She and I inspired by He and I-Natalia Ginzburg (APE)

She was always in the spotlight, while I always trailed behind. Seven years set us apart from each other. She had finished high school and started college, before I entered my teenage years. Sharing a mother, she got similarities of facial features, hair length, nose, while I favored my father. Growing up she was very athletic, while I climbed trees and read books. She planned softball with our sister, Brittany. She was a catcher. I remember attending the games to see her from the stands in a padded vest and a guarded helmet. She could throw a ball in 2.5 seconds across the field. Her softball playing career ended when she graduated high school.

She had a baby boy, dropped out of college, and got married, while I was just starting high school. She matured in motherhood, while I still wore zip-up hoodies. She seemed to know how to care for her babies, while I hesitantly asked which way was best to hold them. She had the signs of relief and glow, when I saw her after she had my nephew, Logan. She was working at Goodwill for awhile to help pay for food and rent, but then shortly quit when my niece, Lily, was on the way.

I entered college as the last and only child left in the family, while she had a family of her own. She came to my college on a weekend (Sibs Weekend). She wanted to drink and party, while I had tried to make the most of her time. We went to a bar on a night that was supposedly for same-sex couples. She realized it was gay night, before I did. She smokes menthol cigarettes, while I start coughing even if there is a little smoke. She’s a stay-at-home mom, while I try to get an education to have a career.

She is always defensive, while I speak the truth. She uses the line “No I don’t!”, far too often, while I explain my reasoning. She has three pets (2 dogs, 1 cat), while I can hardly take care of myself.

She loves anything that has to do with owls or vampires. I don’t understand the popular culture ideas like Twilight, it’s her favorite movie. She tries to talk about boys, while I hide that part of myself. She asks me what my type is. I just laugh it off.

She talks before thinking, while I analysis everything I say. Her words can hurt, especially during the holidays. She expects the most from those that are closest to her. I understand don’t her expectations. She still sees me as a child. I at times, still do.

She relies on her husband, in-laws, and our mother, while I’m independent. She struggles to be active and assertive, while I try to make my own decisions. She loves girl talk, while I tolerant it. She talks the loudest in a crowd. I talk at medium volume. She loves country music, but can’t carry a note in a wheel barrow. We share the same height, but not the same dad. She needs no make-up, while I feel bare if I wear none. She is the loud at times, obnoxious sister, while I’m the reserved one. 

Response to Truman Capote’s excerpt from In Cold Blood (Art of Fact)

Capote has a very precise way of describing surroundings, people, and certain elements to capture the dark psychological story of two killers. In this piece, I can see the intense relationship between Dick and Perry, while they are on the run. Dick seems to be the more assertive type, while Perry seems passive. The piece starts off by Dick and Perry hitchhiking and thinking about killing the driver, so no one can follow them or get caught. Capote also does a brilliant job at portraying the feelings of Perry, while he is being reminded of his father: “Their laughter irritated Perry; he especially disliked Mr. Bell’s outbursts—hearty barks that sounded very much like the laughter of Tex John Smith, Perry’s father. The memory of his father’s laughter increased his tension; his head hurt, his knees ached. He chewed three aspirin and swallowed them dry. Jesus!” (163). This shows that Capote tried to capture Perry’s exact feelings, while being an outsider to his emotions.

The second section of this piece follows the detective working Dick and Perry’s case, Harold Nye. Capote follows Nye around his investigation as he describes the interview Nye had with the landlady of the hotel. I absolutely love the description of the landlady: “…the landlady’s long and lacquered fingernails search a page of pencil-scribbled names…A cockroach emerged, and the landlady stepped on it, squashing it under the heel of her gold leather scandal,” (164, 166). Capote also shows the scenery very well; I could tell this hotel was cheap, dump that probably couldn’t pass any inspection based on his descriptions of odors the place produced and the landlady’s grotesque appeal.

Capote also does a great job with suspense and intensity, especially in this section. This piece starts with Perry and Dick hitchhiking, then Nye investigating, then back to Perry and Dick on the run. The last section shows Dick and Perry’s desperation: they have no money, so they stay at a Salvation Army; they eat chocolate bars and chewing gum because Perry stole it from a drug store, and they steal a car they find. This last section also shows the dynamitic again between Dick and Perry’s relationship. Dick stole the chocolate bars and chewing gum, but got his favorite flavor, Double-mint, where Perry’s favorite flavor is Juicy Fruit. This small detail shows that Dick and Perry are very distant friends and as a accomplices together, Dick seems to be taking care of everything, while Perry sits back and lets him take command.

