How do I learn?
I am a visual person. Not everyone is a visual person. When I hear something, I don’t necessarily remember it. However, if I see something, perhaps drawn out, I am more likely to remember it. By writing out what I need to remember, I will remember it better. On flash cards I will have a definition but if possible I will have a picture. The combination of both will help me greatly.
As we proceed to a more technological era, we are using computers more and more. Thus, we are all becoming more visual human beings.
I learn by communication. I communicated with others and receive information that I store and use. Everyone learns by communicating. Communicating is not only verbal but non-verbal as well. We learn social skills by interpreting others actions.
I learn by mistakes. Mistakes teach important life rules. I made mistakes as a child and learned from them because I had my parents to help me. Now, in college, I do not have my parents with and when I make mistakes, which I do often, I am learning to pick up the pieces on my own.
Certain mistakes can be worse than others and you cannot learn from them but others can learn from them. Survival of the fittest it can be called or most recently changed to “survival of the best adapt.”
Why do I learn?
I learn for many different reasons. I learn for the sake of learning, I learn for interest, and most commonly, I learn because I have to.
My favorite is learning for the sake of learning or learning for interest. My favorite channel is Discovery Health and I love learning about medication and medical procedures. I also love reading about medical issues and researching them online. I am learning the information because it interests me, not because I have to or because I know that it will be on some test one day.
I mostly learn because I have to. I hate math and everything that goes with it. I study it and learn it because I know it is a required course that I must pass. When I do the homework it pains me because I do not find it interesting nor fun. English on the other hand, I find incredibly interesting. I love to read all books. I love to write because of the way it makes me feel.
I know more about English than I do math because I spend more time studying it and I enjoy it. If I enjoy it, it obviously comes somewhat easily to me and I understand it better.
In America, we learn a certain way. We all go to elementary school where we learn the basics of all the subjects and are forced to all study the same things. As we proceed to middle school we still study the same subjects as before but a little more in depth. We also are allowed to choose a small amount of electives. In high school we must take the same general education courses but are allowed more electives and can try as many new things as we like. I think the most important stage is high school. There, you are encouraged to try new areas of study and really discover what you are passionate about. My senior year I took almost all English classes because I loved that area. In college, we must pick a general area of study. Once that is done and we has taken all the required courses like in all the other levels we dwell on our major.
Once there, we study in depth everything about our major, then choose even more specific electives that pertain to it. America has a great structure of education because it makes everyone try everything and obtain general knowledge in all areas. But in England, it is much different.
I have several frustrations about learning. We all learn in different ways. As I stated before, I am a visual learner. Not all teachers teach in a way that is easy for me to learn. By everyone having a different learning style and it causes confusion and ultimately leads to frustration. Those with learning disabilities face even a harder battle. They are put on the same playing field as the rest of us and are expected to keep up. I am a slow reader, which makes being an English major tough. With the large work load consisting of mostly reading, it takes me much longer to accomplish homework than my peers. I also take tests very slow and have high anxiety. Anxiety is a huge learning obstacle for me. It keeps me from taking my time to fully understand a subject and makes me feel stressed which in turn hurts my performance.
These are obstacles that I have had to deal with my whole life. I guess you can say I am slow or to be somewhat politically correct, I am a slow learner. That is my learning style. I pay attention to little details and dwell on insignificant things because of my Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. This by no means makes me less intelligent than the next person, it just makes me different.
Friday, November 7, 2008
This became 481 words, whoa
I pressed the round 5 button and stopped to observe my surroundings: the round nubs on the floor tiles, the chrome walls which seemed to suffuse all colors and shapes until a group, meaning three or more, people standing within an elevator would appear to be a faint, pseudo-morphed globule in the reflection. (1)
From there it occurred to me how many times I have stood in an elevator exactly. Thousands, surely. We think of elevators as such an innovation, when few stop to consider the dumb waiter. (2)
I began to consider the hundreds of people I’ve never gotten to know whom I have stood beside in my various experiences in elevators, my arms condemned to stay at my sides for the sake of space, and my steps within it abridged. Conversation is ever slow to produce in elevators, usually limited to the weather and such daily happenings, as no one is in their element when they are standing two feet from a stranger.
This is, however, a contrast from other such limited situations in more open settings, in which I have spoken with people whom I have never known and never will, but thought I did at the time. (3)
(1) I have often taken an interest in reflections as a child, which began at the age of five when I came across a funhouse mirror in a doctor’s office waiting room, which tweaked my top half into a narrow, vaguely similar image, and made my bottom half appear quite bulbous. This began my musings that perhaps within us there is a person of about the same size, but what each of us sees in ourselves and others may simply be a funhouse mirror image.
This was, of course, before I knew of the ramifications of thyroid disorders, a main cause of obesity, and depression medications, which slow one’s metabolism.
(2) It has always interested me to know that dumb waiters were popularized in the early 20th century in restaurants, since we tend to think of today’s contraptions, elevators, as being motorized for our convenience.
This bring to mind the fact that car windows used to be turned by a handle, which, though less convenient, would save gas if we still used it today.
(3) This draws to my experiences of high school, in which I stood at the bus stop and each morning a middle aged fellow in my neighborhood was walking his dog, passing my stop at exactly 7:12am. This dog had been sold to him by my next door neighbor, a pleasant woman who sold insurance for a living and bred dogs as something secondary, but a love of hers nonetheless.
Each weekday we briefly spoke, of nothing in particular, sometimes simply “Good morning,” yet, there was something of a communicative bond there, simply from being within the same vicinity even on the coldest of days.
From there it occurred to me how many times I have stood in an elevator exactly. Thousands, surely. We think of elevators as such an innovation, when few stop to consider the dumb waiter. (2)
I began to consider the hundreds of people I’ve never gotten to know whom I have stood beside in my various experiences in elevators, my arms condemned to stay at my sides for the sake of space, and my steps within it abridged. Conversation is ever slow to produce in elevators, usually limited to the weather and such daily happenings, as no one is in their element when they are standing two feet from a stranger.
This is, however, a contrast from other such limited situations in more open settings, in which I have spoken with people whom I have never known and never will, but thought I did at the time. (3)
(1) I have often taken an interest in reflections as a child, which began at the age of five when I came across a funhouse mirror in a doctor’s office waiting room, which tweaked my top half into a narrow, vaguely similar image, and made my bottom half appear quite bulbous. This began my musings that perhaps within us there is a person of about the same size, but what each of us sees in ourselves and others may simply be a funhouse mirror image.
This was, of course, before I knew of the ramifications of thyroid disorders, a main cause of obesity, and depression medications, which slow one’s metabolism.
(2) It has always interested me to know that dumb waiters were popularized in the early 20th century in restaurants, since we tend to think of today’s contraptions, elevators, as being motorized for our convenience.
This bring to mind the fact that car windows used to be turned by a handle, which, though less convenient, would save gas if we still used it today.
(3) This draws to my experiences of high school, in which I stood at the bus stop and each morning a middle aged fellow in my neighborhood was walking his dog, passing my stop at exactly 7:12am. This dog had been sold to him by my next door neighbor, a pleasant woman who sold insurance for a living and bred dogs as something secondary, but a love of hers nonetheless.
Each weekday we briefly spoke, of nothing in particular, sometimes simply “Good morning,” yet, there was something of a communicative bond there, simply from being within the same vicinity even on the coldest of days.
Baker is kind of a big deal.
When I went to go down to the lobby to check my mail*, I put on my outfit for the day. I unfolded my jeans and put my one leg through the corresponding hole and then proceeded with the next leg then worked my jeans over my butt, zipped the zipper, and buttoned them right up. But that’s not how I do it everyday. Sometime I sit on my bed and scrunch my pants down and set them on the floor. I put my feet through the holes and slide those suckers up both legs being covered in dark denim and maybe I would button the button first instead of zipping the zipper. Then putting on the cute top that I picked out for the day I would normally put one arm in the sleeve first and then work in the other arm, while simultaneously trying to work my head through the large hole that is just big enough to fit my head, but not big enough to avoid messing up my hair. So then I had to go and fix my hair again which delayed my trip to get my mail. I didn’t actually know if I had mail, but my aunt said she had something to send me and would send it this week. So, the entire week I went down the to my mailbox and reached up to hopefully find a blue stub that says “Take this to the front desk.” It was like opening a chocolate bar and find the golden ticket. There it was; the blue ticket that said my name. I took it to the front desk. I showed my ID, signed the book, and beamed at my glowing brown package.
* Mail can be the highlight of a college students day. Why this is, I can’t really be sure. I rarely received packages before I went to college, and if I got one I wasn’t overly excited about it. Snail-mail becomes away of staying connected with the outside world in a concrete way. Email, cellphone, the interenet. These things are all great in convienent, but there is something so impersonal about these electronic devices. I need to hold a piece of paper in my hand and see the ink that came from the pen that was in my generous senders hand that is controlled by the beautiful mind of the sender. Cardboard boxes with the dull brown flaps taped tight with care. The contents of these packages is not important. Just walking the lobby and the ride up the elevator with everyone looking at you in envy is treat enough. The inner smile that you feel knowing that everyone around you wishes they had a box to flaunt around because it means that someone was thinking about you and thoughtful enough to send you a package. Whether the content is food, clothes, supplies or decorations for the dorm room no one really cares. When I got my first package here I tried not to flaunt it. I didn't want people to think I was a girl carrying a package that thought she was better than everyone else. I was just a girl who happened to come across some good fortune upon opening the metal door of my mail box.
