When the winter gloves are next to the summer sandals. =D It really gives a person hope.
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
Monday, February 7, 2011
Creative Writing Class
I think I've mentioned before how interesting it is when I write something, usually a memory, for a paper in class and then have my best friend look it over. She is almost always included in these memories (our trip to Europe, our trip to New Orleans, our trips to the cities. . . ect.), so when I ask her for comments, it's usually along the lines of, "No, that's wrong. This is what happened."
Usually, she's right. My memory is terrible. Though, for the record, I still believe the Mercedes CLK 65 Black we saw in New Orleans was gray. No one would destroy that beautiful power-fiend by painting it baby blue.
The latest example is of a paper I just finished writing tonight. I shot her an email and asked her to edit before I hit print. It was about our trip to Valley Fair this last summer with my dad. My assignment for my Writing Creative Nonfiction class was to write out an 'explodable' memory. Draw it out, take it step by step. This was hard for me, because most memories I treasure aren't terribly exciting. Most involve staring out over an Italian landscape or the first time my niece found out how to make me laugh. But then I remembered the rip cord.
I should explain. I am afraid of heights. I mean, heights above those which I can't jump down from safely. This is probably why I never climbed any of the awesome evergreen trees in our yard (probably too, because I hated having sappy fingers). But I've always wanted to skydive. Call it taking on my fears, but I've always wanted to experience the feeling of falling. But, you know, not the whole dying part. Parachute. Problem solved. Anyway, we were at Valley Fair, and I think we were pretty tired by this point (we got there early and spent the day on water rides and walking around). I saw the rip cord. There was a lot of joking about going on about doing it, until my dad told us he would pay, but only if my friend went with me. The long and short of it is what I drafted into this paper.
Form and Technique 2
My friend text me and said I was wrong. I had pulled the release cable. I refused to believe this. I have no memory of pulling the cord, just hanging on to her for dear life. I was scared witless. I wanted to throw up. I also remember the sun almost piercing my skin. Then she reminded me that my dad had caught it all on camera. I went to look at the video, and sure enough, I pulled the cord, and it was cloudy (borderline raining). Again, I do have a terrible memory. But what gets me is that I can still feel the sun on my skin. I wrote the paper to what is true to my memory. Maybe it was tainted by the absolute fear gripping my heart and lungs. But I think this is what I love most about creative nonfiction. It doesn't matter that my friend was too scared to pull the cord so I was forced to volunteer, or that it was about to rain. I wrote this how I remember, and the best part is arguing the details with my friends and family. Because we all have different views of what really happened.
Usually, she's right. My memory is terrible. Though, for the record, I still believe the Mercedes CLK 65 Black we saw in New Orleans was gray. No one would destroy that beautiful power-fiend by painting it baby blue.
The latest example is of a paper I just finished writing tonight. I shot her an email and asked her to edit before I hit print. It was about our trip to Valley Fair this last summer with my dad. My assignment for my Writing Creative Nonfiction class was to write out an 'explodable' memory. Draw it out, take it step by step. This was hard for me, because most memories I treasure aren't terribly exciting. Most involve staring out over an Italian landscape or the first time my niece found out how to make me laugh. But then I remembered the rip cord.
I should explain. I am afraid of heights. I mean, heights above those which I can't jump down from safely. This is probably why I never climbed any of the awesome evergreen trees in our yard (probably too, because I hated having sappy fingers). But I've always wanted to skydive. Call it taking on my fears, but I've always wanted to experience the feeling of falling. But, you know, not the whole dying part. Parachute. Problem solved. Anyway, we were at Valley Fair, and I think we were pretty tired by this point (we got there early and spent the day on water rides and walking around). I saw the rip cord. There was a lot of joking about going on about doing it, until my dad told us he would pay, but only if my friend went with me. The long and short of it is what I drafted into this paper.
Form and Technique 2
My friend text me and said I was wrong. I had pulled the release cable. I refused to believe this. I have no memory of pulling the cord, just hanging on to her for dear life. I was scared witless. I wanted to throw up. I also remember the sun almost piercing my skin. Then she reminded me that my dad had caught it all on camera. I went to look at the video, and sure enough, I pulled the cord, and it was cloudy (borderline raining). Again, I do have a terrible memory. But what gets me is that I can still feel the sun on my skin. I wrote the paper to what is true to my memory. Maybe it was tainted by the absolute fear gripping my heart and lungs. But I think this is what I love most about creative nonfiction. It doesn't matter that my friend was too scared to pull the cord so I was forced to volunteer, or that it was about to rain. I wrote this how I remember, and the best part is arguing the details with my friends and family. Because we all have different views of what really happened.