As far as Capote’s stylistic choices, I love he how uses short, concise sentences. He is not afraid to get to the point. He starts the third section with one or two words: “A cloudburst. Rain. Buckets of it. Dick ran. Perry ran too, but he could not run as fast; his legs were shorter and he was lugging his suitcase,” (167). I think as far as something I could take away from this piece to apply to my own writing would be to imagine myself in a place or in a situation and describe setting in a way to grab the reader.  

Response to “Late Victorian”- Richard Rodriguez from APE

This piece is starts off by comparing the homosexual movement to architecture. Rodriguez shows how in San Francisco certain streets or areas were seen as more heterosexual or American domestication then others that were socially radical. He describes Victorian houses as having the knowledge that generations would follow from the present: “What strike me at odd moments is the confidence of Victorian architecture. Stairs, connecting one story with another, describe the confidence that bound generations together through time—confidence that the family would inherit the earth,” (Rodriguez 759). This passage is showing his confliction with the sad reality that homosexuals have a hard time creating the next generation, while also showing that during the Victorian era only really had marriage between a man and a woman.

Rodriguez goes to explain the gay rights movement and the difference between the feminist movement: “Feminist, with whom I, include lesbians—such was the inclusiveness of the feminist movement—were preoccupied with career, with escape from the house in order to create a sexually democratic city. Homosexual men sough to reclaim the house, the house that traditionally had been reward for heterosexuality, with all its selfless tasks and burdens,” (Rodriguez 762). So, this piece is clearly political, in the fact that Rodriguez is trying to convey an idea that I, myself, didn’t understand until reading this. For some reason, I didn’t about the homosexual movement as changing the roles of men and women, where gay women wanted to go out and make the money and have careers, while gay men wanted to be the caregivers, the nurturing, domesticated house-husbands. I think that point really stuck out to me the most.

Rodriguez moves on to a more sad tone in the piece. He talks about his personal experience with the homosexual movement and the direct impact AIDS has had on his life and his perspective on of it. “AIDS, it has been discovered, is a plague of absence. Absence opened in the blood. Absence condensed into the fluid of passing emotion. Absence shot through opalescent tugs of semen to deflower in the city.” (Rodriguez 766). This passage was moving to me because this is not only about the struggle of AIDS, but what the result of AIDS: death. The last part of this essay is sad because he talks about his lover (Cesar) that died from AIDS. With this last section, he always comes back to San Francisco and the dynamic of the Castro district where gays are not perceived too well.  

The one thing I love about Rodriguez writing style is that he is concise and clear. He also uses a lot of anaphors which I love, I think they give more to his overall point he is making: “They walked Death’s dog. They washed his dishes. They bought his groceries. They massaged his poor back. They changed his bandages. They emptied his bedpan,” (Rodriguez 768). He was describing what Cesar’s family was doing for him, while he was going through AIDS. I also thought it was interesting his use of italics. He would them either for inner thoughts or dialogue: “Bill died. …Passed on to heaven. … Turning over in his bed one night and then gone,” (Rodriguez 770). To me, this is signifying how his lover was only one person, an important person, to him, but to the rest of San Francisco life went on as usual. 

Response to Short Takes pieces for Portfolio

“Me Talk Pretty One Day”- David Sedaris

I think this piece is so funny because it is showing a 41 year-old man being nervous about speaking another language and being afraid of screwing-up in the classroom as would a young student. His constant struggle to understand and speak French in this piece is pretty hilarious because he makes up to show that he has no idea what someone is saying.  I also like how he explains his teacher as being down-right rude and kind of invasive, meaning she asks people why they are a certain way that seem to frustrate her for whatever reason. In the end, I get the sense of Sedaris getting self-satisfaction from finally discovering that he can understand what his teacher is saying and he can also speak French, but he still is using awful grammar.

“Semi-Colon”- Barbara Mallonee

This might be my favorite piece from Short Takes because Mallonee is incredibly witty throughout this entire piece. She starts off by describing how she is grading papers during winter and is trying to understanding why students haven’t fully understood the usage of a semi-colon. In this, she goes on to describe how the semi-colon was created the Greeks and then goes to say it needs some praise. My favorite part is when she compares the semi-colon to other punctuation marks, while saying semi-colons are what writers use as tool to explain something, while she uses a semi-colon in her explanation: “Most punctuation marks arose as aids to elocution; the semi-colon serves not the outspoken orator, but the silent writer solitary at his desk. I’m just picturing Mallonee sitting down at a desk, while she is writing this. 

