Sep 8, 2009
Jun 1, 2009
Peace of the World... In One Word?
Christina Bonvicin
May 26, 2009
The Soloist, Part IV
What I realized about The Soloist as I finished the book is that each individual's happiness depends on that person. Personally, things that make me most happy are bright smiles, joyous laughs, bubbly toddlers, innocent infants and chatter, any kind of chatter. Chatter is my music. I love talking about practically anything. And there's just something about holding a newborn in your arms that just makes you at peace with the world, if only for a little. And when a toddler grasps your hand and looked up at you with an admiring face, you can't help but smile. Those are my happiness ingredients. Everyone doesn't have the same exact recipe. Some of the same ingredients, sure, but there's variations too. Someone out there in the world may have my exact recipe for happiness, but one particular thing might make them happier than anything else in their recipe.
Honestly, even though towards the end I didn't like The Soloist, it taught me something that, hopefully, will stay with me as long as I may live. It taught me to not worry about trying to please everyone, but please myself first. That is exactly what Nathaniel did. He knew what was "right" for him. Though it may not have been right for society, it was right for him. In the end, that is all that truly matters. No one should have to worry about society's rules and regulations when it comes to happiness. Well, as long as a person's happiness is legal, then society has no reason to step in.
I think that's one of the reasons I lost interest in The Soloist. Lopez always trying to force Nathaniel into "treatment". Sure, if he was truly a danger to himself and others then I could see trying to force medicine on him. But he was calm, even though he had some episodes, mostly safe, and, most important, happy. Happiness is the key to a successful and peaceful life. At least, that's my personal thoughts on the subject. And even though Nathaniel wasn't successful in a career or had a family, he still had his music and he still had his mind. And isn't that enough for him to be happy? Of course it is.
In all, The Soloist was very well written, but by the end I didn't enjoy it. If I was Nathaniel I would have gotten annoyed with Steve Lopez many, many times. But as many know, I'm not too keen on being told what to do. To Nathaniel,. he had his peace, he had his music. And that should be all he should need to be happy in today's world.
Focus on...
- grammar
- style/flow
- my ideas vs. your own
May 26, 2009
The Soloist, Part IV
What I realized about The Soloist as I finished the book is that each individual's happiness depends on that person. Personally, things that make me most happy are bright smiles, joyous laughs, bubbly toddlers, innocent infants and chatter, any kind of chatter. Chatter is my music. I love talking about practically anything. And there's just something about holding a newborn in your arms that just makes you at peace with the world, if only for a little. And when a toddler grasps your hand and looked up at you with an admiring face, you can't help but smile. Those are my happiness ingredients. Everyone doesn't have the same exact recipe. Some of the same ingredients, sure, but there's variations too. Someone out there in the world may have my exact recipe for happiness, but one particular thing might make them happier than anything else in their recipe.
Honestly, even though towards the end I didn't like The Soloist, it taught me something that, hopefully, will stay with me as long as I may live. It taught me to not worry about trying to please everyone, but please myself first. That is exactly what Nathaniel did. He knew what was "right" for him. Though it may not have been right for society, it was right for him. In the end, that is all that truly matters. No one should have to worry about society's rules and regulations when it comes to happiness. Well, as long as a person's happiness is legal, then society has no reason to step in.
I think that's one of the reasons I lost interest in The Soloist. Lopez always trying to force Nathaniel into "treatment". Sure, if he was truly a danger to himself and others then I could see trying to force medicine on him. But he was calm, even though he had some episodes, mostly safe, and, most important, happy. Happiness is the key to a successful and peaceful life. At least, that's my personal thoughts on the subject. And even though Nathaniel wasn't successful in a career or had a family, he still had his music and he still had his mind. And isn't that enough for him to be happy? Of course it is.
In all, The Soloist was very well written, but by the end I didn't enjoy it. If I was Nathaniel I would have gotten annoyed with Steve Lopez many, many times. But as many know, I'm not too keen on being told what to do. To Nathaniel,. he had his peace, he had his music. And that should be all he should need to be happy in today's world.
Focus on...
- grammar
- style/flow
- my ideas vs. your own
May 16, 2009
Happiness versus Depression
Christina Bonvicin
May 19, 2009
The Soloist, Part III
What I realized, as I continue to read through The Soloist, is that I'm really starting to not be able to stand the book. I don't what about it is starting to to get to me, but something is. All I know is that I'm finding it harder and harder to pick up the book and read when I know I have to, harder to read more than a chapter in a sitting. The early enjoyment I had when first reading the book seemed to have slipped away with my personality these past two weeks, lost in the desert island that is my senioritis-ed mind. I don't know why it happened, but it did. And I can't seem to get it back.
The questions from last week, of if mental ill people should be forced to take medicine, come to mind. Why? My grandfather refused to take his medication. No, he's not mentally ill. At least, he's not diagnosed as such. He just... wanted to give up. He was in pain, we could all see it. In and out of depressed. So he refused to take his meds. There has to be something wrong, I think, truly wrong if he doesn't want to live any more.
But Nathaniel was living. Abeit a little... unconventionally, yes, but he was doing something he loved. Not my grandfather, who was stuck in a nursing home for over a year. My grandfather needed an escape. Nathaniel doesn't seem to need an escape, but who am I to judge? A mere eleventh grade pediatrician wannabe, someone who knows very little about medicine, let alone mental illness. But, if he's doing something that makes him happy, if maybe not safe, who is anyone to force him to do anything he doesn't want to do?
But, what is happiness? What defines happiness? I've been trying to define it for myself for the past six months, and I am nowhere near close to anything. Is it a state of mind, or a state of being? Physical, emotional, or psychological? Or, merely an illusion of the mind to get you comfortable with yourself then trap you in misery for days or weeks or months on end. How can anyone define happiness? Why does playing music make Nathaniel happy? Why doesn't playing football or baseball or some other sport? Why music? Why not reading, or actually living in a building? Why does Nathaniel find it fun to live on the streets?
I don't understand a lot about Nathaniel but the main thing I don't understand is why he doesn't want to live in an apartment. He and his precious instruments would be safe from the elements and the cigeratte bud throwning people of the streets. He'd be able to wash up and wash his clothes and have a comfortable bed to sleep on, not the cold, hard cement floor of downtown LA. But, then again, the mind is a fickle thing. Some people may like the safety of a warm home, but maybe Nathaniel doesn't. It may possibly remind him of his time when he first had his breakdown, all the medication he was on. Maybe, maybe not.
Focus on...
- grammar
- style/flow
- my ideas vs. your own
May 19, 2009
The Soloist, Part III
What I realized, as I continue to read through The Soloist, is that I'm really starting to not be able to stand the book. I don't what about it is starting to to get to me, but something is. All I know is that I'm finding it harder and harder to pick up the book and read when I know I have to, harder to read more than a chapter in a sitting. The early enjoyment I had when first reading the book seemed to have slipped away with my personality these past two weeks, lost in the desert island that is my senioritis-ed mind. I don't know why it happened, but it did. And I can't seem to get it back.
The questions from last week, of if mental ill people should be forced to take medicine, come to mind. Why? My grandfather refused to take his medication. No, he's not mentally ill. At least, he's not diagnosed as such. He just... wanted to give up. He was in pain, we could all see it. In and out of depressed. So he refused to take his meds. There has to be something wrong, I think, truly wrong if he doesn't want to live any more.
But Nathaniel was living. Abeit a little... unconventionally, yes, but he was doing something he loved. Not my grandfather, who was stuck in a nursing home for over a year. My grandfather needed an escape. Nathaniel doesn't seem to need an escape, but who am I to judge? A mere eleventh grade pediatrician wannabe, someone who knows very little about medicine, let alone mental illness. But, if he's doing something that makes him happy, if maybe not safe, who is anyone to force him to do anything he doesn't want to do?
But, what is happiness? What defines happiness? I've been trying to define it for myself for the past six months, and I am nowhere near close to anything. Is it a state of mind, or a state of being? Physical, emotional, or psychological? Or, merely an illusion of the mind to get you comfortable with yourself then trap you in misery for days or weeks or months on end. How can anyone define happiness? Why does playing music make Nathaniel happy? Why doesn't playing football or baseball or some other sport? Why music? Why not reading, or actually living in a building? Why does Nathaniel find it fun to live on the streets?
I don't understand a lot about Nathaniel but the main thing I don't understand is why he doesn't want to live in an apartment. He and his precious instruments would be safe from the elements and the cigeratte bud throwning people of the streets. He'd be able to wash up and wash his clothes and have a comfortable bed to sleep on, not the cold, hard cement floor of downtown LA. But, then again, the mind is a fickle thing. Some people may like the safety of a warm home, but maybe Nathaniel doesn't. It may possibly remind him of his time when he first had his breakdown, all the medication he was on. Maybe, maybe not.
Focus on...
