by otaku I mean zealous fan girl of all things manga/anime/Japanese related.
I should probably start out by saying which level of otaku I am at. You see, there are the really crazed otakus, and by really crazed I mean the people whose rooms are covered in anime figurines and go to comic conventions in outrageous costumes and generally live in the big black hole that once was their room streaming anime offline. And then there are the people who are into anime and stuff, but really don’t talk about it all that much and for the most part live on the fringes between occasional bursts of fan girl love and could live without it. I am somewhere in the middle of the two.
The thing about manga is that it is a great mind relaxer. With a normal book you have to visualize what the words are describing to you, but with manga everything is all laid out before you in pretty pretty pictures. Absolutely no brainpower required whatsoever! Manga, or as I sometimes call it, man-ga, of the persuasion I read is also full of drop dead gorgeous, I wish you would just leap out of this book and come alive right now men. And I do believe that they can turn just about any book from bad to good in about a nanosecond. Of course, there is serious manga as well, that actually deals with real life situations, but I don’t bother with it. I prefer escapism.
The first manga I ever read was Fruits Basket, which is the most popular manga for girls in the US. And it’s not hard to see why: hot men abound. I borrowed it from a friend who I noticed reading it one day and I was hooked. So what if I couldn’t’ tell the boys from the girls half the time? (Once you had figured out it was a boy you could not deny the inherent hotness.) I still loved it.
Yet another thing I love about Japan, besides the glorious gift of manga, is the country’s broad definition of what is stylish. And by broad I pretty much mean anything goes. In Shibuya (a district of Tokyo) for instance, there are a group of people who dress up in furry animal costumes and go about their business as, let’s say, a hamster. That is acceptance right there. The Japanese don’t sneak up on these people when they are unaware and drag them off to What not to Wear to cure them of their fashion ills, instead they just let them go about their hamstery business. Now that is pretty spiffy.
Of course, being the Japan freak that I am I am also an avid watcher of anime. And not just any anime either. You see, I wouldn’t be so bad if I just watched “adult” anime such as Cowboy Bebop and Death Note, I could at least defend myself with that. Instead, for the most part I happily choose to destroy my IQ by watching what is basically pure, unadulterated fluff. What makes it even better is that it is fluff aimed at ten year old girls. Magical girl characters and pointless plot twists abound. But I cannot help but be riveted. My theory is that my brain is so full of AP lit books all the time that I have to watch something with positively no literary merit whatsoever in order to detox myself. And cartoons aimed at little girls are just the answer. Of course, I do watch some serious stuff too but nothing can beat that guilty-pleasure thrill of watching happily every after unfold, in Japanese no less.
So suffice it to say that I am hooked, absolutely and utterly gone, don’t even try to drag me back because I will kick and scream the whole time, clutching my manga for dear life. It took me a while to accept something about myself which I basically viewed as something only geeks were into, but once I had opened up to it I realized what a dummy I had been. There’s nothing wrong with having a passion for something, and if my passion happens to be watching a cartoon with the damning name Save Me! Lollipop, then at least I know the ride will be fun.
Nakajo, Hisaya. Hana Kimi: For You in Full Blossom. San Francisco: Viz Media LLC, 2004.
Absolutely classic example of shoujo (girl’s) manga. Mizuki dresses up in drag and attends an all boy’s school in order to meet Sano, a boy who she idolized from afar in sports magazines. Mizuki sounding like a crazed stalker is the least of this story’s problems though. What is much more important is that Sano has quit the high jump (GASP!) and that Mizuki is falling for him (SHOCKING!). This twenty-three volume series chronicles Mizuki’s various exploits as she tries to keep her gender a secret and Sano tries to pretend he doesn’t know about it. And you have to give the boy some credit. After all, the two were roommates and he somehow managed to keep his hands off her for twenty-one of those twenty-three volumes…although I kind of wish he’d made up his mind a little sooner, watching him long for Mizuki as she slept in the bed above his was torture. I mean, get on with it already!
Konomi, Takeshi. The Prince of Tennis. San Francisco: Viz Media LLC, 2004.
Sports manga = shonen = Prince of Tennis. This epic masterpiece follows Ryoma Echizen, a strangely pretty boy (all of the guy characters in manga tend to be scarily attractive) who plays on his school’s tennis team. Once he realizes that younger students are looked down upon on the team he makes it his mission to defeat all comers, and win equal status for all. How the Japanese have been able to stomach twenty-eight plus volumes of tennis driven testosterone I cannot tell you, they even loved it so much the made a musical out of it.
Steinberger, Aimee Major. Japan Ai: A Tall Girl’s Adventures in Japan. San Francisco: Go!Comi, 2007.
This travel manga follows Aimee, a six foot tall woman, and her two friends as they travel through Japan. The travel diary format gives the reader a great example of Japanese culture through the eyes of an American. Important lessons are learned such as: 1)Bring your own clothes because no way no how is Japanese women’s clothing going to fit over your boobs, not to mention your thighs. 2) If you have a tattoo you better not just hop into a public bath all willy-nilly because the Japanese women in the bath will think you are with the yakuza (read Japanese mafia) and will fear for their lives. 3) Be prepared to live the life of no personal space whatsoever because Tokyo real estate is crammed at best and “get me out of here or I’m going to die of asphyxiation right now” at worst. These and many other very very important lessons can be learned by reading this book, such as what exactly is a maid café, but I simply just don’t have enough space to truly show its otaku brilliance.
My Neighbor Totoro. Dir. Hayao Miyazaki. Perf. Kitoshi Takagi and Noriko Hidaka. DVD. 20th Century Fox: 2002.
Quite possibly the cutest movie known to mankind, and a classic children’s film in Japan. Why is it that the Asian countries are able to pop out stuff so cute that anything frumpy old America puts out looks ugly in comparison? My Neighbor Totoro makes you want to leave the world of American animation far behind you it’s so sweet. It’s almost like a vortex of cuteness that sucks up everything in its path. So long Toy Story. Good bye Shrek. It was good while it lasted Disney. This has them all beat. The film tells the story of Satsuki and Mei, sisters who moved to the country with their father in order to be closer to their mother who is in the hospital. While exploring the forest outside their home they come across Totoro, the king of the forest (He’s so cute you just want o give him a big fat hug, which come to think of it isn’t exactly an attribute you look for in a king, but whatever.)When the girls are led to believe that their mother’s condition has worsened Mei runs away, but in the true spirit of children’s entertainment is saved by Satsuki and Totoro (with some help from the Cat Bus) and they all live happily ever after.
Evers, Izumi and Macias, Patrick. Japanese Schoolgirl Inferno: Tokyo Teen Fashion Subculture Handbook. San Francisco: Chronicle Books, 2007.
Ah, the world of Japanese teenage fashion. How I love it so. I mean, You’ve got to respect a country where it is fashionably acceptable in a very large circle to spray tan yourself until you look like a burnt orange, dye your hair silver, slather tons of make-up on your face, and wear short skirts. Or you could go for the Goth Lolita look, and dress up like a suicidal Victorian doll. Black ruffles with lace are expected. I mean, don’t you just want to go and live there just for that. It’s like Halloween every day. This book even goes into what boyfriend you should have in order to best compliment you preferred style.
Takaya, Natsuki. Fruits Basket. Los Angeles: TokyoPop, 2004.
Ah, the start of my expensive ($10 a pop!) addiction to manga. This series follows teenager Tohru Honda, who was recently orphaned and through various circumstances comes to live with the Sohma family. Only problem is the Sohma family is possessed by the thirteen animals of the Chinese zodiac, and will turn into said animal when embraced by a member of the opposite sex. Of course, this makes romance kind of an issue for poor Tohru, but no matter! Love conquers all! Or at least some strategically placed barrier in the hug does.
Hayakawa, Tomoko. The Wallflower. New York: Del Ray, 2004.
This series’ heroine is pretty much the antithesis of every other shoujo heroine ever created. Sunako Nakahara hates her appearance, is into all things horror/goth/death related and cannot even look at a good looking boy without getting a nosebleed (the Japanese equivalent of being turned on). Of course, to fill the dark hole that was once the standard shoujo plotline that Sunako has brutally destroyed, Hayakawa has her living in a house full of four bishonen (literally “beautiful boys”) men. Sunako’s aunt has offered these four free rent if they turn Sunako into a lady, and of course they accept before they actually see what they have to work with. Part of the series’ charm is the artist’s ramblings in the extra pages. She goes on about various J-rock bands with reckless fan girl abandon. It’s always good to know that there are people out there just as obsessed as you.
Pretear. Dir. Kiyoko Sayama. Perf. Sayuri Yoshida and Shotaru Morikubo. DVD. ADV Films: 2004.
