It's strange how much significance we ascribe to our name. Some people take great pride in their name if you spell it wrong the accidental omission of an e or using a y instead of ie can cause them to become irritated. Despite the details of the name itself is the facade of self. Rearranging the letters in our names usually doesn't create any meaning at least not as much as the name itself. Rearranging the letters in the name I go by and that most people know me, Matthew Gong, leads to random gibberish. Adding in my middle name, Lindsay my mother's maiden name, makes it so there is no way to rearrange the letters of my name in a meaningful combination. Maybe this coincidence says something about my character and identity. Maybe because my identity, to me, seems formed from random collections of memories my name when rearranged is random and because I don't identify myself with my middle name adding it to the jumble removes all meaning. Maybe there is no way for me to reconcile my middle name with my identity.
I don't use my middle name out of spite or shame but out of habit. When I was young introducing myself by my full name felt like a chore the middle name alone doubled the syllables I had to speak. In all honesty I identify more with my Gong relatives than my Lindsay Relatives. The Gongs of my generation are all half-Chinese half-American; on the Lindsay side we're the only non Caucasians. Race was never an issue with the my relatives, it just feels right to not be the odd ones out at the family reunion.
first half 35 minutes
second half on going
Saturday, November 7, 2009
Friday, November 6, 2009
Week 10 Prompt B1
I have returned to the light (obviously the blog).
A Ark; that’s the anagram the website gave me for my name. I would certainly hope that I don’t resemble an ark in anyway. Also, it bugs me that it’s “a ark” when it should be “an ark.” What am I supposed to write about that? Who wants to be compared to an ark? “Hey you see that girl over there? Man, she’s such an ark!” Normally, when I think of ark I think, “Oh, like Noah’s Ark. It’s a boat!” Or maybe I think of the ark of the covenant; however, I typed in ark on dictionary.com and one of the definitions was, “a place of protection or security.”
This got me thinking. When I talk to people, they’re kind of drawn to me in a way. People feel like they need to tell me everything about them. I remember this one time when I met someone new and within one hour of knowing them they were telling me about their past sins. This is kind of how it goes for me. I’m not sure why. People just naturally trust me. So in a way, I am like an ark on the inside, hopefully not on the outside.
I would hope that all of my friends and family know that they can come to me whenever they need a friend. I’m always willing to listen to anyone that needs my help. I’ve always felt like a shrink in a way because I’ve just always been the girl who listens to people’s problems. Also, I don’t like to talk about my own problems, my past, or what I’m thinking about. I like to keep my thoughts and feelings to myself and I find that it’s really hard for me to open up to anyone. I’ve learned to distance myself from the world and I like it. I like knowing that no one else knows how I feel or what’s going on in my life. I like to be the mysterious one… or the strange one, whichever works. I’m really okay with not having friends here, but I feel like I’m needed here. Maybe there is someone here who just needs a listener. Maybe I can be a “place of security.” I don’t know why I’m here at BYU, except that I know I’m supposed to be here. I would hope that my purpose of being here is to help someone else. I hope I’m not here to be helped by someone else. I don’t need help; I can do things for myself.
A Ark… such a sad and pathetic anagram; but I think it suits me in a way. When I think of an ark I kind of just write it off as a boat and think nothing else of it. I don’t think of the security or protection in can bring. I think that’s what people think of me. I hope they do. I’d be totally fine living alone my whole life. I don’t need anyone; people need me.
Kara Lohberg
exactly 500 words
A Ark; that’s the anagram the website gave me for my name. I would certainly hope that I don’t resemble an ark in anyway. Also, it bugs me that it’s “a ark” when it should be “an ark.” What am I supposed to write about that? Who wants to be compared to an ark? “Hey you see that girl over there? Man, she’s such an ark!” Normally, when I think of ark I think, “Oh, like Noah’s Ark. It’s a boat!” Or maybe I think of the ark of the covenant; however, I typed in ark on dictionary.com and one of the definitions was, “a place of protection or security.”
This got me thinking. When I talk to people, they’re kind of drawn to me in a way. People feel like they need to tell me everything about them. I remember this one time when I met someone new and within one hour of knowing them they were telling me about their past sins. This is kind of how it goes for me. I’m not sure why. People just naturally trust me. So in a way, I am like an ark on the inside, hopefully not on the outside.
I would hope that all of my friends and family know that they can come to me whenever they need a friend. I’m always willing to listen to anyone that needs my help. I’ve always felt like a shrink in a way because I’ve just always been the girl who listens to people’s problems. Also, I don’t like to talk about my own problems, my past, or what I’m thinking about. I like to keep my thoughts and feelings to myself and I find that it’s really hard for me to open up to anyone. I’ve learned to distance myself from the world and I like it. I like knowing that no one else knows how I feel or what’s going on in my life. I like to be the mysterious one… or the strange one, whichever works. I’m really okay with not having friends here, but I feel like I’m needed here. Maybe there is someone here who just needs a listener. Maybe I can be a “place of security.” I don’t know why I’m here at BYU, except that I know I’m supposed to be here. I would hope that my purpose of being here is to help someone else. I hope I’m not here to be helped by someone else. I don’t need help; I can do things for myself.