“Contributor’s Note”- Michael Martone

Again, this was a witty and inventive piece. I love how he seems conflicted about his name, while also feeling ownership to it. He starts the piece by explaining his childhood nicknames like Missy; that immediately hooked me. I was kind of confused about the Monk part. He describes this as his classmates teasing him, but then he goes to on change names of famous people into using Monk; to me, that seems a little narcissistic. I also thought it was interesting that he used third person, while writing about himself: “His family still calls him Mick but will force themselves to refer to him as Michael when speaking about him in third person to people who ask.” This line is talking directly to the audience.

What I like about each of these pieces is how creative, witty and clever they are: Martone is talking about himself in the third person, while trying to understand what his name means to him, Mallonee is explaining the usage of semi-colons throughout history, while using semi-colons throughout her piece, Sedaris is trying to understand foreign languages, while inserting himself in the piece to show his confusion. I just really love the inventive ways these writers take their pieces. I would hope to try and take this aspect into my own writing by being sly and clever to make a point that is funny, but not being obvious about it.

“Slipping into Reality” compared to “Men at Night”

I found these pieces to be similar by the sense of unity that is shown through both pieces and the increased suspense. In Emily’s piece, she uses unity amongst her and the choir members—how they are all working at getting the perfect pitch or the same tempo. In “Men at Night”, Huddle is explaining on more intense matter of how men in the military have to act as a unit. In each of these pieces, there is a consistent amount of suspense to show that something is going to happen, but they explain all the other events that happened before this big situation happened. 

Solnit and intertwining lives

I think Solnit brings out the notion of how lives intertwining when she describes empathy and emotion. How some of us can have it, while others are numb. Solnit describes empathy as: “Empathy is the capacity to feel what you do not literally feel…” (pg. 106) Solnit also describes emotion as: “Emotion has its geography, affection is what is nearby, within the boundaries of the self…” She is making a point with both that while some of us feel very connect with one another, some of us can feel so completely distant or numb. To me, Solnit is saying that emotion and empathy link us together by truly feeling something and acting on that feeling. She correlates the feeling of empathy to how a person can have leprosy and feels physical pain, where one can empathize for this person to the point of physically feeling it, which to me seems a little far fetched. But, I think a person can have empathy to a point to show compassion, but a person ultimately will lack understanding for what it is like to actually have leprosy. With both empathy and emotion, I think Solnit is saying those that truly do feel an intertwining but listening and then telling each other their stories. 

“A Man of all Seasons” compared to “Opposite of the South.”

I think, ironically, these two pieces are the opposites of each other.  Kourtney’s piece is about seeing a man that we all see as a priest, but who is a really extraordinary person, where Birkerts’ piece is about him trying to self-identify himself. Mark Andrew Moore seems like the person that is taken for granted a lot and people don’t usually see his true uniqueness—everybody is caught-up on the title of priest, so they think that’s all he is. Birkerts seems wildly confused about his place in the world and in some ways feels like he has to identify himself based on where he comes from versus looking at his true self to just be. I like the idea of titles (Priest and Northerner) as modes of misperception, as if these titles are self-explanatory and any other title that these people could be given would be contradictory. 

Ned the Bus driver

Long, white beard, starting from sideburns and reaching to the middle of his bloating stomach: two of the most notable traits. Not necessarily tall, but not short; he’s probably around 5’9”.  He’s usually in a sitting position from my view. And if it weren’t for the heather grey uniform t-shirt he wears, you would almost think he was quintessentially Santa Claus. In conversation, his voice can either give a scruffy, raspy feel or the soothing kind that could lull a baby to sleep. You can get the impression of his hardships, while taking comfort in his words. Eating on the bus during his routes is essential. A spill of coffee on the shirt or sticky finger, while driving a bus presents the odor of staleness: breaks are rare and taken too quickly. Often find myself thinking: “How did you become a bus driver?” The sad reality that misfortune placed him in a job, he does not love is never shown in his eyes, only joy. He wears multifunctional glasses that are tainted yellow to work perfectly for driving in the sunshine. His eyes are revealingly genuine by the wrinkles that are present by smiling often. The kind of laughter that causes you to laugh although you may not find it funny: big, horsey, jolly. “HO HO HO!” The Santa Claus effect breaks in, when I exit the bus to say “Have a good day” and he responses “Oooh, some days are just better.” 

Response to Whoredom Kimmage-Mahoney

I like how Mahoney was able to depict the Irish based on their accent and how they could always guess if she was an American. I don’t know whether or not she was trying to contrast Irish men from Irish women by using the anecdotal piece about the fisherman and the gay women she meet in the pub, but I think it gives the idea that being gay is something that is misunderstood? I also like her apprehension to go to a gay bar because she was straight and compares her apprehension to what these gay women feel everyday. I think this piece shows how stereotypes are formed even within the gay community because Freddy and several others wanted Rose to self indentify with “gay” or “bisexual”. This piece definitely shows how different personalities come together to be a community where everyone is similar, but my question is Rose really taking something form these people or just telling a story about this one time she went to a gay pub in Ireland?