This show is basically pure fluff aimed at twelve year old girls that has been brought to life by brilliant Japanese animators. That being said, it is completely redeemed by the main character’s love interest Hayate. The main premise is that Himeno, a girl whose father has remarried a very wealthy woman with two daughters, must join forces with the leafe knights as the pretear in order to fight the Princess of Darkness (Cheesiest title ever! And don’t the Leafe Knights sound like some sort of deranged cult!?) and save the world. Himeno accepts and learns that leafe is what keeps all things alive, and that the POD wants it all to take revenge on Hayate, the leafe knight of wind, who rejected her love. Will Himeno save the world!? Will she master her pretear abilities?! Will the POD’s hurt feelings finally be soothed in an unexpected plot twist?! The answer of course is yes, but that doesn’t make watching any less fun.
Hatori, Bisco. Ouran High School Host Club. San Francisco: Viz Media LLC, 2005.
One of this series main purposes is to make as much fun of standardized shoujo manga as it possibly can. For starters, one of the main character’s love interests, Tamaki Suoh, is a completely narcissistic crybaby who acts like a total drama queen all the time. Of course, this type of character is not alien to the world of shoujo, just not as a main love interest. Instead, he would be the love interest’s goofy best friend. Of course, the series does follow the mold in some cases. Scholarship student Haruhi Fugioka is forced to join the Ouran High School Host Club after breaking an expensive vase. The club is made up entirely of males, who have nothing better to do than entertain all the females that come to their club. Problem is Haruhi is a girl, and to pay off her debt with the vase she has to dress up as a guy and get one hundred customers. So the reverse harem plotline ensues, with half the guys ending up falling in love with her. What makes this fun is that the author doesn’t take things too seriously. She knows that in the end, what she is writing is a shoujo manga, and is happy to take it where shoujo is bound to go.
Bryson, Jodi. Gothic and Lolita Bible. Los Angeles: TokyoPop, 2008.
The fan girls were waiting with bated breath for this one, let me tell you. After a twenty volume plus run in Japan the holy handbook of all things Goth Lolita has finally been translated. Of course, there was some grumbling over the fact that there weren’t any patterns for dresses, and pinafores (yes, pinafores) and such, but the fan girls have taken what they could get. Another interesting note is that this is advertised as a mook, which is apparently a book/magazine hybrid. Was this actually a word before Gothic and Lolita Bible or was it so special that they had to come up with their own word for it? I will never know. Suffice it to say that this is the supreme power in informing all the little American goth loli people on what to do to stay at the height of goth loli fashion. I will admit that many of the dresses are rather cute… but you will never catch me wearing a frilly apron and crinolines to math class.
Labels: AP English 2009
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Jericho by Emily Perino
Bring it down.
I've tiptoed circles around you,
But my patience has run short.
Sound the horns.
Loud and clear,
The words have been spoken, My dear.
March off.
With rage boiling.
You don't understand,
But you march.
Watch it fall.
Crumbling down the cheeks of lost lovers.
But we've won-
Sound the horns, we've won.
The walls have crashed-
But we've won.
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I've tiptoed circles around you,
But my patience has run short.
Sound the horns.
Loud and clear,
The words have been spoken, My dear.
March off.
With rage boiling.
You don't understand,
But you march.
Watch it fall.
Crumbling down the cheeks of lost lovers.
But we've won-
Sound the horns, we've won.
The walls have crashed-
But we've won.
Labels: AP English 2009
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Suspense by Lacey Kral
My hot pink high top chuck taylors hit the pavement hard with every measured footfall. My breaths were coming shorter and shorter together and it seemed like the sprint across campus would last forever. I felt like a tiny army of belligerent rodents were trying to escape from lungs- directly through my rib cage. There was no way tell how far behind my assailants were, or how much they had deciphered about me.
I knew they had my cell phone number, I had been receiving somewhat alarming text messages from untraceable numbers, presumably some internet text message site. I was worried, but disregarded them.
I kind of expected things to get weird when I left my fancy prep school for my hometown high school. I didn’t want to leave- I was forced out. After the investigation of the plagiarism epidemic in our AP English classes, it was revealed there was not only a tendency towards cheating, but also a tendency towards heavy drug usage. The whole class was very politely “asked to withdraw” to keep the publicity to a minimum.
I switched to the public school in my mid size farm town. It was October, the October of senior year of high school. I had always been a straight shooter, no funny business. I didn’t do the drugs, and I definitely wrote my own papers!
Restarting my life at a new school already part way through the school year was not awesome. I hardly knew anyone. I’ve always been the studious, awkward, shy type. I didn’t eat at school generally, I was totally spoiled by gourmet “prep school” food. Usually, I would pick a quiet table in the corner of the poorly stocked, poorly lit, poorly managed library and study.
It was on one of those lunch times, in fact, that was the very reason I found myself awkwardly sprinting across campus for my very life. It was one of those very lunch times, when I was pouring over my AP Chemistry book, furiously memorizing all the properties of the first 28 elements that I met the catalyst of all my problems. Jose.
I hadn’t noticed him when I walked in. I suppose I had failed to notice anything, but I liked it that way. At this school, you were held responsible for what you witnessed. At my old school, people took all their extra curricular activities off campus in their fancy cars. I put on my proverbial blinders and made beeline for my table.
I didn’t hear him approach. Actually, I saw his brown work boots first...
“I didn’t mean to interrupt you, Miss, but is that AP Chem?”
I inclined my head slightly and he continued, “Well, I see you in here every day and, actually I’m in your Chem class next period. I- I’m really struggling understanding all these atom things. I mean I take notes... but well, I sit behind you and I’ve seen the grades you get. I know this is weird but... Could I, uh, study with you once or twice a week?”
I looked up at the young man who had addressed me. I tried to hide my surprise but I was stunned by the sun tanned skin, the muscles hardened by working in fields, and look on his face, like it would crush him to have me decline.
I mumbled something incoherent and motioned to the chair across from me. He sat down, opened his book, smiled and that is how all my problems started. We met at first twice a week, but then it turned into daly study meeting. We traded lessons. I explained the Chemistry principles, in more layman’s terms, and he tutored me in spanish, eventually including bringing traditional food from home that his aunt had prepared the night before.
Not long after that, I started getting the sidelong glances, odd text messages. “Stay with your own kind grenga” A girl in my English class asked me if i couldn’t find “real” company at lunch. It progressed from there. My parents had always taught me to rise above, and I didn’t think anything was too serious.
Every Friday was quiz day in Chemistry, and this was the last quiz before the Midterm, in exactly a week. This meant that every Thursday was a Chemistry day in the library. I had gotten an even larger barrage of hateful and warning text messages. Usually I would get two- maybe three- a week, but I had gotten five, all between eleven and two in the morning the night before. the last one was most ominous reading “open ur eyes white ***** wut dont u see?”
Today was thursday morning and I arrived at school a little late, which always made me a little flustered. After fourth period, I dodged off to the library. I was alarmed to see three large, dark haired males sitting at my table. White shirts, dark glasses, baggy dark jeans and- blue bandanas? I started to change directions and head for another table. Where was Jose? He was like me, didn’t really run with any crowd. Those guys may look like him, but they didn’t seem like the kind of guys he would spend his kick back time with.
I was a little nervous but I tried to keep my cool. Then one called out, “Hey, grenga!” I ignored him and started to sit down at a table across the room but the verbal assault continued. "Why don’t you come on over and study with us?" I glanced over and noticed the librarian was definitely not at her desk, definitely not seeing thing, and could definitely not protect me. "So, Jose isn't going to be joining us today… He got a little caught up at home. We wanted to party at his house last night, but he was too busy studying. Too busy trying to be a grengo, getting ready la universidad. He thinks he's so much better than us." The biggest one sat down at the table with me and started to tap his fingers wildly. "But, white girl, you got another thing coming. Notice there weren't any Mexi-White couples around here? That's because it isn't done. So we just wanted to give you a little reminder…" The other two started digging in their pockets- and I bolted.
I had no clue if I could out run them, or where I would go. I just had to get out of there. I pulled my phone out of my back pocket and read a text from Jose, "STAY AWAY FROM LIBRARY" I kept running. I had no idea where I was going. I passed the history and English building complexes. I was just rounding the corner of the foreign language building when I realized there was always a cop in the parking lot. I turned around and took a convoluted path back to the parking lot.
Luckily, the cop was at my end of the lot and I slowed to a jog. I glanced at my car, parked three rows down and a good three hundred feet away. Sauntering around near by, were two more crazy looking large boys, both bearing the blue bandana. I ran up to the cop and begged him to save me. He looked at me funny and I cocked my head toward the two scary looking boys. He squinted at me, then nodded his head. I climbed into the front seat of his car and hunkered down. He asked me what was going on, and I began at the beginning of the story.
