All She Needs

Whiiiiiirrrrrrr. The time machine shook violently, emitting streams of purple smoke. Ms. Serensky and I stepped carefully from behind her desk into the machine we now entrusted with our livelihood.

“Wait, you forgot to add the crystals!” I bellowed at Ms. Serensky. I could not believe her nonchalant attitude on the day of our adventure. Internally, I wondered whether or not she was all in.

“Alrighty let’s venture back to the 60’s to meet my man, Mr. Dan Dreiberg!” Ms. Serensky whispered. “And by the way, I am all in.” There it was, the thing that spooked me about her so badly, her uncanny ability to know the thoughts of everyone within a 250-yard radius of her.

The contraption whiiiiiirrrrrrr-ed again and vibrated even more severely as I felt my insides contract and numb with pain. I felt a rubber tube squeeze me out one nitrogenous nucleotide base at a time. Then it stopped. The sensation gone, we exited the machine to find ourselves in an extravagant room decorated with Youngstown St. pennants and posters of Leonardo DiCaprio.

“Whoooaaaa this place is beyond awesome” Exclaimed Ms. Serensky as she gazed upon Leo’s rugged face.

“Yeah, where are we?” I muttered, feeling frustrated and bewildered simultaneously. We had intended for the time machine to transport us back to 1961 in the Big Apple, but instead, it looked as though we had stumbled into an old English classroom. As I took in my surroundings, a loud knock boomed at the door.

“Oh, that must be Dan” Ms. Serensky nervously squealed. She seemed frighteningly at ease with their surroundings and looked as though she thoroughly understood what had happened. Meanwhile, Dan had just crossed the threshold of the room and gave a rather flirtatious grin that I hoped was in the direction of Ms. Serensky. Nevertheless, she returned his gaze and decided that I needed no introduction for I have so extensively analyzed the man that I even know his childhood inside and out.

“Ms. Serensky… What happened? I thought we decided to go to New York…?” I said anxiously.

“Woops, I forgot to tell you that I changed the destination to my own personal Room of Requirement… Obviously.”

Angry with myself for not recognizing this at once, I resigned myself to further pre-writing for the AP exam in the practice booklets that appeared in excessive amounts throughout the room. 

Annotate

Dearest Friend, (Pathos, Tone, Implications, Assertion)

To annotate or not to annotate, 'tis the question. 

NO. 'Tis NOT the question. 'Tis a STUPID question. Annotate everything. Would you like to you know why? Because Ms. Serensky diligently checks annotations every single day you DON'T do them. Trust me, personal experience. She checks every summer reading book you don't annotate, and then makes you fight your way back to a solid B after starting academically ineligible! (By the way, I recommend you download this onto a word document so that you may annotate while you read my post). I wish I could re-do my years in AP English with the knowledge that I have now, my reading patterns would go as follows: read, annotate, re-read, re-annotate, annotate my original annotations, annotate my re-annotations, repeat. I concluded from a 99% confidence interval that this is the only way to ensure anything above a 5+ on an in-class essay. However, even if you write a sub-standard essay, Ms. Serensky generously awards gifted annotaters, and one may achieve up to an 86% with mere annotations skills. Make triangles, sqaures, pentagons, and whatever other shape you can imagine around the directions and prompt to exemplify your thorough understanding of the task at hand. Therefore, I leave you with this- Forget to annotate once, shame on you. Forget to annotate twice, F. Thus, if ever faced with the question, to annotate or not to... Don't even think about it. 

Sincerely, 

Adam Shoemaker

Dear Journal :)

This day has already made me so stressed out and I just woke up uggghhhh!!! In an effort to streamline my efficiency, I have decided to combine my usual morning journal entry and to-do list into a single writing period. Thus, hear we go. First, I need to go practice my oboe immediately after I finish this entry. Ahh my maestro demanded that I master Zelenka's Trio Sonata, and I have not practiced nearly enough this week to complete the task! Yes, I must get a solid two-hour jam session in before I leave for school. On the drive, I will eat, text my mom goodbye, finish up my optional calculus homework, win a scholarship to Ohio State, and operate my stick-shift vehicle that takes my sister and I to school. During my classes, I must sit attentively and take detailed notes which my mum might check later for thoroughness. Lunch? Yeah right. I have not sat down and eaten lunch since Texas. I will rush straight to the library and pick up where I left off today in the Merriam-Webster Dictionary that sits on a podium in the middle of the room. I believe I made it through seigneurial today, I must finish the book before the school year runs out! After "lunch," I will hurry back to class. I can't believe that I had homework in all 9 AP classes I take this year... Ridiculous. It seems as though each teacher believes their subject to hold the most importance! Alas, I silent my protests and will complete the homework anyway. Upon the final bell of the day, I race from the school and never fail to discover my equally stressed-out sister waiting impatiently by the car, tapping her foot. From school I will maneuver the car to Severance Hall for yet another oboe lesson/practice while my sister perfects her own instrument. Then, we will stay for the Cleveland Orchestra Concert that night, once again taking thorough notes on playing techniques before briskly making our way home to polish off the night with some good old homework. I want to finish the week's homework tonight so that I can memorize my beloved Trio Sonata. However, if I have calculated correctly, the clock will then strike 9 o'clock and I will march off to bed so that my hyperactive, extremely intelligent, and stressed brain may relax.


