tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-75726315601984437992024-03-08T10:49:45.402-08:00KatENG 101Unknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger46125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7572631560198443799.post-59726736008014078942012-12-13T13:43:00.000-08:002012-12-13T13:43:20.773-08:00GRAF #20<br />
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I recently took the time to sit back and look at the work I had
done over this semester. When the course
first started my mind was full of creativity and stories of myself that I intended to share, but it had been years since I had even attempted to put one sentence down
on paper. My nerves were getting the
best of me. I was over thinking, and
under writing. As the course went on I grew
faith in myself. The scattered mess that
had been in my brain for the past six years was finally bursting out of my
fingertips. Though I think I still need
some work on my English skills, I’ve noticed an improvement in myself over the
past three months. I’ve noticed a better
flow in my writing. I know it isn’t perfect,
but I feel more like a vinyl record with a few static spots, rather than a CD
that skips in every song. I’ve succeeded the standards I held for myself. The comments you (John Goldfine) provided on
each paper gave me the strength to know my work is worthy of sharing. I will continue to take the techniques I’ve
learned and use them throughout the rest of my schooling. I will let my hands blabber about until my
mind catches something they drop. I’ve truly
enjoyed this course, I’ve truly enjoyed your feedback, and I truly wish this
was the only class I had to take for the next 4 years.<o:p></o:p></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7572631560198443799.post-4302018885480830982012-12-11T12:04:00.000-08:002012-12-11T12:04:01.710-08:00Essay #10 [Make up timed essay:Effect]<br />
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The fear that comes with public speaking is unlike any other
fear to be experienced. My nerves bundle
into one giant ball and I wait for it to explode. I can imagine myself bursting into a heap of
blood and guts all forming the words I am supposed to say. With that in mind, the effect that public
speaking has on me is equal to the effect a bomb would have on any cartoon
character. My body language is fidgety,
my speech is slurred or stuttered, and the overall discomfort I feel is a
lasting effect, even when I have finished.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Some people have a natural knack for speaking to the
public. Unlike them, the first effect it
has on me is the uncontrollable urge to fidget.
I want to constantly move. It may
be a rock back and forth, as if I should be in a strait jacket conversing with
my invisible friend. The one that never
fails me is playing with my hands. When I
was younger I used to keep them in my mouth. As time passed I learned it’s
easier to speak if they aren’t blocking my words. I play with my jewelry, hoping if I keep
turning my ring I may lose a finger and attempt this humiliation another
day. I try holding my hands hostage with
each other. Somehow it turns into a
battle, and I have to separate them to my sides. No matter how I try, holding still while
speaking to the public is not easily achieved. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Another effect that speaking in public has on me is my
speaking itself. If I were to have a
regular conversation, I would say I’m well-articulated. Sure, I have a slight Maine accent, but I can
speak without sounding like a complete redneck.
That all changes when I’m placed in front of a crowd. At first I stutter
and skip my words. My minds trying to
control my body, so the concentration on what I should be saying is minimal.
Then I just start talking really fast.
One sentence becomes part of another and before you know it I’m halfway
through my speech. So now slow it down.
My Maine accent becomes so thick, you couldn’t cut it with a knife. Its not until I reach my last sentence that my speech is clear and it’s
the best-spoken sentence of the entire thing. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The last effect I have is just overall discomfort. I’m sweaty, I’m nervous, I’m fighting with
myself. My clothes are all of a sudden
too tight or clinging in the wrong places.
I’m worrying about the crowd. Should I picture them naked? Ew. Maybe
I don’t want to do that. Even after I’ve
spit out that last sentence of my torturing experience, the discomfort is still
there. I know what my downfalls are, I
can be sure everyone else saw them too. It’s a feeling that can’t be fixed
until I’ve left the vicinity, and am only left with my own judgment. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I have to admit, it’s been a while since I’ve had to speak
publically. I would have thought that
after working in the public for 8 years the effect would have subsided. I also figured being a bartender would
help. Speaking with strangers on a daily
basis should be considered good practice for public speaking, especially when
the majority of them are asshole.
However, I still find myself playing with my hands, or tossing a rag
around. The only sentence that I can
speak well is “Can I get you a drink?” Let me not forget the discomfort of
building up the courage for the initial “Hello.” The effects are relentless, but I’m hoping by
the time I have achieved my future career of teaching, I will have the skills
to speak with grace.<o:p></o:p></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7572631560198443799.post-90924414369733472552012-11-26T19:10:00.001-08:002012-11-26T19:11:11.548-08:00Essay #9 [Timed Process]<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
The connection that is possible between a dog and its owner
is incredible. I have never loved an
animal so much. I have a pit bull rotti
mix, named Seven, and she holds my heart.
She listens, she snuggles, she cheers me up when I’m feeling low. When I was on my way to pick her out of a
litter of puppies, I had no idea she would become so dear to me. The process of choosing her, and knowing she
would be a good dog however was obvious to me.
When looking at a litter of puppies I first look at what colors and size
they are. Then I watch how they
act. Lastly I see how they interact with
me.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The first step in picking out my puppy was choosing one I
liked the looks of. Of course all
puppies are cute. If I had the choice I would
have taken the entire batch home. I
walked into the apartment that I was buying my new baby from and saw the mess
of puppies spread out in the living room.
Most of them were just plain brown.
I wanted one that was unique. I
noticed the smallest puppy first. She
had little fat rolls on her butt. Her
face was colored in a tan mask, and her chest in a vest of the same color. Her
eyes were hazel while the others were that dog eye brown as I call it. She was only 8 weeks old, but her colors made
her look like an old woman. I instantly
drew my attention to her. The first step
was done and I moved on to the next.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The second step in choosing a puppy was watching how they
acted. The rebellious ones were pouncing
on the other puppies, and chewing on their own tails. Adorable yes, but I
assumed it would take a lot more training.
Some were more interested in people, bouncing between me and the woman who
owned them. The runty, old looking puppy
I chose sat under the couch with her face barely sticking out. She observed the other dogs. She didn’t care to partake in the playing,
but seemed content in her place.
Watching her eyes just shift back and forth and her little pink nose
twitch as she watched all the action pulled my heart strings. This had to be my puppy. So I move on to the last step of choosing my
puppy.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The last step in my process was seeing how she would
interact with me. She wasn’t much of a
social butterfly among the other puppies.