* Mail can be the highlight of a college students day. Why this is, I can’t really be sure. I rarely received packages before I went to college, and if I got one I wasn’t overly excited about it. Snail-mail becomes away of staying connected with the outside world in a concrete way. Email, cellphone, the interenet. These things are all great in convienent, but there is something so impersonal about these electronic devices. I need to hold a piece of paper in my hand and see the ink that came from the pen that was in my generous senders hand that is controlled by the beautiful mind of the sender. Cardboard boxes with the dull brown flaps taped tight with care. The contents of these packages is not important. Just walking the lobby and the ride up the elevator with everyone looking at you in envy is treat enough. The inner smile that you feel knowing that everyone around you wishes they had a box to flaunt around because it means that someone was thinking about you and thoughtful enough to send you a package. Whether the content is food, clothes, supplies or decorations for the dorm room no one really cares. When I got my first package here I tried not to flaunt it. I didn't want people to think I was a girl carrying a package that thought she was better than everyone else. I was just a girl who happened to come across some good fortune upon opening the metal door of my mail box.
Tieing Back My Hair
As I sit down at my desk and open my laptop, the glow of the screen feels as if it is tanning my pale caucasian skin. I lean down to pick up my math notebook when my long curly brown locks of hair fall across my face. I tuck the locks behind my ear but this act is in vain and the worm like strans wiggle themselves free and brush against my face once agian.
Irritated, i scan my desk and look for the most optimum remedy for this problem. *(footnote)* A blue metalic hair tie catches my eye. This hair tie would work perfect. It was metal clip free which saves stuburn unruly strans of hair from being snagged and caught.
I reach for the tie and grasp it between my thumb and pointer finger. Slowly i test it out by rolling it back and forth between these fingers and then slip my middle finger in the tie as well and check the elastisity of it. Nice and tight, but not too tight where is would keep me from twisting it around my husky tail of hair. "this will do" i think to myslef with assurence.
I transfer the tie from my left and to my right. Slowly, three finger to start, i widen the circumfence of the tiny hoop. I let the tie roll slowly on to my petite wrists. Once in place on my wrist i feel the pintch of elastic. I see the extra amount of skin i possess rise on eiather side of the tie.
With both hands i pull my silky hair behind my head and hold it in my left hand. I use my right set of fingers as a comb and comb my scalp to make sure there are no liberating locks of hair. After this, i transfer my hair into my right hand and with my left hand grasp the tie off right wrist. I pull the tie taught, while makeing sure it dosent spilt, over my right knucles and over my bunch of hair. Now once it is in place i pull tight with my left hand and twist on to my left hand. I switch to bunch back and with my right hand pull it back over and through the hair.
This is where the delema comes in. Do i attempt to do one more twist and pull? With my right hand i tug the tie to test the boundness of it. If i do do one more twist and pull the tie might break, not nessasrily right away but possible sometime through out the day. *(footnote 2)* If i dont, i run the risk of it becoming loose. Decsions, decsions.....
*Now if you have ever had the misfortune of having long hair you know the frustration that goes a long with it. Never being able to concentrate with the constant tucking behind the ears and tieing back can been vexaious. Now i have tried many different hair styles but all of which have turned out disatrious.
*2 Having a hair tie randomly break throughout the day can be devestating. Once time during a sectional soccer game i had tied my hair back very tight so i would have any rebellious strains fall out during the game. As i am running up feild i collide with another girl as we fight to tackle the ball. One rough shoulder to shoulder collision did me in; i was fine but my tie had snapped! I continued to fight for the ball with my hair showering over the both of us. Once i cleared the ball with one big kick i immediatly look to my wrist for an extra hair tie. My wirsts were naked. I had to be subbed out soley for the fact that it was impossible to play with my mane of hair recoliling about. Moral of this footnote, alway keep and extra hair tie on your writsts at all times.
Irritated, i scan my desk and look for the most optimum remedy for this problem. *(footnote)* A blue metalic hair tie catches my eye. This hair tie would work perfect. It was metal clip free which saves stuburn unruly strans of hair from being snagged and caught.
I reach for the tie and grasp it between my thumb and pointer finger. Slowly i test it out by rolling it back and forth between these fingers and then slip my middle finger in the tie as well and check the elastisity of it. Nice and tight, but not too tight where is would keep me from twisting it around my husky tail of hair. "this will do" i think to myslef with assurence.
I transfer the tie from my left and to my right. Slowly, three finger to start, i widen the circumfence of the tiny hoop. I let the tie roll slowly on to my petite wrists. Once in place on my wrist i feel the pintch of elastic. I see the extra amount of skin i possess rise on eiather side of the tie.
With both hands i pull my silky hair behind my head and hold it in my left hand. I use my right set of fingers as a comb and comb my scalp to make sure there are no liberating locks of hair. After this, i transfer my hair into my right hand and with my left hand grasp the tie off right wrist. I pull the tie taught, while makeing sure it dosent spilt, over my right knucles and over my bunch of hair. Now once it is in place i pull tight with my left hand and twist on to my left hand. I switch to bunch back and with my right hand pull it back over and through the hair.
This is where the delema comes in. Do i attempt to do one more twist and pull? With my right hand i tug the tie to test the boundness of it. If i do do one more twist and pull the tie might break, not nessasrily right away but possible sometime through out the day. *(footnote 2)* If i dont, i run the risk of it becoming loose. Decsions, decsions.....
*Now if you have ever had the misfortune of having long hair you know the frustration that goes a long with it. Never being able to concentrate with the constant tucking behind the ears and tieing back can been vexaious. Now i have tried many different hair styles but all of which have turned out disatrious.
*2 Having a hair tie randomly break throughout the day can be devestating. Once time during a sectional soccer game i had tied my hair back very tight so i would have any rebellious strains fall out during the game. As i am running up feild i collide with another girl as we fight to tackle the ball. One rough shoulder to shoulder collision did me in; i was fine but my tie had snapped! I continued to fight for the ball with my hair showering over the both of us. Once i cleared the ball with one big kick i immediatly look to my wrist for an extra hair tie. My wirsts were naked. I had to be subbed out soley for the fact that it was impossible to play with my mane of hair recoliling about. Moral of this footnote, alway keep and extra hair tie on your writsts at all times.
I am a Cultured Farmer
Not many people would know that I am currently learning a new language. At least three or more hours a week I am. I like to think that this makes me a bilingualist. Would you think more highly of me if I were bilingual? I consider bi-, tri- lingualists to be above people who aren’t. I certainly feel that they are more cultured than most. I love that word cultured. I wish I were a more cultured in the language aspect. Yet, what does being cultured even mean. Traditionally country people 1 are not thought of as cultured to the city life. I would argue though that city people are not cultured to the ways of the country life. But I also know that this “cultured” notion came about in the olden times, when the educated population lived in the city. Those living out on a farm were not usually formally educated. Did farmers know how to speak two languages? Probably not. However, if a farmer had to make a business transaction or sell some corn to a Spanish speaking man then he must be able to communicate in some way with him. That would make him more cultured than his neighbor down the road 2 who doesn’t know another language.
Learning a language can be pretty exasperating. Starting off your vocabulary consists of family member names, food items and maybe some directions and greetings. The first thing I learned to say in Spanish was Hello, My name is Elise. “Hola, me llamo Elise.” Who am I really ever going to say those words to besides my fellow bilingualists in class? I have yet to share my knowledge of this language to a native of Mexico or Spain. Is my skill a waste of space in my head? Have I failed miserably at my attempt to be cultured? 3
1 I have never thought of myself as country until I came here. There are so many people from Chicago or rather people who like to associate their home with Chicago. The accepted thought is that if you aren’t from the city then you are country. Your home is surrounded by deer infested corn fields; you drive your tractor to school and have a distinguishable southern accent. Something is definitely wrong with this.
2 My grandparent’s neighbors down in Parnell, Iowa, who live down the road, bought a horse to function as their lawnmower. They fence him in and move him to different parts of the yard occasionally. He eats that grass down the dirt. Best lawnmower I have ever seen.
3 There is a very good chance.
Learning a language can be pretty exasperating. Starting off your vocabulary consists of family member names, food items and maybe some directions and greetings. The first thing I learned to say in Spanish was Hello, My name is Elise. “Hola, me llamo Elise.” Who am I really ever going to say those words to besides my fellow bilingualists in class? I have yet to share my knowledge of this language to a native of Mexico or Spain. Is my skill a waste of space in my head? Have I failed miserably at my attempt to be cultured? 3
1 I have never thought of myself as country until I came here. There are so many people from Chicago or rather people who like to associate their home with Chicago. The accepted thought is that if you aren’t from the city then you are country. Your home is surrounded by deer infested corn fields; you drive your tractor to school and have a distinguishable southern accent. Something is definitely wrong with this.