Response to Shadow of Nation- Smith

 I feel like Smith is telling us the premise in the beginning of the piece and then centers it around Jonathan Takes Enemy. I guess the real significance of this character is that he made a decision to start his life with what he wanted to do: going to college to study and play basketball. I was confused by Smith’s tone in the beginning because it sounds like he is describing player after player that had athletic talent and wasted it on booze. This definitely sets up the contrasts between Takes Enemy and these other players but I also think Smith is partly making light of probably troubled teenagers’ deaths. In parts, I found myself asking what is so special about Takes Enemy? But, I think the best way to answer that is to realize that he comes from an Indian descent and that he lives in America where whites are the majority. I felt that Smith wanted to feel like Takes Enemy felt like he didn’t have a place between the two. He was trying to find something within himself and I guess Smith was trying to show that in the end, I just don’t know whether I believe it or not. I felt like he was trying to put a bow on a depressing story.

Response to “The Night Trucks”

Something that I would take from this piece to add in my writing would be the opening paragraph of setting the scene with the description of objects: branches, bed, and the table. I really like the repetition of shadow. I think it signifies some kind of secret and mystery behind loading cattle and the trucks. This is definitely nostalgic; Meyers is drawing on a memory that shows the relationship with his father and brother. I get the sense of that his father died: “We sold them in batches, as Dad has always done… We no longer needed Dad to make the final decision.” This is subtle effect that I believe shows his appreciation of his father for teaching him how to load cattle. I like that Meyers loaded cattle with his father and brother, even though he didn’t necessarily like it: “We didn’t particularly like selling cattle. It was exciting, of course, the dark night, the immense trucks, the contained sense of secrecy and large event in it.” This shows the desire to do something by the feeling of allure or being drawn by something’s presence. 

Comparison of "I Am Not a Vegetable" and "Street Haunting"

In Woolf’s “Street Haunting” she’s explain her various experiences and certain ones are triggers for her to remember her past. I would compare this piece to Emily’s I Am Not a Vegetable piece because her opening scene is kind of similar in the sense that a certain setting can make you feel a certain way. In Emily’s piece she was describing how she felt about going to class and the apprehension of seeing a particular boy. In Woolf’s piece she explains how we are apt to go out and buy something when something else happens along the way. I also think the scene about the dwarf woman dancing and attracting people’s eye is Emily's opposition to her piece--there are that would help and then there are people stand idly by. 

Inspiration from "Street Haunting"- Woolf

I have only really had one profound moment of epiphany: my definition meaning too magnificent to forget. I was a sophomore in high school and it was the week of the OGTs. The math, the reading, and the science tests were unmemorable, but it was the writing test that was unforgettable. We were all sitting in a standard classroom about 30 desks all facing forward in rows of six or five; I was seated in the third row closest to the door. I was hunched over with my face 3 inches from the table completely enamored with my pencil and paper. The topic of subject we were to write on was about changing a school policy and how we would execute it. As dull as it was, I let the words pore out of me. It wasn’t until I was through at least half way through my paper, when I had my moment. I remember completely stopping, putting down my pencil, and looking forward and thinking “Oh my God. I love write! Why don’t I do this as a career?” It’s difficult to describe even now the feeling of clarity, but this moment has clearly helped me slowly discover myself.

Response to “January”- Klinkenborg

This piece seems to focus on the substance hands give to us. My take- away from this essay is that our hands are the way to feel the physical earth. The first paragraph is probably repetitive with hay bales, strings, and twine. I don’t feel like being repeatitive is efficient because it loses the readers interest. I really liked the way he connects to the horses. I think the part about the horses is efficient because he is showing how humans can connect with another species (horses) by touch and sight. I think I would have wanted him to explain more about his actually work on a farm because I felt he was just describing what you are supposed to do.

Inspiration from “A Second Time”- Galvin

My adolescent years: the ones where you had put up with so much. I was a child of a restless, confused, defiant spirit that called for lectures and punishments. The years we had grown and learned from each other. I would always consider you my hero through all the heart-break I had faced and still will face.

The memory of one tear running down my face, when I received the horrible news of joint custody.

The three dusty, old homes we had, that constantly needed to be sprayed with Febreze to freshen the air, when the de-humidifier seemed to be insufficient. Long summer days of climbing trees and being called in for dinner, the little things.