He said he would call my parents to come get me, and that I might have to change schools again. I laughed and told him I could handle it.
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I knew they had my cell phone number, I had been receiving somewhat alarming text messages from untraceable numbers, presumably some internet text message site. I was worried, but disregarded them.
I kind of expected things to get weird when I left my fancy prep school for my hometown high school. I didn’t want to leave- I was forced out. After the investigation of the plagiarism epidemic in our AP English classes, it was revealed there was not only a tendency towards cheating, but also a tendency towards heavy drug usage. The whole class was very politely “asked to withdraw” to keep the publicity to a minimum.
I switched to the public school in my mid size farm town. It was October, the October of senior year of high school. I had always been a straight shooter, no funny business. I didn’t do the drugs, and I definitely wrote my own papers!
Restarting my life at a new school already part way through the school year was not awesome. I hardly knew anyone. I’ve always been the studious, awkward, shy type. I didn’t eat at school generally, I was totally spoiled by gourmet “prep school” food. Usually, I would pick a quiet table in the corner of the poorly stocked, poorly lit, poorly managed library and study.
It was on one of those lunch times, in fact, that was the very reason I found myself awkwardly sprinting across campus for my very life. It was one of those very lunch times, when I was pouring over my AP Chemistry book, furiously memorizing all the properties of the first 28 elements that I met the catalyst of all my problems. Jose.
I hadn’t noticed him when I walked in. I suppose I had failed to notice anything, but I liked it that way. At this school, you were held responsible for what you witnessed. At my old school, people took all their extra curricular activities off campus in their fancy cars. I put on my proverbial blinders and made beeline for my table.
I didn’t hear him approach. Actually, I saw his brown work boots first...
“I didn’t mean to interrupt you, Miss, but is that AP Chem?”
I inclined my head slightly and he continued, “Well, I see you in here every day and, actually I’m in your Chem class next period. I- I’m really struggling understanding all these atom things. I mean I take notes... but well, I sit behind you and I’ve seen the grades you get. I know this is weird but... Could I, uh, study with you once or twice a week?”
I looked up at the young man who had addressed me. I tried to hide my surprise but I was stunned by the sun tanned skin, the muscles hardened by working in fields, and look on his face, like it would crush him to have me decline.
I mumbled something incoherent and motioned to the chair across from me. He sat down, opened his book, smiled and that is how all my problems started. We met at first twice a week, but then it turned into daly study meeting. We traded lessons. I explained the Chemistry principles, in more layman’s terms, and he tutored me in spanish, eventually including bringing traditional food from home that his aunt had prepared the night before.
Not long after that, I started getting the sidelong glances, odd text messages. “Stay with your own kind grenga” A girl in my English class asked me if i couldn’t find “real” company at lunch. It progressed from there. My parents had always taught me to rise above, and I didn’t think anything was too serious.
Every Friday was quiz day in Chemistry, and this was the last quiz before the Midterm, in exactly a week. This meant that every Thursday was a Chemistry day in the library. I had gotten an even larger barrage of hateful and warning text messages. Usually I would get two- maybe three- a week, but I had gotten five, all between eleven and two in the morning the night before. the last one was most ominous reading “open ur eyes white ***** wut dont u see?”
Today was thursday morning and I arrived at school a little late, which always made me a little flustered. After fourth period, I dodged off to the library. I was alarmed to see three large, dark haired males sitting at my table. White shirts, dark glasses, baggy dark jeans and- blue bandanas? I started to change directions and head for another table. Where was Jose? He was like me, didn’t really run with any crowd. Those guys may look like him, but they didn’t seem like the kind of guys he would spend his kick back time with.
I was a little nervous but I tried to keep my cool. Then one called out, “Hey, grenga!” I ignored him and started to sit down at a table across the room but the verbal assault continued. "Why don’t you come on over and study with us?" I glanced over and noticed the librarian was definitely not at her desk, definitely not seeing thing, and could definitely not protect me. "So, Jose isn't going to be joining us today… He got a little caught up at home. We wanted to party at his house last night, but he was too busy studying. Too busy trying to be a grengo, getting ready la universidad. He thinks he's so much better than us." The biggest one sat down at the table with me and started to tap his fingers wildly. "But, white girl, you got another thing coming. Notice there weren't any Mexi-White couples around here? That's because it isn't done. So we just wanted to give you a little reminder…" The other two started digging in their pockets- and I bolted.
I had no clue if I could out run them, or where I would go. I just had to get out of there. I pulled my phone out of my back pocket and read a text from Jose, "STAY AWAY FROM LIBRARY" I kept running. I had no idea where I was going. I passed the history and English building complexes. I was just rounding the corner of the foreign language building when I realized there was always a cop in the parking lot. I turned around and took a convoluted path back to the parking lot.
Luckily, the cop was at my end of the lot and I slowed to a jog. I glanced at my car, parked three rows down and a good three hundred feet away. Sauntering around near by, were two more crazy looking large boys, both bearing the blue bandana. I ran up to the cop and begged him to save me. He looked at me funny and I cocked my head toward the two scary looking boys. He squinted at me, then nodded his head. I climbed into the front seat of his car and hunkered down. He asked me what was going on, and I began at the beginning of the story.
He said he would call my parents to come get me, and that I might have to change schools again. I laughed and told him I could handle it.
Labels: AP English 2009
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Don't You Hate It When...? by Amanda Neal
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Don’t you hate it when people serve you food
That you absolutely hate
And have told them about a trillion times that your deathly allergic
Or you had a bad childhood experience that involved food poisoning
And the server looks at you completely offended
That you declined their tuna casserole surprise
Like you hadn’t told for the trillionth time
That you absolutely hate tuna casserole surprise
Don’t you hate that?
Don’t you hate it when you wake up in the morning
Feeling like it’s going to be a good day
Even smiling about while you grab all your school supplies
When all of a sudden, you reach school realizing you forgot your homework folder
And then decided not to go back home because you’ll be tardy
And that would mean detention
And after realizing that, discover that you had toothpaste all over your face
And that the people pointing at you while you drove to school that day
Obviously weren’t admiring your new sweater from Abercrombie
And you still need to go to class because the first bell rang
And you can’t wash your face
And when you get to class and you’re late anyway
Don’t you hate that?
Don’t you hate it when your family goes out to dinner
And your three brothers are still punching each other
Like you weren’t out in a public setting or anything like that
And your little sister walks around
Telling every Africa American man that she sees
That her dad is black too
And then they look at me, with my white skin and my white mother
And shake their heads
Like were the ones teaching her to be a racist
Like it’s my fault that I came out with white skin
And when the food finally comes
It’s not what you ordered
So you have to sit there and wait for them to fix the food
While everyone else is eating
And when the food arrives, your family is done
So you have to take it to go
And when your little sister thinks she is being cute
And grabs all the chocolate mints off of the tray they gave us
And throws it at the people in one of the booths next to us
Coincidently being one of the African American families
That she told them that our dad was black
And having to race out of the restraint
In fear of a racial discrimination lawsuit?
Don’t you hate that?
There are a lot of things that I hate
Not all of them are as dramatic
Or as Jim Crow
But these are the things that bother me
And I hate it when people tell me
That I’m just being silly
Or that I am overreacting
Because if you just read my little rant
Its obvious I’m not
So don’t hate
That you absolutely hate
And have told them about a trillion times that your deathly allergic
Or you had a bad childhood experience that involved food poisoning
And the server looks at you completely offended
That you declined their tuna casserole surprise
Like you hadn’t told for the trillionth time
That you absolutely hate tuna casserole surprise
Don’t you hate that?
Don’t you hate it when you wake up in the morning
Feeling like it’s going to be a good day
Even smiling about while you grab all your school supplies
When all of a sudden, you reach school realizing you forgot your homework folder
And then decided not to go back home because you’ll be tardy
And that would mean detention
And after realizing that, discover that you had toothpaste all over your face
And that the people pointing at you while you drove to school that day
Obviously weren’t admiring your new sweater from Abercrombie
And you still need to go to class because the first bell rang
And you can’t wash your face
And when you get to class and you’re late anyway
Don’t you hate that?
Don’t you hate it when your family goes out to dinner
And your three brothers are still punching each other
Like you weren’t out in a public setting or anything like that
And your little sister walks around
Telling every Africa American man that she sees
That her dad is black too
And then they look at me, with my white skin and my white mother
And shake their heads
Like were the ones teaching her to be a racist
Like it’s my fault that I came out with white skin
And when the food finally comes
It’s not what you ordered
So you have to sit there and wait for them to fix the food
While everyone else is eating
And when the food arrives, your family is done
So you have to take it to go
And when your little sister thinks she is being cute
And grabs all the chocolate mints off of the tray they gave us
And throws it at the people in one of the booths next to us
Coincidently being one of the African American families
That she told them that our dad was black
And having to race out of the restraint
In fear of a racial discrimination lawsuit?