A Ark… such a sad and pathetic anagram; but I think it suits me in a way. When I think of an ark I kind of just write it off as a boat and think nothing else of it. I don’t think of the security or protection in can bring. I think that’s what people think of me. I hope they do. I’d be totally fine living alone my whole life. I don’t need anyone; people need me.
Kara Lohberg
exactly 500 words
Prompt B1
I don’t want to get too sentimental but I feel this is the direction I’m being pulled. So oh well, it is a personal essay right? My real name is Lillavie Christian, my Grandmothers’ names. I have honestly never thought much about being named after them. I always thought it was cool to be named after both of them, and hoped to do the same for my first daughter and son (my brother is named after our two Grandfathers). But as to the significance of carrying on a name, no thought at all. I had a lesson a year ago or so in Sunday school about carrying the name of Christ. I went home thinking about carry my names with pride. My Grandmas are both really great ladies. My Mom’s Mom, Lillavie, joined the Church when she was a young adult. She and my Grandpa dated all through High School so her parents had seen her conversion coming and made it very clear that they did not approve. When she joined the Church she knew that her family would not accept her or her future family. But she did it anyways. She raised my Aunts and Uncle without the help of her own mother. She never looked back because she knew it was the right thing for her. She is a great woman who I admire a lot. My dad’s mom, her maiden name is Christian, also joined the Church as an adult. She had already had my Aunts and Dad and traveled around the country while my Grandpa served in the Air Force. Just being a wife of a member of the Air Force would be so difficult with little kids, but add on that changing your whole lifestyle. She was very courageous in taking on this task. She also never looked back and is constantly working each day to improve and make life better. I have to incredible women to look up to in my life. I can never forget them because they are my name. In a way, they are who I am. One of the anagrams that came from Lillavie was I live all. This seemed to fit what I have been thinking about very well. It might not be very apparent yet, but just wait. My Grandmother’s live their lives to the best they can. They live all of it. They take whatever life hands them in trials and deals with it. Deal beautifully I might add. I am not sure that I would have been as courageous in their situations. But I need to be. I need to, we all need to really, live all. Life gets to be hard and it feels like it would be so much easier to just quit. That wouldn’t be living up to our full potential though. I feel like I have a lot to live up to by bearing these amazing women’s names. I have to be courageous in the trials that occur in my life. I have to take advantage of the opportunities handed me. I (have to) live all.
514 words
Prompt C: Inspirational Letter
Taylor,
You know that I love writing so I thought you would be the best person to talk about my difficulties with poetry and my journey to find easier ways to become inspired. I've been thinking about how I can learn to let go and just write. Put onto paper my entire inner monologue with out reserve. You always told me that I thought too much about what people think, yet you also recognized the passion in me. You said I had a fire that I was hiding from the world and I would only let those who I trust to see it. You saw in me a greatness and a potential and I believe that you are largely responsible for getting me to free my voice. I have learned through my study of how to develop this new-found resonance that creating is unmethodical and is driven more by impulse than by rote. I know now that I have to push forward, to drive myself to create instead of just expecting my words to come out polished and in verse. I have to seek inspiration instead of letting spontaneity govern when it should happen upon me. I now quest for significance in my every experience, through the people I encounter and the places I go. Each new thought has now become an opportunity. I seek to reveal truth and to communicate how I perceive and am no longer afraid of what I write. I write from a place that is more my own than ever before. I drive to preserve the breath of fresh air I have been given and taken upon myself to exhale in words. I think you'd be proud. When I am confronted with blank pages, I don't hesitate the way I used to, nor do I give heed to the critic in my head. My inhibitions have diminished tremendously because I have begun to trust in me.
I have always been interested in the process of creating a poem. You know that. You saw how I would get so excited over the words of the great. I found in poets and their poetry an expression that I truly admire and want to replicate. It fascinates me that poetry can be a long, laborious process and on the other hand, can just come. That many poets can have thick anthologies and prolific careers and others are made famous by only a few. I can only imagine what type of thoughts goes through the minds of the poets when they wrote the verses that run through my mind and get me at my core. I want the effort I take in writing to have direction and focus, or at the very least a greater freedom like that I see in the poems I love. You always thought it hilarious when I had to read you something that resounded, that echoed my own experience. I thought I would share with you some of the methods I have learned while reading up on how to better my approach to writing.