- grammar
- style/flow
- my ideas vs. your own
May 8, 2009
Life's Little Purpose
Christina Bonvicin
May 8, 2009
The Soloist Part II
During this week's discussion, a few questions stuck out to me about The Soloist. We had a very lively discussion on Wednesday, contributing ideas for the class about Steve Lopez's writing style and the topics he writes about. To me it seems that Lopez writes about the things that no one else really knows about, like the basketball player from Compton or the censored radio station Pacifica.
Nathaniel is someone no one really knows about... That is, until a twist of fate brings him right into the hands of Lopez, who just happens to be a writer for the LA Times. Sure, the people on Skid Row know about Nathaniel. They know he's homeless like all the rest of them. But they don't know that he's a Juilliard alum, a prodigy that has to transpose the pieces of music he's learned from the double bass onto a violin with two strings. They don't know him like that. Lopez wouldn't have known if he hadn't stumbled across Nathaniel. Lopez wouldn't have known much about Nathaniel if he hadn't cared about Nathaniel the way he does. It's great that Lopez does care. He learns much about the prodigy that is Nathaniel Ayers.
One series of questions that arose during the discussion on Wednesday was a question that was prompted by Jamal's talk of people with mental illness, on whether or not they should be forced to take medication or if they could make choices by themselves. Well, does having a mental illness take away from one's freedom to choose for themselves? At what time do you force someone to do something, because you can't tell if they are completely there? Is it right either way?
These were the questions formed in my mind during that discussion. Personally, I don't think that having a mental illness takes away one's right to be able to make there own discussions. The only way that should happen is if the person has multiple personalities, where one or more of the personalities wants to do wrong by their 'host' body, or if the mental illness has reached such a stage that the person has no idea what to do for themselves anymore. These are the situations, I believe, that are the only times that people can take away one's right to choose. If someone takes away another person's right when they are fully capable of of making their own decisions.
In all, the discussion on Wednesday prompted those questions, because in the book Lopez wonders on whether or not he should get Nathaniel help. I think it's better for the both of them if he just let's Nathaniel be, for now, since Nathaniel seems happy and content living on the streets. That's really all that matters in life, right? Happiness?
Focus on...
--- ramble/flow of piece
--- any grammar mistakes
--- my ideas vs. ideas in the book vs. your ideas
May 8, 2009
The Soloist Part II
During this week's discussion, a few questions stuck out to me about The Soloist. We had a very lively discussion on Wednesday, contributing ideas for the class about Steve Lopez's writing style and the topics he writes about. To me it seems that Lopez writes about the things that no one else really knows about, like the basketball player from Compton or the censored radio station Pacifica.
Nathaniel is someone no one really knows about... That is, until a twist of fate brings him right into the hands of Lopez, who just happens to be a writer for the LA Times. Sure, the people on Skid Row know about Nathaniel. They know he's homeless like all the rest of them. But they don't know that he's a Juilliard alum, a prodigy that has to transpose the pieces of music he's learned from the double bass onto a violin with two strings. They don't know him like that. Lopez wouldn't have known if he hadn't stumbled across Nathaniel. Lopez wouldn't have known much about Nathaniel if he hadn't cared about Nathaniel the way he does. It's great that Lopez does care. He learns much about the prodigy that is Nathaniel Ayers.
One series of questions that arose during the discussion on Wednesday was a question that was prompted by Jamal's talk of people with mental illness, on whether or not they should be forced to take medication or if they could make choices by themselves. Well, does having a mental illness take away from one's freedom to choose for themselves? At what time do you force someone to do something, because you can't tell if they are completely there? Is it right either way?
These were the questions formed in my mind during that discussion. Personally, I don't think that having a mental illness takes away one's right to be able to make there own discussions. The only way that should happen is if the person has multiple personalities, where one or more of the personalities wants to do wrong by their 'host' body, or if the mental illness has reached such a stage that the person has no idea what to do for themselves anymore. These are the situations, I believe, that are the only times that people can take away one's right to choose. If someone takes away another person's right when they are fully capable of of making their own decisions.
In all, the discussion on Wednesday prompted those questions, because in the book Lopez wonders on whether or not he should get Nathaniel help. I think it's better for the both of them if he just let's Nathaniel be, for now, since Nathaniel seems happy and content living on the streets. That's really all that matters in life, right? Happiness?
Focus on...
--- ramble/flow of piece
--- any grammar mistakes
--- my ideas vs. ideas in the book vs. your ideas
May 3, 2009
Chasing the Pavements of Music
Christina Bonvicin
May 3, 2009
The Soloist
As I read through some of the posts of my classmates this weekend, I was surprised to see that a few couldn’t get into the book. I, as picky with my books as I am with my dresses, read the first few pages of the book and I was hooked. I don’t know what it is about the book. It’s much easier to read, that’s for sure. The font is small, but large enough that my eyes aren’t killing me after the first couple of pages. And there’s enough space in between each line that I’m not squinting trying to follow the print.
Not only on the physical side of the writing, but the writing itself is very easy to read. Unlike J. D. Salinger, Steve Lopez doesn’t go over board on the thoughts of his mind. The first person narration for my own personal stories is written such that the character’s thoughts aren’t going into extremely explicit detail, which gets very boring very fast.
No, Steve Lopez caught and held my attention with his vivid but short descriptions and easy to understand vocabulary. The story of Nathaniel Ayers itself is a sad story so far, but the inspiration of all those Lopez was trying to get to help him is so uplifting in a world where so much wrong and seemingly nothing right. Of course, it’s sad that Nathaniel had to battle this illness for so long without anyone to help him. Not that he wanted anyone’s help to begin with. If he did want anyone’s help, he wouldn’t have been living on the streets playing a two-stringed violin, transposing Bach and Beethoven from bass to violin. Something never easy, especially not living on the street.
The care that Lopez shows of Nathaniel is genuine, something not easily found in many people anymore. Lopez only talked to Nathaniel for a short amount of time, but after that Lopez worried about Nathaniel’s well being. This was particularly apparent after Lopez writes about the findings of a Juilliard alum living on the streets of LA playing a two-stringed violin, when all the letters came pouring in saying that violins were being air-mailed to Lopez’s office for him to pass onto Nathaniel. Lopez didn’t want to give Nathaniel the new violins and cello, fearing what the thieves on the streets would do to the man.
That kind of care and compassion is something that draws me into a book. I like something where, if it’s in the first person point-of-view, the narrator actually has feelings and isn’t this uncaring being who can’t stand anything or anyone (cough Holden Caulfield). Overall I find Nathaniel’s story interesting and the way Lopez tells it extremely fascinating. I can’t wait to continue to read the book, hoping it gets better as I get deeper into the book.
Focus on...
--- grammar.
--- my thoughts and ideas vs. your own.
--- flow / ramble of the piece.
May 3, 2009
The Soloist
As I read through some of the posts of my classmates this weekend, I was surprised to see that a few couldn’t get into the book. I, as picky with my books as I am with my dresses, read the first few pages of the book and I was hooked. I don’t know what it is about the book. It’s much easier to read, that’s for sure. The font is small, but large enough that my eyes aren’t killing me after the first couple of pages. And there’s enough space in between each line that I’m not squinting trying to follow the print.
Not only on the physical side of the writing, but the writing itself is very easy to read. Unlike J. D. Salinger, Steve Lopez doesn’t go over board on the thoughts of his mind. The first person narration for my own personal stories is written such that the character’s thoughts aren’t going into extremely explicit detail, which gets very boring very fast.
No, Steve Lopez caught and held my attention with his vivid but short descriptions and easy to understand vocabulary. The story of Nathaniel Ayers itself is a sad story so far, but the inspiration of all those Lopez was trying to get to help him is so uplifting in a world where so much wrong and seemingly nothing right. Of course, it’s sad that Nathaniel had to battle this illness for so long without anyone to help him. Not that he wanted anyone’s help to begin with. If he did want anyone’s help, he wouldn’t have been living on the streets playing a two-stringed violin, transposing Bach and Beethoven from bass to violin. Something never easy, especially not living on the street.
The care that Lopez shows of Nathaniel is genuine, something not easily found in many people anymore. Lopez only talked to Nathaniel for a short amount of time, but after that Lopez worried about Nathaniel’s well being. This was particularly apparent after Lopez writes about the findings of a Juilliard alum living on the streets of LA playing a two-stringed violin, when all the letters came pouring in saying that violins were being air-mailed to Lopez’s office for him to pass onto Nathaniel. Lopez didn’t want to give Nathaniel the new violins and cello, fearing what the thieves on the streets would do to the man.
That kind of care and compassion is something that draws me into a book. I like something where, if it’s in the first person point-of-view, the narrator actually has feelings and isn’t this uncaring being who can’t stand anything or anyone (cough Holden Caulfield). Overall I find Nathaniel’s story interesting and the way Lopez tells it extremely fascinating. I can’t wait to continue to read the book, hoping it gets better as I get deeper into the book.
Focus on...
--- grammar.
--- my thoughts and ideas vs. your own.
--- flow / ramble of the piece.
