Fire Up the Grill
Crawling off my plate, the steak glared at me from beneath mushroom eyebrows. I felt like it was not worth it. Being a leader for a club certainly has its physical annoyances, but I had never anticipated the degree of emotional stress caused by leading a flawed organization with uncommitted members and a nonchalant advisor. Couple those with the excruciating physical trials that are ultimately required of me as a leader. And now, you have a recipe for exasperation. Prep time: nine weeks.
Time and again throughout the current marking period, the key members of the club, roughly five of us to be exact, have picked up the slack and worked hard where everyone else bailed out at the last moment. A district leader had a meeting at her house on one occasion to fulfill a district-wide community service requirement. Due to work, I could not go, though I cannot say I was upset. Me? Miss the prospect of spending a beautiful afternoon with one of the most ditsy, annoying teenage females in the area? I would rather work. There were brave members that did sign up, fully aware of her bubbly disposition. However, when it came time to fulfill their obligation, they were no-shows. Maybe they got cold feet about it, maybe they decided that they would rather play in the sun, or maybe they just plain forgot. The point is they should have been there and they were not. Of the people asked about why they did not show, two had legitimate excuses. And I take this moment to acknowledge a lapse of other members of the organization, rather than our advisor. The leader was none too pleased, as only two people from the Sussex county district showed up. To really spice up the situation, only a week before there had been a fabulous fiasco during the club’s babysitting responsibilities at a school function. One member had showed up in a foul mood and succeeded in making the evening horrid for all of us. The oven was already preheated because of certain summer-time support shortages when three of us spent four hours in the hot sun scraping paint off dugouts and putting primer back on them for the local little league. I still have the primed shorts to prove that.
Our advisor, the epitome of the word ‘oblivious,’ stands over us like a mother hen brooding proudly over her chicks, which are sitting in a six-piece box next to a microwave-warmed tub of honey, but hey--at least they are all white meat now, right?. So blundering she is that she fails to recognize our contempt for her actions, or lack of such actions. Meetings convene every week, the same day, the same place, the same time. How hard can it be to remember? Constantly we must rouse her from her post-school lethargy to oversee the events of the meeting, which generally include nothing new, because she does not schedule time to meet with the club president about the agenda. In all sincerity and with all ranting sarcasm aside, I realize the stresses of a teacher, or blundering library assistant, but being a club advisor is never a mandatory thing. It makes students lives much more difficult when the advisor puts the club at the bottom of the to-do list. Shortly after taking office in the spring of last year, we scheduled a car wash to raise money for a small sending-off party for our seniors. After we tracked down Dr. McDaniel, obtained the required administrative permission and gathered donated materials, we went home to feel proud about wishing our seniors good luck in style. Saturday morning, bright and early and such a beautiful day, it was almost too picturesque to believe. Hose at the ready, we prepared to disembark, and behold, the cheerleaders were already there, set up, and washing a car. Immediately we called the advisor. Her response was simply, “that was this weekend? I forgot to ask the bank if we could.” So just like that, we sent our seniors away with a fond hug, and a bitter memory. That really burnt the steak.
Finally, the all-too-harrowing physical and emotional strain is enough to send this honey-coated chicken nugget over the edge. I went to a meeting not too long ago, to help with a presentation about our recent fundraiser. To avoid offending anyone by denying the food offered, though its stared at me fiercely, I ate. The steak, if that is was it could be called, was simply the most vile and unpalatable substance ever to have disgraced my taste buds. On another occasion, four of us spent three hours in the cold wind and occasional rain to sell baked goods without any help from our advisor, who told us at the last minute that we would have to find other supervision. The weather was horrendous, and I reverted to dancing to the band to stay warm. Those who know me, even the slightest, know that I do not dance. This was closely followed--about three minutes later, exactly--by three of us dressing up as random cartoon characters in conjunction with National Honor Society to stand in the rain and cold another four hours and give out candy to kids. To help out at the senior center a week or so later, we were on our feet for three straight hours. Not so bad, right? Wrong! First off, they are hard of hearing. Their elderly hands shake, so they dropped their gnarled pancake remnants everywhere. To really accentuate the evening, I experienced what every self-respecting, intelligent teen fears. One man, after a stereotypical first glance, called the lot of us hard working individuals a name, which shall not be repeated, for fear of an extension of my already lengthy tirade about the injustices of my world.