I believe that my poetry is juvenile and unrefined (don’t roll your eyes.) There is not a great art to it and I typically don’t know what I am doing. I can’t always come up with ideas that come together and work. I usually get butchered in workshop and I don’t know whether I even have the potential to create good poems (I know you are!) I feel maybe it is because I am not yet lived in my skin. It is possibly that I have little experience or maturity to deal with the little living I have done to be considered a conduit for a meaningful message. I adore poems and realize that they difficult to write, and more-so to revise. Yet I am willing to commit to it. That's the most important. I want to be an awesome writer. I feel like creative writing is the field I would be happiest in, where I could express all that is inside me without sacrificing who I am. I want to delve into the craft and find out as much as I can as possible because the passion you recognized in me is real and now I recognize it. Goldberg also refutes my feelings of ineptitude by saying that I shouldn’t worry about my talent or capability to write well because all writing takes time and greatness comes with practice (Goldberg 32). I want to write the way I always imagined, the way you have always known I could. I want to live up to my own expectations and I am so glad that you feel I already have.
Thanks Tay,
Miki
(By the way, I loved this prompt! Best way to amp up the personal!)
You know that I love writing so I thought you would be the best person to talk about my difficulties with poetry and my journey to find easier ways to become inspired. I've been thinking about how I can learn to let go and just write. Put onto paper my entire inner monologue with out reserve. You always told me that I thought too much about what people think, yet you also recognized the passion in me. You said I had a fire that I was hiding from the world and I would only let those who I trust to see it. You saw in me a greatness and a potential and I believe that you are largely responsible for getting me to free my voice. I have learned through my study of how to develop this new-found resonance that creating is unmethodical and is driven more by impulse than by rote. I know now that I have to push forward, to drive myself to create instead of just expecting my words to come out polished and in verse. I have to seek inspiration instead of letting spontaneity govern when it should happen upon me. I now quest for significance in my every experience, through the people I encounter and the places I go. Each new thought has now become an opportunity. I seek to reveal truth and to communicate how I perceive and am no longer afraid of what I write. I write from a place that is more my own than ever before. I drive to preserve the breath of fresh air I have been given and taken upon myself to exhale in words. I think you'd be proud. When I am confronted with blank pages, I don't hesitate the way I used to, nor do I give heed to the critic in my head. My inhibitions have diminished tremendously because I have begun to trust in me.
I have always been interested in the process of creating a poem. You know that. You saw how I would get so excited over the words of the great. I found in poets and their poetry an expression that I truly admire and want to replicate. It fascinates me that poetry can be a long, laborious process and on the other hand, can just come. That many poets can have thick anthologies and prolific careers and others are made famous by only a few. I can only imagine what type of thoughts goes through the minds of the poets when they wrote the verses that run through my mind and get me at my core. I want the effort I take in writing to have direction and focus, or at the very least a greater freedom like that I see in the poems I love. You always thought it hilarious when I had to read you something that resounded, that echoed my own experience. I thought I would share with you some of the methods I have learned while reading up on how to better my approach to writing.
I believe that my poetry is juvenile and unrefined (don’t roll your eyes.) There is not a great art to it and I typically don’t know what I am doing. I can’t always come up with ideas that come together and work. I usually get butchered in workshop and I don’t know whether I even have the potential to create good poems (I know you are!) I feel maybe it is because I am not yet lived in my skin. It is possibly that I have little experience or maturity to deal with the little living I have done to be considered a conduit for a meaningful message. I adore poems and realize that they difficult to write, and more-so to revise. Yet I am willing to commit to it. That's the most important. I want to be an awesome writer. I feel like creative writing is the field I would be happiest in, where I could express all that is inside me without sacrificing who I am. I want to delve into the craft and find out as much as I can as possible because the passion you recognized in me is real and now I recognize it. Goldberg also refutes my feelings of ineptitude by saying that I shouldn’t worry about my talent or capability to write well because all writing takes time and greatness comes with practice (Goldberg 32). I want to write the way I always imagined, the way you have always known I could. I want to live up to my own expectations and I am so glad that you feel I already have.
Thanks Tay,
Miki
(By the way, I loved this prompt! Best way to amp up the personal!)
Supplemental prompt B
What would I rather be doing besides writing this prompt? Well that’s easy, anything. Does that suffice? Since this has to be five hundred and fifty words, be prepared for another rant/list. If that doesn’t sound interesting to you, you can just post a comment saying that you didn’t like it. If you do like it, I’m not sure what is wrong with you. Why would you want to listen to my complaining? Don’t you have anything better to do on a weekend? Which brings me to my list. . . . I would rather be sleeping than writing this prompt. I am sick right now and am really annoyed about this prompt (sorry Cassie ). I would rather be back in Provo finishing Death Note with my roommates, we are three episodes away from finishing the series and he has never seen it before. If you have seen the show, you know what I am talking about. The drama of that show is just epic and insane. But any who, enough about Death Note. I would even rather be playing World of Warcraft, even though I vowed to quit that game forever. That sounds much better than writing this prompt. Sure, that game is a giant time waster (hmm. . . I may or may not have spent 50-60 days playing time with that game. Don’t judge me, you don’t know what I’ve been through.). Well let’s see, what is something else I would rather be doing than this. Hmm, sleeping would be good I suppose. I am pretty tired from being sick and a nap would be nice, but I’m consigned to writing this until I hit the five hundred and fifty word count. Have I mentioned that I am not motivated in writing this prompt? I have other homework too, I could be doing that.