Don’t you hate that?
There are a lot of things that I hate
Not all of them are as dramatic
Or as Jim Crow
But these are the things that bother me
And I hate it when people tell me
That I’m just being silly
Or that I am overreacting
Because if you just read my little rant
Its obvious I’m not
So don’t hate
Labels: AP English 2009
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Josh Raney
The End by Josh Raney
They say that this is the end,
no more of the same old trends,
they say that this is where it stops,
old habits and actions are dropped,
they say that time as we know it is through,
but i do not think thats true,
because this is just the start,
to begin with a clean heart,
time to start life anew,
time to start my life with you.
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They say that this is the end,
no more of the same old trends,
they say that this is where it stops,
old habits and actions are dropped,
they say that time as we know it is through,
but i do not think thats true,
because this is just the start,
to begin with a clean heart,
time to start life anew,
time to start my life with you.
Labels: AP English 2009
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Kelden Cayton
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Hi-tech poetry
I had a thought,
But I pressed “Backspace.”
Had a stanza
(Not a good one).
Poetry is art,
Computer is technology,
The two do not cooperate,
And that is my excuse.
Labels: AP English 2009
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The Righteous Vindicator by Hector Badillo
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You would think that everything seems to be just right. I can see the salmon quickly swimming upstream. I can see the birds flock together and fly east. The riverbed is all dried out now. Surely, I know better: nothing perfect can last forever. My hands become sweaty and my heart begins to pulsate like a savage Indian’s drum as he goes into battle. I can’t think straight, I must focus on the task at hand. It’s almost done. The rest seems to flow like a gentle brook in the middle of a peaceful meadow. Ah, this was music to my ears.
Ulysses is the poor fellow’s name. This man is rich, powerful, and famous in all of
Raking through my mind, trying to figure out why I did it. That’s right, I murdered her. I can still remember how she stared at me with her angelic blue eyes, as I stabbed her time and time again. I told her this: “Mother I cannot allow you to be prideful.” I wrapped her body in a black plastic bag, and don’t worry I closed her eyes after I murdered her. I threw her away in the trash can; I didn’t want to leave her on the floor. Ah, music to my ears at last.
Eating seems to be the only thing to console me now. As I eat the human flesh I had graphed from each individual, I am once again filled with joy. It isn’t easy being God’s deliverer of justice you know. I can still remember the day He called me into His service. I remember when everyone would make fun of me in middle school because I was “different” or “special.” Then I realized something, God gave me a gift: to deliver justice to all who sin against Him. Oh, they all paid the price of their sins in blood! Hahahahahahaha, as each and everyone of those students who made fun of me hung from the trees at the park; their blood trickling down like a soothing brook in the middle of a peaceful meadow. Ah, music to my ears at last.
Nothing seemed to be perfect in this world. Everyone around me sinned, they all had to die!! I made the decision to sacrifice myself for everyone. I would soon shed my blood for all those ungrateful sinners going to hell. Ha, I would solve their sin problem at last. I concocted a plan to kill myself in order to finally pay the ultimate price so that they could live. As I held a gun to my head, I saw my father walking along the street. I knew I had to bring justice to his sin: he abused me and my mother. It was now time for him to reap what he had sowed some time ago. I quickly turned around, like a rattle snake preparing to kill its prey. I stared at him eye to eye. All of a sudden I felt a sharp pain in the back of my neck; I turned around only to red and blue lights flashing around my mother’s apartment. I now came to the brisk reality that I had been set up, by my father, to be arrested by the police.
“‘Ello, are you awake yet? I have some questions to ask you…” Some English man was talking and kept staring at me intensely. I quickly told him that I was carrying out the work of God! He laughed and asked me some more stupid questions. I then found myself in a cell with vertical bars all encompassing me. They wanted to keep me alive for a few more weeks to study my behavior, and to possibly link the murders I had committed with something that could have happened in my childhood. I told them time and time again that I was doing the Lord’s will and work.
Xylophones played all around me as I sat in this uncomfortable chair. They put this weird hat around my head, and told me that I would soon die. I knew that I had served the Lord and that I had done his perfect will in my life. I specifically asked them to play xylophones on the day of my death. These musical instruments, when played correctly, gave me peace and gave me music to my ears at last.
They pulled down the lever. I began to smile wider than the biggest horizon. As they stared at me in bewilderment, I couldn’t help but smile even wider. They strapped me down to my chair, so I wouldn’t move. I began to think of all that I had done to further the
Labels: AP English 2009
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Saving Grace by Sarah Fagin
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It was an average dreary January day; the air was cold and crisp and the sky was gray. For Grace, January 20th was an unimportant, boring day in which she would fulfill her motherly duties and run errands. Her three kids were staying with Grandma Nancy, and her husband was out of town on a business trip. So, after she dropped off little Harry, Ben, and Lucy she decided she would make a stop at the local market to buy what would later be that evening’s meal.
As she drove through the winding roads of Bonny Doon, her mind wandered. First, she thought of what groceries she would buy, and then she began to realize how monotonous her life as a stay-at-home-mom actually was. “Will anything exciting ever happen to me again?” she wondered as she pulled into a parking spot. As she walked in the store, she continued reminiscing upon her former life, the one without a family, the one in which she was free to be spontaneous and was always lively. She missed those days, and desperately wished something, anything exciting would occur so that the seemingly incessant routine of being a stay-at-home-mom would be broken up. Little did the beautiful Grace know that seemingly “ordinary” day would turn out to be the most thrilling day of her life.
The thoughtless rambling of Grace’s mind continued as she chose turkey burgers for that evening’s meal. She picked out everything she wanted to buy and then made her way to the check out counter where as older, gray-haired woman helped her. “What a fine day today is” , she said, sliding the turkey burgers past the scanner. Grace, being the pessimist she was replied, “Oh yes, just lovely.” in a sarcastic tone. At this the stalky check out lady replied, “Now missy, everyday is a blessing from God, so you better be thankful for any day, even today.” Grace paid the cashier and then made her way to her silver minivan. Along the way she laughed at herself as she thought of the strange check out lady and what she called a “lovely” day, “Only in Bonny Doon”, was what she muttered to herself.
As she approached her car, Grace realized that she had forgotten to lock her car doors. But, after all, it was only a small hick town, and the chances of anyone breaking in were slim. And so, after reassuring herself of this she placed her two paper bags filled with groceries in her front seat, never once looking in the passenger seats of her car. She started her engine and contemplated whether or not she would drop off her groceries at her home first, or if she would go visit with her mother and children for a while. She glanced over at her bags and remembered she had purchased milk which needed to be put in the refrigerator soon. “Well, that settles it then. I’ll stop by the house first”, she whispered to herself and to the empty space in her minivan.
Grace glanced at her clock as she pulled out of the shopping center and realized it was already five-thirty. She became rushed as she remembered she was supposed to pick up her kids at a quarter to six and sped through the yellow light. She hated driving when it was dark outside, even more so when she was driving alone. She pushed her frantic thoughts aside as she turned off to the dead-end, three mile long road that led to her driveway. She causally checked her mirrors as any good driver does, and she saw a re truck following her. “That’s strange, I thought my house was the only one up here”, she thought as she tried to recognize who the person must be, “hmm, he must be lost”. She turned up her music a little louder as her favorite pop song came on and tried to relax, but was interrupted as the red truck’s bright headlights blinded her as they reflected through the rearview mirror. “Ouch!” she yelled as her eyes were momentarily hindered by the reflection, “Was that really necessary?”, she said sarcastically. After a few seconds Grace returned to listening to her music, trying to forget the fact that she felt like she was being followed. She had always been slightly paranoid, and now was no different.
As she turned slightly right to follow the windy, steep road, the red truck’s bright headlights flashed brilliantly, again. This time Grace was getting angry, but even more scared as she wondered what kind of aggressive driver was following her. She had been going 40 miles per hour, but now she violently pushed the gas pedal so that the car was now traveling at 60 miles per hour. This, she thought would get the guy behind her off her back. But, she was wrong. The red truck continued to tailgate her and even more rapidly flash his bright headlights. Grace’s driving became reckless as she began hyperventilating. She did not want to die today. She needed to be there for her kids, if not anyone else. And so, she tried to distract herself and focus on her driving, silent tears were streaming down her rosy cheeks. But, the situation was too overbearing and violent sobs broke loose. “Please God”, she prayed, “Help me”. She continued this prayer several times until she came to her driveway.
