Turtlenecks and Camouflage Cargos

Dear Lil Buddy,

          Don't touch them. Six months from now on the night before school, August 20, 2006, you will find a pack of Camel Light Cigarettes. Don't touch them. I did. Please don't. I was young, foolish, insecure, and wearing my solid red turtleneck with camo cargo shorts. I really do not know why I did. I guess I wanted people to think of me as the coolest kid around, but that never really came to fruition. Anyway, I found the pack lying in the street near my house and pulled out a cigarette. You'll have a box of matches in your front right pocket by the way, thus I lit the cigarette and inhaled, smoke immediately filled my lungs. While the breath sent me retching in the gutter, I discovered a certain freedom in the thing, and before I knew it I had smoked the whole pack!! Now you may not be aware, but smoking a whole pack of cigarettes in an hour for anyone is difficult, but for an 11 year old? Forget about it. Although, I spent the next week sick in bed in my camo pajamas, I could not shake the feeling from my mind. I had the tick, I felt the addiction. Now Buddy, I'm not proud of what I did, or what you may soon do, (unless you heed my advice!!) but let me assure you that I assumed the role of the best deviant in town to get my fix. I stole, killed, swapped, pegged, begged, tricked, swindled, conned, hoodwinked, and bamboozled. And I could do it with the best of 'em. However, soon my turtlenecks and camo shorts sported burn marks and searching for my next quick fix consumed my free time. August 20, 2012. The night before my senior year. As I got ready for bed, bumming a cig and brushing my teeth, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Shaggy hair, a gaunt face, sallow skin, and teeth that nearly looked black, I did not like the person whom stared back at me. That moment I decided to quit. Needless to say I succeeded, yet the path proved long and difficult, and every morning I awake craving a cigarette. Buddy I'm telling you, don't touch them! I truly regret the day I ignited that first cigarette. I think most of the school already envies us for our daily outfit of a turtleneck and camouflage cargo shorts, (I had countless turtlenecks and three pairs of the shorts so I could still wear them when my mother washed them) so we do not need to start smoking! Man, if you want to keep wearing that outfit, the ladies do not dig it but I didn't realize that until later, go for it. But the smoking? I'm begging you to never touch that first pack. Otherwise, you will endure the same path to delinquency and rehabilitation I had to. It's a dark, lonely road.

                                                               Sincerely,
                                                                        The Most Interesting Man in the World

P.S. When you have that crush on Megan Stricker towards the end of 5th grade... Don't. Or else, Brad might not date her because she will fall for you and your daily turtleneck and camouflage shorts.

Thump. Thump.

My body degrades, slowly. I can feel something inside my chest pounding. My heart beat faster in my infancy, however, now it toils laboriously as though each beat requires tremendous effort. Thump. Thump. It seems to count each tick, tallying them on my anterior coronary artery. Every so often I will count out 50, maybe 100 just to marvel at how quickly the time passes. I know that mine has a specific number, all of our heart’s do. Yet, the bible commands us to “not be anxious about tomorrow” so I try to convince myself not to despair (Matthew 6:34). Therefore, I force myself not to focus on the inevitable countdown occurring within my chest.

Time never stops. Likewise, humans cannot manipulate or alter time, for it keeps on keeping on with utter disregard for the misery or ecstasy it causes. Time has a countdown for every event, moment, and happening. The second-hand will eventually approach every occurrence and will not halt, or pause, one second prior to the onset but rather continue it’s accumulation of beats with blissful ignorance. The second hand, unlike that of the minute or hour, controls time. Yes, I do see the second hand as a literal needle that powers a clock, but I view it as something much more significant than merely that. It acts as the ultimate countdown tool. Each moment marks the end and start of a new countdown to a new event, we use seconds as the mechanism to measure these moments.