In my creative writing class I have to send in a manuscript that is going to be workshopped by the entire class and teacher in front of me. It’s pretty brutal and proofreading my material would be pretty beneficial for me so I don’t cry from all the critical and verbal abuse I will most likely be receiving. And then I have to read the essays from my group in this class. 8 page minimum for each essay multiplied by 3 essays equals a 24 page minimum requirement for reading/ editing/ and commenting on. And then there is my essay that I want to work on . . . because I am not too happy with it right now. Oh yeah, maybe I would play some tennis in the perfect weather outside while it lasts. I almost melted outside while walking to class. Since when is it nice weather outside in the middle of November? That is unheard of. Speaking of November, yesterday was Guy Fawks day and I missed watching V for Vendetta so I would rather be watching that to make up for my carelessness. Maybe a nice jump on the tramp would be a better use of time than writing this prompt. Showering would also be a good idea, I’m feeling really lazy and that would probably start my day going. Reading the newest Eragon book would be fun, playing poke’mon on my gameboy sounds good to me too.
550 words
In my creative writing class I have to send in a manuscript that is going to be workshopped by the entire class and teacher in front of me. It’s pretty brutal and proofreading my material would be pretty beneficial for me so I don’t cry from all the critical and verbal abuse I will most likely be receiving. And then I have to read the essays from my group in this class. 8 page minimum for each essay multiplied by 3 essays equals a 24 page minimum requirement for reading/ editing/ and commenting on. And then there is my essay that I want to work on . . . because I am not too happy with it right now. Oh yeah, maybe I would play some tennis in the perfect weather outside while it lasts. I almost melted outside while walking to class. Since when is it nice weather outside in the middle of November? That is unheard of. Speaking of November, yesterday was Guy Fawks day and I missed watching V for Vendetta so I would rather be watching that to make up for my carelessness. Maybe a nice jump on the tramp would be a better use of time than writing this prompt. Showering would also be a good idea, I’m feeling really lazy and that would probably start my day going. Reading the newest Eragon book would be fun, playing poke’mon on my gameboy sounds good to me too.
550 words
Thursday, November 5, 2009
Prompt A
When women reach a certain age in life, and it is different for every woman, it is time to decide whether or not to reproduce. It is an easy decision for some, and a hard decision for others. Neither of my sisters ever had a problem deciding to create another life, yet, it is an increasingly difficult decision for me. For one of my sisters, the decision was much too easy. She didn't think about the consequences creating a new life would have on hers, especially since she did not intend to continue a relationship with the father. Even though both of my sisters tend to complain a lot about the extra burden on their lives, I don't think either one of them would give up their burdens. They love their offspring and wouldn't trade them for more money or more time. There is something about the momentary joys that little ones bring to your life that seem to offset the negative that is present more abundantly.
The question still remains to me if I am ready for that. I ask my husband pretty regularly if I can have another life to care for. I don't know what I would do or how I would react if he said yes. Right now it is easy for me to be the one overcome by my emotions because he is logical. If I actually let reason and emotions fight in my head, reason always wins out and tells me the time is not right, that I don't have the means to accept another bit of stress into my life, no matter the joy it may bring. The cons outweigh the pros at this point. Yet, when I find out another one of my friends is starting a new life within her body, it makes me sad that I am not beginning that journey as well.
It is not a decision to be taken lightly. When another life is 100% dependent on you, it changes your life forever. And you can't return it. There is no receipt and no exchange policy. Once the choice to create another human being is made, it can't be undone (well it can, but in my opinion not if you have morals). This is why I continue on preventing the formation of a new life within me. I am starting to think despite the research I have seen that indicates offspring doesn't bring joy into the lives of those that created them, I still want to see for myself. I should have my own say from my own experience. Even if I am not ready now, I know I want to reproduce eventually. How can research really tell me whether or not I can be happy? I make that decision.
55 minutes
The question still remains to me if I am ready for that. I ask my husband pretty regularly if I can have another life to care for. I don't know what I would do or how I would react if he said yes. Right now it is easy for me to be the one overcome by my emotions because he is logical. If I actually let reason and emotions fight in my head, reason always wins out and tells me the time is not right, that I don't have the means to accept another bit of stress into my life, no matter the joy it may bring. The cons outweigh the pros at this point. Yet, when I find out another one of my friends is starting a new life within her body, it makes me sad that I am not beginning that journey as well.