Apr 27, 2009
Boredom in the Rye
Christina Bonvicin
April 26, 2009
The Catcher in the Rye
I’m a reader. I do consider myself to be a reader, though books, as of late, have not held my interest long. I’ve read Nora Roberts, James Patterson, J.K. Rowling, Stephanie Meyer, and many other random authors. For some reason, The Catcher in the Rye isn’t my kind of book. The pace is slow and boring all throughout the beginning and middle. Personally I think the beginning is the most important part of a book. It’s the exposition, gets the main character, at least, set up so his or her story can be told. When the beginning is boring, my mind automatically goes “Oh God, here we go,” and settles into auto-pilot for the next however many minutes I’d be reading for. It’s really not fun, especially when it’s a book I have to read for school. Then I know I’m just set up for failure from the beginning. Just because of how tear-worthy boring the book was from the beginning.
That’s not the only thing. Once you do start reading the book you start to see things. Like how the main character and narrator, Holden Caulfield, likes hardly anything or anyone. He doesn’t like people that are bores and who are superficial. He doesn’t like phonies, either, nor people who are insecure. He doesn’t like too many people. Like his sister, Phoebe, says in chapter 22: “You don’t like anything that’s happening.” This was after Holden talked about Pencey Prep, his school, and the things that went on there. Phoebe challenged Holden to find one thing that he liked a lot, and then one thing that he would like to be. Holden didn’t even answer the question about what he would like to do with his life, he just rambled on about lawyers.
Personally, I think the things he likes are his family, which really aren’t things but people, and his deceased brother’s baseball glove. And this one girl, Jane Gallagher, who again isn‘t a thing but a person. He hasn’t seen the girl in a couple of years, but yet when his roommate at his school, Stradlater, says he has a date with her after the school’s football game, Holden suddenly is thinking about her all the time, in between the random topics of his mind.
Which is probably another reason why I can’t stand the book. Holden rambles. And he rambles randomly. He reminds me of myself. I hate when that happens. I’d like to think I’m not as bad as he is, but I know I can be worse. When I’m in the mood I can drone on and on about the most pointless of topics. When I’m in the mood, of course. But Holden seems to always be in the mood to ramble. I guess it’s logical for J. D. Salinger to have written it that way, as it is a first person point of view, so you are seeing things through the narrator’s mind, how it would happen in his mind. Doesn’t make it any less annoying though. Not at all.
Oh, and another thing. What I really do not like about this book is how he’s always taking about how fine a girl is or how cute she looks or who’s giving whom “the time.” In a teenage guy’s point of view I should have expected as much, but it’s still rather annoying because I’m a girl and I don’t want to hear about it. I love romance. There’s nothing romantic with someone talking about sex and how sexy people are. There really isn‘t. It‘s disturbing to read, since I’ve never read a book like this. I don’t even want to hear about it in real life, so why would I want to read it in a book? I don’t know which is worse, reading about it or listening to it. Both are equally as disturbing and really shouldn’t happen. But again, like I said, the book was written in a male teenager’s mind, so there really was nothing less I could expect.
In the end, I really did not like this book. I have an extremely short attention span, as Holden seemed to have, and all the rambling that was going on in the book quickly lost my attention. And the book failed to recapture my attention, even when Holden got sick. I suppose that makes me seem cruel, but the book was just too boring for my attention span. Not even for me, for my attention span and I just couldn’t see liking the random ramblings of Holden Caulfield’s mind.
Focus on...
--- grammar.
--- my thoughts and ideas vs. your own.
--- flow / ramble of the piece.
April 26, 2009
The Catcher in the Rye
I’m a reader. I do consider myself to be a reader, though books, as of late, have not held my interest long. I’ve read Nora Roberts, James Patterson, J.K. Rowling, Stephanie Meyer, and many other random authors. For some reason, The Catcher in the Rye isn’t my kind of book. The pace is slow and boring all throughout the beginning and middle. Personally I think the beginning is the most important part of a book. It’s the exposition, gets the main character, at least, set up so his or her story can be told. When the beginning is boring, my mind automatically goes “Oh God, here we go,” and settles into auto-pilot for the next however many minutes I’d be reading for. It’s really not fun, especially when it’s a book I have to read for school. Then I know I’m just set up for failure from the beginning. Just because of how tear-worthy boring the book was from the beginning.
That’s not the only thing. Once you do start reading the book you start to see things. Like how the main character and narrator, Holden Caulfield, likes hardly anything or anyone. He doesn’t like people that are bores and who are superficial. He doesn’t like phonies, either, nor people who are insecure. He doesn’t like too many people. Like his sister, Phoebe, says in chapter 22: “You don’t like anything that’s happening.” This was after Holden talked about Pencey Prep, his school, and the things that went on there. Phoebe challenged Holden to find one thing that he liked a lot, and then one thing that he would like to be. Holden didn’t even answer the question about what he would like to do with his life, he just rambled on about lawyers.
Personally, I think the things he likes are his family, which really aren’t things but people, and his deceased brother’s baseball glove. And this one girl, Jane Gallagher, who again isn‘t a thing but a person. He hasn’t seen the girl in a couple of years, but yet when his roommate at his school, Stradlater, says he has a date with her after the school’s football game, Holden suddenly is thinking about her all the time, in between the random topics of his mind.
Which is probably another reason why I can’t stand the book. Holden rambles. And he rambles randomly. He reminds me of myself. I hate when that happens. I’d like to think I’m not as bad as he is, but I know I can be worse. When I’m in the mood I can drone on and on about the most pointless of topics. When I’m in the mood, of course. But Holden seems to always be in the mood to ramble. I guess it’s logical for J. D. Salinger to have written it that way, as it is a first person point of view, so you are seeing things through the narrator’s mind, how it would happen in his mind. Doesn’t make it any less annoying though. Not at all.
Oh, and another thing. What I really do not like about this book is how he’s always taking about how fine a girl is or how cute she looks or who’s giving whom “the time.” In a teenage guy’s point of view I should have expected as much, but it’s still rather annoying because I’m a girl and I don’t want to hear about it. I love romance. There’s nothing romantic with someone talking about sex and how sexy people are. There really isn‘t. It‘s disturbing to read, since I’ve never read a book like this. I don’t even want to hear about it in real life, so why would I want to read it in a book? I don’t know which is worse, reading about it or listening to it. Both are equally as disturbing and really shouldn’t happen. But again, like I said, the book was written in a male teenager’s mind, so there really was nothing less I could expect.
In the end, I really did not like this book. I have an extremely short attention span, as Holden seemed to have, and all the rambling that was going on in the book quickly lost my attention. And the book failed to recapture my attention, even when Holden got sick. I suppose that makes me seem cruel, but the book was just too boring for my attention span. Not even for me, for my attention span and I just couldn’t see liking the random ramblings of Holden Caulfield’s mind.
Focus on...
--- grammar.
--- my thoughts and ideas vs. your own.
--- flow / ramble of the piece.
Apr 10, 2009
March to the Beat of Your Own Funeral
Christina Bonvicin
April 10, 2009
The Death of a Salesman
In Act II of The Death of a Salesman, Charley says “The only thing you got in this world is what you can sell” (p.97). I don’t quite believe this to be true. People have a lot of things in the world: for example, his or her dignity. No one can take away a person’s dignity unless that person lets them. You can’t very well sell your dignity either, which obviously chops the truthfulness of the quote to pieces. If all someone had in the world was what they could sell, there would be a lot of limitations in the world. Cars would have never been invented, because no one would think they would sell. This small thing in itself would completely alter the world as we know it. Not even thinking of the past, but thinking strictly of today’s world and economy. If I was a grocery store clerk, does that mean that all I have are the things that the store has? Of course not, that would be ridiculous. These examples go to show that Charley wasn’t thinking of the future when he said what he did, he was only thinking of how poor a salesman Willy had ended up in the late stages of his life.
Willy had the classic “American Dream.” He wanted to be successful and liked, to own his own house. To live comfortably and be able to support his family, that is what Willy wanted. And he wanted to do it the easiest way possible. To him, that was being a salesman. His hopes and dreams didn’t work out the way he wanted them to. He slowly lost touch with the world he lived in until he was part of two worlds, that he flitted between on a whim: the real world and the world of his past, when Biff and Happy were still young. The stress of his un-paying job and the bills that continued to pile up were the reasons behind the split in Willy’s reality. Though, like Alexis pointed out, Willy could possibly have a mental illness, though at the time was most likely unable to be identified. In either case, Willy is still a victim of his mind, where it be his fault or not.
Willy went about his hopes and dreams the wrong way. He wanted the easy way out. He didn’t want to go hard manual labor. He wanted to sell. This was his mistake. Maybe if he had become a carpenter, like Biff wanted to be a carpenter so he could whistle without being stared at, maybe he would have had a better life. He wouldn’t live in the city so much, but in the suburbs, having his own house and a good life. But Willy took the easy way out. And with that he took away his hopes and dreams himself. I can’t blame Willy for wanting to be respected. It’s in human nature to want to be respected and accepted by everyone. It’s just not logical though. Yes, Willy could have been respected, if he had gone about it the right way. Everyone has different paths that they can take in life. Willy took the one that he thought was right, but it wasn’t right for him or his family.