Yet how can we not question the legitimacy of the second hand? Honestly, the instances it counts down to appear extraordinarily trivial when in comparison to the absolute end of our existence. Thump. Thump. Once again, I can feel my heart violently throbbing in my chest. It marks the countdown to the end. Our demise. Our heart, ladies and gentlemen, serves as the unequivocal second-hand.

Where Am I?

I open the door with such force that it knocks out the ignorant woman, yapping on her cell phone and chomping on three sticks of gum, who walks behind me. Now inside, I find myself at the back of the line. As usual, the first target falls easily. The second, as simply as the first. After the third I felt a sense of discomfort as he fell with a little too much ease. Did they set me up? How could they know I would come? Well, I suppose the fact that I venture in 3-5 times per week could count as a hint but nevertheless, they had me perturbed. As I bided my time behind the fourth, I planned my assault. The options appeared endless, yet I decided on demanding many things and if they could not deliver, I would hit them where it hurts. 

"What will it be sir?" - Male #1.

"The works." - Me.

"Excuse me?" - Male #1.

I just stood there and stared directly into his small, dilated, shiny, despairing pupils. Quickly, I glanced down at my wallet, jerked my head at it, and then returned my gaze at the man. He understands. Pulling out the goods from under a shelf he begins to prepare them. Nervously, the man continues glancing in the direction of my wallet as though it has it's own life force. 

"You know we don't accept those." - Male #1.

"You'll shut your mouth if you know what's good for you, you pumpkin pie hair-cutted freak!" - Me.

"Sir..." - Male #1.

"Quiet! Just make it and bag it." - Me. 

The whole place now stares at me. They all want to know how I hold so much power in the establishment. I can tell that I frighten some, and disgust others. Yet they do not concern me, for I have come for one thing, and one thing only. The man passes it on to his next colleague who rubs me completely wrong from the start: 

 

"What else would you like sir?" - Female #1. 

"JUST MAKE IT D****T!! Make it, wrap it, and bag it. Now." - Me.

Her hands moved as fast a black belt performing a Judo chop while she completed my request. After what felt like hours, she finished. I could feel eyes boring holes in my back, others seeking a similar objective. However, I let it worry me not. They could wait. At long last, I grabbed the bag and tried to make a dash for the door but heard a petite voice say:

"That will be $6.65" - Female #2. 

And then my conscience tried to take over. 

(Comment: Where am I? How does the story resolve?)

My Journey

            56.8%. Failing. Nearly academically ineligible. I began the 2012-13 school year with this miserable F in AP English following a summer of blogs, comments and annotations. I do not admit proudly, yet I will confess that Ms. Serensky felt that my summer blogs and comments merited a 68%. Now I understand that I did not perform to my highest ability on a single blog over the summer. I even bored myself with some of them, but upon receiving that D+, it opened my eyes that maybe Ms. Serensky does in fact read all 40 or so blogs each week and grade them for quality rather than simply completion. Therefore, when our maestro told us that our final exam consists of a series of blogs, and that our personal writing experience will continue, I saw it as a chance at redemption. A shot to show her and my classmates that if I want to, I can write with heart, passion, and a unique voice. I am not naive enough to say that I have the grammar skills or polished writing of a Meghan Judge, however I will write an interesting and entertaining piece for the enjoyment of my teacher and peers. However, the assignment tells me to first discuss my most well-written blog, and I shall obey the task at hand. 

             Ergo, I believe that my most recent work, which I titled "The Oracle?", serves as my best in terms of style, mechanics, and complexity. Above all else, I feel proud of the way that I presented the blog, while I simply wrote in the first-person viewpoint, I utilized an inanimate object as my narrator which I found very challenging at first. Yet as I grew more comfortable with the idea, I began to have fun with the project and find an amusing voice to fit to the narrator. Also, I very much like the organization I used in the writing. An introduction, and then three very specific events which I analyzed in great detail, split into four separate paragraphs. In short, I pride myself most grammatically on this piece I call "The Oracle?".