“I want my mommy! I want my mommy!” was what I screamed in the movie theater at the premier of Fairy Tale because I didn’t know how to sit still. The cops coming to interview you to justify whether or not you were actually my father was enough humiliate and embarrass you. By a mere glance at our faces, how could anyone think I wasn’t your daughter but nevertheless mom came and explained. 

The way you always knew exactly what to say, no matter what mundane, childish problems I was dealing with. Those pre-teen, awkward years: you tried to help with feminine products, but could only do so much. Making decisions on what friends to have was always decided on your valued opinion. Learning to control my temper was always put in-check by authoritative reminders of how to not act.

The constant phrase I hear “It’s only temporary”, would ring true for every task or adversity.

Knowing that with the struggles in the past, you were always there to guide and comfort. But most importantly, we needed each other at time, when life seemed rough and meaningless. Thank you is not enough; I’ve been molded by your lessons and wisdom that has helped me see who I want to become.

Response to "Muskgrass Chara"- Dean Moore

This piece is interesting for its sense of smell and the description of the natural world. Dean Moore basically tells what she is going to write about in the first sentence: “I used to love all smells.” She uses her sense of smells as a transition between her children, her father, her house, and being immersed in nature. In the first paragraph, I think I can get a sense of her personality as she says she loves the smell of the beach, which shows her need for freedom and innocence. She also explains her relationship with her children by saying she knew where they have been when they would come home.  I like the switch to sadness about her father being sick, because not all smells are fantastic as she was previously depicting. The third paragraph describes her life as mother; I’m unsure whether or not if she is satisfied with this aspect of her life because it seems typical or obligatory. Her need for freedom comes out when she explains her boat “Chara”. I like the last paragraph because it shows how sometimes it’s good to go into solitary and nature to figure out how you feel, which is relatable and effective. 

Response to "From Two or Three Things I Know For Sure"

I really relate to this piece. The relationship between her aunt and her is very similar to my aunt and I; we think alike and have similar personalities. I think Allison is playing on the idea that every girl struggles with at one point or another in her life. I love how she associates the south as people who pretend that they owed a plantation and then there are those that are considered as trash. This piece kind of goes along of what I was writing about in my personal essay; family has a way of feeling connected to us whether we like it or not. My favorite line is: “Solid, stolid, wide-hipped baby machines.” I think even today’s society, we have this image of beauty and if you are not as Allison puts it “…good hair, curled or straightened to fit the fashion, had slender hips…” then you are considered ugly. This piece reminds me of Elaine Scarry’s On Beauty and Being Just, where it explains how beauty is something we want to replicate, remember and reproduce with. So it begs the question of whether beauty is human nature or our developed perception from advertising companies. In my opinion, I think we are drawn by beautiful things, but when it comes to people, I think we sometimes forget about inner beauty because we are so focused on outer beauty. Allison again describes beauty from her girlfriend as “…that inner quality often associated with great amounts of leisure time.” Which goes to show, that inner beauty is more important to have because at the end of the day if a woman cannot hold an intelligent and thoughtful conversation, then is she really still beautiful?

The Lantern-Bearers

In this piece, I found myself re-reading the beginning because it does not flow with the rest of the essay. Stevenson is giving this anecdotal piece to use the metaphor of Lantern-Bearers, who are the ones that hold the truths in all of life. I did not find this the method of writing effective because the first part has all of description and storytelling that the reader only becomes engaged at the end, when he is explaining the significance of lanterns and how the bearers only know the truth. I also thought the rest of the piece was somewhat choppy and confusing. Stevenson describes different trades and how they seem to harbor different characteristics or traits, such as the Dancer, he explains as “…must have the love of power and disdain of using it, noble character in itself…” To me, this seems unfair because he is grouping a trade into a general consensus where everyone that is a “Dancer” will think or act this way. He then goes on to talk about how certain writers are basically predictable when they express romance or love. The confusing part about this essay is when he criticizes Whitman for being a realist and describing the dullness of a man. My problem with this essay is the feeling that Stevenson is reading too far into any particular subject matter. He thinks that because Whitman is describing the dullness of man that he does not see the beauty in life or the miracles that can happen. This essay is also contradicting: “…dark as his pathway seems to be the observer…” Right there he is saying that we judge each other, but we don’t actually know what is going on behind the thousands of layers built up, when he seems to be criticizing other writers on only their content. Lastly, he ends his piece by condemning melodramas as “without some brightness of poetry and luster of existence, falls into the inconceivable and ranks with fairy tales.” This seems overly judged and untrue. Melodramas have their way of letting people escape from reality, so it begs the question of whether or not this is so bad? I also think he is wrong about fairy tales. The original Brothers Grimm fairy tales were children stories to instill values and to learn the ways of the world, which contradicts his theory of Lantern-Bearers. 