Many people still die the death of a salesman. It doesn’t take much to die the death of a salesman. Not in my eyes. Gatsby from The Great Gatsby died the death of a salesman too. When you die the death of a salesman, you die alone. Gatsby was shot when he was alone in his house. Willy died in a car accident he caused himself. Hardly anyone showed up to either of their funerals. As Linda says in the requiem “Why didn’t anyone come? … But where are all the people he knew?” When you die the death of a salesman, you die alone. The only people who care, who are touched by the loss, are the friends and family of the deceased. Gatsby and Willy are marching to the fictional beat of the dying salesman tune, as are many people who were very much alive and very much alone.
Focus On:
--- my ideas vs. your ideas.
--- grammar and structure.
--- ramble-ness vs. not rambly enough.
April 10, 2009
The Death of a Salesman
In Act II of The Death of a Salesman, Charley says “The only thing you got in this world is what you can sell” (p.97). I don’t quite believe this to be true. People have a lot of things in the world: for example, his or her dignity. No one can take away a person’s dignity unless that person lets them. You can’t very well sell your dignity either, which obviously chops the truthfulness of the quote to pieces. If all someone had in the world was what they could sell, there would be a lot of limitations in the world. Cars would have never been invented, because no one would think they would sell. This small thing in itself would completely alter the world as we know it. Not even thinking of the past, but thinking strictly of today’s world and economy. If I was a grocery store clerk, does that mean that all I have are the things that the store has? Of course not, that would be ridiculous. These examples go to show that Charley wasn’t thinking of the future when he said what he did, he was only thinking of how poor a salesman Willy had ended up in the late stages of his life.
Willy had the classic “American Dream.” He wanted to be successful and liked, to own his own house. To live comfortably and be able to support his family, that is what Willy wanted. And he wanted to do it the easiest way possible. To him, that was being a salesman. His hopes and dreams didn’t work out the way he wanted them to. He slowly lost touch with the world he lived in until he was part of two worlds, that he flitted between on a whim: the real world and the world of his past, when Biff and Happy were still young. The stress of his un-paying job and the bills that continued to pile up were the reasons behind the split in Willy’s reality. Though, like Alexis pointed out, Willy could possibly have a mental illness, though at the time was most likely unable to be identified. In either case, Willy is still a victim of his mind, where it be his fault or not.
Willy went about his hopes and dreams the wrong way. He wanted the easy way out. He didn’t want to go hard manual labor. He wanted to sell. This was his mistake. Maybe if he had become a carpenter, like Biff wanted to be a carpenter so he could whistle without being stared at, maybe he would have had a better life. He wouldn’t live in the city so much, but in the suburbs, having his own house and a good life. But Willy took the easy way out. And with that he took away his hopes and dreams himself. I can’t blame Willy for wanting to be respected. It’s in human nature to want to be respected and accepted by everyone. It’s just not logical though. Yes, Willy could have been respected, if he had gone about it the right way. Everyone has different paths that they can take in life. Willy took the one that he thought was right, but it wasn’t right for him or his family.
Many people still die the death of a salesman. It doesn’t take much to die the death of a salesman. Not in my eyes. Gatsby from The Great Gatsby died the death of a salesman too. When you die the death of a salesman, you die alone. Gatsby was shot when he was alone in his house. Willy died in a car accident he caused himself. Hardly anyone showed up to either of their funerals. As Linda says in the requiem “Why didn’t anyone come? … But where are all the people he knew?” When you die the death of a salesman, you die alone. The only people who care, who are touched by the loss, are the friends and family of the deceased. Gatsby and Willy are marching to the fictional beat of the dying salesman tune, as are many people who were very much alive and very much alone.
Focus On:
--- my ideas vs. your ideas.
--- grammar and structure.
--- ramble-ness vs. not rambly enough.
Mar 27, 2009
Reflections on the Blog
1. Has blogging been valuable to you as a student, thinker, reader, and writer?
Yes, blogging has been valuable to me as a student, thinker, and writer, though not so much a reader. As a student I was able to read fellow student's ideas to see where my ideas were in relation to their own ideas. This also helped me as a thinker, because if someone had different ideas than I did then I could read their post and see their ideas on the matter at hand, and gain some other insight that I otherwise would not have had. I'm not quite sure how writing on the blog helps me as a writer. I guess it helps me to write essays with my own personal style instead of the mechanical way that essays seemed to write themselves out before.
2. How do you feel about doing and continuing to do this kind of work?
I think that doing and continuing to do this kind of work, writing blogs and responding to other student's blogs is fun. It allows for a better interaction where there normally wouldn't be one, since we have separate classes at different times every day. It allows us to see what everyone is saying about the same topic. Even though it's about the same topic, everyone's answers are all different, because each person has different, possibly similar, ideas for every prompt we are given to write about, since even our free-write prompts have a prompt that just isn't stated as such.
3. Is this work different from other experiences that you have had in English classes?
Yes this work is different than other experiences I've had in English classes before. Before I would hardly ever be able to read anyone's writing, unless I was proofreading a friend's paper for them. Now I have the whole blog at me fingertips to see what other students are saying about our writing and we can actually get some feedback from the same, or possibly different, students.
4. Looking forward, do you have suggestions for how you want to be graded on this writing?
Well the grading system is confusing. I don't understand what I'm being graded on or what I did wrong. I can't improve my writing without strong constructive criticism. I'm very serious about my writing and I always try my best, but I'm not great with writing the right way or the mechanicals of writing. I can write very basically and spice it up later, but I don't know how I'd be able to fix my writing if I don't know what I'm doing wrong. Sure, Mr. Fiorini comments too, but the comments don't go into the specific details of what I have to fix and how I should fix it, which is what I need to help improve my writing.
5. Has doing this work changed the community within your own class or between classes (11-1 and 11-2) in any way?
I think doing the blog work has changed the community within the classes because before this we really didn't know how the other class wrote or their ideas, unless we felt like going through all the posts back on the Google forum. Now we can find the person's whose blog we want to read and read their blog. It's easy to read what they're writing and their ideas on the same questions we're asked.
Yes, blogging has been valuable to me as a student, thinker, and writer, though not so much a reader. As a student I was able to read fellow student's ideas to see where my ideas were in relation to their own ideas. This also helped me as a thinker, because if someone had different ideas than I did then I could read their post and see their ideas on the matter at hand, and gain some other insight that I otherwise would not have had. I'm not quite sure how writing on the blog helps me as a writer. I guess it helps me to write essays with my own personal style instead of the mechanical way that essays seemed to write themselves out before.
2. How do you feel about doing and continuing to do this kind of work?
I think that doing and continuing to do this kind of work, writing blogs and responding to other student's blogs is fun. It allows for a better interaction where there normally wouldn't be one, since we have separate classes at different times every day. It allows us to see what everyone is saying about the same topic. Even though it's about the same topic, everyone's answers are all different, because each person has different, possibly similar, ideas for every prompt we are given to write about, since even our free-write prompts have a prompt that just isn't stated as such.
3. Is this work different from other experiences that you have had in English classes?
Yes this work is different than other experiences I've had in English classes before. Before I would hardly ever be able to read anyone's writing, unless I was proofreading a friend's paper for them. Now I have the whole blog at me fingertips to see what other students are saying about our writing and we can actually get some feedback from the same, or possibly different, students.
4. Looking forward, do you have suggestions for how you want to be graded on this writing?
Well the grading system is confusing. I don't understand what I'm being graded on or what I did wrong. I can't improve my writing without strong constructive criticism. I'm very serious about my writing and I always try my best, but I'm not great with writing the right way or the mechanicals of writing. I can write very basically and spice it up later, but I don't know how I'd be able to fix my writing if I don't know what I'm doing wrong. Sure, Mr. Fiorini comments too, but the comments don't go into the specific details of what I have to fix and how I should fix it, which is what I need to help improve my writing.
5. Has doing this work changed the community within your own class or between classes (11-1 and 11-2) in any way?
I think doing the blog work has changed the community within the classes because before this we really didn't know how the other class wrote or their ideas, unless we felt like going through all the posts back on the Google forum. Now we can find the person's whose blog we want to read and read their blog. It's easy to read what they're writing and their ideas on the same questions we're asked.
Mar 20, 2009
Comments on The Great Gatsby
Christina Bonvicin
March 20, 2009
The Great Gatsby
“My idea is always to reach my generation. The wise writer...writes for the youth of his own generation, the critics of the next, and the schoolmasters of ever afterward.”
“Self-interview,” New York Tribune (May 7, 1920)
F. Scott Fitzgerald was writing for his generation when he wrote The Great Gatsby. It was set in the 1920s, the Roaring Twenties, a time which Fitzgerald himself 'grew up' in. He wrote of the heartbreaks and the jealousy and the scandals that rocked New York City during the time. Sure, the characters and such were made up, but New York City and Broadway and Long Island are places you can visit today. The story and situations in the story are fiction, but in fact could be situations that did indeed happen. We could never know. But Fitzgerald was writing for his generation, the "Lost Generation," as it was called, the Jazz Age Fitzgerald himself named it. He was writing for the readers of his time, of the partiers and famous people, people just like the characters in The Great Gatsby.