She also wasn’t one that rushed up to greet me. Yet she drew my attention in the first two
steps, so I leaned down to her level.
She glanced at me, and then went back to viewing the other pups. I beckoned her with kissy noises. “Come here baby girl. It’s okay.”
She slowly emerged from under the couch, approaching with caution. I placed my hand on her head and pet
her. She instantly showed a sign of
relief. She looked up at me as I continued
petting her. That moment pulled those
last strings, and I knew this would be my new family member. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
After I finished my
process of picking Seven out, I took her home.
She rode on my lap the entire way, and a bond was formed which will last
until the very last day we will have together.
Now that she’s grown, her coloring doesn’t make her look old. She is more interactive with other dogs and
people, but doesn’t mind sitting back and observing either. She is by my side all times when she is with
me. Rather it’s fighting over space on
the couch, or taking a swim in the summer, she’s right there. I couldn’t have picked out a better dog than
my sweet Seven.<o:p></o:p></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7572631560198443799.post-22369100084737910152012-11-24T19:31:00.001-08:002012-11-24T19:31:01.685-08:00Essay #8 Revised [Effect]<br />
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“You selfish, ignorant pig!” This
man was supposed to be honest, and loyal to me.
This was a few years ago now, but at the time I had felt us slipping
apart for months. I never thought he was
going to stoop to such a low level. We
were almost to our 3 year anniversary, and he had been making plans, as well as
other things, with another woman while I was working my ass off every day. He had cheated, and didn’t have the guts to
just say it. I packed my things never to
look back again. However, the effect of
his dishonesty was a struggle for me to overcome. He effected my ability to trust, my bank
account, and how I would plan my future.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
When I was younger I always had a
trust in people. They then had the
choice to either break it or keep it. It
wasn’t until I was put through the challenge of being cheated on when my
ability to trust was effected. He
always preached honesty to me, but after months of this abnormal feeling I
found the proof to my biggest worry. A
private message showed me I wasn’t his only girl. He failed to practice what he
preached. For many months, years even I
was unable to have trust in people. I
always had doubt in people. To this day
I still keep my guard up. The slightest
gestures or words can still put me on the defense. Gaining my trust is a challenge, but I’m
thankful for the few people who have earned it.
I like to think my chances of getting hurt again are now slim to none.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Before I moved out, but after I
gained my suspicions of the cheating, I had decided to quit my job. I was hoping to spend more time with my
boyfriend and work on us. However it
didn’t work out that way. After I had
quit my job I used what was left in my bank account to make him happy. He was a raging alcoholic and I thought if I
was to keep him I should support his habit.
Booze made him happy, so if I provided it I could be part of that
happiness. This effected my bank account
greatly. I had spent months saving
up. I only had 1500 dollars saved, but
it took me a long time to get there.
Before I knew it I was running low.
After a month of being jobless, and spending over 1000 dollars, I had
enough. Where I live finding a new job
isn’t an easy task. I gave up trying to
buy his love, and worked on earning my own.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Lastly, he effected how I was going
to plan my future. At the time, he was
my future. I had planned on living with
him, working until I was ready to go back to school, and eventually getting
married and being together until he most likely killed himself by drinking too
much. Or ya know, we lived happily ever after.
After I moved out I had no place to go but back to my parents. I didn’t know what to do. How was I supposed to just pick myself up
after being treated so horrible? I had
forgotten and lost the person that I was.
I spent probably three months wandering around aimlessly in my head. Then one day I woke up and it was clear. I was moping over someone useless. I was finally able to better myself without
worrying about this man holding me back.
I got another job, I made new friends, and life finally was better. This was probably the most positive effect he
could have done.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Looking back I can see that his
actions were negative. No one deserves
the pain of seeing the person you love be with another. The initial effect it had one me wasn’t good,
but it lead to something great. I now
know who to give my trust to. I have
been saving money, and spending it more cautiously. My future isn’t based around someone else. His cheating lead to my success for finding a
new job that I love, having money for emergencies and a little fun, finding a
trustworthy man, and starting college again.
Not everyone can be so lucky to get so much good out of a bad experience. I’m proud to say I’m one of the few.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7572631560198443799.post-80800007128153951182012-11-18T18:37:00.001-08:002012-11-18T18:37:22.451-08:00Essay #8 [Effect]<br />
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</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“You selfish, ignorant pig!” This
man was supposed to be honest, and loyal to me.
This was 6 years ago now, but at the time I had felt us slipping apart
for months. I never thought he would
stoop to such a low level. We were
almost to our 3 year mark, and he had been making plans, as well as other
things, with another woman while I was working my ass off every day. He cheated, and didn’t have the guts to just
say it. I packed my things never to look
back again. However, the effect of his
dishonesty was a struggle for me to overcome.
He effected my ability to trust, my bank account, and how I would plan
my future.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
I always had a trust in
people. They then had the choice to
either break it or keep it. After I had
started a new full time job, an old friend of my now ex’s came along. We got along great and before I knew it I had
a new friend. Little did I know that
while I was at work, they were busy rekindling their lost “friendship”. Before I knew it I could see a change my him. He was less attentive to me. When the three of us would hang out I was the
third wheel. Finally, I had enough of
fighting for his love. It wasn’t until
after I moved out that this man grew some balls and told me that they had been
planning to be together for a while. His
lack of earlier communication caused me to lose all trust in not just him, but
people in general. Even now, I keep up
my guard until someone can show me they are trust worthy.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Before I moved out, but after I
gained my suspicions, I had decided to quit my job. I was hoping to spend more time with him and
work on us. However it didn’t work out
that way. After I had quit my job I used
what was left in my bank account to make him happy. He was a raging alcoholic and I thought if I
was to keep him I should support his habit.
Booze made him happy, so if I provided it I could be part of that
happiness. This effected my bank account
greatly. I had spent months saving
up. I only had 1500 dollars saved, but
it took me a long time to get there.
Before I knew it I was running low.
After a month of being jobless, and spending over 1000 out of that 1500,
I had enough. Where I live finding a new
job isn’t an easy task. I gave up trying
to buy his love, and worked on earning my own.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Lastly, he effected how I was going
to plan my future. At the time, he was
my future. I had planned on living with
him, working until I was ready to go back to school, and eventually getting married
and being together until he most likely killed himself by drinking too much. Or
ya know, we lived happily ever after.