The meal is now cooked, though whosoever should partake of it would probably suffer an obscene case of food poisoning. I must, however, commend the efforts of a few--McDonald’s apple pies for all of your deserts, no more steak. Three members showed up to a function on what was, nearly literally, fifteen minutes notice. There were times when our allegiant few shone like no others, working for seven hours straight, more than half in the rain, and still having the spirit to say that they knew they made a difference in someone’s life. But, forgive my selfishness, the stress sometimes, makes me want to leave my faithful compatriots to fight alone against the growling mass that was once our culinary work of art.
Christina Rodriguez Copyright 2004
Turned in to Mrs. Patti Masten (Milford Senior High School, University of Delaware) in Dec., 2004 for grade
Posted online at http://wanderingaimless.iwarp.com on Nov. 21, 2005.
Excerpts From: Personality Defined: Writing How I Want To
Whether it is webbing, outlining or the frantic last minute scramble, everyone has their own writing process. My personal writing process is what some might call frantic, unorganized, unprofessional and illogical, but the important part is that it works for me. I prefer to write impulsively, as it comes to me...
Some simple essays that have a length requirement I could tap out in a portion of a page, but more is necessary, so I plan. When I plan, I have more material to put into a short essay, thus making it reach the teacher-imposed length requirement. Generally though, the entire brainstorming and prewriting process is done in my head, which leaves a little more leeway when it comes to adding and rearranging my ideas.
I am not a perfectionist, and I do not dwell on my mistakes, but I do try to avoid them. I edit as I write, especially while typing, so I never go back and edit after I type it for the first time. I reread it for obvious errors, print it and turn it in. Sometimes I leave embarrassing errors, which some say could easily be avoided if I put more thought into my planning, but the only thing harder than dealing with that is changing the way I write.
Christina Rodriguez Copyright 2004
Turned in to Mrs. Patti Masten (Milford Senior High School, University of Delaware) in Dec., 2004 for grade
Posted online at http://wanderingaimless.iwarp.com on Nov. 21, 2005.
Senior Final Exam
Words strewn on paper, tapped into a computer--everyone knows what writing is. When looking at various works, one must not ask what writing is, but rather what is good writing. The judgement of prose is largely a subjective matter, though there are elements of basic writing, which cannot be ignored. Though grammar and mechanics maintain their importance, writers should overlook them in favor of larger ideas in the structure and flow of the piece.
What is Writing?
Writing is simple. Writing, as a verb, is scribbling words onto paper, chiseling them into stone, tapping them into a computer, or even something so simple as etching them into the sand. It does not take much thought or intelligence to write; even the most primitive cultures were capable of writing their thoughts in the form of pictures on cave walls. Mayans developed a complicated writing system, knocking them slowly into rock, while Jesus squatted in the street and wrote in the gravel to save the life of an adulteress. However, the question at hand seems to be what is writing, when used as a noun. In that case, writing is words arranged in a logical, coherent manner to maximize the understanding of the greatest amount of people. The question is not, therefore, “what is writing?” It is “how can writing be enhanced to lead to the aforementioned comprehension?”
Grammar and Mechanics
Although grammar and mechanics are not most important for comprehension of a work, many readers tend to over-emphasize their importance. Some studies have said that a person can read and understand any word, no matter what the order of the letters, so long as the first and last letters are the same. This proves that spelling means little to the average reader; however he tends to take less away from a piece with poor spelling. Grammar on the other hand, can effect comprehension and readability in a paper. A careless dangling modifier can change the meaning of something entirely. For example, “After finishing their food, we put the cats outside.” Who is it, exactly, that consumed the food? By reading the sentence, one learns that it is, in fact, the speaker that ate the cats’ food. A logical person would assume that this is not the case, but rather, the cats at their own food. A brief grammar lesson could have saved the speaker and his companion a tuna-flavored experience, though.