Reading a little bio, I see that Fitzgerald puts some of his own life into the stories, thus making even more of a generation-appeal, so to speak. The Great Gatsby is considered to be Fitzgerald's greatest masterpiece, and it is continued to be read and taught in schools through the United States, as our class is a perfect example of. And considering that the entire eleventh grade curriculum is the same, that means many other teens are reading The Great Gatsby also, showing that Fitzgerald was a wise writer, for he wrote not only for his generation, but also for the critics of the next, and students and teachers forever after his greatest novel was published.
"That was always my experience—a poor boy in a rich town; a poor boy in a rich boy's school; a poor boy in a rich man's club at Princeton…I have never been able to forgive the rich for being rich, and it has colored my entire life and works."–F. Scott Fitzgerald: A Life in Letters
I can see this theme coming through in The Great Gatsby. Though Nick, the narrator, came from a rich family, he didn’t live nearly as rich as Gatsby or the Buchanans did. He was borrowing some of his father’s money to start his own career, since he didn’t want to take over the family business of owning a hardware store in the Mid-West. He wanted to be out east, in New York City and on Long Island. What I can also see is Fitzgerald making Nick and Gatsby both like himself. Or, rather, putting his own life experiences into the main characters of the story. Nick, the narrator, served in the first World War, “the Great War” as he calls it, as did Fitzgerald for a time. Both Fitzgerald and Gatsby went to great colleges, whether they wanted to or not. There are many other experiences that Fitzgerald puts into his characters, such as Gatsby being broke and then having a financial success after the war, such as Fitzgerald did. Though, Gatsby and Fitzgerald probably made their money two different ways. Possibly, you can never be entirely sure with things like that. Anyway, I can really see the “poor boy in rich boy place” theme going throughout the novel, as that is what Nick was, a “poor” man living surrounded by rich people.
March 20, 2009
The Great Gatsby
“My idea is always to reach my generation. The wise writer...writes for the youth of his own generation, the critics of the next, and the schoolmasters of ever afterward.”
“Self-interview,” New York Tribune (May 7, 1920)
F. Scott Fitzgerald was writing for his generation when he wrote The Great Gatsby. It was set in the 1920s, the Roaring Twenties, a time which Fitzgerald himself 'grew up' in. He wrote of the heartbreaks and the jealousy and the scandals that rocked New York City during the time. Sure, the characters and such were made up, but New York City and Broadway and Long Island are places you can visit today. The story and situations in the story are fiction, but in fact could be situations that did indeed happen. We could never know. But Fitzgerald was writing for his generation, the "Lost Generation," as it was called, the Jazz Age Fitzgerald himself named it. He was writing for the readers of his time, of the partiers and famous people, people just like the characters in The Great Gatsby.
Reading a little bio, I see that Fitzgerald puts some of his own life into the stories, thus making even more of a generation-appeal, so to speak. The Great Gatsby is considered to be Fitzgerald's greatest masterpiece, and it is continued to be read and taught in schools through the United States, as our class is a perfect example of. And considering that the entire eleventh grade curriculum is the same, that means many other teens are reading The Great Gatsby also, showing that Fitzgerald was a wise writer, for he wrote not only for his generation, but also for the critics of the next, and students and teachers forever after his greatest novel was published.
"That was always my experience—a poor boy in a rich town; a poor boy in a rich boy's school; a poor boy in a rich man's club at Princeton…I have never been able to forgive the rich for being rich, and it has colored my entire life and works."–F. Scott Fitzgerald: A Life in Letters
I can see this theme coming through in The Great Gatsby. Though Nick, the narrator, came from a rich family, he didn’t live nearly as rich as Gatsby or the Buchanans did. He was borrowing some of his father’s money to start his own career, since he didn’t want to take over the family business of owning a hardware store in the Mid-West. He wanted to be out east, in New York City and on Long Island. What I can also see is Fitzgerald making Nick and Gatsby both like himself. Or, rather, putting his own life experiences into the main characters of the story. Nick, the narrator, served in the first World War, “the Great War” as he calls it, as did Fitzgerald for a time. Both Fitzgerald and Gatsby went to great colleges, whether they wanted to or not. There are many other experiences that Fitzgerald puts into his characters, such as Gatsby being broke and then having a financial success after the war, such as Fitzgerald did. Though, Gatsby and Fitzgerald probably made their money two different ways. Possibly, you can never be entirely sure with things like that. Anyway, I can really see the “poor boy in rich boy place” theme going throughout the novel, as that is what Nick was, a “poor” man living surrounded by rich people.
Mar 13, 2009
The Gatsby Party Mistake
Christina Bonvicin
3.13.o9
The Great Gatsby
The Great Gatsby is a rather... interesting book. The first two chapters had a lot of information about Nick, the narrator, and the people of both West Egg, East Egg, and New York City. The third chapter is when things start to pick up. There is a lot of description of the party that Nick attended and the people at the party. And even before that party, Nick describes his neighbor, Jay Gatsby, and the parties that he had that lasted until very early in the morning, and how the Monday after the party his servants would fix up the damage the partying people caused.
Nick knew the very intimate details of Gatsby's parties, even though, up until that point, he had never been to one. It seemed to me that Nick was very stalker-like in the beginning of the chapter. I found it extremely creepy that he would know about the gypsy that downed the cocktail for courage before dancing onto the canvas by herself. I could see if he knew this after Gatsby invited Nick to the party, but Nick knew before he even went to the party. It's just extremely creepy.
The one part of chapter three that I liked was the drunks in the car that lost it's tire, at the very end of the night.
"At least a dozen men, some of them a little better off than he was, explained to him that the wheel and car were no longer joined by any physical bond.
'Back out,' he suggested after a moment. 'Put her in reverse.'
'But the wheel's off!'"
This part of the dialogue was extremely funny, simply because of the sheer stupidity of the drunk driver. It's even funnier because I know that in the 20s alcohol was banned in the US, which just makes me think about when the law was passed. And if the book was written before or after that law was passed. It's funny too, because, the man still wanted to try to back the car up, even though it was impossible without the wheel on. The broken down car had caused a lot of traffic, and Gatsby just stood on his porch calmly saying goodbye. Very odd, considering the hold up of the cars in from of his house. I guess Gatsby is a very easy going guy about things like that.
Mar 6, 2009
Ezra Pound and His Oh-So-Interesting Life (And Poetry)
Christina Bonvicin 
3.6.09
Ezra Pound and His Oh-So-Interesting Life (And Poetry)
A Virginal by Ezra Pound
No, no! Go from me. I have left her lately.
I will not spoil my sheath with lesser brightness,
For my surrounding air hath a new lightness;
Slight are her arms, yet they have bound me straitly
And left me cloaked as with a gauze of aether;
As with sweet leaves; as with subtle clearness.
Oh, I have picked up magic in her nearness
To sheathe me half in half the things that sheathe her.
No, no! Go from me. I have still the flavour,
Soft as spring wind that's come from birchen bowers.
Green come the shoots, aye April in the branches,
As winter's wound with her sleight hand she staunches,
Hath of the trees a likeness of the savour:
As white their bark, so white this lady's hours.
1.) I found out much about Ezra Pound and his life. He was American born but more based in Europe for living, and liked the Chinese and Japanese aspects of poetry, such as the clarity and precision of the poetry. The time in which he lived covered a wide range in times. He was born in 1885, and wrote mostly in the 1900s to the 1950s and 1960s. He was influenced by many things of the time, including politics and materialism, as slightly seem in his poem A Virginal. At least, as it is read by me I see the poem as a reference to materialism. This is shown in the line “I will not spoil my sheath with lesser brightness,/For my surrounding air hath a new lightness.” It isn’t much materialism as it is devotion to his love, I want to say. But it seems to me materialism as he doesn’t want to soil himself with anything (anyone?) less than what he already has.
2.) Through a very close reading of the poem, I see that the how poem itself is a metaphor. Ezra Pound can be talking about many things. He can be talking about the change that politics made on his life, going from London to Italy and becoming a Fascist follower in the time he lived in Italy, saying about how the politic life of the Fascists couldn’t compare to any other government. Or he could be talking about the different movements of the time, such as the Imagism and Vorticism movements in Britain, where he lived for a time. Or you could simply take the poem at face value and see that Pound found a woman that he loved so much that he didn’t want anyone else.
Pound uses a rhyme scheme of ABBA CDDC in the first stanza, and EFGGEF in the second stanza. The GG rhyme in the second stanza is slant rhyme, so I included it as the same rhyme. The meter of the poem is very much the same, and Pound doesn’t use much flowery language to convey his thoughts, which is the Asian poetry styles coming through in his own poetry. The tone is that of a struggling man who is trying to keep himself in line so that way he doesn’t soil himself, as he believes he has the best thing that the world could give to him.