After I moved out I had no place to go but back to my parents. I didn’t know what to do. How was I supposed to just pick myself up
after being treated so horrible? I had
forgotten and lost the person that I was.
I spent probably three months wandering around aimlessly in my head. Then one day I woke up and it was clear. I was moping over someone useless. I was finally able to better myself without
worrying about this man holding me back.
I got another job, I made new friends, and life finally was better. This was probably the most positive thing he
could have done.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Though at the time his actions
effected me negatively, it’s an experience that makes me a better person
today. I am a lot more cautious when it
comes to trusting people. I’ve learned
that if someone needs my money to be happy, they aren’t worth it. I’ve also learned that only I should effect
my future. It’s good to say I’m heading
towards a bright one.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7572631560198443799.post-49762555933806574102012-11-07T16:57:00.002-08:002012-11-07T16:57:41.975-08:00Essay #7 [Process]<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Smack,
smack, smack. Click. <i>Ten
more minutes</i>. The sound of an alarm
clock is the worst thing that could ever happen to my ears. It makes me cringe. So, as you can imagine, I am not a morning
person. It takes a lot before I get out
of the morning funk. I also have a
specific process I go through to get past that morning rage. My fussing and swearing at the clock, my caffeine and cigarettes, then finally some
breakfast brings me around to the happy person I am throughout the rest of the
day. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The first
step in my process is battling the alarm clock.
The snooze button is my best friend.
I must hit that thing about 5 times before I drag myself out of bed.
Each time I’m woken up by that irritating beep I have unfriendly words for the
clock. 9.a.m. “shut up” 9:10 “Piss Off” 9:20 “ASSHOLE” 9:30 “OH FUCK YOU!! I’M
GETTING UP!” Then I throw a fit in my blankets.
My legs start flailing forcing the blankets onto the floor, while my
arms toss every pillow away from my head.
Damn that irritating clock. It’s
better I take it out on the clock then any poor person who dare cross my path
when first waking up.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">My next step </span><span style="line-height: 18px;">isn't</span><span style="line-height: 115%;"> a healthy one, but I don’t think I could function without my caffeine and
nicotine. After I shower and get dolled
up for my day I head to the nearest convenient store. Yeah I could make coffee, but I like my Monster
Java Irish blend. It’s got enough
caffeine to keep me awake all day, and it tastes sweet. Once I crack open that can I light a
cigarette. Not sure why, but even artificial
coffee goes great with a cigarette. That
first breath of chemicals is an instant gratification. At this point </span></span><span style="line-height: 18px;">I've</span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"> forgotten all about the
alarm clock, and my brain is finally functioning like a normal human being.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">Last thing I
need to complete the morning routine is food.
I guess I </span></span><span style="line-height: 18px;">couldn't</span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"> call my first </span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">meal of the day breakfast, it’s more
brunch.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">By the time </span></span><span style="line-height: 18px;">I've</span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"> finished
abusing the clock and had my morning addictions it’s almost noon.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Most people eat their food first, but it
upsets my stomach if I go from waking up directly to eating. Luckily breakfast
foods are delicious at any time of the day.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">
</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I cook myself up two eggs, over easy, and two pieces of toast which I
load with butter.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I like to smash the
eggs up and dip my toast in the yoke. Of course once I’m full I go back to my
step two of the morning process, but now I can get on with my day and no one
has to worry about me being as grumpy as I was when I started.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">Now I’m
ready to handle the rest of my day.
Rather I have to work, or am just relaxing, I </span></span><span style="line-height: 18px;">wouldn't</span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"> be able to do either
without my morning process. Maybe
someday I’ll be a morning person. Maybe
I’ll finally decide to quit smoking and stop depending on caffeine. Maybe I’ll even put breakfast first. Until that happens this is my daily agenda,
and I’m sticking to it.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7572631560198443799.post-50833826896588083292012-11-05T19:56:00.001-08:002012-11-05T19:56:17.916-08:00Process Intro<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Smack,
smack, smack. Click. <i>Ten
more minutes</i>. The sound of an alarm
clock is the worst thing that could ever happen to my ears. It makes me cringe. So, as you can imagine, I am not a morning
person. It takes a lot before I get out
of the morning funk. I also have a
specific process I go through to get past that morning rage. My fussing and swearing at the clock, my caffeine and cigarettes, then finally some
breakfast brings me around to the happy person I am throughout the rest of the
day. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7572631560198443799.post-91836180489954766512012-11-05T19:46:00.001-08:002012-11-05T19:46:10.892-08:00Essay #6 [Timed effect essay]<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
It’s the first snow fall of the year and I’m thinking about
how much the rest of the winter is going to suck. Winter roads are one of my biggest
challenges. Just getting out of the
driveway is hard enough as it is, but once my tires tread onto what used to be
dry tar, the effect it has on me lasts until the final snowflake melts. It has an effect on the way I drive, my
anxiety level, and it effects my paycheck.
None of which I enjoy.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The road I travel often is already hard enough to ride on
during the other seasons. The turns, the hills, the bumps, and pot holes. Once snow and ice are added onto it, it only
gets worst. I have studded tires which
are a big help on the traction, but when the snowflakes are dropping my speed
limit NEVER goes past 20 miles an hour. I
become more cautious. My hands are
gipped tight at 10 and 2. My head faces
straight forward. I observe my
surroundings by only shifting my eyes. With
white covering the road, the only way to make sure I stay on it are the tracks from
a vehicle that traveled before me. My
only hope for survival is hoping they stayed on the road.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Anxiety is nothing new to me when I’m driving, but add the
dangers of snow and ice and it rises to a level where I should probably me
medicated. On each turn there’s a slight
jerk which for a millisecond causes me to think I’m going to lose all
control. Driving my small little 1996
Geo in the winter is not an easy task. I
can feel my heart pounding the second I open the door to get into my car. It seems like I take one breath every five
minutes. My brain goes through every
horrid scenario that could happen while I’m driving. I could slide into a snow bank. What if I slide through the stop sign and get
hit by an 18 wheeler. Someone else could
lose control and hit me. The possibilities
are endless. Once I get to my
destination and take that deep breathe of relief, my body returns to normal.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Lastly, when the roads are real bad, its going to effect my
paycheck. It’s not that I have a long
way to travel, but that ten miles seems like an endless road trip. Usually work is slow in the winter anyway, so
some days I luck out and I’m not needed.