Sentence Flow
The overall flow of the paper however can make or break the final product. Consider the Dick and Jane books of childhood; they generally proceeded something like this: “See Jane run. See Dick chase Jane. See Spot sleep.” While each is, indeed, a complete sentence, reading a full-length paper written in such a style would easily get redundant. Care for emphasis? Write big sentences. Big sentences are better. Big sentences get the point across. They do it better than little ones. It took twenty words in three sentences to say what could be said in one seventeen-word sentence. The structure and balance of sentences works like a picture--worth a thousand words. A person could write for eons about what is important in writing, but it is not being able to enumerate such that it important, but rather the ability to successfully implement it.
Furthermore, sometimes it helps to break all the rules to make a point. One word sentences, purposeful fragments, questions and exclamations generally frowned upon in formal writing early in life are encouraged later in life. College-bound students find that writing a college admission essay beginning with a simple sentence--one word even--find that the shorter sentences actually attract and maintain the reader’s attention better. Therefore, sometimes writers should just tuck the rulebook away in favor of something a little more risky.
Looking Back and Moving On
Over the last three months, my writing has changed in the way that I now know what I am putting into it, not just that I am writing. I do not really think that I have grown as a writer because I have always been a strong writer who draws from everything around to compile a great piece. There have been occasions on which I have thrown together an intro as a joke and ended up using it for a piece. I do however, think that I have matured as a writer. I can more easily distinguish good writing and I have found myself looking beyond conventions to see the big picture. I can now see the forest, despite all the trees, to pun an old saying.
More specifically, I finally realize that there truly is more to writing than tapping out a paper and getting the grade. Therefore, I must say that my greatest increase in my maturity as a writer falls in the area of my mentality. Writing is about a little piece of its creator, poured out onto paper. Emotion. This year, I learned to incorporate emotion in my writing and I learned that it is ok to write, not by the textbook, but from me.
Niswander, Zinsser and I
Though I am sure that in his own realm, both William Zinsser and Mel Niswander are quasi-geniuses of writing, to me they bear little importance. Mr. Niswander, classically, emphasizes the importance of word choice, sentence structure, clause use, phrase use and paragraph formation and variation (n.pag.). Mr. Zinsser, on the other hand, wrote not about writing’s principles, but rather, about how each author is different. Though his responses to the questions offer a little insight as to is position as a writer, over all it leaves you verily in the dark about it. The point that stuck me deepest and resonated most clearly with my own opinions was not that of Niswander or Zinsser, but rather that of “Dr. Brock,” mentioned in Zinsser’s piece.
I do not consider myself a great writer on the scale of Stephan King or Anne Rice, but for my age, I know that many do consider me a great writer. I could never survive on the income of writing alone because, like Dr. Brock, I write when the inspiration comes to me. When forced to write, like Zinsser, I tend to block up and churn out a half living zombie of true writing. It is for this reason that I am self-reflexive in my writing and that I write when I feel compelled to do so. Also because of this train of thought, Dr. Brock finds it easy to write, while Zinsser does not. I think that Zinsser continues to write because he once found a love for doing it, and hopes to one day find it again, while raking in a paycheck in the meantime.
Overall the year thus far has been a good one, the experiences irreplaceable, and the writing, impeccable; the writing has been my best yet. By reading the insights and experiences of other authors, I myself have expanded and matured as an author.
Section II
My own writing has been the product of twelve years of evolution, both mentally and emotionally. I have both refined, and realized that sometimes, the things I am told are bad in middle school and early high school, are alright later on in high school. My writing process has changed slightly and I have noticed the sway it has held over the final quality of writing.
Over the last four years, and particularly over the last three months, I have noted changes on my writing. I have always been the epitome of the cliche “grammar Nazi,” but looking back at papers from ninth grade, I feel like my writing was so poor. I know that by most standards it was exemplary, even for someone who was a senior at the time, but I seeing where I am now, I do not feel that way upon my reminisce. I have become more empathic and better at saying the point and moving on, especially over the last three months. In some years, my writing has been so forced that I was never truly writing, but rather, making things up in hopes to pull off my two-page quota.