Masks by Ezra Pound
These tales of old disguisings, are they not
Strange myths of souls that found themselves among
Unwonted folk that spake an hostile tongue,
Some soul from all the rest who'd not forgot
The star-span acres of a former lot
Where boundless mid the clouds his course he swung,
Or carnate with his elder brothers sung
Ere ballad-makers lisped of Camelot?
Old singers half-forgetful of their tunes,
Old painters color-blind come back once more,
Old poets skill-less in the wind-heart runes,
Old wizards lacking in their wonder-lore:
All they that with strange sadness in their eyes
Ponder in silence o'er earth's queynt devyse?
3.) For the second poem by Pound I chose to read Masks, and I’m very glad I did. The poem is very good and I love it. There is a rhyme scheme of ABBAABBA for the first stanza, CDCD for the second stanza, and EE for the third stanza, kind of reminding me of a Shakespearean sonnet though not in couplet form and not nearly as long. The poem, despite the title, doesn’t quite talk about masks per se, but rather starts off talking about masks not being a strange myth of an older time. Pound then goes into his second stanza talking about various jobs, such as a singer, poet, and painter, and then throws in wizards to bring a more science-fiction/fantasy element to the poem. And he ends his poem with a rather odd question, of wondering if they (the singer/painter/poet/wizard) ponder about the disposal of the earth’s old-fashioned charm. Over all the poem was hard to try and see what Pound was saying but I think I got a pretty good grasp of what Pound meant, as I did with A Virginal.
4.) I don’t believe there is anything about distinctly American about his writing, or if you can even consider Ezra Pound an American poet as he spent most of his life living in Europe. Though I believe that Pound was an American citizen as he was charged with treason for spreading his Fascist views through radio to the US. In any way, I cannot find anything in Pound’s poetry that makes his poetry distinctly American, or distinctly anything but poetry to be honest.
Sites I used for information:
Poets.org
American Poems
Wikipedia for background checks
3.6.09
Ezra Pound and His Oh-So-Interesting Life (And Poetry)
A Virginal by Ezra Pound
No, no! Go from me. I have left her lately.
I will not spoil my sheath with lesser brightness,
For my surrounding air hath a new lightness;
Slight are her arms, yet they have bound me straitly
And left me cloaked as with a gauze of aether;
As with sweet leaves; as with subtle clearness.
Oh, I have picked up magic in her nearness
To sheathe me half in half the things that sheathe her.
No, no! Go from me. I have still the flavour,
Soft as spring wind that's come from birchen bowers.
Green come the shoots, aye April in the branches,
As winter's wound with her sleight hand she staunches,
Hath of the trees a likeness of the savour:
As white their bark, so white this lady's hours.
1.) I found out much about Ezra Pound and his life. He was American born but more based in Europe for living, and liked the Chinese and Japanese aspects of poetry, such as the clarity and precision of the poetry. The time in which he lived covered a wide range in times. He was born in 1885, and wrote mostly in the 1900s to the 1950s and 1960s. He was influenced by many things of the time, including politics and materialism, as slightly seem in his poem A Virginal. At least, as it is read by me I see the poem as a reference to materialism. This is shown in the line “I will not spoil my sheath with lesser brightness,/For my surrounding air hath a new lightness.” It isn’t much materialism as it is devotion to his love, I want to say. But it seems to me materialism as he doesn’t want to soil himself with anything (anyone?) less than what he already has.
2.) Through a very close reading of the poem, I see that the how poem itself is a metaphor. Ezra Pound can be talking about many things. He can be talking about the change that politics made on his life, going from London to Italy and becoming a Fascist follower in the time he lived in Italy, saying about how the politic life of the Fascists couldn’t compare to any other government. Or he could be talking about the different movements of the time, such as the Imagism and Vorticism movements in Britain, where he lived for a time. Or you could simply take the poem at face value and see that Pound found a woman that he loved so much that he didn’t want anyone else.
Pound uses a rhyme scheme of ABBA CDDC in the first stanza, and EFGGEF in the second stanza. The GG rhyme in the second stanza is slant rhyme, so I included it as the same rhyme. The meter of the poem is very much the same, and Pound doesn’t use much flowery language to convey his thoughts, which is the Asian poetry styles coming through in his own poetry. The tone is that of a struggling man who is trying to keep himself in line so that way he doesn’t soil himself, as he believes he has the best thing that the world could give to him.
Masks by Ezra Pound
These tales of old disguisings, are they not
Strange myths of souls that found themselves among
Unwonted folk that spake an hostile tongue,
Some soul from all the rest who'd not forgot
The star-span acres of a former lot
Where boundless mid the clouds his course he swung,
Or carnate with his elder brothers sung
Ere ballad-makers lisped of Camelot?
Old singers half-forgetful of their tunes,
Old painters color-blind come back once more,
Old poets skill-less in the wind-heart runes,
Old wizards lacking in their wonder-lore:
All they that with strange sadness in their eyes
Ponder in silence o'er earth's queynt devyse?
3.) For the second poem by Pound I chose to read Masks, and I’m very glad I did. The poem is very good and I love it. There is a rhyme scheme of ABBAABBA for the first stanza, CDCD for the second stanza, and EE for the third stanza, kind of reminding me of a Shakespearean sonnet though not in couplet form and not nearly as long. The poem, despite the title, doesn’t quite talk about masks per se, but rather starts off talking about masks not being a strange myth of an older time. Pound then goes into his second stanza talking about various jobs, such as a singer, poet, and painter, and then throws in wizards to bring a more science-fiction/fantasy element to the poem. And he ends his poem with a rather odd question, of wondering if they (the singer/painter/poet/wizard) ponder about the disposal of the earth’s old-fashioned charm. Over all the poem was hard to try and see what Pound was saying but I think I got a pretty good grasp of what Pound meant, as I did with A Virginal.
4.) I don’t believe there is anything about distinctly American about his writing, or if you can even consider Ezra Pound an American poet as he spent most of his life living in Europe. Though I believe that Pound was an American citizen as he was charged with treason for spreading his Fascist views through radio to the US. In any way, I cannot find anything in Pound’s poetry that makes his poetry distinctly American, or distinctly anything but poetry to be honest.
Sites I used for information:
Poets.org
American Poems
Wikipedia for background checks
Feb 27, 2009
And the moral of the story is...
Christina Bonvicin
2.27.2009
Mark Twain and His Story Morals
Mark Twain is a very humorous writer. But his humor isn't the "laugh out loud" type of humor some people really like to read. It's a dry sense of humor that not many people will catch onto until pointed out by someone else. It's the kind of humor that makes you stop and think "Oh, wait, that was funny in a not-so-funny way. It was demented." Twain's humor is pretty demented too. I mean, take "The Story of the Good Little Boy." You think it'd be a straight out story about a good little boy, right? The good little boy does good things for others and gets repaid good things. Not quite. Twain takes this overused concept and spins it so that his main character, Jacob Blivens, ends up not having the good life he believes he would have by being good.
In the story he addresses the issue of being overly good and not being rewarded for it in the way you expect. In his other short story, "The Story of the Bad Little Boy," the opposite is true. His main character, Jim, is being reward for being an absolute terror all throughout his life. He gets everything he's ever wanted with no consequences at all. At least, her has no consequences when he's actually living. Once he dies, however, is a different matter all together that I couldn't really take about even if I tried because Twain doesn't go into Jim's afterlife with him.
In any case, Twain's humor is dry and not much like the American Romantics. He's very much for the realism that is the world and how things do work in the world. His "Good Boy/Bad Boy" stories, you can clearly see his take on the world. That some things just are not always worth the time it takes to be good all the time, and that some times being bad is gets you farther in life than you think. Then again, this could just be my own thoughts of what Twain was trying to say in his stories. I truthfully wouldn’t know it that was what Twain was thinking when he wrote his stories unless I asked him.
In “The Celebrated Jumping Frog of Calaveras County,” Twain’s message is not to brag to a stranger, especially there after leaving something valuable with that stranger. Which, in today’s world it really isn’t a problem to leave something of value with a stranger since most of us (the ones with common sense) don’t go around trusting complete strangers with our valuables. Then again, he could have just been saying that you shouldn’t brag in general. Again you would have to ask Twain himself, as I’m a mere student coming up with morals based on what happens in the story.
Twain is writing to the American people of the late nineteenth century. I guess he doesn’t want them to be so overly emotional that they brag to everyone they meet, or try to do good by everything they do in order to be recognized for it. He’s a very humorous writer, and his stories read like oral stories. I could practically hear the slow, leisurely voice of Wheeler telling his story of Jim Smiley and his jumping frog in “The Celebrated Jumping Frog of Calaveras County.” His stories nowadays may not be read for moral purposes anymore, but morals can still be picked out. I recommend goody-two-shoes read “The Story of the Good Little Boy” so that maybe they stop being so good and living their life in the “I must always be good attitude.” Being bad once in a while isn’t that bad.