P.S. Good dream about Dan from Watchmen last night ;)




P.P.S. I got to play the role of the Twilight Lady...   =)   :)  :)   ;)

Lose the Cynicism and Grow Up

           Thus far in my blogging career, I have acted as an adolescent. Actually, some would argue that I have blogged like an immature pre-teen. You know, that super awkward age where you think everything you say will make people laugh, you always want to act rather absurdly, and you question and debate everything? Anyway, I want this post to serve as something along the lines of my "Blogger Life puberty." I want to grow up, mature, become a man, and lose the childish absurdity and cynicism. I have grown tired of my incessant skepticism of what others say. I have grown tired of attempting to infuse ridiculous humor into every English assignment even though nearly all prohibit such a goal. Finally, I have grown tired of acting immaturely and outrageously in the classroom. I will attend the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill in the fall of 2013 as a born and bred Tar Heel. I have never found as much excitement in anything as I have in this. I will major in Computer Science and Engineering at UNC with a minor in Finance. The rigorous path I chose to put in my path will force me to hunker down and study frequently, so the University does not regret their offer of admission and toss me out as soon as I get there. However, although I have become accustomed to acting like an idiot in the majority of my classes, I am ready and willing to make this necessary change to a dedicated and enthusiastic student. I will do whatever it takes to dominate my classes at UNC and build a strong foundation of knowledge during my first year. College will give me a fresh start, a new identity. The opportunity to build a new reputation sits directly in front of me, and I simply must take it head on. Undoubtedly I will face challenges on this quest to form a better Adam Shoemaker, but I must conquer them so my peers view me as a leader in the class and try to emulate my work ethic. I do not want them to regard me as "dead weight" or  an unnecessary part of a research team, but rather I want them to regard me as the leader and the hardest worker. I will achieve this image by casting away my sarcastic, skeptical, lazy, and nonchalant attitude and develop one of intensity, enthusiasm, and open-mindedness. Currently, my opinion in group projects stands as follows, "the only way is my way." Bradley knows that better than anyone, but I want to change that aspect about myself and become an open-minded person that considers all opinions and suggestions. Perhaps, I will even become a liberal. All in all however, I want to abandon my immature attitude in the classroom, and crave that my peers look to me as an academic leader.

Come on, Girl

Dear Damsel in Distress, 

           I have never found myself in your situation, ironically however, I do have several tidbits of advice to give you if you so desire. Although before that, permit me to share a few things about myself. First, I wear the pants. Period. My man better do what I tell him, WHEN I tell him or he ain't worth keeping around. Second, I graduated from Oxford. You know, THE Oxford. Enough said. Finally third, my motto: A strong woman does not need a man. Therefore, I actually found myself rather disgusted when I read your letter, "My boyfriend wants to break up but I do not...?" You serious? All women are good women. All women deserve the right man and if yours wants to break up, then CLEARLY it will not work out in the long run. Why do you even want to hang around a guy that does not want you anymore? I mean, for God's sake girl, get back to the gym, work your abs and booty, and go meet another guy! Whenever I hear someone say, "you can only find one Mr. Right!" I want to throw up. Infinite "Mr. Rights" walk around all day everyday! I probably met six Mr. Rights at the grocery store yesterday! Damsel, this guy does not want you anymore. Deal with it yet, preserve your dignity and end it first. Make Mr. Wrong get on his knees and beg for YOU back once he realizes what a mistake he made, rather than the other way around. I know you feel like a loser now, but I promise you can do better than this chump! If he does not want to kick it with a girl like you, then he most likely is into guys. Guaranteed. Therefore, I think you should go home tonight and tell that guy to beat it for being such an ignorant jerk in the time you two dated and make him come crawling back if you two ever find yourselves ready to try it again. Basically what I have tried to orate derives from the All-American Rejects and the greatest song in history. 