Overall, my writing process has changed very little. The small alterations that I did make over the last three months have shown a dramatic increase in the quality of my writing. Like in math, where the miniscule difference between one degree and two degrees can mean a huge difference in the distance between the ends, so has it been with my writing. Toward the beginning of the year, I used to write as soon as I got the assignment, print it out, and never think about it again until it was time to turn it in. Because of my prewriting process, which is all but nonexistent, writing right away left me with a half-percolated draft and generally a bad paper. But even as the middle of the first marking period approached, I started writing by the seat of my pants. Many calling it procrastination, I prefer to call it brainstorming. If I am assigned a paper on Friday to be turned in Monday, I usually start it Sunday at four o’clock. This method gives me a full weekend to think and prepare. Looking back, I see my papers getting better as I go on, and not worse, so it must be working for me. Furthermore, I have completely given up on editing my piece before I turn it in. This may not help the piece, but it helps me to be a better writer and a less stressed one. I am forced to be a better writer because I know that I will not go back and edit and that it needs to be right and perfect the first time.
By perfect, of course, I do no wish to imply that I am not in need of further perfection. Perfect, rather, is in the eye of the reader and, if I am satisfied, then it is perfect to me. I like the way that now, I can write short and purposeful papers without the unnecessary junk that drags me down. I have finally conquered the evil linking verb and the devil that is passivity, all while learning that they are acceptable under some circumstances. I still feel that I need refinement in general. No one will ever be perfect, and I find it a silly waste of time to try to be perfect, and therefore I do not try to be a perfectionist. I would like to try to work on my typing, ironically. Since the advent of spell checker, I do not need to be a careful speller. Sometimes however, I leave a letter off a word, for example, if I left the “e” off of “one,” and it makes another word that does not make sense in the context.
As stated in my brief analysis in section one, I have not grown so much as a writer as I have matured as one. The way I see it, there is a difference in growth and maturity. When a person grows, their skills improve, but when a person matures, their ability to display and implement the skills that were always there improves. It is much like a human body; growth does not always imply maturity. In my opinion, the skills have always been present within me, but I have not had the literary maturity and sophistication to fully use such tools, except on a lark.
And as my final high school English class draws to a close, I look back and I realize that I probably will not miss much. As much as I love to write, I will never miss being forced to do it.
Christina Rodriguez Copyright 2005
Turned in to Mrs. Patti Masten (Milford Senior High School, University of Delaware) in Jan., 2005 for grade
Posted online at http://wanderingaimless.iwarp.com on Nov. 21, 2005.
The Unfortunate Tale of the Crazed Dollars Von Heldenport
A long, long time ago in an economy not-so-far away, there was an evil man at the helm of the train of economics. His name was Dollars Von Heldenport. Dollars liked chaos, of every sort--crying babies, upset grandparents, inflation, unemployment and a generally rampant economy. He loved government intervention into the very fabric of people’s lives. Alone, Dollars ran the train at his whim.
His arch rival, however, wanted the best for passengers and, GASP, he wanted the passengers to help control the train. You see, Dollars told the passengers what they would use and when they would use it, but his nemesis, Alan Greenspan, did not. Alan was descended of Greek gods and rumor was that he was immortal and the illegitimate son of Zeus and one of the three fates. His real name was Alantious, the namesake of the sunken continent, but after the unfortunate sinking of Atlantis, Alantious changed his name to distance himself from the sullied reputation. Everyone liked Alan, though, and he was cool enough to have his own glorious and angelic theme music, but perhaps that was just because of his connection with Apollo, the god of music.
One day, Alan decided to take down Dollars. With a few close comrades, known by most simply as The Fed, Alan stormed the engine and busted in on some of Dollars’ maniacal ranting.
“Interest rates up,” Dollars cackled. “Taxes up, government spending up. We’re gonna crash! Wee!”
“Give it up, Von Heldenport!” Alan shouted as he stormed in.
He grabbed Dollars by the shoulders and wrested him away from the throttle, but for his gnarled frame, Dollars was stronger than he appeared. He pushed back The Fed and jumped at Alan, knocking him unconscious with the hammer that was supposed to be used to break open the federal piggy bank and give tax cuts.