It is not a decision to be taken lightly. When another life is 100% dependent on you, it changes your life forever. And you can't return it. There is no receipt and no exchange policy. Once the choice to create another human being is made, it can't be undone (well it can, but in my opinion not if you have morals). This is why I continue on preventing the formation of a new life within me. I am starting to think despite the research I have seen that indicates offspring doesn't bring joy into the lives of those that created them, I still want to see for myself. I should have my own say from my own experience. Even if I am not ready now, I know I want to reproduce eventually. How can research really tell me whether or not I can be happy? I make that decision.
55 minutes
Wow That's Harder then it Sounds
I started going by Sam when I was in kindergarten. That was the year I learned how to count, read, write,and spell. It was also the year I had to start putting my name on everything. Now, my name is 14 letters long what kindergartner is gonna want to Samantha Hansen on everything that’s correct none. Sam has been my name ever since. Not Sammy, or Samantha just Sam plain and simple. It’s funny because ever since I have been here people have treated my name funny. “Hi I’m John what your name?” “Sam” “Oh like Samantha” “Yes...” What is wrong with a girl named Sam? Is there anything wrong with my name? Why are names sexed anyway? There are boys and girls named Ashley, Sam, Taylor, Gene, Lynn, Cody and other names. There is nothing wrong with my name. My name is a part of my personality. It fits my Tom Boyish nature. How much does a name say about personality?
If my name were Francis I think I would act differently. Just like if I had a bigger nose or if I walked funny. It would be like a small piece of me was missing. A name says a lot about a person. If they chose to go by a nick name or if they love their name just the way it is. The thing is you don’t name yourself your parents do. Some parents decide to name their children Apple, Star, Rock, and another number of ridiculous names. This could have an effect on a child’s self esteem. They could be picked on because of their name or singled out. Now if their parent would have named them John or a regular name then they might have better self esteem.
There are other traits that our parents unintentionally give us. For example my mom makes up songs about everything she is doing, and now so do I. My mom also cleans a lot and as a result so do I. It is almost like a tradition, My mom’s mom cleans her mom cleaned and so on. I developed this good habit not because my mother made me clean but because I wanted to be more like her. You might say I got the cleaning bug. My Dad is athletic and I love sports. We play catch together and he teaches me life lessons through sports. I’m also straight forward like my dad. I tell it how it is. There are other small and mysterious things I do that my parents don’t do. I don’t know where I learned them from. Maybe I learned them from my set of parents I don’t know. Maybe they were the ones who taught me these things. Maybe my small and simple personality traits come from them. They are more natural.
1 hr
Week 10 Prompt C
My dearest friend back home,
For an English essay I decided to analyze whether graffiti is art or vandalism because I have always thought graffiti was so beautiful. To my surprise I discovered that graffiti has not been confined to urban cities in 21st century times but has descended through time. I thought graffiti was an 80’s phenomenon of rebellion that just started and hasn’t ended yet. Graffiti has ranged from scribbled signatures of Roman soldiers on the Egyptian Pyramids to foreign markings on Mayan structures (Craw et al. 423; “Graffiti”). So graffiti is not a culturally or time period defined phenomena. What has changed through time is the media used for the graffiti. In art class we had to learn all the different art terms and media was one of the few things I remember. Media is what is used to create artwork such as pastels or paint. Modern graffiti media would include spray paints, acid glass-etching spray, and other things that are permanent in order to ensure the longevity of the art (Craw et al. 426; Siegal). According to my art and philosophy teacher in high school, art must have a targeted audience, require the use of talent, and convey a message of some kind. In order for graffiti to be a subcategory of art it must also follow these standards. I thought these aspects are important when analyzing graffiti so I included them throughout my whole essay.
I find this research question hard to answer because I understand both sides of the topic and agree with both sides. I thought it inspiration when I began to research the graffiti artists rather than the graffiti itself. What is important when analyzing whether graffiti is art or vandalism is what the intentions of the graffiti artist were when creating the graffiti. Sometimes the intentions of an artist may be wholly artistic and the purpose of graffiti is for aesthetic beauty. Patrick Donnelly, author of “Vandalism or Urban Artistry,” describes graffiti as “the most dramatic [form] of self- expression.” Each graffiti artist has his or her own style and way of creating (Donnelly). I agree with him because driving down Minneapolis I see so many different shapes and colors and the graffiti all looks so very different. There is talent involved because one must have knowledge about how to turn a mural from two dimensional to three dimensional, mix spray paints to create desired colors, and create graffiti based on the texture of the surface (Siegal). After thinking about how much talent and time goes into graffiti and how passionate graffiti artists are I do think graffiti can be considered art. Graffiti may be illegal in most cases but the goal is to expand the canvas, not only to paint the world but whatever you want in the world to paint on (Donnelly). I personally see this as a strategically wise move because it allows for a larger targeted audience (Powers). Graffiti on a building wall is seen by all those passing the building. Graffiti on a subway or street car travels to many locations carrying the graffiti as it goes and will be seen by those the train or subway passes. Artwork in a museum is confined to a museum while artwork on a subway or streetcar is able to expand the artist’s fame and message further. I think that graffiti artists have a greater passion to express their views of the world and are not afraid of doing it in a way that may be illegal.