Grace looked in her rearview mirror, and once again, was blinded by white lights. She tried to make out the driver’s face but failed. She prayed that the driver would, miraculously, not cause her any harm. Grace’s minivan made the final stretch towards her driveway, and the red truck followed, continuing to shine its bright headlights. As Grace prepared to park her car she went over an intuitive plan to escape whomever or whatever was inside the red truck. She would park her minivan and make a mad dash for her front door where she would open it and run to the nearest phone to call the police. Foolproof, or at least that is what Grace thought. And so, as she was just a few inches from parking, she made one quick prayer, “Save me”. And with that she pulled her keys out of her ignition with trembling hands and bolted her car door open. The red truck was now parked right behind her minivan.
She began to shriek wildly in the hopes that someone, anyone would decipher her fervent cries. She ran as fast as she could as she heard footsteps trailing her own and a man’s voice saying something inaudible. But, she was not fast enough. She felt two large, hairy arms grab her around the waist, stopping her from moving another inch. Grace screamed louder and began kicking and punching the man., trying anything to get away from her attacker. Again, he tried to tell her something, but his husky voice was drowned out by her own piercing screams. The man put his chubby fingers across Grace’s mouth and then moved closer to her face as he said, “Listen to me”.
“Listen to me”, the man repeated as Grace continued trying to scream. Grace began sobbing as she realized that today was no ordinary day, today was the day she was going to die. The man then turned Grace to face him and removed his fingers from her lips. “You need to listen to me”, he said, and at this Grace tried to make a break for it, reaching her front stairs. Once again the man grabbed her, this time not releasing his powerful hold on her. His voice sounded frantic as he said, “there is a man with a knife in your car. I am not going to hurt you, just listen to me, okay?”, Grace nodded but continued to cry, “I saw a shadow of a man trying to stab you as you were driving through the intersection from the market. I wasn’t sure if I was seeing things right so I continued to follow you, shining my lights to see if I could still see the shadow. Sure enough, everytime I flashed them, the shadow of the man with the knife ducked down. I couldn’t just let him kill you, so I followed you here, and…the man is still in your car…” Grace shrieked and began hysterically crying as she realized she had almost been murdered that day. She did not know whether to run or hide, and so she instinctively fell into the chubby man’s chest instead.
Just then, not even two minutes after Grace had initially parked her silver minivan, two police cars pulled into the now crowded driveway. They immediately jumped out of their patrol cars, ordering Grace and the man, who now seemed more like a guardian angel, to stay back. The police swarmed Grace’s car, and sure enough, found a man hiding in the trunk with a large silver knife in his hands. The evil looking man was placed in hand cuffs and then shoved into the back of the patrol car. Grace could feel the man’s gaze, it was one with malicious intent. She shuddered, and then nested herself farther into her savior’s chest. The two policemen approached Grace and said, “Don’t worry, you are safe now”. A wave of relief inundated Grace as she realized she really was safe now.
After the patrol cars left, the chubby man was still by Grace’s side. They both sat on the front stairs in silence until Grace said, “Thank you so much for calling the cops. I would be dead without you”. The man looked confused and replied, “What do you mean? I didn’t call the cops, I don’t even have a cell phone.”. They both looked at each other in amazement as they realized someone, someone utterly amazing had been watching out for them. Although they never said who they whole heartedly believed had saved them that day, they acknowledged it in each other’s gaze. “I guess today isn’t such an ordinary day”, Grace said as she giggled to herself.
As she drove through the winding roads of Bonny Doon, her mind wandered. First, she thought of what groceries she would buy, and then she began to realize how monotonous her life as a stay-at-home-mom actually was. “Will anything exciting ever happen to me again?” she wondered as she pulled into a parking spot. As she walked in the store, she continued reminiscing upon her former life, the one without a family, the one in which she was free to be spontaneous and was always lively. She missed those days, and desperately wished something, anything exciting would occur so that the seemingly incessant routine of being a stay-at-home-mom would be broken up. Little did the beautiful Grace know that seemingly “ordinary” day would turn out to be the most thrilling day of her life.
The thoughtless rambling of Grace’s mind continued as she chose turkey burgers for that evening’s meal. She picked out everything she wanted to buy and then made her way to the check out counter where as older, gray-haired woman helped her. “What a fine day today is” , she said, sliding the turkey burgers past the scanner. Grace, being the pessimist she was replied, “Oh yes, just lovely.” in a sarcastic tone. At this the stalky check out lady replied, “Now missy, everyday is a blessing from God, so you better be thankful for any day, even today.” Grace paid the cashier and then made her way to her silver minivan. Along the way she laughed at herself as she thought of the strange check out lady and what she called a “lovely” day, “Only in Bonny Doon”, was what she muttered to herself.
As she approached her car, Grace realized that she had forgotten to lock her car doors. But, after all, it was only a small hick town, and the chances of anyone breaking in were slim. And so, after reassuring herself of this she placed her two paper bags filled with groceries in her front seat, never once looking in the passenger seats of her car. She started her engine and contemplated whether or not she would drop off her groceries at her home first, or if she would go visit with her mother and children for a while. She glanced over at her bags and remembered she had purchased milk which needed to be put in the refrigerator soon. “Well, that settles it then. I’ll stop by the house first”, she whispered to herself and to the empty space in her minivan.
Grace glanced at her clock as she pulled out of the shopping center and realized it was already five-thirty. She became rushed as she remembered she was supposed to pick up her kids at a quarter to six and sped through the yellow light. She hated driving when it was dark outside, even more so when she was driving alone. She pushed her frantic thoughts aside as she turned off to the dead-end, three mile long road that led to her driveway. She causally checked her mirrors as any good driver does, and she saw a re truck following her. “That’s strange, I thought my house was the only one up here”, she thought as she tried to recognize who the person must be, “hmm, he must be lost”. She turned up her music a little louder as her favorite pop song came on and tried to relax, but was interrupted as the red truck’s bright headlights blinded her as they reflected through the rearview mirror. “Ouch!” she yelled as her eyes were momentarily hindered by the reflection, “Was that really necessary?”, she said sarcastically. After a few seconds Grace returned to listening to her music, trying to forget the fact that she felt like she was being followed. She had always been slightly paranoid, and now was no different.
As she turned slightly right to follow the windy, steep road, the red truck’s bright headlights flashed brilliantly, again. This time Grace was getting angry, but even more scared as she wondered what kind of aggressive driver was following her. She had been going 40 miles per hour, but now she violently pushed the gas pedal so that the car was now traveling at 60 miles per hour. This, she thought would get the guy behind her off her back. But, she was wrong. The red truck continued to tailgate her and even more rapidly flash his bright headlights. Grace’s driving became reckless as she began hyperventilating. She did not want to die today. She needed to be there for her kids, if not anyone else. And so, she tried to distract herself and focus on her driving, silent tears were streaming down her rosy cheeks. But, the situation was too overbearing and violent sobs broke loose. “Please God”, she prayed, “Help me”. She continued this prayer several times until she came to her driveway.
Grace looked in her rearview mirror, and once again, was blinded by white lights. She tried to make out the driver’s face but failed. She prayed that the driver would, miraculously, not cause her any harm. Grace’s minivan made the final stretch towards her driveway, and the red truck followed, continuing to shine its bright headlights. As Grace prepared to park her car she went over an intuitive plan to escape whomever or whatever was inside the red truck. She would park her minivan and make a mad dash for her front door where she would open it and run to the nearest phone to call the police. Foolproof, or at least that is what Grace thought. And so, as she was just a few inches from parking, she made one quick prayer, “Save me”. And with that she pulled her keys out of her ignition with trembling hands and bolted her car door open. The red truck was now parked right behind her minivan.
She began to shriek wildly in the hopes that someone, anyone would decipher her fervent cries. She ran as fast as she could as she heard footsteps trailing her own and a man’s voice saying something inaudible. But, she was not fast enough. She felt two large, hairy arms grab her around the waist, stopping her from moving another inch. Grace screamed louder and began kicking and punching the man., trying anything to get away from her attacker. Again, he tried to tell her something, but his husky voice was drowned out by her own piercing screams. The man put his chubby fingers across Grace’s mouth and then moved closer to her face as he said, “Listen to me”.
“Listen to me”, the man repeated as Grace continued trying to scream. Grace began sobbing as she realized that today was no ordinary day, today was the day she was going to die. The man then turned Grace to face him and removed his fingers from her lips. “You need to listen to me”, he said, and at this Grace tried to make a break for it, reaching her front stairs. Once again the man grabbed her, this time not releasing his powerful hold on her. His voice sounded frantic as he said, “there is a man with a knife in your car. I am not going to hurt you, just listen to me, okay?”, Grace nodded but continued to cry, “I saw a shadow of a man trying to stab you as you were driving through the intersection from the market. I wasn’t sure if I was seeing things right so I continued to follow you, shining my lights to see if I could still see the shadow. Sure enough, everytime I flashed them, the shadow of the man with the knife ducked down. I couldn’t just let him kill you, so I followed you here, and…the man is still in your car…” Grace shrieked and began hysterically crying as she realized she had almost been murdered that day. She did not know whether to run or hide, and so she instinctively fell into the chubby man’s chest instead.