             My second task tells me to discuss my most interesting blog over the course of the semester and one clearly jumps out in my mind. I titled it, "This means WAR!" and focused the piece around adultery and my perception of the class' opinion of it. I enjoyed psycho-analyzing the personalities in the class and making predictions upon which side they would support. I feel I presented the matter in a very compelling manner which manifests as true seeing as how I received two comments on the post. Furthermore, the general topic of the writing excited me and made me delve into human nature which always proves interesting. Yet to conclude, the two comments greatly flattered me and led me to believe that I wrote this one best.

             Finally, the assignment dictates that I talk about my favorite remark someone commented on my blog. It appears underneath a blog that won me a spot on the blog show which I titled, "Flaw in the Establishment." My ex-writing partner, Alyssa Marquette made the statement and I just find myself a little jealous that I did not think to include it in my original post for it relates so well. Her final sentence reads, "The pigeons may poop on us stone statues today, but we must stay calm to stand even taller tomorrow." I wish I had collaborated with Alyssa so that I had had the intuition to close out my blog with this sentence however I am quite content with seeing it as a comment. 

               To close I would just like to say one final sentence: Blogs have served as my nemesis, yet I try with each passing week to turn them into a friend. 

The Oracle?

          I sit wedged between the dictionaries day in and day out, vigilantly observing the ongoings of the classroom and the personnel inside. I have staked my mark as the only constant in Ms. Serensky’s room in recent years, well, that and the Youngstown State University pennant that demands respect from all present in the room. Yet many have never taken notice of my presence, I like to think of myself as the all-seeing and all-knowing eye that covertly acts in cahoots with Ms. Serensky, while outwardly appearing neutral. Please, allow me to elaborate on several happenings that I feel need further discussion.

The bee sting. The unforgettable, irreversible incident that makes Ms. Serensky seem even more formidable to incoming students than ever. An accident by chance? Please. I carefully orchestrated the attraction of the bees to the location of the boy’s seat in hopes that one may insert it’s toxin in him. Why you may ask? To discourage any future weaklings from enrolling in the class. I can no longer tolerate immature children, or even worse, immature writers participating. No longer will students that, for example, feel the need to manhandle me walk through the sacred archway. 

  The worst day of my life. I shall not name names, primarily because I do not concern myself with petty matters such as that, however a student one day decided to lift me out of my location of observation and awkwardly run about the room making obscene moans from behind my face. Unless I am very much mistaken, my protegee filmed this absurd action to further my embarrassment and put it on the new social network, “InstaTweet.” Have the students no decency anymore? Do we not respect our elders? I become more and more perturbed by the actions and comments of the students who consider themselves, the elites of English.

Discussions. The time where Ms. Serensky may gauge the student’s mental capacity in a form other than written expression. I quite enjoy monitoring the discussions for many of the students make strange, irrelevant, and/or ignorant comments on the regular. I have yet to discover a pattern for whom makes the strange and irrelevant comments but only Adam seems to make ignorant comments on a daily basis. Nevertheless, similar to Ms. Serensky, I find the daily discussion periods intriguing and can almost seamlessly predict the order of the speakers and whom will contradict whom. 

I chose Ms. Serensky’s room for I believe that she fosters the most debate amongst her students which allows me the best access to see into their minds. I nearly forgot to mention the reason for my diligent observation sessions, ehh perhaps I will wait until the next blog to enlighten you all. John Rydquist out!

Bobbie Jo Carraway... Oh Sorry, I Mean Nick Serensky?