“I knew this old thing would come in handy sometime,” Dollars said as he turned to face The Fed. “Who wants a piece of me?” The Fed went white, partially from fear caused by the temporary, if shocking, fall of their leader and partially from sight of two winged men behind Dollars.
“That’s right, now, back to the train. I’ll make sure the limited entitlement programs, like Medicare and Social Security, take care of Alan’s lost pay while he was injured,” Dollars said with a grin. Seeing no other options, the Fed began to retreat, but the two men, as yet unseen by Dollars, motioned for them to wait.
The two men simultaneously tapped Dollars on his shoulders and he turned with a start. They wrapped him up with a particularly strong strand of Democracy and left him in the corner for Alan when he woke up. On the dash of the train, they left their business cards. One read, For war and general uprisings, pray for Ares, God of War and the other read Strike it rich! Send a call to the big money man, Hermes, Olympus’ famed God of the Green, and spread the wealth.
After he woke up, Alan began taking steps to correct the train’s course. Dollars sat in the back of the engine, screaming for everything it was worth.
“I am Dollars Von Heldenport! I shall not be defeated, you Capitalist smut!” But Alan just tuned him out. At the next convenient stop, Alan stopped to add a new locomotive, as the growing train became too big for just one. He let the passengers of the train drive the second locomotive, and the first bit of coal for the fire was the crazed Dollars Von Heldenport.
Alan loaded the train up with carts to keep everything in tow. Unfortunately, however, some of Von Heldenport’s lackeys survived and, sitting in the shadows of the caboose of Government Intervention, they cackled. “We’ve still got our hands in your pizza.”
Christina Rodriguez Copyright 2005
Turned in to Mr. Thomas Adams (Milford Senior High School) on Feb. 15, 2005 for grade
Posted online at http://wanderingaimless.iwarp.com on Nov. 21, 2005.
The Famed University of Delaware Honors Admission Essay
I have heard it said that the best students are the ones that can learn a foreign language and I have always had a zeal for language. I have always found it amazing how alike Spanish and English seem, and yet, at the same time, so different. When a person grows up speaking a language, as most Americans have grown up speaking English, they do not learn the specifics of the language. I recently learned in Spanish class that more than forty-five percent of speech is made in the present subjunctive tense, though few people know it by that name. Through learning Spanish, I have widened my breadth of knowledge in English, as well as expanded my linguistic appreciation, in general and furthered my drive to perform well.
No, I am not entirely sure whether English or Spanish came first, but I do know that both are Romance languages, derived mostly from Latin. Through some words, one can tell that the languages are closely related, while through others, one could scarcely guess that they are even distant cousins. There are direct cognates, spelled the same, with only a slight alteration in the pronunciation. I am amazed by the flow and rhythm, smoother and more transitional than that of the English language.
Recently I watched the controversial Mel Gibson movie The Passion of the Christ. The movie, presented in both Hebrew and Aramaic, offered an opportunity for me to see exactly what I knew about languages. I did not recognize the Hebrew language, but Aramaic, primarily spoken by the Romans in the film, bore a defined resemblance to Spanish. I was amazed and encouraged that I could decipher portions of the dialog without the help of subtitles.
Contrary to many beliefs, the hardest Spanish words to learn to speak properly are the direct cognates. Students such as myself see words like direct cognates and our English-speaking minds simply want to blurt out the most natural pronunciation. Spanish has driven me to work better, at both English and Spanish, at properly speaking and enunciating my words. The result has been that I am now a better public speaker and I work harder to learn to say things properly. I also push myself and my close classmates to try to speak properly and through this, I am better in both English and Spanish.
I have a flair for language, speech and sound. And while this may not help me in my specific major, it has made me a better person and student. Through my love of languages, I push myself to be a better student, especially in English and Spanish and I hope that my love for languages can push me to better and more exciting heights.
Christina Rodriguez Copyright 2004
Turned in to the University of Delaware Honors Program on Dec. 15, 2004 for consideration for admission
Posted online at http://wanderingaimless.iwarp.com on Nov. 25, 2005.