Saturday, February 5, 2011
Calvin and Hobbs
I haven't always loved Calvin and Hobbes. To be quite frank, they confused me when I was little. I thought that for a cartoon, there was too much dialogue I didn't understand. So I went back to my Nancy Drew. Actually, for the most part, I hated comics. They were too short, didn't have enough of an exciting plot, or I just didn't understand them. It took a while to grow into them, and in fact, I can say I've never appreciated them more than now.
My dad brought me four Calvin and Hobbes books on his way down to Rochester this last week, and I've had time to devour one and a half of them. I almost died laughing when I realized, here are comments on topics I am covering (or have recently covered) in Mass Media in Society, American Lit, or other college classes. There is one I just read where Hobbes is looking at a book about how technology takes over humanity-- Calvin agrees this is terrible, but interrupts himself with, "Ohmygosh, is that the time? I'm missing my TV show!" This couldn't have been more on mark with what I'm reading in a book by Neil Postman for my Mass Media class right now.
And then, there is just the pure fun of Calvin's life. I keep thinking of how amusing it would have been to be Ms. Wormwood. What would I do if I saw Calvin pretending to be Spaceman Spiff, flying his ship? Arms outstretched, the look of being windblown? I've been roaring with laughter for the past few nights, that's for sure. I have to say, my favorite strip is when he combs his hair and puts his dad's glasses on and tells his father to go do something he hates because it will build character. I couldn't stop laughing for about five minutes. I'm glad I don't have a roommate. I'm reading my absolute favorite collection now, "Something Under the Bed is Drooling."
Anyway, I could go on forever about Calvin and Hobbes. In fact, tonight I met one of my friend's BFF from back home; she has a tattoo of Calvin and Hobbes hugging on her foot. We bonded over favorite strips and how terrible it is when we meet people who DON'T know who they are. My point to this post is something I came across when looking at Calvin and Hobbes tattoos, to see what people have done with them. Some went as far as getting entire strips on their arms, legs, or backs.
This one of Spaceman Spiff is my favorite.
Though, if I got one myself, it would be of them in their wagon. Or sitting next to the fire.
This one is the one my friend has, but she's got it on her inner foot.
Another of my favorite strips
But then, I saw this:
This is with Suzie, who my friend said she could just see being Calvin's future girlfriend.
My dad brought me four Calvin and Hobbes books on his way down to Rochester this last week, and I've had time to devour one and a half of them. I almost died laughing when I realized, here are comments on topics I am covering (or have recently covered) in Mass Media in Society, American Lit, or other college classes. There is one I just read where Hobbes is looking at a book about how technology takes over humanity-- Calvin agrees this is terrible, but interrupts himself with, "Ohmygosh, is that the time? I'm missing my TV show!" This couldn't have been more on mark with what I'm reading in a book by Neil Postman for my Mass Media class right now.
And then, there is just the pure fun of Calvin's life. I keep thinking of how amusing it would have been to be Ms. Wormwood. What would I do if I saw Calvin pretending to be Spaceman Spiff, flying his ship? Arms outstretched, the look of being windblown? I've been roaring with laughter for the past few nights, that's for sure. I have to say, my favorite strip is when he combs his hair and puts his dad's glasses on and tells his father to go do something he hates because it will build character. I couldn't stop laughing for about five minutes. I'm glad I don't have a roommate. I'm reading my absolute favorite collection now, "Something Under the Bed is Drooling."
Anyway, I could go on forever about Calvin and Hobbes. In fact, tonight I met one of my friend's BFF from back home; she has a tattoo of Calvin and Hobbes hugging on her foot. We bonded over favorite strips and how terrible it is when we meet people who DON'T know who they are. My point to this post is something I came across when looking at Calvin and Hobbes tattoos, to see what people have done with them. Some went as far as getting entire strips on their arms, legs, or backs.
But then, I saw this:
I can't begin to describe the pit of sadness that weighed me down after looking at this. It was a result of this article. It talks how it won't be mandatory for students participating in athletics to take drug tests before starting the season. It merges onto the topic of students taking Ritalin or Adderal to do better in school. It wasn't even the article that upset me. It was the bottom two panels of the above comic. It's almost like they killed Hobbes. The idea of Calvin growing up, Hobbes forgotten, is down right depressing. This is the most imaginative kid EVER. Ughhhh. My point, I suppose, is that this was depressing. And I thought I would share it with the world. Take it for what you will-- it's late, and I'm going to read me some hilarious Calvin-Hobbesian antics before bed.
Here are a few pictures I found that made me feel better:
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