2 My grandparent’s neighbors down in Parnell, Iowa, who live down the road, bought a horse to function as their lawnmower. They fence him in and move him to different parts of the yard occasionally. He eats that grass down the dirt. Best lawnmower I have ever seen.
3 There is a very good chance.
Famous Courtesy
Like a seedling being uprooted from its natural ground, I was forced to find comfort in the yield of other kinds of foreign soil—soil that contained strange brambles, weeds, stones and other insects. I had to grin and tolerate the asphyxiation that comes with the bizarre environment, that out-of-place feeling always present among those who’ve found themselves lost. Through these uprooting, because, yes—I’ve been blown over for countless of times and driven out from one home to another for that elusive greener grass, I’ve always found one comfort in one familiar entity. That entity comes in a form that most disciplined and courteous people know so well: courtesy. However absent chivalry might be, courtesy is still ever living in the hearts of the people—the people who have time and breath enough to recognize it. For example, courtesy dictates that we must hold the door for other people. That is the kind of tribute I always try to pay for Lady Courtesy. When someone is at least 4 seconds behind me, I always wait and hold the door for them. Even if a door knob contains virus and germs, courtesy must always be paid. Which isn’t that much of a payment if the other person you held the door for gave that fickle thanks. Because it’s implied—as it was implied a hundred years ago—that courtesy must always be recompensed with the words “Thank you” and “You’re welcome.” These two phrases are basic necessities just like breathing but it is these phrases that have been branded as unnecessary in some people’s minds. Saying these phrases is a part of courtesy. It is the uncouth individual who doesn’t use these phrases.
Another form of courtesy, a courtesy that is exercised among Smith residents, is also unnoticed until now. That courtesy is whittled in the contour of stairs. Tolerating the stairs in Watterson is a very painful experience, the kind of necessary evil one must endure in order to be viewed as a human being who isn’t too lazy to take the elevators—especially among Smith residents living on the third floor. Among the Watterson residents, living in Smith doesn’t equal taking the elevators. Heaven and the mighty earth forbid that the Smith residents might claim the rightful opportunity of using the elevators when they are so graciously provided for. But for courtesy’s sake, I take the stairs—6 flight of stairs made up of 12 rungs each. That’s a total of 72 rungs of stairs that Smith residents need to take for every elevator flight….
Another form of courtesy, a courtesy that is exercised among Smith residents, is also unnoticed until now. That courtesy is whittled in the contour of stairs. Tolerating the stairs in Watterson is a very painful experience, the kind of necessary evil one must endure in order to be viewed as a human being who isn’t too lazy to take the elevators—especially among Smith residents living on the third floor. Among the Watterson residents, living in Smith doesn’t equal taking the elevators. Heaven and the mighty earth forbid that the Smith residents might claim the rightful opportunity of using the elevators when they are so graciously provided for. But for courtesy’s sake, I take the stairs—6 flight of stairs made up of 12 rungs each. That’s a total of 72 rungs of stairs that Smith residents need to take for every elevator flight….
Tuned Beyond Standard
Earlier today I played my guitar. As I strummed the harmonious chords1 of multiple songs by the Red Hot Chili Peppers as well as the intricate guitar-work of Dave Mustaine and Marty Friedman. I struggled to learn to master the speed and accuracy provided in the second solo (the solo right after the acoustic solo) of Holy Wars, much like the tortoise would. After about an hour or so of practice, I gave up. So frustrated, my hand struck all the strings much like an aroused adolescent boy to his genitals. After a second or two, the second string gave and broke2, snapping and curling like an old handlebar mustache.
1 It is almost redudant to say harmonious chords, seeing as a chord by definition is a series of notes played together in harmony. It is interesting to think that a normal chord can consist of a note and its 5th's and 7th's. Yet even though in my six years of playing, I still do not know exactly what to do when somebody tells me to play an A minor 7th chord, because I have primarily thought of music in only notational letters. Only until about two years ago did I begin to even fathom the idea that music is also represented numerically. Of course there are frets and tableture that tell you how and what to play certain songs, but in this case they mean nothing. However at the time of playing, I was indeed looking at the tableture for some of the beautifully written music and chords by Mr. John Frusciante, which allows the numerical mysteries of chords to be simplified to straight-forward numerical patterns in tableture so that even the slothful hobbyist could understand.
2 When a guitar string breaks it is difficult to ignore the disappointment that wells up inside. Although it is known how to change a string and it is rather simple after you have done it a few times, it is very time consuming. One must unwind the once broken string, or at times all of them for they may now be all out of tune. After slowly unwinding the strings evenly you must remove the string from the nut and out through the back of the guitar or through the tremolo (this allows you to tighten or loosen the strings by pressing down on it and can provide a quick springy vibrato) in order to dispose of it, which you better, because having lost a broken string on the floor and stepping on it myself, I know that that kind of pain is not ideal. However, once you have finally restrung and tightened all the strings evenly (in the reverse order of removing them in case you were wondering), it is hard not to caress and slide down the new strings, feeling every intricate and microscopic nickel-wound notch in the strings. The sound again resonates wonderfully, and after you hear what you have done by changing the strings, the hassle of changing the broken string is almost worth it. Almost.
1 It is almost redudant to say harmonious chords, seeing as a chord by definition is a series of notes played together in harmony. It is interesting to think that a normal chord can consist of a note and its 5th's and 7th's. Yet even though in my six years of playing, I still do not know exactly what to do when somebody tells me to play an A minor 7th chord, because I have primarily thought of music in only notational letters. Only until about two years ago did I begin to even fathom the idea that music is also represented numerically. Of course there are frets and tableture that tell you how and what to play certain songs, but in this case they mean nothing. However at the time of playing, I was indeed looking at the tableture for some of the beautifully written music and chords by Mr. John Frusciante, which allows the numerical mysteries of chords to be simplified to straight-forward numerical patterns in tableture so that even the slothful hobbyist could understand.
2 When a guitar string breaks it is difficult to ignore the disappointment that wells up inside. Although it is known how to change a string and it is rather simple after you have done it a few times, it is very time consuming. One must unwind the once broken string, or at times all of them for they may now be all out of tune. After slowly unwinding the strings evenly you must remove the string from the nut and out through the back of the guitar or through the tremolo (this allows you to tighten or loosen the strings by pressing down on it and can provide a quick springy vibrato) in order to dispose of it, which you better, because having lost a broken string on the floor and stepping on it myself, I know that that kind of pain is not ideal. However, once you have finally restrung and tightened all the strings evenly (in the reverse order of removing them in case you were wondering), it is hard not to caress and slide down the new strings, feeling every intricate and microscopic nickel-wound notch in the strings. The sound again resonates wonderfully, and after you hear what you have done by changing the strings, the hassle of changing the broken string is almost worth it. Almost.
Reading Rituals ps: Lauren you are ridiculous
Reading
It is interesting all the things one reads in a day without even realizing it. Notes, calorie count on the back of your morning yogurt, Signs while going to the bathroom, brushing your teeth, road signs, the back of the towing ticket I got on Monday, the list is infinite and could possibly go on forever. Which brings me to the interesting point of reading a book, which I have recently became acquaintances with. I studied the picture of the immigrant Japanese mother and daughter before even opening up the book. It read “Nisei Daughter”1. What an interesting title, full of secrets which I was about to uncover. I flipped to the third page, because we all obviously know there is nothing important really on the first or second page.2 I found some annoyance with the sand papery texture of the pages. Life would be so much easier and more joyful if the pages were just white. I started to read the black doodles on the page, my eyes shifting from left to right, barely blinking because that is what your eyes do when you are reading something you like. You do not want to miss those moments of things you could have read while your eyes were closed in a fast blink. After an hour or so slithered by, my eyelids started to get weighty as if an imaginary finger were pressing them down, forbidding me to go any further.
1. “Nisei” in Japanese means second generation. Second generation daughter. It is not pronounced knee see, but knee say. This is speaking of the main character of the book Monica Sone who lived in the time of the bombing of Pearl Harbor. The American’s foolishly threw all the Japanese into internment camps, only to realize generations later, that they were too busy with themselves to realize they ruined others lives.
2. Why is there never anything important on the first couple of trees. It would astonish anyone who knew how many trees are killed every year for those stupid bear pages in the beginning. Some books however to not follow this common scheme so I cannot generalize, but most books do this. The first page usually consists of the title again, but why? The title is on the cover or the side, therefore it is not needed. The second page usually consists of the title again and the publisher, which is to be repeated again on the next page. Once again, nonsense. Then there is usually a random blank page in the beginning or end, which makes some annoyance into my brain because it makes the book bigger than it really is.
It is interesting all the things one reads in a day without even realizing it. Notes, calorie count on the back of your morning yogurt, Signs while going to the bathroom, brushing your teeth, road signs, the back of the towing ticket I got on Monday, the list is infinite and could possibly go on forever. Which brings me to the interesting point of reading a book, which I have recently became acquaintances with. I studied the picture of the immigrant Japanese mother and daughter before even opening up the book. It read “Nisei Daughter”1. What an interesting title, full of secrets which I was about to uncover. I flipped to the third page, because we all obviously know there is nothing important really on the first or second page.2 I found some annoyance with the sand papery texture of the pages. Life would be so much easier and more joyful if the pages were just white. I started to read the black doodles on the page, my eyes shifting from left to right, barely blinking because that is what your eyes do when you are reading something you like. You do not want to miss those moments of things you could have read while your eyes were closed in a fast blink. After an hour or so slithered by, my eyelids started to get weighty as if an imaginary finger were pressing them down, forbidding me to go any further.