Just then, not even two minutes after Grace had initially parked her silver minivan, two police cars pulled into the now crowded driveway. They immediately jumped out of their patrol cars, ordering Grace and the man, who now seemed more like a guardian angel, to stay back. The police swarmed Grace’s car, and sure enough, found a man hiding in the trunk with a large silver knife in his hands. The evil looking man was placed in hand cuffs and then shoved into the back of the patrol car. Grace could feel the man’s gaze, it was one with malicious intent. She shuddered, and then nested herself farther into her savior’s chest. The two policemen approached Grace and said, “Don’t worry, you are safe now”. A wave of relief inundated Grace as she realized she really was safe now.
After the patrol cars left, the chubby man was still by Grace’s side. They both sat on the front stairs in silence until Grace said, “Thank you so much for calling the cops. I would be dead without you”. The man looked confused and replied, “What do you mean? I didn’t call the cops, I don’t even have a cell phone.”. They both looked at each other in amazement as they realized someone, someone utterly amazing had been watching out for them. Although they never said who they whole heartedly believed had saved them that day, they acknowledged it in each other’s gaze. “I guess today isn’t such an ordinary day”, Grace said as she giggled to herself.
Labels: AP English 2009
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My First Love Reflection by Sara Henderson
I do not know why,
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Yet, the very sight of you makes me cry.
Tears fall all day,
Tears fall every day.
I can not go on without you,
I know that you need me too.
Tears fall all day,
Tears fall every day.
No one understands why,
But I always must cry.
It is annoying.
Labels: AP English 2009
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Passion In Heaven By Madelyn DeVincenzi MADDY!
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Accomplished with heads held high.
Regrets, Failures, Lies are cast far away.
Serenity is filling the mind while
love and passion emerges in the heart.
We all come together to this wonderful place that
we have waited forever to exist in.
(One life well lived if I might say).
Evil is non existent,
God welcomes us with open arms and a large grin.
We lay with him and look back.
Pain is not a feeling,
Internal struggles are finally let go.
At the life we were given,
He says, "You did a pretty darn good job"
I say, "God, I know!"+/-
Life by Kristina Tuminaro
I was sinking into myself again. I had just finished my final exam, which I had studied very little for, and was feeling good about myself. I could tell my college professor was surprised I even showed up, much less take the final. I could feel everyone staring at me. I was a rare occurrence in the class. Nobody knew who I was or where I lived or anything about me really. I doubt any of them even remembered my name. I didn’t care.
This sort of thing, coming out of my small closet sized dorm room, only happened twice a semester. The first time at the beginning of the year to get my books, then I head back to hibernation where I teach myself. Do I miss classes with people? Definitely not. I learned better on my own. I was a recluse, who only read books. I don’t think I’ve ever had a friend or even seen anyone else besides my parents. I was home-schooled all my life. I was very white, almost albino, because I never ever go outside. Outside there is diseases, like my mother said. Mom is always right, but sometimes, when I do go outside, I revel in the sunshine and breathe the fresh air before realizing how much toxin I had just breathed in. Then I hurried to the classroom or my room with a mini air purifier.
I’m not paranoid, I swear. Everything is just habit. I’ve never made a decision for myself, never. Somebody tells me to do something everyday, and I enter it into my daily routine. My mom taught me to bathe twice a day, once in the morning and once in the night. I always do that. My dad taught me to use the air purifier and what germs could do to you if you kissed anybody. That scared me off dating. I looked up suddenly and realized I was the only person in the class. The professor was sitting in his desk, staring up at me mildly. I smiled and unplugged the air purifier from the circuit next to me and hurried out of the room.
I stepped outside and looked about, blinking the sunshine from my eyes. I saw a few guys stopping to gawk, and I felt the customary need to flirt, but I shied off and hurried upstairs to my room, remembering the pictures my dad showed me of the germs around and in your mouth. I shuddered and locked my door. I looked around my meticulously clean room, which I vacuumed and dusted every other day. My air purifier was humming in the living room. I followed the routine that dictated my life every day. I sat down and picked up a book, reading until eight o’ clock every night before taking my shower and crawling into the bed sheets I had changed that morning, every morning.
I picked up the book and started to read, feeling myself starting to sink into it. Suddenly a bright flash appeared in front of my eyes and I had to shut them to protect my sensitive pupils. The light stopped and I opened my eyes. Across from me sat a man, not a very impressive man, but a man nonetheless. I was curled up, feet underneath me, so I did a not so graceful jump that earned a small chuckle from him. “Who are you?” My voice was hoarse from so little use. I only talked when reading, often times because I felt an irrepressible loneliness and desire for another. “My name does not matter Adiwin,” he answered, “I came to see what you are doing with your life.” I blinked and wondered since when did a stranger want to know my life. “I’ve been doing well in school and I take very good care of my body,” I answered, bewildered when the man stood and started pacing around the room.
“That is not life, Adiwin. Life is getting out of the house and meeting others, balancing your time between friends and love and school. It doesn’t mean following a very precise routine every single day of you life. It means fighting when people challenge you, flirting with boys who show interest. Then again, what is your definition of life?” He stopped pacing and looked expectantly at me.
“Doing what pleases your parents and…” here I paused. I could find no other definition in my mind of life. What was life? The dictionary said it was a noun and that it meant, ‘The property or quality that distinguishes living organisms from dead organisms and inanimate matter, manifested in functions such as metabolism, growth, reproduction, and response to stimuli or adaptation to the environment originating from within the organism.’ I had a feeling that that was not the definition this strange man wanted. He smirked at the puzzled look at my face and pulled his chair closer to mine.
“Adiwin, you do realize I love you very much? And how much it hurts me that you don’t use the life I gave you. It hurts that you don’t go out and live and have fun, get sick, experience love. It’s an insult to me that you can’t do these things.” I blinked. This man was so serious, but it was confusing. He wasn’t my father, but he said he gave me life and that he loved me. This was very strange. He then asked a very strange request, “Please go out and use the life I gave you.” I shrugged, extremely puzzled and asked, “How do you live? All I’ve ever known is the life I live in the here and now. Everything is planned and the same. How do I change?” I realized as I said that my life was very boring and predictable.
The man chuckled and clapped his hands together, slowly pulling them apart. A rainbow was extended between them. “Touch it, my child,” he whispered. I poked it with a tentative finger and my hand was sucked in. A feeling of exhilaration flooded up my arm, a feeling of giddiness, of being loved, of acting stupid, of being spontaneous. “What is this?” I asked, sobs in my voice. The man chuckled, “Life. That is life. Go and live.” With that he disappeared. I jerked from my sleeping position on the armchair and dropped my book. I gasped as the dream hit me, and, grabbing my coat, I rushed out the door to a rave that I heard was going on that night.
Life was mine to experience.
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This sort of thing, coming out of my small closet sized dorm room, only happened twice a semester. The first time at the beginning of the year to get my books, then I head back to hibernation where I teach myself. Do I miss classes with people? Definitely not. I learned better on my own. I was a recluse, who only read books. I don’t think I’ve ever had a friend or even seen anyone else besides my parents. I was home-schooled all my life. I was very white, almost albino, because I never ever go outside. Outside there is diseases, like my mother said. Mom is always right, but sometimes, when I do go outside, I revel in the sunshine and breathe the fresh air before realizing how much toxin I had just breathed in. Then I hurried to the classroom or my room with a mini air purifier.
I’m not paranoid, I swear. Everything is just habit. I’ve never made a decision for myself, never. Somebody tells me to do something everyday, and I enter it into my daily routine. My mom taught me to bathe twice a day, once in the morning and once in the night. I always do that. My dad taught me to use the air purifier and what germs could do to you if you kissed anybody. That scared me off dating. I looked up suddenly and realized I was the only person in the class. The professor was sitting in his desk, staring up at me mildly. I smiled and unplugged the air purifier from the circuit next to me and hurried out of the room.
I stepped outside and looked about, blinking the sunshine from my eyes. I saw a few guys stopping to gawk, and I felt the customary need to flirt, but I shied off and hurried upstairs to my room, remembering the pictures my dad showed me of the germs around and in your mouth. I shuddered and locked my door. I looked around my meticulously clean room, which I vacuumed and dusted every other day. My air purifier was humming in the living room. I followed the routine that dictated my life every day. I sat down and picked up a book, reading until eight o’ clock every night before taking my shower and crawling into the bed sheets I had changed that morning, every morning.