Other times I prefer to just find someone that lives closer who will
work. Giving up a shift that makes up a third
of my paycheck isn’t an enjoyable thing either way. However,
I’d rather have less money in my check then risk having an accident or even my
life. $7.50 an hour is not worth the
anxiety, nor putting along the treacherous winter roads.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sure, I’ve lived in Maine all my life, and have been driving
through the winters for 8 years now. It’s
just something I will never get used to.
Perhaps I’m a bit over worried about it, but every year when that snow
flies the roads are my first thought. For
three months out of the year I will drive like an old lady on a Sunday ride,
have anxiety while doing so, and miss out on making a bit of money. I don’t think the effects the roads have one
me will ever change.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7572631560198443799.post-37887253061846936852012-10-29T09:15:00.003-07:002012-10-29T09:15:38.039-07:00Essay #5 [Example Essay]<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Women who say they are daddy’s little girl usually are
implying their spoiled. Rather it is
financially or emotionally, their dads are there to catch them before they
fall. My dad always let the fall happen,
and showed me to be strong and handle it myself. He taught me things, not just did them for
me. There are three things that he’s
instilled in me, though not completely on purpose; it’s obvious I got them from
my dad. For example; I learned that swearing,
though harsh, releases stress, duct tape fixes almost everything, and even if
you’re wrong, if you argue like you’re right you eventually might win.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We call it “The Bickford Temper”. I’ve seen my dad thrash things around, and
swear at inanimate objects for years. In
fact, just this week he’s been trying to fix a leak in the roof from the
inside. For the past three mornings I’ve
awoken to some banging and clanging in the attic above my bedroom followed by the
words “God damn asshole!” Then I hear a
power tool, a heavy sigh, and another round of yelling curse words. This goes on for an hour before finally it’s
fixed. After all that stress and
aggravation has been released with the colorful language, he can relax. I usually do the same thing. You wouldn’t even want to know the words I
spit just while trying to write an essay.
But, it gets me through the process.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Who needs a hammer and nails when the great invention of
Duct tape exists. Not my dad. I’m surprised he didn’t just patch up the
roof with it to be honest. One of the
many things he has used duct tape for is fixing my car. In front of my tire is a plastic piece. I’m not sure what it’s for, but I know that
it cam detached and made an awful grinding sound whenever I turned the
wheel. So after I cussed out that damn
piece of plastic I ask my father for help.
Out comes the Duct tape. I think
he used an entire role just to make sure that it wouldn’t get lose, and gosh oh
golly it worked. Now a year later, that
duct tape is still holding. I find
myself using duct tape for many easy fixes.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Last, but not least, is the stubbornness. If you talk loud enough about the point you
are trying to make, eventually the other party will back down. The majority of the time my father is just
talking out of his ass. I think most
people just give up on trying to talk with him.
I can clearly remember having a heated discussion between us about what
kind of lights should go on the Christmas tree.
He wanted the old fashion ones.
The ones that have huge bulbs, are all different colors, and are 10
times more likely to start a fire. I of
course wanted the tiny bulbs that you can set to blink, and are just white so
they make the garland sparkle. Well, he
put his swearing into use. “Those god
damn bulbs are useless, and hurt my eyes, and too expensive etc.” My only response was “So what! I want these
ones. The big bulbs are ugly!” Needless
to say, I was unprepared for this fight.
The big bulbs went up. However,
over the years I’ve found that I gained his skill of backing the other person
down.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’ll admit I didn’t get many of my Dad’s traits, but I’m
glad to say I got something from him. To
some it might not seem like much, or even be the best qualities for a person to
have, but I use these tactics often.
They can’t solve all my problems, but it’s the first solution I try. I can keep calm, fix things on my own, and
stand up for myself, and it’s all thanks to my dad.<o:p></o:p></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7572631560198443799.post-90485481441362063862012-10-23T09:26:00.001-07:002012-10-23T09:26:58.715-07:00Example Essay Intro<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Women who say they are daddy’s little girl usually are
implying their spoiled. Rather it is
financially or emotionally, their dads are there to catch them before they
fall. My dad always let the fall happen,
and showed me to be strong and handle it myself. He taught me things, not just did them for
me. There are three things that he’s
instilled in me, though not completely on purpose; it’s obvious I got them from
my dad. I learned that swearing, though harsh,
releases stress, duct tape fixes everything, and even if you’re wrong, if you argue
like you’re right you eventually might win.<o:p></o:p></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7572631560198443799.post-28165139281896012932012-10-22T20:46:00.000-07:002012-10-22T20:46:09.225-07:00GRAF #19 [Reaction to Timed Essay]<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt; line-height: 115%;">The
timed essay was a challenge for me. Not in the sense of writing it, but
finding the time to do it. I know; it’s only an hour out of my measly
day. However, I work all weekend. I start Friday at 10:00 a.m. and don’t
stop until Monday at 10:00 p.m. I usually put my efforts in during
the week days, and it’s been easier knowing ahead of time what I have
due. Finding out the topic, and what kind of essay I had to write on a
Friday and then having it due the following Monday was a task. Luckily, I
downed an energy drink, put a batch of cheesecake in the oven, and while I was
waiting for the one hour timer to go off for that, I wrote. And hopefully
I wrote well. I think I did the best effort I could do, but I was unsure
if I understood correctly the idea of writing a contrast essay about something
dirty and disgusting. If i did, then I'm pleased with my piece, if not, then i'm still pleased with it, I just didn't have the right idea.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7572631560198443799.post-1290237395170994562012-10-22T20:03:00.000-07:002012-10-23T06:56:59.799-07:00Essay #4 Timed Contrast<div class="MsoNormal">
Growing
up I always had a list of chores. It’s something I figured most parents taught their
children. Knowing how to do the chores
stuck with me, but doing them isn’t always a priority. For years I had considered myself a messy
person when it comes to house cleaning.
But then I experienced walking through the most disgusting house I think
could ever exist. I looked like a
cleaning freak compared to this trash pit.