1. “Nisei” in Japanese means second generation. Second generation daughter. It is not pronounced knee see, but knee say. This is speaking of the main character of the book Monica Sone who lived in the time of the bombing of Pearl Harbor. The American’s foolishly threw all the Japanese into internment camps, only to realize generations later, that they were too busy with themselves to realize they ruined others lives.
2. Why is there never anything important on the first couple of trees. It would astonish anyone who knew how many trees are killed every year for those stupid bear pages in the beginning. Some books however to not follow this common scheme so I cannot generalize, but most books do this. The first page usually consists of the title again, but why? The title is on the cover or the side, therefore it is not needed. The second page usually consists of the title again and the publisher, which is to be repeated again on the next page. Once again, nonsense. Then there is usually a random blank page in the beginning or end, which makes some annoyance into my brain because it makes the book bigger than it really is.
yawn and stretch
my first accomplishment in the dating world was mastering the movie date.
It is the first of ten and probably one many haven't put much thought into before. many think seeing a movie is a good option for a first date, you don't have to talk much, and then it gives you something to talk about later; what was your favorite part, remember when..., those people behind us were so loud, and so on, but the truth is seeing a movie with someone new for the first time can be a world shaking experience, because you don't just experience the movie. I was not a master at these movie dates until sophomore year but I will take you back to a time when I realized I got myself into a lot more than a flick. It was December of 2003, my friend Chris Peterburs asked me if I'd like to see the movie Elf (1) with him, I saw previews for it and it seemed fairly funny, I mean it has Will Ferrell in it so it had to be good. We bought our tickets, well he bought are tickets, they usher gave us the " you're on a date smirk" as he tore the tickets and informed us we were in theater one, which was directly behind him, Chris lead the way, all the way, to the top on the right side of the screen. I didn't understand at the time why you would pick a spot so far back and one to the side, when I came to movies with friends and family we always picked a spot in the middle, of the middle, not close enough to give you the neck cramp from staring upwards like you do at the base of a sky scrapper when you're trying to see the top, and not to far back where it defeats the purpose of seeing the movie on the big screen, and in the middle so you get to see the screen looking straight on. We sat down in seat where the arm rest was already planted down I watched him look at it with a puzzled look, like it was a bomb ready to explored unless he decoded it before the movie ended, after the previews he gave up on thinking of a non awkward way of removing the only thing that divided us and just said you can use me as an arm rest and pushed it up, I sat with my hands in my lap for the majority of the movie, but I would always catch his eyes glancing at them, thinking of away to dart at them. The movie went on our hands some how became entangled. I was confused on why I had to hold his hand the movie wasn't scary, and it wasn't like I we were in a crowd and had to hold on to each other so we wouldn't lose the other, and as the movie rolled to an end he looked me in the eyes and inched closer, like a dog on a rabbit, I didn't know what to do, so I did the first thing that came to mind, I inched forward in my seat, causing myself to fall to the ground as my seat flung up just skimming his chin, the credits began to roll and I got up and said wow good movie, and started to walk out, Chris and I never say a movie again, nor really talked again. I tell you this story because I don't want you to have an experience like this, my little brother is now a Junior and new to the whole girl boy world, so I help him out and give him the skills I picked up through out my years of movie dates. 1. when you pick a set in the theater find out where the arm rest is already up, so there is no awkwardness when you go to remove it the job will have already been done, order a drink, because your mouth often because very dry when you're nervous causing it to also smell, don't go for her hands if they're in her lap, that means she doesn't want your hands shes fine with hers, if they're on her knee or anywhere close to yours inch yours closer through out the film, and when she flinches or jumps grab her hand for comfort all of these skills will strengthen and grow with time but are good starting ground for unawkward first movie date.
1. Till this Day I can't enjoy watching that movie, every Christmas it becomes popular again, everyone quotes it, answers their phones saying "Buddy the Elf Whats your favorite color" and I try to laugh, try to enjoy this holiday classic as much as everyone else but I can't. You ever realize how movies become more than just movies, when you see a movie you don't just remember the plot, the actors, and funny quotes you remember the day, the people, the place, the food, your mood, the smell, and all those impact your view on the movie so much more than the movie its self. When ever i go to blockbuster and walk through the aisles memory after memory rush to my head and I think to myself how long will these thoughts stay with me, when I'm a mom and take my kids to rent a Friday night flick will my memories block them from choosing the movie of their choose? We'll the thoughts my ex boyfriend who I Bad News Bears with still have an affect on me 30 years down the road, its a good movie i want my child to see it, will my family ever have a Christmas movie night and Elf be a part of it?
Yellow Truck with an Orange Sign
My family and I take a trip down to Florida every year and because of cost we have to drive. On this long drive I spend much of my spare time* looking out the window. I was pondering why they painted lines have significance on the rode when suddenly a truck passed by. Now trucks are very loud so I noticed it right away. For a small amount a time we drove next to it, but because of my dad's speedy driving we passed it up. As i looked back at it I noticed that it was a Yellow truck. No it was not the color it was, but the name of the trucking company. It just so happens that every truck from the Yellow company happens to be orange. I have thought of this question quite a few times. Many be it is orange because it makes a bolder statement, or perhaps yellow is to hard on the eyes. Either way I still believe if it is called Yellow, that's the color the truck should be. Otherwise, they might as well change the name of the truck company to Orange. I think it is weird that the truck company is named after a color in the first place. They didn't put much thought into that marketing campaign, or maybe they did. Maybe they thought that people would find it confusing if the truck is call Yellow, but the sign is orange, therefore they might want to know more about it. They could have done this all on purpose to create a stir about their trucks. Some people might not think they would have put that much thought into it, but I think it is very possible. I have always wanted to met someone who works for the company so I can ask them why their truck is called Yellow, but is not yellow at all. Sometimes I think like I might be reading to deep into this and they might think I am crazy. Whether I am crazy, or not I still want to know. Maybe I can go on their website to find out about it, or see if I can find someone's email who works their to email them. That way I won't have to ask them in person making it less embarrassing if there is no real reason at all. The truck is far behind my speeding dad now and I can barely see the Yellow truck. I guess I will have to wait to find out the answer because I am busy.
*When driving in a cart a person has alot of spare time. Is it really spare time though?
You are doing something, you are traveling, but if your not the one driving your not doing anything. If a friend calls you while you are traveling in a car with spare time and ask you to hang out, you say you are busy. If you have spare time are you really busy?
I Ripped My Pants (sorry, I had tech problems)
One autumn day I was walking across my yard, when I slipped on one of the mossy green walnuts that littered my yard. As I lay with my face on the ground, I was in the prime position to really examine the little chilly blades of grass that encircled my face and tickled my inner nose, like one of those pin impression toys[1]. I lifted my head to look out at the splotchy patches of brown and green[2], for which the cold weather was not completely to blame; the yard had been sickly even in the summer, undoubtedly due to my lack of fertilization and watering. As I sat up, I noticed that the knee of my jeans, which had formerly been worn down to the white spindles of fiber that obviously line blue jeans[3], had ripped completely. This shocked me for a moment, because this particular pair of jeans was my favorite, and although I had worn them often over the past several years, they had never faltered. It was as if I was a Spartan commander, and my phalanx[4] had broke formation. I stood up, a cold breeze blowing against my now naked knee, and walked back inside my house to look up the name of a gardener.
[1] The proper name for this device is the pin screen. This amusing toy became popular in the 1980’s, and consisted of a black rectangle of plastic with thousands of pinholes poked through it. Pins, resembling nails, slid through these holes. One end of these pins was the width of the body, like the point of a nail that had been filed down, while the other end was wider, so that the pin could not slide out of the plastic hole. Above the latter end was a clear glass or plastic sheet that would stop the pins from going too far forward, while the former end would press against things, such as faces, raising the pin various amounts, creating an imprint when repeated by each pin, over the surface of the object.
[2] The true color of grass is this deadish brown color. What gives grass its trademark shade of green is actually the chlorophyll that exists inside the blade, which consists of living cells that process water and carbon dioxide into sugar and oxygen. Therefore, I believe my garden of grass is in fact beautiful and perfect, and it is the chlorophyll to which the neighbors should complain.
[3] Denim is simply cotton that is woven in a twill pattern (a pattern of diagonal ribs), and is then pressed under two or more warp fibers. The reverse of this fabric (the inside of the two layers pressed together) is called cotton duck, and is white because the indigo dye used to make blue jeans their color does not reach this part.
[4] The Spartan phalanx does not break. Ever.