A part of Twain’s writing that stood out to me was from “The Story of the Good Little Boy.” It goes: “But somehow nothing ever went right with this good boy; nothing ever turned out with him the way it turned out with the good little boys in the books. They always had a good time, and the bad boys had the broken legs; but in his case there was a screw loose somewhere; and it all happened just the other way.” Then Twain went on to talk about how poor little Jacob Blivens broke his legs because he caught Jim Blake stealing apples from a tree. It stood out to me because bad things happen to the good. As the quote goes “Only the good die young.” Well, that was basically what Twain was backing up in the story.
By the time I finished that short story, I felt really bad for little Jacob. All he wanted was to be the good little boy in a Sunday-school book, and one that didn't die in the end. But, he died in the end and he wasn't put in a Sunday-school book either. He was made into a Mark Twain story, which is just as good though. In the end, I believe that Twain wrote these stories for people to realize things about situations that you shouldn't put yourself into. Or, if you put yourself into those situations, make sure you get yourself out of them the right way.
2.27.2009
Mark Twain and His Story Morals
Mark Twain is a very humorous writer. But his humor isn't the "laugh out loud" type of humor some people really like to read. It's a dry sense of humor that not many people will catch onto until pointed out by someone else. It's the kind of humor that makes you stop and think "Oh, wait, that was funny in a not-so-funny way. It was demented." Twain's humor is pretty demented too. I mean, take "The Story of the Good Little Boy." You think it'd be a straight out story about a good little boy, right? The good little boy does good things for others and gets repaid good things. Not quite. Twain takes this overused concept and spins it so that his main character, Jacob Blivens, ends up not having the good life he believes he would have by being good.
In the story he addresses the issue of being overly good and not being rewarded for it in the way you expect. In his other short story, "The Story of the Bad Little Boy," the opposite is true. His main character, Jim, is being reward for being an absolute terror all throughout his life. He gets everything he's ever wanted with no consequences at all. At least, her has no consequences when he's actually living. Once he dies, however, is a different matter all together that I couldn't really take about even if I tried because Twain doesn't go into Jim's afterlife with him.
In any case, Twain's humor is dry and not much like the American Romantics. He's very much for the realism that is the world and how things do work in the world. His "Good Boy/Bad Boy" stories, you can clearly see his take on the world. That some things just are not always worth the time it takes to be good all the time, and that some times being bad is gets you farther in life than you think. Then again, this could just be my own thoughts of what Twain was trying to say in his stories. I truthfully wouldn’t know it that was what Twain was thinking when he wrote his stories unless I asked him.
In “The Celebrated Jumping Frog of Calaveras County,” Twain’s message is not to brag to a stranger, especially there after leaving something valuable with that stranger. Which, in today’s world it really isn’t a problem to leave something of value with a stranger since most of us (the ones with common sense) don’t go around trusting complete strangers with our valuables. Then again, he could have just been saying that you shouldn’t brag in general. Again you would have to ask Twain himself, as I’m a mere student coming up with morals based on what happens in the story.
Twain is writing to the American people of the late nineteenth century. I guess he doesn’t want them to be so overly emotional that they brag to everyone they meet, or try to do good by everything they do in order to be recognized for it. He’s a very humorous writer, and his stories read like oral stories. I could practically hear the slow, leisurely voice of Wheeler telling his story of Jim Smiley and his jumping frog in “The Celebrated Jumping Frog of Calaveras County.” His stories nowadays may not be read for moral purposes anymore, but morals can still be picked out. I recommend goody-two-shoes read “The Story of the Good Little Boy” so that maybe they stop being so good and living their life in the “I must always be good attitude.” Being bad once in a while isn’t that bad.
A part of Twain’s writing that stood out to me was from “The Story of the Good Little Boy.” It goes: “But somehow nothing ever went right with this good boy; nothing ever turned out with him the way it turned out with the good little boys in the books. They always had a good time, and the bad boys had the broken legs; but in his case there was a screw loose somewhere; and it all happened just the other way.” Then Twain went on to talk about how poor little Jacob Blivens broke his legs because he caught Jim Blake stealing apples from a tree. It stood out to me because bad things happen to the good. As the quote goes “Only the good die young.” Well, that was basically what Twain was backing up in the story.
By the time I finished that short story, I felt really bad for little Jacob. All he wanted was to be the good little boy in a Sunday-school book, and one that didn't die in the end. But, he died in the end and he wasn't put in a Sunday-school book either. He was made into a Mark Twain story, which is just as good though. In the end, I believe that Twain wrote these stories for people to realize things about situations that you shouldn't put yourself into. Or, if you put yourself into those situations, make sure you get yourself out of them the right way.
Feb 20, 2009
Writing Equals Change?
Christina Bonvicin
2.20.09
Writing Equals Change?
Does writing have the power to enact social change? A better question would be “Can writing have the power to enact social change?” Really, the question of writing changing society is a question of the people who are reading the writing. If only a bunch of high school students are only reading the writing, I doubt it would enact much of a worldwide, or even an America-wide, social change. The change would most likely be only be a few selective students, or, if the teacher was lucky enough, the whole class or grade.
If the president of the United States, on the other hand, read the piece of writing and was moved by it, the possibilities are endless. If really depends on what that specific president believes would be the best line of action. He could possibly think that the social change would be bad for the nation or world, and would not pass any ideas onto Congress to approve. If he thought the change would better the nation and/or the world, then he would most likely pass the ideas onto Congress. Congress would then either approve or deny the idea, through many debates through the pros and cons of the change. If the change is a success, then the president could brag to other countries, and then more countries would enact the social change, causing, possibly, a worldwide change.
On a smaller scale, if the major of a city or town were to read the piece of writing the same thing could happen. Only instead of having to go through the Senate and House of Representatives, the major would most likely have to go through a small city or school council, depending on the type of change, to get the approval he or she needs to start the programs that would get the social changes going throughout the city.
In all, the change depends on the person reading it. If I was just the one reading a piece of writing and it affected me enough to change me, that’s just one person. Really not much of a change, in all honesty. But if the president of the United States wanted to change some social aspect of Americans’ lives, and Congress backed him (or her, I’m holding out hope), then the changes are most pronounced and could possibly be spread worldwide. Thus, I do believe that writing has the power to enact social change… but only if the person reading it is in some form of political power, such as the president or a major of a city.
2.20.09
Writing Equals Change?
Does writing have the power to enact social change? A better question would be “Can writing have the power to enact social change?” Really, the question of writing changing society is a question of the people who are reading the writing. If only a bunch of high school students are only reading the writing, I doubt it would enact much of a worldwide, or even an America-wide, social change. The change would most likely be only be a few selective students, or, if the teacher was lucky enough, the whole class or grade.
If the president of the United States, on the other hand, read the piece of writing and was moved by it, the possibilities are endless. If really depends on what that specific president believes would be the best line of action. He could possibly think that the social change would be bad for the nation or world, and would not pass any ideas onto Congress to approve. If he thought the change would better the nation and/or the world, then he would most likely pass the ideas onto Congress. Congress would then either approve or deny the idea, through many debates through the pros and cons of the change. If the change is a success, then the president could brag to other countries, and then more countries would enact the social change, causing, possibly, a worldwide change.
On a smaller scale, if the major of a city or town were to read the piece of writing the same thing could happen. Only instead of having to go through the Senate and House of Representatives, the major would most likely have to go through a small city or school council, depending on the type of change, to get the approval he or she needs to start the programs that would get the social changes going throughout the city.
In all, the change depends on the person reading it. If I was just the one reading a piece of writing and it affected me enough to change me, that’s just one person. Really not much of a change, in all honesty. But if the president of the United States wanted to change some social aspect of Americans’ lives, and Congress backed him (or her, I’m holding out hope), then the changes are most pronounced and could possibly be spread worldwide. Thus, I do believe that writing has the power to enact social change… but only if the person reading it is in some form of political power, such as the president or a major of a city.
Feb 13, 2009
Price of a Child Assignment
Christina Bonvicin
The Price of Freedom
The seconds on the clock ticked by slowly. Very, very slowly. The classroom was silent, every student engaged in their own thoughts. One girl had her iPod in her ears, eyes closed as the bell rang. As if on cue Demi Gimondi got up, picked up her messenger bag and walked out of the room without a glance back at the rest of her classmates. She couldn’t, honestly, care less about them than what she already did. They were nothing to her. Besides she had more important matters to attend to than to bother with preppy girls and guys in her new boarding school. She weaved her way across Waverton’s campus, the winter chill hardly bothering her like it would most of the other girls in Waverton Academy.
She got to her English Lit class practically on time. Practically being the key word. She prayed the professor didn’t see her as she walked into class two minutes late. Professor Elizabeth Richards was a stickler when it came to being on time to class. Demi walked into the classroom slowly, glad to see that Professor Richards’ back was to her students, writing on the board.
“Ah, Miss Gimondi, so glad you could join our class today.” Demi cringed, watching as the old bat turned around to glare at her. “I believe this is the tenth time you are late this semester.”
“Actually, I believe it is only the eighth time this semester, Professor Richards.” Demi couldn’t help her flip response. It came natural to her, just as breathing did. The professor’s glare became more pronounced in her face, the wrinkles deepening to show her true age.