I picked up the book and started to read, feeling myself starting to sink into it. Suddenly a bright flash appeared in front of my eyes and I had to shut them to protect my sensitive pupils. The light stopped and I opened my eyes. Across from me sat a man, not a very impressive man, but a man nonetheless. I was curled up, feet underneath me, so I did a not so graceful jump that earned a small chuckle from him. “Who are you?” My voice was hoarse from so little use. I only talked when reading, often times because I felt an irrepressible loneliness and desire for another. “My name does not matter Adiwin,” he answered, “I came to see what you are doing with your life.” I blinked and wondered since when did a stranger want to know my life. “I’ve been doing well in school and I take very good care of my body,” I answered, bewildered when the man stood and started pacing around the room.
“That is not life, Adiwin. Life is getting out of the house and meeting others, balancing your time between friends and love and school. It doesn’t mean following a very precise routine every single day of you life. It means fighting when people challenge you, flirting with boys who show interest. Then again, what is your definition of life?” He stopped pacing and looked expectantly at me.
“Doing what pleases your parents and…” here I paused. I could find no other definition in my mind of life. What was life? The dictionary said it was a noun and that it meant, ‘The property or quality that distinguishes living organisms from dead organisms and inanimate matter, manifested in functions such as metabolism, growth, reproduction, and response to stimuli or adaptation to the environment originating from within the organism.’ I had a feeling that that was not the definition this strange man wanted. He smirked at the puzzled look at my face and pulled his chair closer to mine.
“Adiwin, you do realize I love you very much? And how much it hurts me that you don’t use the life I gave you. It hurts that you don’t go out and live and have fun, get sick, experience love. It’s an insult to me that you can’t do these things.” I blinked. This man was so serious, but it was confusing. He wasn’t my father, but he said he gave me life and that he loved me. This was very strange. He then asked a very strange request, “Please go out and use the life I gave you.” I shrugged, extremely puzzled and asked, “How do you live? All I’ve ever known is the life I live in the here and now. Everything is planned and the same. How do I change?” I realized as I said that my life was very boring and predictable.
The man chuckled and clapped his hands together, slowly pulling them apart. A rainbow was extended between them. “Touch it, my child,” he whispered. I poked it with a tentative finger and my hand was sucked in. A feeling of exhilaration flooded up my arm, a feeling of giddiness, of being loved, of acting stupid, of being spontaneous. “What is this?” I asked, sobs in my voice. The man chuckled, “Life. That is life. Go and live.” With that he disappeared. I jerked from my sleeping position on the armchair and dropped my book. I gasped as the dream hit me, and, grabbing my coat, I rushed out the door to a rave that I heard was going on that night.
Life was mine to experience.
Labels: AP English 2009
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Fire by Amanda Amstutz
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Flaming blue Flaming yellow,
Blue consuming
Yellow blazing
A spirit that stalks
Forever Hunting
Hunting
A spirit that talks
Never listening
listening
Blinded by fear
And maddening
Maddening
A purpose that is clear
Only waiting
Waiting
For though the yellow flame is all that is seen
The blue still remains long after the burning scene
Blue consuming
Yellow blazing
A spirit that stalks
Forever Hunting
Hunting
A spirit that talks
Never listening
listening
Blinded by fear
And maddening
Maddening
A purpose that is clear
Only waiting
Waiting
For though the yellow flame is all that is seen
The blue still remains long after the burning scene
Labels: AP English 2009
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Graduation by Bianca Gonzales
Gradually forgetting the awkward phases/moments,
Recognizing why you have worked so hard,
Accepting adulthood, responsibility, change,
Diving into a new chapter of life,
Understanding true value, morals, and importance,
Appreciating youth and the wisdom you've gained,
Taking into consideration all that you've been taught,
Inviting challenge, independence, and excitement, Opening your life and mind to new experiences, and understandings,
Never forgetting the good times.
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Recognizing why you have worked so hard,
Accepting adulthood, responsibility, change,
Diving into a new chapter of life,
Understanding true value, morals, and importance,
Appreciating youth and the wisdom you've gained,
Taking into consideration all that you've been taught,
Inviting challenge, independence, and excitement, Opening your life and mind to new experiences, and understandings,
Never forgetting the good times.
Labels: AP English 2009
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Yesterday By Michelle Jow
All those time that we had together
began to fade away
The things that we once felt important
began to be meaningless
Some says, "Never look back at yesterday"
I say, "Yesterday makes you strong"
Dreams can break
People can change
but yesterday will always be there
Until the end.
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began to fade away
The things that we once felt important
began to be meaningless
Some says, "Never look back at yesterday"
I say, "Yesterday makes you strong"
Dreams can break
People can change
but yesterday will always be there
Until the end.
Labels: AP English 2009
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Australia by Jilliane Bruffey
Our cheap rental car cruises down the deserted two-lane road, my mind still fighting the disorientation of watching the giant anthills of dusty red earth, themselves a foreign sight, fly by on the left side of the road, the same side our car is coasting along. I rest my hand on the edge of the open window, my fingers twining languidly in the arid breeze, inhaling deeply of the familiar, yet newly intense scent of the towering, creaking eucalyptus trees that line the empty highway.
I feel strangely at home in Australia, despite only having visited one other time many years before. Yet, why shouldn’t I, when I have fought my way to survival in the early days of the convict settlement in Van Diemen’s Land, watched the snakes dance on the banks of the Murrumbidgee, and strolled the outback with the last of the Nerambura tribe? I’ve lived along with the Macintoshes and the Duffys as they fight back from a mythical curse that ties their families together in an endless quest for revenge and survival. I’ve cheered along the improbable success of Mary Abacus, an unlikely hero driven on by her own unswerving ambition, strength, and independence despite the harsh reality of life in the convict settlement. I’ve cried for Jessica Bergman as she struggles back from unimaginable situations; after losing her child and the love of her life, first to her sister’s schemes then to the devastation of World War, she still finds the power to fight for the rights of a friend, an aboriginal woman who has had her half-caste children taken by the government for assimilation.
I’ve lived all of these lives and more, following the history of Australia from its unlikely beginnings as the dreaded Van Diemen’s Land through its christening as a country and beyond. I’ve been entranced by the rugged outback, the seemingly endless deserted stretches void of civilization to this day that still manage to inspire awe. I’ve strolled the bustling streets of Sydney and Melbourne, imagining them as they were decades ago, not yet the towering cities I’ve visited, but still impressive in their own right. And, of course, I’ve adored the animals, the cute and curious kangaroos and koalas, the brilliantly plumed lorikeets and galahs, and the endearingly confusing platypus.
The founding of Australia still intrigues me: a brilliant new frontier, ripe for exploration, full of limitless possibilities is found beyond the edge of the known world. Naturally, its discoverers, brilliant people that they were, decide to send their criminals, the dregs of their flourishing society, to populate it. Rather than seeking to explore the possibilities of the wide-open spaces, they write off the continent as nothing more than a garbage dump for the waste of society. Despite these humble beginnings, the nation rises up and succeeds. It is fitting that a nation with such an exciting, exhilarating beginning have its story told in the epic sagas that I have come to love. Each book numbers many hundreds of pages of cramped print, as if the authors couldn’t bare to include that one extra word, extra sentence, endlessly wracking their minds to pick out that one perfect word to capture the sights and sounds unique to Australia, those that make the books as amazing as they are.
As the print of these books has woven tales connecting families across generations in twisting and turning plots, it has also connected generations of my own family. Every spring, when my grandparents return from visiting my uncle in Australia, my grandmother, from whom I have inherited my insatiable need for books, brings with her a new novel, which she passes on to my father, who tears through it before handing it down to me. This shared interest binds us where no similarity could be expected. It seems that we are in our own elite club, tied by the love of these books hardly even heard of in our country.
As we continue down the road, clipping along at one hundred kilometers per hour, I can hardly tear my eyes away from the scenery as it rushes past. Despite the long road I know lies ahead of us before we stop for afternoon tea at another idyllic town, I refuse to crack open a book as I typically would on a long car ride. After all, the exotic atmosphere I often imagine surrounds me. Why should I live with a crudely imagined idea of Australia when the sights, sounds, and smells that authors can only attempt to describe are at my fingertips? Sparing scarcely a passing thought for the brand-new paperback stashed in the backpack at my feet, I gaze rapturously out the window, attempting to take in as much as I can from my surroundings, storing it in my memory for dreary days back at my home imagining myself here with the raucous calls of the birds; the tangy, dusty scent of a very different kind of forest; the curved leaves of the eucalyptus reaching down towards me as the tips of the trees graze the too-blue sky.