[1] The proper name for this device is the pin screen. This amusing toy became popular in the 1980’s, and consisted of a black rectangle of plastic with thousands of pinholes poked through it. Pins, resembling nails, slid through these holes. One end of these pins was the width of the body, like the point of a nail that had been filed down, while the other end was wider, so that the pin could not slide out of the plastic hole. Above the latter end was a clear glass or plastic sheet that would stop the pins from going too far forward, while the former end would press against things, such as faces, raising the pin various amounts, creating an imprint when repeated by each pin, over the surface of the object.
[2] The true color of grass is this deadish brown color. What gives grass its trademark shade of green is actually the chlorophyll that exists inside the blade, which consists of living cells that process water and carbon dioxide into sugar and oxygen. Therefore, I believe my garden of grass is in fact beautiful and perfect, and it is the chlorophyll to which the neighbors should complain.
[3] Denim is simply cotton that is woven in a twill pattern (a pattern of diagonal ribs), and is then pressed under two or more warp fibers. The reverse of this fabric (the inside of the two layers pressed together) is called cotton duck, and is white because the indigo dye used to make blue jeans their color does not reach this part.
[4] The Spartan phalanx does not break. Ever.
Blog: Drinks: Baker Style: PS JESS SHUT UP =]
Water(1). Milk(2). Juice(3). Powerade(4).
How often do you drink these things and not even think twice about it? you need it to hydrate obviously. but the content, the liquid. everyday, morning, noon and night you need it.
1) water- its simple. people have made it into many complex forms. Carbonated, pure, aquafina, dasani. its always renewable its always there. but how much do we take it for granted. this clear liquid that makes us live? eight glasses a day.. yeah right. that never happens.. unless you carry around a gallon jug of water like my exboyfriend does. you go to the fountain, the fridge, or facut. and its there. without it for three days we wil die. its our solution to our diets.. it has no calories and no fat. without it you would be a dried prune.
2) milk- cows. can't believe it comes out of there. im obsessed. 2% only. skim tastes like water and whole tastes like cream.
3)juice- lemonade, fruit punch, orange, apple, pineapple. these things come from fruits. and sugar. they can be associated with seasons. spring and summer- lemonade. fall and winter-apple cider. i actually just bought some. they did put it in a bag, and i had to double bag it. it was with milk.. it might have broken. why is it that we put drinks and food together in a category for when it should be eaten or drank? egg nog at christmas, fruit punch sitting outside on a hot day.
4)powerade- the only reason i bring this up is because i love it. honestly. i used to drink sports drinks on and off. what really is in there? supposed that it is made from sweat.. its got electrolytes in there for you. for the good of you. for your well being. its associated with sports. but i drink it daily. ican't help it. i have a sick craving every day. its routine.. go to the cafeteria, get food, go to the pop machine and get blue powerade. sometimes it comes out as water because it is empty. i will not have this. i have to have it. i will go to the other side of the food court to another machine to get it. something must be wrong with me. i wake up and i want it. i go to sleep and i want it. I LOVE IT. =]
How often do you drink these things and not even think twice about it? you need it to hydrate obviously. but the content, the liquid. everyday, morning, noon and night you need it.
1) water- its simple. people have made it into many complex forms. Carbonated, pure, aquafina, dasani. its always renewable its always there. but how much do we take it for granted. this clear liquid that makes us live? eight glasses a day.. yeah right. that never happens.. unless you carry around a gallon jug of water like my exboyfriend does. you go to the fountain, the fridge, or facut. and its there. without it for three days we wil die. its our solution to our diets.. it has no calories and no fat. without it you would be a dried prune.
2) milk- cows. can't believe it comes out of there. im obsessed. 2% only. skim tastes like water and whole tastes like cream.
3)juice- lemonade, fruit punch, orange, apple, pineapple. these things come from fruits. and sugar. they can be associated with seasons. spring and summer- lemonade. fall and winter-apple cider. i actually just bought some. they did put it in a bag, and i had to double bag it. it was with milk.. it might have broken. why is it that we put drinks and food together in a category for when it should be eaten or drank? egg nog at christmas, fruit punch sitting outside on a hot day.
4)powerade- the only reason i bring this up is because i love it. honestly. i used to drink sports drinks on and off. what really is in there? supposed that it is made from sweat.. its got electrolytes in there for you. for the good of you. for your well being. its associated with sports. but i drink it daily. ican't help it. i have a sick craving every day. its routine.. go to the cafeteria, get food, go to the pop machine and get blue powerade. sometimes it comes out as water because it is empty. i will not have this. i have to have it. i will go to the other side of the food court to another machine to get it. something must be wrong with me. i wake up and i want it. i go to sleep and i want it. I LOVE IT. =]
Sleep
I never knew how much I loved sleeping in. Sleeping is habitual, everyone does it. We all have to at some point. Have you ever wondered what you looked like when you sleep. Sometimes I wake up the next morning and find myself sleeping with a different pillow than I was at the start of my sleep. Or sometimes I have no blanket on at all or even sometimes, I end up on the other side of my bed. Do you ever wonder how you got there? I believe that when I sleep I have dreams that I am burning up or that I was running from someone and the only way to get away is to completely throw my body to the other side of the bed.
I sometimes think that it would be entertaining to videotape myself, or anyone else in that matter, while we sleep and then watch it. I take sleep forgranted but I think that once I saw how much fun sleep looks like, I will like sleep. When I think of sleep now I think of laying in a bed totally motionless and unconscious but thats not what sleep is about. I bet I have some of my best times sleeping. And some of my worst times. When I wake up and have a good dream, I just take it as a good dream but haven't you ever felt like you've had dejavu in one of your dreams. I believe dreams hold answers and sleep is what keeps us alive. It's not just habitual and necessary, it's entertaining.
I sometimes think that it would be entertaining to videotape myself, or anyone else in that matter, while we sleep and then watch it. I take sleep forgranted but I think that once I saw how much fun sleep looks like, I will like sleep. When I think of sleep now I think of laying in a bed totally motionless and unconscious but thats not what sleep is about. I bet I have some of my best times sleeping. And some of my worst times. When I wake up and have a good dream, I just take it as a good dream but haven't you ever felt like you've had dejavu in one of your dreams. I believe dreams hold answers and sleep is what keeps us alive. It's not just habitual and necessary, it's entertaining.
Thursday, November 6, 2008
Mot Juste..?
A typical day has gone by in a flurry. Not with actual flurries sadly, although there should have been being that it is November. I enter my hall of residence and climb aboard the tiny disturbingly unfaithful boxes that will bring me to the location of my bedroom. I dig out my keys and open the door to a most disgraceful site (1). Living in a suite, I often just run to my own room and slam the door. I barely even talk to my roommate. Having chosen to room random, I had no clue who my roommate even was until she slammed open the door the day before classes were suppose to start (2). I still can’t bring myself to comment on her rather repellent part of the room. You would think that a twenty year old would have more courtesy.
(1) Now at this time I would like to point out that this occurrence is quite common. I frequently open the door dreading the other side. For you see, my roommate is quite the slob. I don’t believe she realizes that she shares a room. I often ponder how to bring up this problem to her. Do I come right out and complain to her? Should I leave her a note on a colorful piece of paper? A post-it note would most likely land me with a very unhappy roommate. Do I really even care at the moment? Is it truly that hard to clean up after yourself? Leaving heaping piles of clothes and trash is disgusting.
(2) It was a humid afternoon in mid-August. August the 17th I do believe. I had been quite ecstatic about finding out whom my, hopefully, new best friend would be. I was in for quite a shock when this short, quite large, girl slammed open the door. Her pink hair assaulted my senses. This was not the new best friend I had been hoping for. She begrudgingly said hello and proceeded to haul her luggage into her room. I then realized that this was the beginning of a no-where near perfect friendship, or lack thereof.
He made it look easier than it really is.
On a recent excursion to the dining center, I was honored to partake in a meal with an old friend of mine(1). Following this meal I thought that perhaps my palate could benefit from the refreshing lucidity of ice cream. At the machine I found myself faced with a decision, a paper cup or a sugar cone(2). Ultimately deciding on the sugar cone I pulled down on the knob to release the ice cream in a frustratingly slow pace.
1) This friend is my current roommate. We met when we were half the height we are currently. It was near 7th grade when we started communicating. He was a shy boy who played the baritone in band. Initially I wasn’t drawn to music, instead I was drawn to the movement of the players themselves making the music. The bows of violins moved in rhythmic motions that could only compare to intricately choreographed sword fights. Despite my interest in the string instruments I ended up following my father and playing the trumpet. It is almost like a more pathetic version of a football legacy. But through my instrument playing I met my roommate and copied his algebra homework every day since then.
2) The whole concept of a cone to hold ice cream is a relatively new idea. It came out in the early 1900’s with the original inventor unknown. Many people claim to have invented the sugary treat, yet there is no evidence as to which inventor lays claim to the true rights of the sugar cone.
The whole process of receiving a sugar cone sparked an idea in my head. The sheer amount of refuse saved if everybody used a cone instead of a paper cup is startling. It lead me to believe that if there were an equivalent for paper plates that tasted half as good as sugar cones, we might be able to cut back on even more refuse. However, then there is a problem about which flavor would taste acceptable with a multitude of flavors. I would think some tortilla like substance would only be good for Mexican foods.