The difference of my mess in the kitchen, living room, and bathrooms was
astonishing.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
If you
walk into my house the first thing you see is the kitchen. I usually have a small pile of dishes from
the day, maybe even the night before, sitting in the sink. The first layer of grime and grease is rinsed
off but they still need a good wash. The
counter has some spilled sugar from missing my coffee cup. The table has some mail and a few papers
strewn. The floor is a bit dusty, but
the big bits of dirt have been swept.
Not too bad compared to the sight I walked into. The first step through the door is a rancid
stench. Like dead, rotting carcasses
were used as air fresheners. The sink
and counter tops are loaded with dishes.
The majority of them still had enough food for a meal. Nothing you’d want to eat of course, unless
you enjoy a layer of green slimy mold on top of your spaghetti. The floors are sticky and stained from what
you can tell are numerous spills nobody bothered to pick up. The Table is now the new trash bag because
the actual trash is overflowing. I’d
rather eat off my dusty floors then eat anywhere or off anything in that
kitchen.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Next is
the living room. It’s a public
place. Some where you can sit with
company and visit, or relax and watch TV.
I’ll admit, if you sit on my couch, chances are you’ll stand up and be
covered in cat or dog fur. There are a
few chew toys lying in the middle of everything. I pile my shoes at the end of the couch. The TV has a layer of dust, because I never
think to clean it. It’s presentable,
even fresh I would say compared to the war zone I experienced. I actually had to look hard for the
couch. I saw more garbage, books, toys, and
just plain junk in general. It was a
towering heap of useless things. The
dust on the TV was so thick I thought it was a black and white TV show! All I could smell was an odor of cat piss
with a hint of clean linen scented Febreeze, which possibly just made it
worse. I didn’t even dare lean against
the wall let alone try and find space for me on the couch. The worst that could happen after leaving my
living room is that you might have to use a lint roller, at least you won’t
need a chemical shower.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Lastly,
the bathroom, a place used mostly to get clean. You brush your teeth, you
shower, you shave, etc. For me the
bathroom is the hardest to keep up with.
There’s hair dye stains on the floor.
Q-tips around the trash can from missing when I try to throw them
in. I have toothpaste and floss strewn
all over the place. The shower has a few
of my long black hairs stuck on the floor of it. It’s enough to still feel clean when you walk
out of it, unlike the hazardous area I saw.
The sink was covered in powder from make ups. Piles of hair from shaving, and I mean PILES!
I would guess an entire year’s worth!
Tooth paste stains and chunks all over the counter top. The shower even had a glossy layer of
slime. And worst of all, something
floating in the toilet. Needless to say I
held it until I got home. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
After
seeing all of those things, I gave myself a pat on the back. I’m pretty sure my health was being jeopardized
just by looking at those ungodly sites, let alone inhaling the smells. I am no longer ashamed of the dirty dish in
my sink, the fur ball on the couch, or the water streak on my bathroom
mirror. Seeing that mess also taught me
to tidy up when I can. Who knows, if you
let things go uncleaned too long, you may end up with a shit storm like
that. Let it be a lesson to everyone,
that those pesky chores, they really aren’t that bad.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7572631560198443799.post-51934417227647586562012-10-17T08:35:00.003-07:002012-10-17T08:35:44.082-07:00annotated source list<br />
<div class="Standard" style="background: white; line-height: 13.5pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 5.0pt; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;">Jasper,
Kathleen. "Types of Technology Used in the Classroom."<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><i>EHow</i>. Demand Media, 21 Sept.
2009 <http://www.ehow.com/about_5437063_types-technology-used-classroom.html>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Standard" style="background: white; line-height: 13.5pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 5.0pt; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard" style="background: white; line-height: 13.5pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 5.0pt; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="color: #323232; font-family: "Calibri\, sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I had a basic of idea of what kind of technologies could
be found in a classroom these days, but this cite helped verify the ones I did
know, and then showed me some new technologies I didn’t know about.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Standard" style="background: white; line-height: 13.5pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 5.0pt; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard" style="background: white; line-height: 13.5pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 5.0pt; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;">"Where
Will the Jobs for College Graduates Be in 2018?"<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><i>Private Student Loans and College
Loans</i>. N.p., 20 June 2011 <http://www.overturemarketplace.com/where-will-the-jobs-for-college-graduates-be-in-2018>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Standard" style="background: white; line-height: 13.5pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 5.0pt; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard" style="background: white; line-height: 13.5pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 5.0pt; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;">I
wasn’t sure what the job opportunity for teachers would be. I know in my town a lot of programs are
getting cut and talk of school consolidation is at large. Of course, I don’t plan on being a teacher
for my home town. This cite showed me
that the need for teachers is only going to grow. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Standard" style="background: white; line-height: 13.5pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 5.0pt; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard" style="background: white; line-height: 13.5pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 5.0pt; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;">Oak,
Manali. "Impact of Technology on Education."<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span></span><i style="text-align: start;">Buzzle.com</i><span style="text-align: start;">. Buzzle.com, 20 Mar. 2012 <http://www.buzzle.com/articles/impact-of-technology-on-education.html>.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="Standard" style="background: white; line-height: 13.5pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 5.0pt; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard" style="background: white; line-height: 13.5pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 5.0pt; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;">This
cite showed some all the ways technology has impacted education. The ways it has cut time, made learning
easier, and how accessible it is.</span><span style="color: #323232; font-family: "Calibri\, sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7572631560198443799.post-58932621174461039282012-10-15T10:01:00.000-07:002012-10-15T10:01:16.650-07:00Essay #3 Contrast Essay<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
For me a pet just isn't an
animal. You don’t just get one to have
something cute in your house. You get
one because you want to take care of it. They are are a part of your family.
Five years ago I decided to take on the responsibility of raising two
dogs at once. They were just over the 8 week mark when I picked them up. Originally
I had only planned on getting one, I was lucky to only get out with two. I had the urge to grab up the entire litter
of 8. They were a litter of Pit Bull,
Rottweiler mix. Not purposefully, I
chose the Brute of the litter, and the runt.
Already a difference in them. Who
would have known that the differences would only show more with time. Their personalities, their looks, and their
life experiences are what make each puppy their own selves.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Some say a dog is what you
make it, but I think animals initially have their own set personalities. When I
arrived at the house where I was expecting to only buy one puppy I was
attentive to the mannerisms these cute balls of fur already had instilled.