“Take out your books,” the professor barked. Everyone in the class jumped to attention and moved hurriedly to take out their Price of a Child books. Demi took her sweet time, setting her bag down lightly on the floor near her feet before bending to get the book out of her bag. By the time Demi straightened up the class had already begun a discussion about chapter six. Luckily Professor Richards didn’t seem to notice, or, honestly, didn’t care.
In truth Demi liked the book. She had already read the whole thing and needed to backtrack to stay with her class. She found the characters somewhat interesting, but the plot was bland. She did rather like the ending. A bittersweet ending was the best ending in her eyes. She hated the overly romantic and happily-ever-afters. Bittersweet endings were right up Demi’s literature alley.
Demi was brought out of her reverie, hearing the old bat’s voice right next to her. Demi looked at her professor before opening the book to the chapter they were currently discussing.
“Miss Jefferson,” the professor said, calling on the girl to Demi’s left side, “your thoughts on the chapter?”
Jaelyn started off into a lengthy ramble about the chapter, covering everything from the discussion of Mercer’s family’s well being, to the ‘love’ scene in the bedroom, and all the way to when Mercer and Zilpha went back to Zilpha’s house in West Chester. Demi drifted in and out of the long monologue, thinking about what could possibly happen to Mercer and her kids. Tyree had given her money and names to help her find Benny, they were taking the steamer to New York and then who knows where. But what would happen to them then? Their lives weren’t set in stone. That was probably what Lorene Cary wanted, for people to take the ending and use their imagination and run with what little basis she gave.
Demi liked when book endings weren’t set in stone. If she didn’t like the ending, she could always rewrite her own in her head, which she loved to do to most of the books she read over the years.
“Miss Gimondi,” came a voice from far away and Demi shook her head to clear her thoughts, looking at her professor with a mildly interested look on her face. “Would you care to share your thoughts on the chapter?” The professor’s voice left no room for argument: Demi would have to say her opinions on the chapter even if she really didn’t want to. Demi blinked and then pursed her lips together, before taking deep breath.
“Well, for one, I love how the family treats Blanche. They don’t like her, her own husband doesn’t like her, except for sex.” The room was silent after this, the students horrified that she dare say that dreadful term. “Tyree treats Blanche like a two-year-old when it comes to correcting her behavior and how she acts with the family, yet wants to take her like a horny seventeen year old when the mood strikes.” Demi rolled her eyes at her preppy classmates gasped at her audacity. Professor Richards didn’t look so taken aback. “Second I really can’t stand Tyree. At all. He raped his wife. She maybe have submitted, but it doesn’t mean that she consented. Tyree raped her without remorse. Before that he cheated on her with Mercer. It may have been a simple kiss but he still cheated.”
She paused, taking a needed breath of air before plunging on. “The only part that I liked was when Zilpha shot whoever was looting through her garden at her house. At least that part was the smallest bit believable. Everything else was just really bad in tune with the story, a lot of information that wasn’t necessarily needed or wanted. I personally got bored reading all the information and was glad when the chapter was over.” And on that note, Demi closed her book and stared up at Professor Richards, practically daring the old bat to say anything to her.
Professor Richards blinked, before turning away from her student and continuing with her lecture about the chapter. Demi smiled to herself, knowing that the old bat’s plans were ruined. Professor Richards was hoping that by catching Demi in her own thoughts, the old bat thinking that Demi didn’t even read the chapter like she was supposed to, that Demi wouldn’t have been able to give a satisfying response to her question. ‘Well, it didn’t work,’ Demi thought to herself, a smile still on her face as Professor Richards assigned the class to read chapters seven and eight.
“Just because I’m late all the time,” Demi mumbled to herself, grabbing her bag off the floor as the bell rang, “doesn’t mean that I don’t care about my class or my grades, thank you very much.” And with her simple sentence Demi Gimondi was gone to her advanced statistics class, once again not bothering to wait around for any of her classmates. She had her freedom, she didn’t need to wait for any body. Just like Mercer.
The Price of Freedom
The seconds on the clock ticked by slowly. Very, very slowly. The classroom was silent, every student engaged in their own thoughts. One girl had her iPod in her ears, eyes closed as the bell rang. As if on cue Demi Gimondi got up, picked up her messenger bag and walked out of the room without a glance back at the rest of her classmates. She couldn’t, honestly, care less about them than what she already did. They were nothing to her. Besides she had more important matters to attend to than to bother with preppy girls and guys in her new boarding school. She weaved her way across Waverton’s campus, the winter chill hardly bothering her like it would most of the other girls in Waverton Academy.
She got to her English Lit class practically on time. Practically being the key word. She prayed the professor didn’t see her as she walked into class two minutes late. Professor Elizabeth Richards was a stickler when it came to being on time to class. Demi walked into the classroom slowly, glad to see that Professor Richards’ back was to her students, writing on the board.
“Ah, Miss Gimondi, so glad you could join our class today.” Demi cringed, watching as the old bat turned around to glare at her. “I believe this is the tenth time you are late this semester.”
“Actually, I believe it is only the eighth time this semester, Professor Richards.” Demi couldn’t help her flip response. It came natural to her, just as breathing did. The professor’s glare became more pronounced in her face, the wrinkles deepening to show her true age.
“Take out your books,” the professor barked. Everyone in the class jumped to attention and moved hurriedly to take out their Price of a Child books. Demi took her sweet time, setting her bag down lightly on the floor near her feet before bending to get the book out of her bag. By the time Demi straightened up the class had already begun a discussion about chapter six. Luckily Professor Richards didn’t seem to notice, or, honestly, didn’t care.
In truth Demi liked the book. She had already read the whole thing and needed to backtrack to stay with her class. She found the characters somewhat interesting, but the plot was bland. She did rather like the ending. A bittersweet ending was the best ending in her eyes. She hated the overly romantic and happily-ever-afters. Bittersweet endings were right up Demi’s literature alley.
Demi was brought out of her reverie, hearing the old bat’s voice right next to her. Demi looked at her professor before opening the book to the chapter they were currently discussing.
“Miss Jefferson,” the professor said, calling on the girl to Demi’s left side, “your thoughts on the chapter?”
Jaelyn started off into a lengthy ramble about the chapter, covering everything from the discussion of Mercer’s family’s well being, to the ‘love’ scene in the bedroom, and all the way to when Mercer and Zilpha went back to Zilpha’s house in West Chester. Demi drifted in and out of the long monologue, thinking about what could possibly happen to Mercer and her kids. Tyree had given her money and names to help her find Benny, they were taking the steamer to New York and then who knows where. But what would happen to them then? Their lives weren’t set in stone. That was probably what Lorene Cary wanted, for people to take the ending and use their imagination and run with what little basis she gave.
Demi liked when book endings weren’t set in stone. If she didn’t like the ending, she could always rewrite her own in her head, which she loved to do to most of the books she read over the years.
“Miss Gimondi,” came a voice from far away and Demi shook her head to clear her thoughts, looking at her professor with a mildly interested look on her face. “Would you care to share your thoughts on the chapter?” The professor’s voice left no room for argument: Demi would have to say her opinions on the chapter even if she really didn’t want to. Demi blinked and then pursed her lips together, before taking deep breath.
“Well, for one, I love how the family treats Blanche. They don’t like her, her own husband doesn’t like her, except for sex.” The room was silent after this, the students horrified that she dare say that dreadful term. “Tyree treats Blanche like a two-year-old when it comes to correcting her behavior and how she acts with the family, yet wants to take her like a horny seventeen year old when the mood strikes.” Demi rolled her eyes at her preppy classmates gasped at her audacity. Professor Richards didn’t look so taken aback. “Second I really can’t stand Tyree. At all. He raped his wife. She maybe have submitted, but it doesn’t mean that she consented. Tyree raped her without remorse. Before that he cheated on her with Mercer. It may have been a simple kiss but he still cheated.”
She paused, taking a needed breath of air before plunging on. “The only part that I liked was when Zilpha shot whoever was looting through her garden at her house. At least that part was the smallest bit believable. Everything else was just really bad in tune with the story, a lot of information that wasn’t necessarily needed or wanted. I personally got bored reading all the information and was glad when the chapter was over.” And on that note, Demi closed her book and stared up at Professor Richards, practically daring the old bat to say anything to her.
Professor Richards blinked, before turning away from her student and continuing with her lecture about the chapter. Demi smiled to herself, knowing that the old bat’s plans were ruined. Professor Richards was hoping that by catching Demi in her own thoughts, the old bat thinking that Demi didn’t even read the chapter like she was supposed to, that Demi wouldn’t have been able to give a satisfying response to her question. ‘Well, it didn’t work,’ Demi thought to herself, a smile still on her face as Professor Richards assigned the class to read chapters seven and eight.
“Just because I’m late all the time,” Demi mumbled to herself, grabbing her bag off the floor as the bell rang, “doesn’t mean that I don’t care about my class or my grades, thank you very much.” And with her simple sentence Demi Gimondi was gone to her advanced statistics class, once again not bothering to wait around for any of her classmates. She had her freedom, she didn’t need to wait for any body. Just like Mercer.
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