1) This friend is my current roommate. We met when we were half the height we are currently. It was near 7th grade when we started communicating. He was a shy boy who played the baritone in band. Initially I wasn’t drawn to music, instead I was drawn to the movement of the players themselves making the music. The bows of violins moved in rhythmic motions that could only compare to intricately choreographed sword fights. Despite my interest in the string instruments I ended up following my father and playing the trumpet. It is almost like a more pathetic version of a football legacy. But through my instrument playing I met my roommate and copied his algebra homework every day since then.
2) The whole concept of a cone to hold ice cream is a relatively new idea. It came out in the early 1900’s with the original inventor unknown. Many people claim to have invented the sugary treat, yet there is no evidence as to which inventor lays claim to the true rights of the sugar cone.
The whole process of receiving a sugar cone sparked an idea in my head. The sheer amount of refuse saved if everybody used a cone instead of a paper cup is startling. It lead me to believe that if there were an equivalent for paper plates that tasted half as good as sugar cones, we might be able to cut back on even more refuse. However, then there is a problem about which flavor would taste acceptable with a multitude of flavors. I would think some tortilla like substance would only be good for Mexican foods.
Blog: Baker style
The other day, while I was walking to my Politics class in the wonderful 70-degree warm, fall weather I saw someone. This someone’s name is Mallory and we also have history and geology together. We have the “quick smile-say hi-how are you and then go on with your life” relationship. We know each other but we do not know each other. We don’t know each other’s friends, family or past experiences. We simply know each other in passing. Hardly a friendship, perhaps more of an acquaintance. But when do you cross the line from acquaintance to friendship? As I was walking , making the crunch crunch sound from the fallen leaves on the ground, I saw her just a few feet diagonal from where I was. I knew her destination because it was the same as where I was headed but in my mind I was having a mini meltdown: Do I speed up to catch up to her? Do I slow down to distance myself from her? Do I acknowledge her? Do I say her name? Do I say hi? Do I walk with her to class? Does she want to walk with me? What will we talk about? Will there be awkward silences? If she were in my position would she call my name and say hi? I went through every single scenario possible and in the end I chose to do nothing about it but simply go on walking a few feet away from her, yet she’s still in my direct line of sight as we are both headed to the same class.
How many times in a day, a month, a year, a lifetime do we encounter this type of social situation? And are the outcomes different sometimes? What is it about social situations that cause people to become so frightened and scared. Looking back it seems simple what I should have done. I should have been the friendly person I claim to be and said hello and made a nice conversation but it seems it is always easier to look back and think of what we should have done.
A World of Shoes
With suppressed hassle, I untied my black-dominated New Balance sneakers. As I pried one of the shoes off my right foot with a little twist of the heel, I naturally hoped that no obscure odor would release itself from the pockets of air inside either gym shoe (the space between the inner walls of the shoe and the sock and/or foot) and spread among the countless noses nearby. Taking off a pair of sneakers in a public place could only mean 4 things: 1) Some exterior entity had slipped inside one or both shoes (such as a wood chip) and was continuing to poke through the sock while the person walked, 2) the shoe itself was uncomfortable (perhaps a new, unadapted shoe that had not yet figured out a way to mold with the foot's shape and thus chaffed continuously against the top layer of skin)*1, 3) the person wearing the shoe had stepped into a puddle, drenching their feet (rare), or 4) someone was passing through security at an airport. The fourth possibility happened to be my scenario; and I didn't want the travelers around me to smell any odor coming from my shoe*2.
I looked at the people behind me; they were not watching me. I roughly detached my left shoe. Then, I picked both sneakers up with one hand, pinning the inside walls of the shoes together (four fingers in one shoe, the thumb in the other, pinching the sneakers together side by side like a crab's claw). I placed them both inside a bulbous gray bin and then placed that bin on the conveyor belt that led inside the X-Ray machine. The rubber belt moved a little (carrying the bin with it), but then came to a halt. It waited a moment, then retreated a bit, moving the bin back to its starting point. Then, finally, the belt carried the bin through the black, rubber strips that kept the innards of the security machine secret. It was inside.
After getting past security and retying my sneakers, I began noticing other people's shoes. I was amazed to see that everybody wore different pairs which they had, on one day like the rest of us, picked out at the shoe store. There must be billions and billions of different shoes in this world, because I didn't find any matches that day. And in a busy place like the airport, I was sure I'd find two of the same -- but I didn't. Everyone had on a different pair of shoes.
There was one time, however, when I found someone with the same shoes as mine. They were Nike. What an extraordinary moment. At that exact time, in that exact place, I realized that the two of us with the same sneakers must have been at a shoe store sometime in our lives and made the decision to buy the EXACT same brand of shoe. And not only that -- but also the exact MODEL of that brand. That was wonderful, and I marveled at it for a few seconds before having to say something stupid like, "Hey! Look at us! We're twins!" We both chuckled (maybe out of embarrassment, out of disbelief, or a little of both) and then returned to ourselves as we contemplated the chances of that EVER happening again in our lives.
*1: This is perhaps the least embarrassing of the different situations in which one might take off their shoe publicly. The relief of the removed shoe outweighs the embarrassment of the initial removal and might go as far as leading one to take off their sock as well. As soon as the sock comes off, the brain goes into a state of utter obsession -- focusing completely on the itchy red marks pressed down into the skin by the compressed sock. The miniature rash is most commonly found above the medial cuneiform bone (the little bony bump down from the big toe). The red indents of the sock engraved into the foot's skin yearn to be itched; and once you scratch that burning bump, a tingling fury erupts in both hand and body, causing a spasm of violent scratching and overwhelming pleasure until finally, you are satisfied. You can sit back and stretch your foot in a slow, circular motion -- feeling the lingering steam of the scratching drift around the foot and then dissipate into the air. This can often occur in theme parks.
*2: One might wonder why I was self-conscious of my foot odor reaching the noses of strangers. After all, I'd probably never see them again, right? Although this thought has frequented my mind like an undecided, pacing spectator, I have come to the conclusion that even though the probability of ever seeing the strangers again was quite low, the moment of embarrassment and later feelings of torment made hiding the stench a top priority. Out of the seven billion people on the planet, those select few (that won't ever see you again) will always remember you as the smelly-foot guy; and that pinch of poor reputation is enough to spill over your brain and soak it in a sour puddle of self-disgust. And THAT is why it still matters. Who knows -- maybe you'll run into one of those people someday, and they'll take that one moment of stink and use it to blacken the safe status quot you've worked to maintain your entire life. It's best to play it safe, I think.
Writing in the style of Baker, or at least trying to... haha.
It was not until today when I was writing notes in my psychology class, listening to the teacher, her voice but a whisper among the sounds of texting and mumbling throughout the entire lecture hall, that I ripped my paper with the force of my blue-inked dollar store pen(1). At that moment, I decided to go back to all the other times I had ripped my paper by my writing. I am quite sure there is more then one occasion I didn't remember. But, what I did remember was that my paper had never been savaged by anything other then an eraser of a pencil being dug into the paper much too hard by my own force, let alone the unnecessary harshness of my hand to my pencil, creating a slash in between the papers blue lines. Now, this pen being my favorite pen, the power of all of my writing; my notes, my doodles, my reminders, my homework! Had failed me? That upset me.I had grow accustomed to using this one utensil for everything, that I put my own trust in it. Silly, because who puts their trust in a pen(2)?Remembering that I was in psychology, I quickly got another piece of paper, and went on with writing my notes. All the while, I began to think up a theory of needing the proper writing utensil, and the importance of having one that never failed, much like what had just happened to me. That is when I came to the conclusion that because my aunt had bestowed upon me, these such gifts, and that because I had not chosen this utensil myself, I truly never felt the connection of having the "perfect" writing utensil for me. This is what lead me to the much over thought conclusion that I must find the perfect utensil myself, and so my journey began at the Allamo(3). Once at the Allamo, I realized how absurd it would seem to others to spend so much time finding the "perfect" utensil, so I decided to look interested in a couple of shirts and magazines before my hunt for the "perfect" writing utensil really began. Although this journey was short, it was sufficient. To this day, I have my perfect writing utensil, a black-inked BIC pen, that has yet to fail me!
(1) I had never taken much into consideration about the different types of writing utensils I used. I always though, whatever worked, was fine with me. It was until my Aunt got me this set of blue-inked dollar store pens that I realized one has to enjoy what they write with. It makes taking notes, writings stories, even doodling way more fascinating then a boring old pencil would do, at least that is my opinion.
(2) I had started using this pen once my Aunt had given it to me, without much thought of its use until I actually enjoyed writing with it. I put my "trust" in it, never losing it, and always used for everything I had to write, rather than type. It had yet to fail me, or run out of ink!
(3) A store I find myself wandering to quite often, when I think I need something, although deep down I know to be completely unnecessary.