I sat in class on Friday attempting to see the class and those in it from the perspective of Ms. Serensky. I tried to envision how she must see us. The task proved difficult for Ms. Serensky seems like a part of us, the group, yet detached in a superior sort of way as well. Then it hit me: The synonymous nature between Nick Carraway and Ms. Serensky astounds me. Nick finds himself as the intermediary for the materialistic and the unmaterialistic, while our teacher finds herself identifying with the task-masters, and the more laid-back students. Whilst Nick attends lavish parties in The Great Gatsby, he does not partake in the obessessing over material goods or substances as the other party-goers do. Similarly, Ms. Serensky sees herself in both types of students in the class, therefore can make accurate inferences in regards to each. Furthermore, I find it interesting how each enjoy simply sitting back and observing the ongiongs of the "party." Nick uses the outrageous parties Gatsby throws as a vehicle to monitor the actions of New York City's elite. Likewise, Ms. Serensky utilizes the classroom as a vehicle to monitor the actions of Chagrin Falls High School's "elite." Despite the fact that Fitzgerald wrote his novel in the early twentieth century and now nearly a century has passed, I see uncanny commonalities between even the personas at the parties and in the classroom. We have dominating figures, we have the quiet yet powerful, we have the loud but transparent, and we definitely have ladies trying to "swoon" the men of our class. This leads me back to the statement - "There is nothing new under the sun." Such a resounding statement with enormous impact if it holds true. Well clearly, in terms personalities in public places, the claim stands strong. Meanwhile, all this time Ms. Serensky sits back and observes. She sees the interactions between us immature adolescents and carefully notes them for her amusement I beleive. In mirror movements, Nick also stands apart from the party and takes note of the immature ADULTS who make fools of themselves in spite of the grandeur of the evening, simply for his enjoyment! If only Nick would try to play matchmaker amongst the guests, comparitively to how Ms. Serensky pairs writing partners to foster and encourage debate and quarrel. If this occurred, I would undertake the suspicion that Ms. Serensky uses F. Scott Fitzgerald as a pseudonym and crafted The Great Gatsby while envisioning herself as Nick!

Flaw in the Establishment

"Sometimes you are the pigeon, Sometimes you are the statue." A bird sits atop a statue covered in feces in the poster which displays the above quote. Not one day has passed in AP English, this year or last, that I have not taken note of the poster and self-evaluated whether the bird or the statue better fit my mentality on that particular day. The bird- on top of the world, graceful, content, and pooping on whatever happens to pass underway. The statue- lonely, filthy, victimized, and at the will of all animate objects. Some days I think about how similar to the statue my day progresses, and others, undoubtedly I feel like the pigeon. Yet upon recent observations of the poster, I stumbled upon a newfound realization. In my humble opinion, the creators of the poster woefully messed up! Allow me to explain. If anyone has studied the image as thoroughly as I, I would expect them to approach the same conclusion that I have: the statue represents the better human being and lifestyle! Take another glance at the poster! Why does the poster imply that we should put ourselves above others and sit on them and make them feel like crap (no pun intended!)? If I may re-analyze the figures: the bird- cocky, superior, ignorant, and one that must put others down to lift themselves up. Meanwhile the statue- selfless, independent, calm, and unaffected by other's rudeness. I am rather confused as to the creator's motive behind the poster and whether they recognize this as I have. Or, whether they assumed people would understand that the statue clearly embodies better character traits than the condescending pigeon and I have simply misinterpreted it these past years. Otherwise, why would these people advocate putting others down, and asserting our superiority over them as the pigeon has done? Has faculty not taught the students since day one to not let others affect us no matter how they treat us? As the articulate Allen Iverson once said, "homie, you gotta do you" I believe the statue perfectly practices this behavior. The statue remains standing and does not allow the defecating pigeon deter him from watching over the city! He ignores the "bully" and does not show weakness whatsoever yet refuses to retaliate in any manner. I greatly admire these positive and peaceful qualities in the stone. I did not reach this conclusion until today however, which just proves how if someone searches for hidden meaning long enough in something, they will find it. Therefore, I believe someone on the team that designed that poster must have recognized this flaw and simply wants those who ponder it long enough to achieve this insight. Please just take a quick glance at the image and reconsider which YOU prefer to act like and remember the personality traits I have identified in each.