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I feel strangely at home in Australia, despite only having visited one other time many years before. Yet, why shouldn’t I, when I have fought my way to survival in the early days of the convict settlement in Van Diemen’s Land, watched the snakes dance on the banks of the Murrumbidgee, and strolled the outback with the last of the Nerambura tribe? I’ve lived along with the Macintoshes and the Duffys as they fight back from a mythical curse that ties their families together in an endless quest for revenge and survival. I’ve cheered along the improbable success of Mary Abacus, an unlikely hero driven on by her own unswerving ambition, strength, and independence despite the harsh reality of life in the convict settlement. I’ve cried for Jessica Bergman as she struggles back from unimaginable situations; after losing her child and the love of her life, first to her sister’s schemes then to the devastation of World War, she still finds the power to fight for the rights of a friend, an aboriginal woman who has had her half-caste children taken by the government for assimilation.
I’ve lived all of these lives and more, following the history of Australia from its unlikely beginnings as the dreaded Van Diemen’s Land through its christening as a country and beyond. I’ve been entranced by the rugged outback, the seemingly endless deserted stretches void of civilization to this day that still manage to inspire awe. I’ve strolled the bustling streets of Sydney and Melbourne, imagining them as they were decades ago, not yet the towering cities I’ve visited, but still impressive in their own right. And, of course, I’ve adored the animals, the cute and curious kangaroos and koalas, the brilliantly plumed lorikeets and galahs, and the endearingly confusing platypus.
The founding of Australia still intrigues me: a brilliant new frontier, ripe for exploration, full of limitless possibilities is found beyond the edge of the known world. Naturally, its discoverers, brilliant people that they were, decide to send their criminals, the dregs of their flourishing society, to populate it. Rather than seeking to explore the possibilities of the wide-open spaces, they write off the continent as nothing more than a garbage dump for the waste of society. Despite these humble beginnings, the nation rises up and succeeds. It is fitting that a nation with such an exciting, exhilarating beginning have its story told in the epic sagas that I have come to love. Each book numbers many hundreds of pages of cramped print, as if the authors couldn’t bare to include that one extra word, extra sentence, endlessly wracking their minds to pick out that one perfect word to capture the sights and sounds unique to Australia, those that make the books as amazing as they are.
As the print of these books has woven tales connecting families across generations in twisting and turning plots, it has also connected generations of my own family. Every spring, when my grandparents return from visiting my uncle in Australia, my grandmother, from whom I have inherited my insatiable need for books, brings with her a new novel, which she passes on to my father, who tears through it before handing it down to me. This shared interest binds us where no similarity could be expected. It seems that we are in our own elite club, tied by the love of these books hardly even heard of in our country.
As we continue down the road, clipping along at one hundred kilometers per hour, I can hardly tear my eyes away from the scenery as it rushes past. Despite the long road I know lies ahead of us before we stop for afternoon tea at another idyllic town, I refuse to crack open a book as I typically would on a long car ride. After all, the exotic atmosphere I often imagine surrounds me. Why should I live with a crudely imagined idea of Australia when the sights, sounds, and smells that authors can only attempt to describe are at my fingertips? Sparing scarcely a passing thought for the brand-new paperback stashed in the backpack at my feet, I gaze rapturously out the window, attempting to take in as much as I can from my surroundings, storing it in my memory for dreary days back at my home imagining myself here with the raucous calls of the birds; the tangy, dusty scent of a very different kind of forest; the curved leaves of the eucalyptus reaching down towards me as the tips of the trees graze the too-blue sky.
Labels: AP English 2009
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Before It's Too Late, Kaisa Dodge
Life: an off-white eggshell,
Smooth as porcelain,
So easily broken.
He sees her face –
Worn with care,
Stretched with laughter.
She’s his world;
He forgets to say so.
A smile of approval,
That’s all.
But her mother’s eyes never shine.
Stick-figure drawings,
Carefully typed thesis –
Another day of silence.
Life meets car accident.
An empty hospital bed,
A sudden, dreadful stillness.
“I've regrets aplenty,”
The patient sighs.
The nurse listens
And learns.
Life: an off-white eggshell.
The breaking: inevitable,
Yet timely enough for joy and action.
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Smooth as porcelain,
So easily broken.
He sees her face –
Worn with care,
Stretched with laughter.
She’s his world;
He forgets to say so.
A smile of approval,
That’s all.
But her mother’s eyes never shine.
Stick-figure drawings,
Carefully typed thesis –
Another day of silence.
Life meets car accident.
An empty hospital bed,
A sudden, dreadful stillness.
“I've regrets aplenty,”
The patient sighs.
The nurse listens
And learns.
Life: an off-white eggshell.
The breaking: inevitable,
Yet timely enough for joy and action.
Labels: AP English 2009
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Dilemma, Kyle Nadeau
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After a line by Samuel Johnson
Ye Nymphs of rosy lips and radiant eyes
It is because of you I sit on the edge of academic demise
Who cares to know to add and subtract
With Suzie and Amy I cannot help but look back
My eyes are unsatisfied with numbers and words
So rigid and boring, it is curves they lack
I am simply uninterested by lizards and birds
I prefer to gaze at the girls in my class
I love giggles and pig tails and can’t get enough
Forget dinosaur puzzles and that boring stuff
Soon enough they’ll be noticing me
Once I grow out of these kooties they’ll see
I’ll buy them a house and even a maid
Right after I get out of the second grade
Labels: AP English 2009
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Restless, by Teresa Koro
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I’m tired of tongues that are contained within their cages, hearts that lock themselves within cavernous chests to avoid being cheated on. I’m tired of simplicity – give me extravagance in the broadest of terms - ukelele solos at midnight to woo a girl from her bed, bright colors and textures and tones all worn at once, a laugh that is reminiscent of a hyena or other preying animal. Give me smudged makeup and wrinkled dresses and wine in goblets that shine like crystals. Give me dandelions in my hair and raindrops on my cheeks and the sheer danger of sleeping in a field while a cloud unleashes its contents upon my skin. Give me stolen time to lay upon the hood of my car, admiring the quiet air for what it is, blue skies swaddling me in warmth. I’m tired of the monotonous penitence of waking the same morning at the same time in the same bed about to live the same life that I did yesterday. I want to walk out of my doors in nothing but a sheet. I want to walk out of my doors and keep walking until my legs, burning, tell me that I have found some place I have yet to discover. I want to walk out of my doors and become whoever I want to be instead of being plagued by this past, this tongue, this mind that is changing – my surroundings aren’t changing with me, and I am impatient. I embrace change and all it holds, yet I cannot seem to wait for it to overcome me. I am on fire with potential, yet I am taking up residence in this place that contains no nourishment for my flames. I am fire living in an ocean of interminable width. I am fire, and there is no dry grass for me to lick at greedily, no forests or lush green grass to warm with myself. There is only water, water everywhere, attempting to put out my spirit. Attempting to tell me that this is all that the world will ever be, and I should just give up now.
Labels: AP English 2009
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With pencil in hand... by Alison Stetak
Waiting,
I tried my hardest.
Waiting,
Corrected my mistakes;
Waiting,
For your gratification.
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I tried my hardest.
Waiting,
Corrected my mistakes;
Waiting,
For your gratification.
Labels: AP English 2009
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The Dorm by Alison Chan
Prison, prison! Why do you have to shackle me?
The first year of pain and sorrow,
With numerous injury to my heart.
The day I look for is the moment I leave thee.
Prison, prison! Why do you have to repress me?
The second year of chores and demerits,
Swinging around in my mind.
The day I look for is the moment I leave here.
Prison, prison! Why do you have to destroy me?
No liberty and all discipline,
Makes a human being a machine.
I will be reborn the moment I get free.
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The first year of pain and sorrow,
With numerous injury to my heart.
The day I look for is the moment I leave thee.
Prison, prison! Why do you have to repress me?
The second year of chores and demerits,
Swinging around in my mind.
The day I look for is the moment I leave here.
Prison, prison! Why do you have to destroy me?
No liberty and all discipline,
Makes a human being a machine.
I will be reborn the moment I get free.
Labels: AP English 2009
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The Tie Between Two by Julianne Soria
Love not from heart, but from soul,
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Since when the heart stops, the feeling will still roll;
"I wandered lonely as a cloud" (Wordsworth)*,
While he walked around loud and proud.
Although the love we share is forbidden,
We'll prove to the world that it shouldn't be hidden;
In one's warm embrace,
We dedicate this feeling to the Father in grace.
While one's been searching for love from others,
The other hasn't felt it before, only from father and mother;
It was as unexpected as shooting stars,
And was only a dream, that from reality, was afar.
As the day draws to an end, and night comes near,
There won't be any nightmares to fear;
Because from darkness to light,
We're on each others mind all day and all night.
- I Wandered Lonely As A Cloud
- Top 500 Poems ( pg 396)
- William Wordsworth*
Labels: AP English 2009
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