Monday, November 3, 2008
abstract that sucked and am totaly changing ,my paper
This is my philosophy of learning; I believe that in order for one to learn they must experience the world. You cannot learn about the world by sitting on your couch and watching the world pass you by. Although there are many things we are incapable of experiencing, due to time, money, and many other reasons, and for the things we can’t experience ourselves we have books to read, about other people’s experiences. But in order to learn from others experiences one must forget about who they are, and what they believe and allow themselves to absorb into the text so that they can experience the text what it is, and not who they are in the text. I back up my philosophy by quoting many authors from the book Falling into Theory, a poet Gabe Gudding, Stein, and many others to help support that one best learns from experiences. I also believe that one learns best from talking and interacting with peers, by bouncing ideas and opinions off of each other, I believe in order to learn no must be open and eager, one must want to learn in order to learn well. By listening to others and being active in a debate or discuss you do not only learn many sides, view points, and opinions you become a scholar yourself and allow others to learn from you, creating a haven of learning.
You are born, in your first few years of life your parents teach you how to eat, walk, talk, and perform other necessary tasks to prepare you for pre-school. In pre-school you learn your colors, the alphabet, how to write the alphabet, how to share, clean up, the importance of nap time, and popular nursery rhymes. After pre-school is completed you then go off to kindergarten where you prefect the skills you learned in pre-school and obtain the ability to learn which will help you excel in the twelve plus years of schooling ahead of you. After you complete each grade you find yourself to be a tad bit more knowledgeable and wiser, just thinking of how once you graduate high school you will be a genius, that by then you must have had learned everything there is to learn in life. But that is not true at all. Although one does learn and gain a large amount of facts, skills, and knowledge in school, there is another world to be learned outside the classroom, but to experience that world of information one must transform themselves into an eager, open, aware student of the world.
To learn is to live. To live is to experience. Not everything can be learned from experiences, but the things that are, are the lessons that stick with one for life. One can read a book about the slums, and the poverty in third world countries, but will never truly understand the realness of them until they visit a third world country and see the dirt covered child wearing no shoes, and sporting a belly the size of Santa but housing no nutrition. When one sees such a heart breaking, eye opening sight they will then understand that there is a world out there where a meal is not always promised, nor is a bed, an education, or even love. Without experiencing a world different from our own it is easy to think that everyone has a life like ours, and that people living below the poverty level only exist in books. Eyes are one of the most powerful tools we have for learning, and once one learns that, they will learn more daily than they ever thought imaginable.
From real life experiences one forms their own personal morals, values, and ideology. Eagleton believes that the truth or falseness of a belief is “less important than what it feels like to experience them” (51). Someone can tell you the grass is green but you don’t know that until you see it and experience grass for yourself for then you will truly know and understand what green is, and that grass is in fact green. But it is not always so easy to go out and experience something to find your own conclusion and view point on it, which is why we have literature. “For “experience” is not only the homeland of ideology, the place where it takes root most effectively; it is also in its literary form a kind of vicarious self-fulfillment” (52) So although experiencing something first hand is the best way to learn, and get a real grasp on the concepts of the issue being faced or taught, the world is big and life is short so we can’t experience everything, which is why we have authors. Not authors of history books who write to inform us on facts but authors who write about experiences: what it was like to live during World War 2 in Germany, or travel the Underground Rail Road; for those are things we can’t experience. But by reading a book from someone who did, one can get the full on feel on what it would have been like to experience such a life impacting event.
“Now, why is it so important that Davidson‘s theory allows the interpreter to learn from experience, to refine ones’ theory in accordance with experience? Precisely because it gives us a reason to study literature” (Dasenbrock 286). By reading we can make better sense of our own experiences. Authors write about their experiences so the reader can then compare and contrast their views with the writers to improve one’s stance on their morals or change them after reading someone else’s experience and seeing what they learned from it. Don’t read to change your beliefs but rather to make them stronger. To understand both sides of the issue, and know why others might think differently than you. In order to learn from others experiences though, one must open up and break down their wall of seeing black and white, wrong and right, thinking “I’m always right”. In order to fully learn from another’s experience you must read the words for what they’re worth and not for what their saying that goes against your own personal beliefs. In order to experience the text for what it is, you must become one with the text, and not make judgments against it until you are fully done with it. Books are written with purpose and intent, the author has goals in mind on what they want the reader to learn and walk away with after reading their book. If one puts their own experiences before the authors while reading it is impossible for them to learn anything new from the text. It is easy to read the text and form the text into an alliance with our own beliefs, but what will you learn from reading something that you already find true, how will that help you grow or even strengthen your values. “Our immediate reaction when we encounter difference is to refuse that difference, to preserve the maximum of agreement, and there are times when this works, when we get away with assuming that we are saying the same thing if by different words. But the interesting moments are when this doesn’t work so well, when we realize that what we are interpreting does express beliefs different from our own, this for me is the most important reason to read and to study literature, to break out of our own circle of beliefs and assumptions and to encounter another point of view” (Dasenbrock 287). Yes, learning from experiences is what I believe to be the finest form of learning but, one must also read of others experiences without building up a wall between themselves and the text. In order to learn how to view the world from another’s eyes, and take a walk in someone else’s shoes we must read their story with an open mind. To be an excelling learner one must have a strong foundation built with one’s own personal morals and values, but have the ability to listen and contemplate others beliefs, by doing so knowledge will be overflowing all around you.
You are born, in your first few years of life your parents teach you how to eat, walk, talk, and perform other necessary tasks to prepare you for pre-school. In pre-school you learn your colors, the alphabet, how to write the alphabet, how to share, clean up, the importance of nap time, and popular nursery rhymes. After pre-school is completed you then go off to kindergarten where you prefect the skills you learned in pre-school and obtain the ability to learn which will help you excel in the twelve plus years of schooling ahead of you. After you complete each grade you find yourself to be a tad bit more knowledgeable and wiser, just thinking of how once you graduate high school you will be a genius, that by then you must have had learned everything there is to learn in life. But that is not true at all. Although one does learn and gain a large amount of facts, skills, and knowledge in school, there is another world to be learned outside the classroom, but to experience that world of information one must transform themselves into an eager, open, aware student of the world.
To learn is to live. To live is to experience. Not everything can be learned from experiences, but the things that are, are the lessons that stick with one for life. One can read a book about the slums, and the poverty in third world countries, but will never truly understand the realness of them until they visit a third world country and see the dirt covered child wearing no shoes, and sporting a belly the size of Santa but housing no nutrition. When one sees such a heart breaking, eye opening sight they will then understand that there is a world out there where a meal is not always promised, nor is a bed, an education, or even love. Without experiencing a world different from our own it is easy to think that everyone has a life like ours, and that people living below the poverty level only exist in books. Eyes are one of the most powerful tools we have for learning, and once one learns that, they will learn more daily than they ever thought imaginable.
From real life experiences one forms their own personal morals, values, and ideology. Eagleton believes that the truth or falseness of a belief is “less important than what it feels like to experience them” (51). Someone can tell you the grass is green but you don’t know that until you see it and experience grass for yourself for then you will truly know and understand what green is, and that grass is in fact green. But it is not always so easy to go out and experience something to find your own conclusion and view point on it, which is why we have literature. “For “experience” is not only the homeland of ideology, the place where it takes root most effectively; it is also in its literary form a kind of vicarious self-fulfillment” (52) So although experiencing something first hand is the best way to learn, and get a real grasp on the concepts of the issue being faced or taught, the world is big and life is short so we can’t experience everything, which is why we have authors. Not authors of history books who write to inform us on facts but authors who write about experiences: what it was like to live during World War 2 in Germany, or travel the Underground Rail Road; for those are things we can’t experience. But by reading a book from someone who did, one can get the full on feel on what it would have been like to experience such a life impacting event.
“Now, why is it so important that Davidson‘s theory allows the interpreter to learn from experience, to refine ones’ theory in accordance with experience? Precisely because it gives us a reason to study literature” (Dasenbrock 286). By reading we can make better sense of our own experiences. Authors write about their experiences so the reader can then compare and contrast their views with the writers to improve one’s stance on their morals or change them after reading someone else’s experience and seeing what they learned from it. Don’t read to change your beliefs but rather to make them stronger. To understand both sides of the issue, and know why others might think differently than you. In order to learn from others experiences though, one must open up and break down their wall of seeing black and white, wrong and right, thinking “I’m always right”. In order to fully learn from another’s experience you must read the words for what they’re worth and not for what their saying that goes against your own personal beliefs. In order to experience the text for what it is, you must become one with the text, and not make judgments against it until you are fully done with it. Books are written with purpose and intent, the author has goals in mind on what they want the reader to learn and walk away with after reading their book. If one puts their own experiences before the authors while reading it is impossible for them to learn anything new from the text. It is easy to read the text and form the text into an alliance with our own beliefs, but what will you learn from reading something that you already find true, how will that help you grow or even strengthen your values. “Our immediate reaction when we encounter difference is to refuse that difference, to preserve the maximum of agreement, and there are times when this works, when we get away with assuming that we are saying the same thing if by different words. But the interesting moments are when this doesn’t work so well, when we realize that what we are interpreting does express beliefs different from our own, this for me is the most important reason to read and to study literature, to break out of our own circle of beliefs and assumptions and to encounter another point of view” (Dasenbrock 287). Yes, learning from experiences is what I believe to be the finest form of learning but, one must also read of others experiences without building up a wall between themselves and the text. In order to learn how to view the world from another’s eyes, and take a walk in someone else’s shoes we must read their story with an open mind. To be an excelling learner one must have a strong foundation built with one’s own personal morals and values, but have the ability to listen and contemplate others beliefs, by doing so knowledge will be overflowing all around you.