These are a few of the most annoying things…

To start things off, my number one peeve is when someone promises and tells me repeatedly that they are going to do something and then never do.

I extremely hate any kind of miscommunication, it only takes a few minutes to say exactly what you mean instead of thinking everyone will understand what you are saying by being vague.

I really have a hard dealing with people who are completely consumed by technology. You know those kinds of people who immediately whip out their phone if they are standing in any kind of line or have to answer a text right when one was sent to their phone. It’s as if boredom is the answer to see what’s trending.

I absolutely hate when I have been asked how my day was and I go on to explain my typical, ordinary day, when in the middle I look at the person and realize they have not heard a word I have said because they are preoccupied with something else. What was the point asking me in the first place?

I really dislike when I am receiving a lecture from a hypocrite, mainly pertaining to my parents. It’s not like they never made mistakes when they were younger, but they act like it’s the worst thing in the world.  

Those girls who go out to party with next to no clothing on in freezing degree weather, its okay you won’t get frostbite or hypothermia. And these same girls have no respect for themselves; they get treated as commodities and are shocked when they are treated this way.

Those people that constantly talk about what types of alcohol they prefer over others to get drunk off of or those that seem to only care about partying.  

Those people that use cuss words to make themselves seem “cool”, but in reality they are making themselves look highly unintelligent.

Those type of guys who hardly work out at the gym, but to only show off their muscles or those girls that come into the gym with their hair completely done and have on a full face of makeup—who are you trying to impress?

Those people who are either fake or passive-aggressive; they say one thing to you but secretly mean something else, as if you were supposed to understand their wildly confusing language.

Those girls that use “like” about 20 times in one sentence.

Those people that are trying to be hipsters who wear Ray-ban eyeglasses that don’t actually need them to see.

Basically, I really hate anything that happens to me that turns me into a hot mess: doing my hair and thinking it looks perfect until I go out into the wind and then looks it like I have been electrocuted, accidentally spilling coffee on a white top, ripping a new pair of leggings in the worst place possible, etc.

I hate working on a project for hours on end, only to realize I did the project completely wrong from the very beginning and have to start over.

I absolutely hate awkward silence, especially in a car for 3 hours, with people I just met and feeling like I need to fill the silence with chit-chat for the entire ride.

I really dislike thinking about something I forgot before I leave anywhere and then randomly realize what it was I forgot in the middle of the day.  

I am thoroughly repulsed by pickles- smell, taste, consistency, etc.

I really dislike how you have to structure a speech in communication studies; it feels unnatural to rehearse something that fits neatly into a layout.

I hate the idea of selling yourself in order to become successful.

I also hate feeling like I need to give somebody an explanation for simply reacting to an emotion.

Someone I love so much...

Someone I love so much made me feel guilty and ashamed. To her, it seemed the whole world was coming apart because I had not fit into her ideal. She was but a child throwing a temper tantrum, for a decision her younger sister made as a grown adult would. I couldn’t help but to feel obligated to attend her Christmas celebration with her kids and family. The simple fact of it was practically and what I wanted to do; the later being more important. For years, I had shadowed either behind my parents or my sisters, based on what they wanted or expected me to do.  “You think you are so much better than everyone else!” Those were the words that I received from my loving sister, upon telling I was going to skip her gathering this year. I thought, “OK, I’ll do the right thing. I’ll call and tell her I’m not coming.” But no, I was not confronted with understanding or even a civil discussion. No, I was put in my place to feel as if I now owed something to someone. 

Response to "Winter Wheat"

Just to comment on, her grandfather’s stories remind me of Albert Finney in the movie, Big Fish; how he was always telling stories that never seemed completely true or were overly elaborated. But as far as her writing structure, McDuffie seems to write as if she’s reliving her memories that also correlate to what is most significant to her. For example, in the first scene the house on the wheat fields is symbolizing mobility: her grandfather was always moving around. Then she goes on to explain his extreme stories and how he was a hero in all of them. I can see where she doesn’t fully believe her grandfather stories, when “…and the older we got the more he expected us to believe”—McDuffie is subtlety telling readers that she was intrigued by her grandfather, but did not necessarily believed everything he said was realistic. I get the sense that she wanted to know her grandfather based on the facts, instead of fiction or fantasy because she fills in the holes of his stories by asking her father. I also think McDuffie longs for stability and with the descriptions she hears at his funeral, she doesn’t “recognize” her grandfather through these statements. Her writing has a sense of longing for the truth, where she leaves the readers to believe she will find reality and stability.  