Once again I found it easier to analyze the graffiti artist rather than the graffiti. Sometimes the major intention of the graffiti artist is to spread his or her name and infamy (Dickens 484). However, if this is the case and the major intention of graffiti is to spread one’s fame rather than a message or idea then graffiti seems more like vandalism. All artwork I have seen and read about is meant to convey a message or present an idea the artist had in mind. I don’t understand why an artist would take time to create something without having a message involved. However, the defining line between art and vandalism becomes less discernable when a graffiti artist has created graffiti for fame and also to convey a message. A very well known graffiti artist that falls under this category is the infamous Banksy (Dickens 474; Kennard). I found out about him through someone in class who loves his work. Banksy is from the UK so if someone in my English class knows about him then Banksy’s goal to spread his fame has been accomplished. He is known for his technique, his political and social statements, and his mysteriousness. His fame has spread not only by word of mouth but also from media coverage. Many of his murals convey some type of satirical message that mocks a certain institution or people. This in and of itself is not wrong because he is exhibiting freedom of speech through art. I actually find it admirable when someone is willing to stand up to an institution or speak out against something that is well established. What is wrong is creating the artwork on areas that he does not own and often times he destroys street cameras that have evidence of him doing it (Dickens 475).
I really hope you enjoyed reading about my topic. I’ll keep in contact with you.
Krissie Bak
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
Week 10 Prompt B
Hey Twin. That was one of the anagrams that came up for my name. How interesting, I thought, seeing as I actually am a twin. One of the first things people say when they find out I'm a twin is, "I wish I had a twin! I think that would be so fun!" People also ask, "Do you like being a twin?" I want to ask back, "Do you like not being a twin?" It is a rather funny question because I don't know what it's like to not have a constant companion. No matter what I always have someone to talk to, even if I have no friends.
How can a four letter word represent someone so important in my life? Language is a strange thing. There are some words that I just can't comprehend why they are the way they are. For example take the word abbreviation. Isn't an abbreviation supposed to make words shorter? The word itself is somewhat of a beast to tackle. Is there even an abbreviation for abbreviation? And how about the word lisp? Or speech impediment? Or dyslexic? I'm pretty sure someone had a cruel sense of humor.
Words, as simple as they seem, can carry a lot of meaning. Like twin for me. Since we have been at college we have become much closer. We are used to being with family all the time so without them all we have is each other. We are each other's support systems. She is the twin that likes to have more fun, and I am down to earth and sometimes a little too serious. I help her get her homework done when she has procrastinated till ten o'clock the night before and she helps me to have more fun when I am not being a fun person. Moving away and having to take care of ourselves is a completely new experience that I cannot imagine having to do on my own.
Madi (my twin) and I like to think of ourselves as very different. We are, but we're not. We say things simultaneously, laugh the same, and will even ask people the same question worded the exact same way but at different times. It drives my mom crazy when we do that. "Go ask your sister," is what she will tell us when it bugs her bad enough. Our differences come through in our personalities; her relationships with guys are fun and short while mine are long and meaningful. I am there to comfort her when she has gone through another guy and she is there for me when my relationships get rough.
Have you heard of mirror-image twins? Most likely not. Most people think that there are only fraternal twins and identical twins. For those who do not know the difference, fraternal twins come from two different eggs while identical twins come from one egg that splits spontaneously into two. But there are two kinds of identical twins. There are normal identical twins and mirror-image identical twins. It is pretty self explanatory, but we are mirror images of each other. I am left handed, Madi is right handed. Our dental work is opposite. We part our hair on different sides. Oddly enough I love jam and hate peanut butter; Madi loves peanut butter and hates jam.
My mom was scared when she found out she was having twins. We were her first children, and having to learn with two babies was a much bigger job than having to take care of one. She bought a book before we were born titled Entwined Lives. It is a book all about twins and different stories of twins. I have flipped through it and it is fascinating. A whole book based on one four letter word. Thousands and thousands of words just to describe four letters. There is so much to say about this one little word. For me, it can be paired with another four letter word. Love. Twin and love. Even though we get annoyed with each other at times, we are not whole without the other. Some may say that we are too dependent on one another, but I don't care. It is hard to stay apart for too long. She is so much a part of my life that when we are not together it almost feels like I didn't bring the rest of me along.