Pelta was the first to run up to me with her tail wagging and her tongue ready
to give those little puppy kisses. She was bigger than the rest. Seven was more hesitant and hid behind the
leg of a couch. She was unsure what to think of this large person making kissy
noises at her. Pelta became the leader of the two. She's the first to get in
the garbage, the first to greet visitors, and the first to climb in bed, even
before me. The word “No” isn't always in her list of words to listen to.
Seven's always a step behind watching her. She looks for my approval before
joining her sister. Luckily this meant she never gained the habit of dumpster
diving. She listens well, and always lets me get comfortable in bed before she
hops up and climbs under the covers. They definitely set each other apart, but
both gained my love.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
When it comes to their
looks, they couldn't be more different. Pelta
has simple coloring. Her body is a light tan with highlights of darker shades
running through her. Around her eyes and nose is black. Her eyes are a deep
brown. She also has a black birthmark on her tongue. When she was just a puppy
she was chubby and wrinkly. People used
to think she was part Shar Pei. She grew
into her body though, and her block head and slimming figure shows the Pit bull
in her. Seven is a grayish brown. Her
face is tan and patterned so that she has a widows peek. Her chest is tan too
so it looks like she's wearing a vest. Her eyes are hazel with brown specks. I’d
say she’s got the Rottweiler patterns, but her block head and body build is
definitely pit bull. She also has a black
birthmark on her right leg. If I wasn't there
to pick them out from the same liter, I would never have known they are
sisters.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
What life experiences can a
dog really have? Well, my two girls have
been through a lot. When they were 6
months old they ran off in the woods.
The snow was 8 feet high and they were small enough that they could
glide on the top thin layer of ice. It
took us 2 days to find them. This was just
the beginning for them.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
I think I jinxed Seven when
I gave her the name. It was only a
matter of weeks after she returned home from the woods that she was then hit by
a car. Her femur was broken, and luckily
it was repairable. That didn't stop her,
she still played and was happy. Then a
year later she tore the ligament in her knee.
While she was healing from that surgery, she tore the ligament in her
other knee. My poor girl just can’t
catch a break. A year after that she had
to have both legs re-operated on because they didn't heal right. It all never stopped her. She runs, she
swims, she jumps. I consider her my
child and I've taken care of her through every painful experience she’s had. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Pelta’s tragedies were less
of the physical state. I unfortunately
had to move back in with my parents and was unable to keep her. She was given to a good home though, and
lived just down the road from me so the girls could keep their sisterly bond. But After a year of her being in her new home
the family was getting distracted. They
were keeping her in the basement all hours of the day. She was growing restless and losing her sweet
personality. I finally took her back and
searched for a new home. She then went
to a young couple. They were people who could
give her their full attention. It was
the loving home she needed. Again, a
year passed, the young couple had a baby.
Who has time for a dog with a new baby?
I got her back again. I was
becoming furious with the situation. I couldn't keep her and no one else wanted her.
Finally, I found a good friend who had land for Pelta to run free on, kids
who were old enough that they didn't need full attention, and Pelta would be
played with every day. She’s been in
that home for 2 years now, and I’m so thankful it stuck. Both girls have been through a lot in their 5
years, each with their own story.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Both girls mean the world to
me. Not being able to keep Pelta was definitely something that always weighed heavy on my heart. I know she’s happy and taken care of
though. As for Seven, she’s my little
butt monkey. She is by my side every
day. Rather she’s got her head out the
car window when we go for a ride, or she’s curled up next to me hogging my bed. I had a great time raising both girls at once
even though it was a challenge. Someday,
I might even do it again if I could be lucky enough to find another two pups as
loving, loyal, and personable as Pelta and Seven.<o:p></o:p></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7572631560198443799.post-75050568360036604762012-10-15T09:53:00.000-07:002012-10-15T09:53:19.234-07:00GRAF #18 [isearch Progress]<div class="MsoNormal">
Usually I set aside some time each night I don’t work to get
some of the research done. I have three days a week dedicated to school. I haven’t done that over the past couple
weeks. I’ve been working on the weekly
assignments and my other classes. However,
I started my isearch work as soon as it was assigned and think I got ahead
enough in the beginning that I’m right on schedule now. As far as my questions that can be found by
researching online, I have atleast a graf for each one. I’m still waiting to hear more from some
teachers before I can complete the questions I have for that, but I think
things are going smoothly.<o:p></o:p></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7572631560198443799.post-18438102160124086972012-10-09T11:42:00.004-07:002012-10-09T11:42:44.885-07:00Contrast Intros and graf 2<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Intro 1</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
Five years ago I made the
mistake of getting two puppies at once. One was a responsibility in itself, but
two! What in the world was I thinking? They’re from the same litter, but the
differences are impeccable. One is the brute. Her name is Pelta, which is Latin
for Shield. The other is the runt. I named her Seven for my favorite number and
for luck. Their personalities, markings, and life experiences are what made
each puppy their own selves.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Inrto 2</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
For me a pet just isn’t an
animal. You don’t just get one to have
something cute in your house. You get
one because you want to take care of it.
I once decided to take on the responsibility of raising two dogs at
once. They were just over the 8 week mark
when I picked them out.. Originally I
had only planned on getting one, I was
lucky to only get out with two. I had
the urge to grab up the entire litter of 8.
Ironically I chose the Brute of the liter, and the runt. Already a difference in them. Who would have known that the differences
would only show more with time. Their
personalities, their coloring, and their life experiences are what make each
puppy their own selves.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Graf 2?</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
Some say a dog is what you
make it, but I think animals initially have their own set personalities. When I
arrived at the house where I was expecting to only buy one puppy I was
attentive to the mannerisms these cute balls of fur already had instilled.
Pelta was the first to run up to me with her tail wagging and her tongue ready
to give those little puppy kisses. She was bigger than the rest. Seven was more hesitant and hid behind the
leg of a couch. She was unsure what to think of this large person making kissy
noises at her. Pelta became the leader of the two. She's the first to get in
the garbage, the first to greet visitors, and the first to climb in bed, even
before me. The word “No” isn't always in her list of words to listen to.