Move along, move along like I know ya do

And even when your hope is gone
Move along, move along just to make it through
Move along.

Define: Extraordinary

Who knows what makes someone extraordinary? In today's society, we throw around the word so carelessly that it has essentially lost meaning - "Today's chicken tortilla soup tasted extraordinary!" Really? You deem the almost daily and redundant chicken tortilla soup worthy of a word that means 'exceedingly exceptional?' Perhaps I should have eaten a bowl, but to revert back to my original point, does anyone nowadays really know how to denote something as extraordinary? Because I do. I learned the true meaning of extraordinary through my favorite character, General Allan Quatermaine, in The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen. The 2003 film depicts a crumbling world that direly needs a group of gentlemen to save it from an immensely powerful magician that desires to rule the globe. I have chosen this flick as my favorite of all time, not for solely the content of the movie, but for the context in which I saw the movie as well. "If you can't do it with one bullet, don't do it at all" declares Quatermaine after a young hothead unsuccessfully discharges an entire cartridge at a single enemy. The elderly sharpshooter, and leader of the gang, at first glance has no extra-normal powers or abilities. Yet, as the movie progresses, he becomes my favorite character and I begin to designate him as the most extraordinary person in the film. Whilst he does not have vampire characteristics, or immortality like others in the film, the man possesses the most hardest to attain virtues on the planet: patience, sympathy, courage, and sacrifice. The mere fact that he still fights with those at the peak of their physique impresses me, but the way he does it astounds me all the more. In the film, Quatermaine teaches viewers the value of patience through his way of nearly allowing opportunities to pass before seizing them at just the right moment. Furthermore, he teaches his audience the importance of showing sympathy even to foes when they find their lives in his hands. Finally, the sniper demonstrates true courage and sacrifice when he walks into the onslaught of enemies and dies for his friends and country so that they may lead better lives. I have a great fascination with the General and often times find myself trying to mimic his calm, cool, and collected personality in times of pressure or danger. Secondly, I place this film at the top of my favorite movies list because of the context in which I first saw it. I remember it being a late friday night the week after my 12th birthday. My father and I sat in our den waiting for my mom to go to bed, he had told me earlier that he had a surprise for me that she would not have approved of. Once she checked out for the night, my dad made me promise that I would not tell my mother of the rated R movie we would soon watch. I can still feel the excitement that this minor rebellion stirred inside of me. I felt special because my father had placed a certain amount of trust in me and clearly believed that my maturity level had reached a point to where I could handle the movie. This said a lot, because as a little kid, I notoriously had frequent nightmares, therefore I remember with pride when he deemed me worthy to watch the violent motion picture. I believe that The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen contains great actors and plot line, but the appeal goes so far beyond just that ergo, I must place it atop my list.

Women Love a Hairy Back

Oh how I long to be seen as a man, 

and be protected from an excruciating and intense summer tan.

I could jog down the street with sweat glistening from each strand, 

and see women turned on, all over the land.

They would tell me they love it, I swear that's true,

while they pull me on top and run their fingers through.

No man would guard me in a game of Shirts and Skins, 

even though ladies would say that my body's a ten.

Ahh, but unfortunately it is an area that I forever will lack,

and I must go on living while knowing, that women love a big hairy back. 

First of all, I think that I should let my readers know that I fully understand that 99% of women do NOT like hairy backs. That being said, I take great pride in my entry this week and believe that the mere use of the word "Hairy" in the title automatically arouses discomfort in the reader (Title). I do not dance around the topic until the end or attempt to hide it in metaphor. I want readers to know from the onset that I yearn for a hairy back. Through such a forthright tone, I believe I demand a high level of unease and even nausea in the reader, just with the title. Now, although hair consists of dead proteins, I know many high schoolers who will throw out an entire school lunch if they find even one small hair (Myself included). Therefore, hair has rapidly become a touchy and almost dirty subject in our society today. Secondly, I believe my sexual reference works in an essential way in the post to force sexual, as well as hygienic discomfort upon the reader. The diction in the statements "pull me" and "run their fingers" work to imply that the woman would pull me in by the back hair which just seems to absurd for the average human (6). Finally, I believe my apparent self-contempt serves as the most effective aspect of my piece. I desired that the reader not blow me off as a sarcastic speaker, therefore I defaced myself as not being a "man" (1). The embarrassed diction in "I forever will lack" derives pathos for myself and yields sympathy from those whom must shave their back. My obvious loathing for my hairless body allows the reader to question my sanity, which makes the piece all the more uncomfortable, because who would ever crave a hirsute back?