Hey Twin. Whitney. It is all the same to me.
40 min.
Week 10 Prompt B1
A Barked Lawns Regent
In 1884 J. M. Roberts esquire bought a small plot of land just outside the village of Darbury, Kent County, England. The land was home to a small stream stocked with trout in the summer, a roughish stone chapel, and a few rolling hills. J.M. Roberts rarely visited his country home, but he had it furnished and the chapel repaired and outfitted to be a suitable home. He had an oak wood humidor for his cigars that he was particularly fond of, and when he was asked if he would like any trees planed on the property he replied “Yes, I would rather like some oaks.”
J.M. Roberts owned the land on paper, but once a certain oak had sunk its roots deep into the fertile soils, stretching hungry through the loam and into the solid clay and stone, it became the real possessor of the land. It watched the roof of the chapel repaired and saw the men walk from one side to the other. It wondered what was on the other side of the chapel. So it grew larger than the chapel and saw what was on the other side. It was there when the birds came back in the spring, it was there when the gruff old man came from the fishery and unceremoniously dumped the trout into the stream in the summer. It out lived J.M. Roberts and was there when the chapels roof caved in again.
One of the anagrams for my name is A Barked Lawns Regent. I liked this rearrangement very much. I decided to write a story about a tree who grows to be a commanding presence over the land it is planted in. I feel like I am the tree, not that I am large or forbidding or wise like trees, but that I spend a lot of time in the out of doors. Enough time that I feel that I own places. I do not own them on paper but I know them intimately and infinitely better than their actual paper owners. If they would have been there I would have seen them, like the tree and the birds or trout. I like the idea of a paper owner. Paper is flimsy and insubstantial. The wood of the oak in the story could have made a hundred thousand deeds. When I live somewhere I want to own it, and sink my roots down into the ground like the tree in the story. I want to be a barked lawns regent and see all the little variations of the beautiful place where I am planted. What really constitutes ownership? Having so much money that you are able to gobble up land? Or owning in the sense the you have invested yourself into it. Things wouldn’t work if it weren't the first definition, but I wish, just for me that it was the later.
In 1884 J. M. Roberts esquire bought a small plot of land just outside the village of Darbury, Kent County, England. The land was home to a small stream stocked with trout in the summer, a roughish stone chapel, and a few rolling hills. J.M. Roberts rarely visited his country home, but he had it furnished and the chapel repaired and outfitted to be a suitable home. He had an oak wood humidor for his cigars that he was particularly fond of, and when he was asked if he would like any trees planed on the property he replied “Yes, I would rather like some oaks.”
J.M. Roberts owned the land on paper, but once a certain oak had sunk its roots deep into the fertile soils, stretching hungry through the loam and into the solid clay and stone, it became the real possessor of the land. It watched the roof of the chapel repaired and saw the men walk from one side to the other. It wondered what was on the other side of the chapel. So it grew larger than the chapel and saw what was on the other side. It was there when the birds came back in the spring, it was there when the gruff old man came from the fishery and unceremoniously dumped the trout into the stream in the summer. It out lived J.M. Roberts and was there when the chapels roof caved in again.
One of the anagrams for my name is A Barked Lawns Regent. I liked this rearrangement very much. I decided to write a story about a tree who grows to be a commanding presence over the land it is planted in. I feel like I am the tree, not that I am large or forbidding or wise like trees, but that I spend a lot of time in the out of doors. Enough time that I feel that I own places. I do not own them on paper but I know them intimately and infinitely better than their actual paper owners. If they would have been there I would have seen them, like the tree and the birds or trout. I like the idea of a paper owner. Paper is flimsy and insubstantial. The wood of the oak in the story could have made a hundred thousand deeds. When I live somewhere I want to own it, and sink my roots down into the ground like the tree in the story. I want to be a barked lawns regent and see all the little variations of the beautiful place where I am planted. What really constitutes ownership? Having so much money that you are able to gobble up land? Or owning in the sense the you have invested yourself into it. Things wouldn’t work if it weren't the first definition, but I wish, just for me that it was the later.
Week 10 Prompt B1
A Barked Lawns Regent
In 1884 J. M. Roberts esquire bought a small plot of land just outside the village of Darbury, Kent County, England. The land was home to a small stream stocked with trout in the summer, a roughish stone chapel, and a few rolling hills. J.M. Roberts rarely visited his country home, but he had it furnished and the chapel repaired and outfitted to be a suitable home. He had an oak wood humidor for his cigars that he was particularly fond of, and when he was asked if he would like any trees planed on the property he replied “Yes, I would rather like some oaks.”