Seven's always a step behind watching her. She looks for my approval before
joining her sister. Luckily this meant she never gained the habit of dumpster
diving. She listens well, and always lets me get comfortable in bed before she
hops up and climbs under the covers. They definitely set each other apart, but
both gained my love.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7572631560198443799.post-78489289973842168802012-10-09T11:25:00.006-07:002012-10-09T11:25:58.230-07:00Essay #2 [Classification]<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
Walking into a bar you can
usually see all kinds of people. Sports fans, artists, teachers, tall people,
short people, black, white, Hispanic, shy people, loud and obnoxious people.
When it comes to where I bartend I don't have the pleasure of meeting such a
variety. Except for loud and obnoxious, there's plenty of that. My bar sits in
a small “mill town” where boys grow up to drive skidders, and forget about
hygiene, while the women are mainly there for breeding. My bar is 1 out of 2 in
the town, and it's in 1 of the 3 Chinese restaurants within a 1 mile radius.
When I'm standing behind my bar waiting for the next customer to approach I
already know what kind of people I am going to see. The women are cougars, the
men are pigs, and the couples that walk in can be compared to a house cat. All
are around the same age, (to be nice I'll simply say they are older than me),
and each group has their own agenda.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
Most know that cougars are
older woman looking to relive their youth. You can find them on the arm of any
young man. Or at least her eyes are attached to one. I can tell when one walks
in. Their eyes are shifty and their nose in the air as if they are searching
and sniffing out their pray. There's a swing in their hips as if they are
setting the bait. They laugh loud to draw attention, and frequently use the
bathroom to strut their stuff on each trip. Their first sentence is usually
“Where's all the good men around here?” Which they don't really care about
“good”, and to be honest I don't know the answer. I hand them their fruity lady
drink and move onto the next customer.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
When people think of pigs,
most would say they are dirty animals who feed on slop. This goes for most the
men that walk into my bar. They're still dirty from a day’s work, or sometimes
are just plain dirty, and are looking for a piece of meat. I don't mean food, I
mean any pretty little thing that walks by. “Hey sexy mama” spurts out from
their thick grizzly beard that covers their mouth so you can't tell they only
have 3 teeth in that nitwit skull. But hey, they have a wad of 50s in their
pocket, perhaps that remark should be excused. I hand them their beer,
resisting to show them an eye roll, and put my smile on the next customer.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
The domestic house cats are
friendly and playful. These couples walk in and offer a caring smile. They
flirt, they tease, they have humor, but they never cross the line. These
customers are my favorite. Sometimes I sit back and watch them. Occasionally
they'll be the kind to rub upon someone’s leg for a bit of attention, but
always make their way back to the one they are with. They are all comfortable,
and have an aura of power. They know they are worth my time and kindness. They
know they are the favorites. They never take advantage. They are simply just
out to have fun. They each stick to their routine. “The usual please” and I
know what it is.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
I'll admit that once in a
blue moon we will get some out-of-towners that fall out of these categories.
Occasionally I get to see the well groomed man with manners. A hard working
woman whose agenda is still work even if she is trying to relax with a drink.
Groups of families gathering for a reunion and ready to raise a little hell.
For me, it's nice to see a different type and get a break from the regulars. No
matter what though, all these people are what make my job enjoyable. Rather I
like it or not each one has become a part of my life.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7572631560198443799.post-86677196161651601692012-10-04T08:44:00.001-07:002012-10-04T08:44:31.136-07:00Classification In and Outros RevisedINTRO<div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Most bartenders would expect to see
many different types of people. They can usually see customers that
are different races, different ages. Some that have tattoos and
piercings. Others that are a bit plain looking. Some might look
like bitches, or assholes. Some of course are. There's a complete
variety out there. When it comes to where I bar-tend, it's a
complete turn around. When I'm standing behind the bar, I see the
same three types day in and day out. I see cougars, pigs, and
domestic house cats. All around similar ages even. All with their
own agenda.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
OUTRO</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I'll admit that once in a blue moon we
will get some out-of-towners that fall out of these categories.
Occasionally I get to see the well groomed man with manners. A hard
working woman who's agenda is still work even if she is trying to
relax with a drink. Groups of families gathering for a reunion and
ready to raise a little hell. For me, it's nice to see a different
type and get a break from the regulars. No matter what though, all
these people are what make my job enjoyable. Rather I like it or not
each one has become a part of my life.</div>
</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7572631560198443799.post-83703130371684280532012-10-03T19:58:00.002-07:002012-10-03T19:58:14.624-07:00Classification Outro<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
These are the kind of people you will
see at either of the two bars in my town. I'll admit that once in a
blue moon we will get some out-of-towners that fall out of these
categories, but usually this is it. Being a bartender, I try to
distribute my good service equally. I smile, I'm friendly, and I do
my best to give equal attention. Sometimes I wish I could ignore, or
walk away from some of the people. I know I can't and I don't. So,
rather I have to smile and bear it, or am truly enjoying it, all
these people have become a part of my life. They are what makes
going to work worth it.</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7572631560198443799.post-8422931696794620962012-10-03T09:38:00.000-07:002012-10-03T09:38:34.243-07:00GRAF #17 [Reaction to Remarks]<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="color: #323232;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Sure,
there are clearly three reasons laid out and enough detail to float
those middle grafs. I'll take it.”</span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: #323232;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">Knowing
eventually I was going to have to write a reaction graf to this, I
was thinking there was going to be an email or something with more to
it. I guess this is it. At first I read it as if there was some
chipperness to it. But the more I keep reading this sentence, I’m
starting to wonder if it's just saying I’m meeting the bare
minimum. There's no “This part was good” and “This part needs
work” I think I was, or am expecting more feedback. At the same
time I’m aware of how busy you are. So I guess I'm not really sure
what my reaction should be. Should I be </span><span style="font-size: 12px;">enthused</span><span style="font-size: 9pt;"> and know I did a
good job, or should I be concerned and perhaps do some editing?</span></span></span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7572631560198443799.post-19321912103864969372012-10-03T09:19:00.002-07:002012-10-03T09:19:25.583-07:00Classification Intros<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Intro 1</b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;">
Walking into a bar you can usually see
all kinds of people. Sports fans, artists, teachers, tall people,
short people, black, white, Hispanic, shy people, loud and obnoxious
people. Well, when you work in a small town bar we don't have the
pleasure of seeing such a variety. We have the usual’s. Same ol'
people that walk through our doors every week, sometimes everyday.