The Power of Technology

I often find myself struggling in the acceptance of certain behaviors, typically those who are ignorant to the world around them besides their fulfillment of instantaneous wants from a click of a button. It’s this judgment and search to understand the mentality of my peers and the use of the all-powerful internet, which causes frustration that is reflected in my face and ears. I come from an Irish descent and anger is shown through rosy cheeks and ears, when emotions are bottled up. That’s why, for me, finding the balance between emotions and numbness has been like a constant tug-of-war.

A few days ago, I had an executive meeting with an organization. Usually, the president brings up the main points of the objectives, but the fundraising exec keep interrupting and only voiced his problems and concerns with opinionative, passionate comebacks. For some reason my cheeks and ears flared-up to the point of a violent, rapid heart rate. I had let the behavior of one person upset me to the point of distress. Why? Why had I let myself feel so strongly about this? His quick comments and cutting attitude gave the realization of awful communication skills.

There you have it, my generation the one that grew up with the internet, cell phones, and other high-advanced technologic gadgets. We are slowly losing the knowledge and ability for words spoken beyond an electronic, glowing screen that says ‘Comment’ ‘Post’ or ‘Like.’ I have often been prey to his form of technology, but I am in shock when my peers talk in one-sided conversations. This involves the competition of who had the craziest stories or experiences happen to them.

These high-powered systems are nearly dehumanizing us. Sometimes, I might running away with my emotions to the point of my own torment, but if we are always consuming each other for materialistic gain, are we then becoming numb?

I remember California

I remember California, summer before my college career, not necessarily a vacation, just visiting family. 

I remember feeling mixed emotions upon seeing my sister: excited, nervous, reluctant. 

I remember she would always say “I’m never getting’ married or havin’ kids,” but look what happened, she was already married and a week before our arrival she had given birth to a beautiful baby girl. 

I remember upon her graduation of high school my sister, Brittany, had joined the Navy because she felt she had no other option. I remember bootcamp was described as intrusive. 

I remember her move to San Diego with her husband.

I remember the call to my mom about her pregnancy. 

I remember planning for a week in the California sun. 

I remember the breezy weather was unlike any climate I had ever felt.

I remember feeling carefree within the smooth winds. 

I remember the warmth and hesitation upon holding my niece. 

I remember the frightening moment to understand what position is best. 

I remember sitting in my sister’s black, pleather loveseat soaking in the lavender scent of this newborn.

I remember it only took minutes before I was fast asleep. 

I remember my sister in the kitchen preparing her bottle. 

I remember the powdery, chemical milk taste and smell was questionable. 

I remember my sister handling her with such care that I had never seen her use before. 

I remember feeling glad that she had it figured out. 

I remember leaving the model family and the flawless summer weather with true serenity. 

Response to "In Wyoming" by Mark Spragg

When I read this essay, I was seeing a distinctive picture of the wild atmosphere. Spragg uses blunt sentence structures—the first sentence, “This place is violent and it is raw,” immediately pulls the reader in, to explain Wyoming with its rugged qualities. The use of “nakedness, or leniency,” shows readers that Wyoming is not a place for the weak or faint of heart.  This essay flows from paragraph to paragraph with the description of the wind, the landscape, the animals, nature, then he goes on to describe what it is like without the wind. The wind is pictured as, “…unchoreographed with the spontaneous inelegance of a brawl,” which is a brilliant way to show that the wind is uncontrollable and is chaotic. He effectively shows the adaption to a climate and culture, by showing how people act silly when there is no wind such as yelling or being inattentive to new surroundings. He explains his adaption with Wyoming by always being “alert,” with the opposition of saying that Wyoming is not a place for naïve people. 

Revision of Life Scene Inspired by "Night Song"