J.M. Roberts owned the land on paper, but once a certain oak had sunk its roots deep into the fertile soils, stretching hungry through the loam and into the solid clay and stone, it became the real possessor of the land. It watched the roof of the chapel repaired and saw the men walk from one side to the other. It wondered what was on the other side of the chapel. So it grew larger than the chapel and saw what was on the other side. It was there when the birds came back in the spring, it was there when the gruff old man came from the fishery and unceremoniously dumped the trout into the stream in the summer. It out lived J.M. Roberts and was there when the chapels roof caved in again.
One of the anagrams for my name is A Barked Lawns Regent. I liked this rearrangement very much. I decided to write a story about a tree who grows to be a commanding presence over the land it is planted in. I feel like I am the tree, not that I am large or forbidding or wise like trees, but that I spend a lot of time in the out of doors. Enough time that I feel that I own places. I do not own them on paper but I know them intimately and infinitely better than their actual paper owners. If they would have been there I would have seen them, like the tree and the birds or trout. I like the idea of a paper owner. Paper is flimsy and insubstantial. The wood of the oak in the story could have made a hundred thousand deeds. When I live somewhere I want to own it, and sink my roots down into the ground like the tree in the story. I want to be a barked lawns regent and see all the little variations of the beautiful place where I am planted. What really constitutes ownership? Having so much money that you are able to gobble up land? Or owning in the sense the you have invested yourself into it. Things wouldn’t work if it weren't the first definition, but I wish, just for me that it was the later.
In 1884 J. M. Roberts esquire bought a small plot of land just outside the village of Darbury, Kent County, England. The land was home to a small stream stocked with trout in the summer, a roughish stone chapel, and a few rolling hills. J.M. Roberts rarely visited his country home, but he had it furnished and the chapel repaired and outfitted to be a suitable home. He had an oak wood humidor for his cigars that he was particularly fond of, and when he was asked if he would like any trees planed on the property he replied “Yes, I would rather like some oaks.”
J.M. Roberts owned the land on paper, but once a certain oak had sunk its roots deep into the fertile soils, stretching hungry through the loam and into the solid clay and stone, it became the real possessor of the land. It watched the roof of the chapel repaired and saw the men walk from one side to the other. It wondered what was on the other side of the chapel. So it grew larger than the chapel and saw what was on the other side. It was there when the birds came back in the spring, it was there when the gruff old man came from the fishery and unceremoniously dumped the trout into the stream in the summer. It out lived J.M. Roberts and was there when the chapels roof caved in again.
One of the anagrams for my name is A Barked Lawns Regent. I liked this rearrangement very much. I decided to write a story about a tree who grows to be a commanding presence over the land it is planted in. I feel like I am the tree, not that I am large or forbidding or wise like trees, but that I spend a lot of time in the out of doors. Enough time that I feel that I own places. I do not own them on paper but I know them intimately and infinitely better than their actual paper owners. If they would have been there I would have seen them, like the tree and the birds or trout. I like the idea of a paper owner. Paper is flimsy and insubstantial. The wood of the oak in the story could have made a hundred thousand deeds. When I live somewhere I want to own it, and sink my roots down into the ground like the tree in the story. I want to be a barked lawns regent and see all the little variations of the beautiful place where I am planted. What really constitutes ownership? Having so much money that you are able to gobble up land? Or owning in the sense the you have invested yourself into it. Things wouldn’t work if it weren't the first definition, but I wish, just for me that it was the later.
Monday, November 2, 2009
Week 10 Prompts
A. Word Avoidance: continue/expand your ruminative essay for 500 words without using the name of your subject. For example, if you’re writing about poverty—write on it without using the word poverty or poor or any synonyms. Force yourself to write concrete descriptions so that a reader can grasp the essence of your subject without the actual word or its cognates.
B. 1. Visit the Internet Anagram Server at http://wordsmith.org/anagram/. Type in your name (using any variation you prefer) and find some of its anagrams. Use the words on the list to write an essay about yourself; focus on language, connections, and making meaning. Focus on the linguistic connections that create art.
2. OR: use the anagrams of your ruminative essay subject to delve more into your essay.
C. Consider your ruminative essay subject and tone. Rewrite a 500 word selection of your essay in the form of a letter. As you write think about how the letter form might change your essay, how you can personalize your research more, or incorporate research more fluidly—the way you might in a written conversation (not notes, or texts, but an actual to-be-mailed letter).
B. 1. Visit the Internet Anagram Server at http://wordsmith.org/anagram/. Type in your name (using any variation you prefer) and find some of its anagrams. Use the words on the list to write an essay about yourself; focus on language, connections, and making meaning. Focus on the linguistic connections that create art.
2. OR: use the anagrams of your ruminative essay subject to delve more into your essay.
C. Consider your ruminative essay subject and tone. Rewrite a 500 word selection of your essay in the form of a letter. As you write think about how the letter form might change your essay, how you can personalize your research more, or incorporate research more fluidly—the way you might in a written conversation (not notes, or texts, but an actual to-be-mailed letter).
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