This will consist of Cougars, Pigs, and The Domestic house cats</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Intro 2</span></b></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;">
If I go out of town for a drink I
expect to see many different types of people. The bartenders are
male and female. The Customers are different races, different ages.
Some have tattoos and piercings. Others are a bit plain looking.
Some look like bitches, or assholes. Some of course usually are.
There's a complete variety out there. If I go for a drink in my home
town, it's a complete turn around. All female bartenders for a
start. As for the customers, well I see the same three types day in
and day out. You've got the Cougars, the Pigs, and the Domestic
house cats.</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7572631560198443799.post-14505639251327113942012-09-25T11:49:00.000-07:002012-09-25T11:49:07.799-07:00GRAF #16 [Reaction to classification]<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The humor that was put into all three
classification essays is a true inspiration. I'm not sure if it was
on purpose, but all three had spots that made me laugh. The first
one was the opening sentence. Incredible how she took a saying and
turned it into literal types of men. The second one was the creative
titles she came up with for each type of sports fan. The last
because who would be so clever as to classify fish! I'm thinking to
myself that humor is the way to go. Being a bartender I see all
kinds of people walking into my work, and the majority are indeed
funny. Funny looking, funny acting, or just plain old funny. I'm
going to dig deep into my experiences and produce something that is
as worth reading as these essays were. At least I'm hoping.</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7572631560198443799.post-71432305946899472612012-09-25T11:48:00.001-07:002012-09-25T11:48:06.217-07:00GRAF #15 [Meta-graf]<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I was having a conversation with my
boyfriend about how this class was going and that the cause essay was
my next big assignment. Jokingly I told him I was going to write it
about how awful he was and why women shouldn’t date a guy like him.
Truth is he's one of the nicest and considerate men I have met and
any woman would be lucky to have him. I thought I would share our story of how we met. I
Wrote 3 intros and the entire essay, then after reading the comments
I changed my mind. Turns out our story isn't as easily transformed
into a cause essay as I thought. Though I think I also
misinterpreted what a cause essay was. Regardless, I didn't want to
rewrite new graphs because I don't think I could do it.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Then I was at work, bored and waiting
for customers, and wishing I had brought my laptop to do some work.
Then I moved onto thinking I need to attempt a different topic for my
cause essay. Then I was stressing about how hard that was going to
be. Then I was stressing about how I might fail again. Then I
remembered, oh yeah. I've already failed once. I know the cause
for my failure. I can definitely write about that. It's worth an
attempt.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Poof! There's my cause essay.</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7572631560198443799.post-6481981268678357022012-09-25T11:45:00.003-07:002012-09-25T11:45:23.068-07:00Essay #1 Cause essay<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“I'm the first one!!!” I bragged
about it through the hallways. In the main entrance, on the big
bulletin board, I was the first name out of all the seniors in my
class to be accepted to college. I was full of pride. High School
wasn't the place for me, so working hard and graduating a semester
early was a big accomplishment! I thought I was ready for bigger and
better things, so only three days after graduating I packed my bags
and shipped off to college. What 17 year old doesn't think they can
take on their world no matter how unprepared they are? Looking back
I see it was no surprised I failed. I had moved to fast, didn't put
in the time to work hard, and partying of course was a huge factor!</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.49in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.49in;">
Graduating on a
Friday and starting college on the next Monday was not the best idea.
Most high school graduates have a 3 month summer where they have an
opportunity to adjust from being in high school to being a college
student. It's an opportunity to experience the real world before
being thrown into it. A chance to plan their future instead of
playing it by ear. I had 3 days. On day one I received my
congratulations, on day two I said my goodbyes, and on day 3 I said
hello to my new life. I wish I had taken the time to adjust. I feel
I would have succeeded.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.49in;">
Next were the
courses. I took 4 on campus and one online. The 4 on campus were a
distraction in itself from my class that was online, but also I was
in a whole new place. I was making new friends and living in a city!
I was no longer in a small town where a night of fun required a 45
minute drive. My life was in my hands, and I wanted to live it! I
think it was during the 4<sup>th</sup> week of the semester that I
knew I was slacking. I even tried giving the bare minimum, but with
everything around me I couldn’t even succeed at that.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.49in;">
Who can forget
those college parties. I was never a drinker, or even much of a
social bird in high school, but college was a whole new story. The
people were so kind and accepting. I don’t recall meeting one
person that I didn't get along with. Drinking games were bringing us
all together. The beer pong, Up and down the river, and once
everyone was drunk enough we took a step back into our past and
played spin the bottle. Being social and tipping back some beers
became my new priority. I didn't need to pass my classes, I had a
plethora of new friends! I wish I would have had the skills to
priorities my responsibilities, then perhaps I wouldn't have failed.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.49in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.49in;">
Here I am almost 7
years later finally ready. Though I have many moments where I think
'I could be graduated already and have a career' I wouldn't trade my
experience for anything. I learned through my failure that I was
someone who needed to gain some maturity before putting anymore money
and time (or lack there of) into my education. I have attempted
college a few times between then and now, but I've never truly felt
ready. Some people are blessed with the natural gift of being stern
with themselves and getting school done as soon as possible, I
however was someone who had to wait. I had to gain a stability in my
life, and a confidence in myself. Now I know how to handle multiple
responsibilities and I'm happy to say school is one of them. This
time, I will succeed!</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7572631560198443799.post-30761659731583883382012-09-25T11:44:00.001-07:002012-09-25T11:44:23.841-07:00GRAF #14 [Research Plan]<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I started researching for my isearch
the day we had to choose a topic. I've found my questions and now to
find the answers. Some I've just searched online. Some of the
answers can be found on the generic sites, but I'm looking beyond the
simple answers. I'm thinking the more I research the more sub
questions I can think of. Also over the past couple of weeks I've
emailed teachers the questions I designed for them. They have been
helpful as to already have answered them, and they are continuing to
pass them along so I wont be at a shortage of answers and opinions.
There are also a few questions that I can only answer. I'm slowly
getting an idea the more I read, and the more I hear from teachers. </div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1