I remember this one day where my dad and I were driving home in his big rusty, grey van and on occasion, the van would need talking to when it started to act up. In this moment, I heard “Just get me there, baby. Just get me there.” After about ten minutes of my dad’s discussion with the van, I finally realized the van was low on gas. Suddenly, the van broke down and I found myself standing on the side of the highway feeling the cars rush by. My father has always seemed to have bad, Irish luck when it comes to vehicles, but as a carpenter, he has basically been self-named as the “Mr. Fix-It Guy.” So, in this moment, I knew he would think of a way to get the van running again; he has always had a way of making me feel secure no matter what the situation is. But as an awkward kid, I felt unsure as what to do or how to help. Particularly, when my dad hopped over a fence and told me to come on, I panicked. I didn’t know how to hoist my body over the grayish wires with diamond-sized holes that were meant for the smallest feet in the world. I had climbed trees multiple times before this, but for some reason this fence seemed to my worst enemy. For a moment, I thought "I’ll just stay behind", but my dad refused to leave me behind on the side of the highway. After an intense struggle, we walked down the road where a gas station was about five to ten minutes away from where we broke down. While my dad filled the red gas container, I remember feeling strange for standing at a gas station without a car. My dad ended up talking to another man about carpentry and I again stood there awkwardly without a purpose, while I waited to get back to the broken-down van and head home. At this moment, my dad and I both watched this elderly lady pull up in a typical Oldsmobile with only three rubber tires. This lady had driven all the way from her home, which had to have been at least 3 miles from the sight of the long, white, jagged line following her from the street, to the gas station to see if someone could help her. I remember the shock on my father’s face when he saw this woman and her car. As a hospitable and knowledgeable man, my dad took one look at the car and knew exactly what to do as always. This is the first memory I have where my father was in a difficult situation and knew exactly how to solve the problem. Seeing his selflessness and generosity with the old woman made me proud to have the father I do. So, for a long time afterward, I would always look at that gas station from the highway between the storage spaces and give a little chuckle. 

Reponse to "Signs and Wonders" by Rebecca McClanahan

McClanahan describes the harsh realities of living in New York City with using relatable diction. In the beginning of this essay, McClanahan starts with a description of the sounds outside of her apartment to signify the toll it takes to live in a city that supposedly never sleeps. In her eyes, New York can be seen as beautiful, strange, and exciting; the city is almost romanticized by the hustle and bustle of everyday life. In “Signs and Wonder,” I often found myself relating to her feelings about only “subletting” in life; the natural world never seems like our own. This essay gives readers the sense that life is a process in finding signs that are significant to the stage of life we are in. The most interesting part of this essay is that even though she is aware of the griminess of New York, she still stays in the city: “…it’s like first love again, first lust, and you wonder how you could possibly live anywhere else. Then a steam pipe bursts, the couple in the apartment above you straps their steel-toed boots back on, you step in a puddle of urine on the subway platform and some guy with three rings in his nose calls you Bitch and spits on you…”  This visualization of New York shows how she is observing or being lost in her surroundings, but she is also trying to find meaning in her life.  

Life Scene: Inspired by "Night Songs" by Stephen Kuusisto

During the summers of 3^rd or 4^th grade, I would attend the YMCA while both my parents worked. There was this one day where my dad and I were driving home in his big rusty, grey van down route 8. On occasion, the van would need talking to when it started to act up. In this moment, I heard “just get me there, baby. Just get me there.” About ten minutes after this, when I finally realized the van was low on gas. Suddenly, the van broke down and I found myself standing on the side of the highway feeling the cars rush by. As an awkward kid, I wanted to help out but did not know what to do. Particularly, when my dad hopped over a fence and told me to come on, I panicked. I didn’t know how to hoist my body over the grayish wires with diamond-sized holes that were meant for the smallest feet in the world. Luckily, there was a gas station five to ten minutes away from where we broke down. While my dad filled the red gas container, I remember feeling strange for standing at gas station without a car. My dad ended up talking to another man about carpentry and I again stood there awkwardly without a purpose, while I waited to get back to the broken-down van and head home. At this moment, my dad and I both watched this elderly lady pull up in a typical Oldsmobile with only three rubber tires. This lady had driven all the way from her home, which had to have been at least 3 miles from the sight of the long, white, jagged line following her from the street, to the gas station to see if someone could help her. I remember the shock on my father’s face when he saw this woman and her car. As a hospitable and knowledgeable man, my dad took one look at the car and knew exactly what to do. This is the first memory I have where my father was in a difficult situation and knew exactly how to solve the problem.  Seeing his selflessness and generosity with the old woman made me proud to have the father I do. So, for a long time afterward, I would always look at that gas station from the highway between the storage spaces and give a little chuckle. 

Response to "Brief History of My Thumb" by Lucia Perillo

In this essay, Perillo describes the experience of hitchhiking and how someone can feel adrenaline by getting into semis driven by questionable men. This essay also plays on the idea of repeating the same thing over again even though there is knowledge of a potential risk. The protagonist has this sensation of hitchhiking almost as an addictive drug—she likes the feeling of mystery and danger. Perillo portrays hitchhiking as women giving away their souls to get a ride, especially when she describes women hitchhikers as “…the sexy French women in their high-heeled boots suddenly disappeared back to whatever swanky place they’d come from,” (23). The interesting part of this essay is when she becomes a trucker and has to decide what hitchhikers to pick up and which not to pick up. Perillo explains the regret of leaving an Indian woman behind and how the hitchhikers she has or has not picked up still haunt her.