Sunday, November 2, 2008
Ohhh yeah
How We Learn
Without experience and emotion, learning as we all know it, would cease to exist. Well, it would exist, but would it be of any importance to us? Facts and knowledge are fragile devises; they are not to be thrown around like toys into people’s brains. Knowledge is to be taught through experience, and learned and retained as a result. Without experiencing what we learn, knowledge would just be there, a stationary object in which we could grasp with our hands, not with our minds. Without living through what we have learned, knowledge would not have any true meaning to its students. That is why students around the world learn better through “hands on” learning, and not through lectures. Like Paulo Freire once said, “Narration leads the students to memorize mechanically the narrated content. Worse yet, it turns them into “containers,” into “receptacles” to be “filled” by the teacher. The more completely he fills the receptacles, the better a teacher he is. The more meekly the receptacles permit themselves to be filled, the better students they are” (Freire 69.) People are not machines, they are not robots, and they are certainly not receptacles or containers. Learning has to mean something to us, not just some random facts thrown around, and if we happen to catch one, then we are considered “smart,” and are understood to comprehend the issue because we can repeat it. In theory, we need something more than teachers spitting out facts, we need life lessons, life experiences, and then we would really have some geniuses among us.
We also learn with emotion. Subjects are best obtained if they appeal to our senses and emotions. Students remember things best when they have an emotional attachment to something. If there is something we feel strongly about we remember it, because some emotions are so strong that they engrave themselves into one’s mind, and can take a while to let go. Emotion attaches itself to learning subconsciously. Without even knowing it, we feel certain emotions when we obtain, and can relate to certain knowledge. For Example, learning about The Destruction of the Indies by Bartolome Las Casas, would be learned rather easily if someone had ancestry that had been killed in those cruel and unusual deaths. Also, emotion deals with religion, religion is never to be replaced, but can be compared to learning. To learn is like practicing religion, in which they both need emotion, and a cognitive aspect to practice. Like Terry Eagleton has previously stated, “… like religion, literature works primarily by emotion and experience, and so was admirably well-fitted to carry through the ideological task which religion left off” (Eagleton 51.) When practicing a religion, you feel the texts in which it is written. You feel the text as if it was alive, and can connect with you spiritually. That is how all literature should be; connecting with your emotions, so that it can be better practiced, and mean something other than just letters on a page that one can read. Emotion helps us open up and let learning in. Wishing fellow students a good day and a well understand of their life before one starts their work will take a weight off of their shoulders, and make learning easier. It is easier to learn when you feel warm hearted, and good at soul instead of close minded and hatred towards others who are in your situation.
Other Brainstorming that I did. . .
Why we learn. Learning is power, and without learning certain things one cannot accomplish very much in our world or at least in the U.S. Jobs and money are some of the things that we see as valuable in our lives, and without the proper education it is hard to obtain either of those.
Why we learn. Learning triggers our innermost feelings and thoughts. I think that a person is considered lost if they do not know at some point in time what their purpose in life is, why they make a difference on this planet, or who they really are. Learning helps open up our minds, and understand our souls. It can help us find ourselves, and see ourselves in another light that could have never been possible without literature or other knowledge.
Possible Quote: Page 59, “to read literature was thus to regain vital touch with the roots of one’s own being.”
Learning brings us together, other countries, ethnicities, and helps us understand issues through others standpoints. We have to realize that we are not the only country on this planet, and it is healthy to understand where other people come from, and how their life differs from ours. We cannot be so ethnocentric, we are not the best country out there, and we have to start understanding others.
Maybe be able to use quote... “Therefore, though culture may be concerned with making the individual better that is not necessarily to say that it is concerned with the restructuring of society.” Page 66
We learn because we can, evolution gave us the ability to branch out, communicate, and learn to great limits. We would not want to waste that privilege.
Page 72, “yet only through communication can human life hold meaning.”
Abstract
I hope to get many different things out of my philosophy of learning. One being that I will be able to write a better understand, or at least for me, of how and why we learn. While reading Falling Into Theory a lot of things confused me, I did not agree with much, and I never have seen theories about learning like I have read in that book. With this paper I get a chance to explain what I think. I do not have to read other authors talking about learning and literature, now I get to be just like them, and write how I feel about the learning process. Also, I mentioned in my brainstorming portion, that I believe someone is considered lost if they do not know their purpose in life, how they make a difference, or who they are as a person. I guess I am considered lost then, because I still believe I am young, and do not know yet what my purpose in life is, or who I am. Hopefully by writing this paper, and understand why and how I learn the things that I do, I will come into better grips with my inner self, and my deepest feelings.
Without experience and emotion, learning as we all know it, would cease to exist. Well, it would exist, but would it be of any importance to us? Facts and knowledge are fragile devises; they are not to be thrown around like toys into people’s brains. Knowledge is to be taught through experience, and learned and retained as a result. Without experiencing what we learn, knowledge would just be there, a stationary object in which we could grasp with our hands, not with our minds. Without living through what we have learned, knowledge would not have any true meaning to its students. That is why students around the world learn better through “hands on” learning, and not through lectures. Like Paulo Freire once said, “Narration leads the students to memorize mechanically the narrated content. Worse yet, it turns them into “containers,” into “receptacles” to be “filled” by the teacher. The more completely he fills the receptacles, the better a teacher he is. The more meekly the receptacles permit themselves to be filled, the better students they are” (Freire 69.) People are not machines, they are not robots, and they are certainly not receptacles or containers. Learning has to mean something to us, not just some random facts thrown around, and if we happen to catch one, then we are considered “smart,” and are understood to comprehend the issue because we can repeat it. In theory, we need something more than teachers spitting out facts, we need life lessons, life experiences, and then we would really have some geniuses among us.
We also learn with emotion. Subjects are best obtained if they appeal to our senses and emotions. Students remember things best when they have an emotional attachment to something. If there is something we feel strongly about we remember it, because some emotions are so strong that they engrave themselves into one’s mind, and can take a while to let go. Emotion attaches itself to learning subconsciously. Without even knowing it, we feel certain emotions when we obtain, and can relate to certain knowledge. For Example, learning about The Destruction of the Indies by Bartolome Las Casas, would be learned rather easily if someone had ancestry that had been killed in those cruel and unusual deaths. Also, emotion deals with religion, religion is never to be replaced, but can be compared to learning. To learn is like practicing religion, in which they both need emotion, and a cognitive aspect to practice. Like Terry Eagleton has previously stated, “… like religion, literature works primarily by emotion and experience, and so was admirably well-fitted to carry through the ideological task which religion left off” (Eagleton 51.) When practicing a religion, you feel the texts in which it is written. You feel the text as if it was alive, and can connect with you spiritually. That is how all literature should be; connecting with your emotions, so that it can be better practiced, and mean something other than just letters on a page that one can read. Emotion helps us open up and let learning in. Wishing fellow students a good day and a well understand of their life before one starts their work will take a weight off of their shoulders, and make learning easier. It is easier to learn when you feel warm hearted, and good at soul instead of close minded and hatred towards others who are in your situation.
Other Brainstorming that I did. . .
Why we learn. Learning is power, and without learning certain things one cannot accomplish very much in our world or at least in the U.S. Jobs and money are some of the things that we see as valuable in our lives, and without the proper education it is hard to obtain either of those.
Why we learn. Learning triggers our innermost feelings and thoughts. I think that a person is considered lost if they do not know at some point in time what their purpose in life is, why they make a difference on this planet, or who they really are. Learning helps open up our minds, and understand our souls. It can help us find ourselves, and see ourselves in another light that could have never been possible without literature or other knowledge.
Possible Quote: Page 59, “to read literature was thus to regain vital touch with the roots of one’s own being.”
Learning brings us together, other countries, ethnicities, and helps us understand issues through others standpoints. We have to realize that we are not the only country on this planet, and it is healthy to understand where other people come from, and how their life differs from ours. We cannot be so ethnocentric, we are not the best country out there, and we have to start understanding others.
Maybe be able to use quote... “Therefore, though culture may be concerned with making the individual better that is not necessarily to say that it is concerned with the restructuring of society.” Page 66
We learn because we can, evolution gave us the ability to branch out, communicate, and learn to great limits. We would not want to waste that privilege.
Page 72, “yet only through communication can human life hold meaning.”
Abstract
I hope to get many different things out of my philosophy of learning. One being that I will be able to write a better understand, or at least for me, of how and why we learn. While reading Falling Into Theory a lot of things confused me, I did not agree with much, and I never have seen theories about learning like I have read in that book. With this paper I get a chance to explain what I think. I do not have to read other authors talking about learning and literature, now I get to be just like them, and write how I feel about the learning process. Also, I mentioned in my brainstorming portion, that I believe someone is considered lost if they do not know their purpose in life, how they make a difference, or who they are as a person. I guess I am considered lost then, because I still believe I am young, and do not know yet what my purpose in life is, or who I am. Hopefully by writing this paper, and understand why and how I learn the things that I do, I will come into better grips with my inner self, and my deepest feelings.
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