Shout it Out

Hidden

2012-01-31T15:54:00.000-08:00

*focus on alliteration and refrains, and assonance and end rhyme (and, as always, theme, tone and mood)

"Hidden"

Clandestine kisses
privy to a couple
illuminate isolated illusions
dissecting discourse and diction
flips fact and fiction.
Stolen solitude
gluttonous to gratitude.
Shrouded by the sound
of secluded silence.
Only hammering heartbeats harmonize
to maximize myopia,
for this moment is under utopia.
blinded by bliss,
but actually bewildered by
faux felicity.
These clandestine kisses
taste of honey
honed by heavenly haven
privy to a couple
who have heart, hope, and hate.
in a land where just lust no longer alleviates,
but love liberates.
Clandestine kisses condoned
in a utopia not-so unknown.

Overachiever? Or Just Someone Who Cares?

2012-01-16T06:55:00.001-08:00

I do all the work that I give my students. beforehand.

Open Response Prompt: In The Diary of Anne Frank, Anne confides in her diary. What do Anne’s diary entries reveal about her personality? Pick one characteristic and locate three examples from the text.

In The Diary of Anne Frank, Anne confides in her diary, revealing her personality to be quite insightful for a young teenager. Anne is an intuitive thirteen-year-old Jewish girl, living during the time of the Holocaust, who is forced into hiding to avoid being sent to a concentration camp by the Nazis. In an early diary entry, Anne writes about what it is like to be in hiding. Her descriptions illustrate her insightfulness: “It’s funny never to be able to go outdoors…never to breathe fresh air…never to run and shout and jump” (35). Anne is perceptive about her surroundings; stuck indoors, she realizes her lungs will be empty of air that would otherwise be abundantly available. She focuses on something that most people take for granted: fresh air. Once news comes of the Allies landing in Africa, Anne writes in her diary about what she hopes to do as soon as the war is over. She wants “to ride a bike again…to laugh till [her] belly aches…to have new clothes from the skin out…to have a hot tub filled to overflowing and wallow in it for hours” (91). Anne’s wants post-war illustrate her ability to compare and contrast her current situation with that of others more fortunate. In hiding, Anne cannot play the way a typical thirteen-year-old is able to. Also she is unable to indulge in anything. Ultimately, Anne is wholly aware of her ill-fated circumstances. In a later diary entry, Anne discusses what it is like to have cut down on food even more than before. By evoking sensory details, Anne shows how insightful she is. She writes, “Our stomachs are so empty that they rumble and make strange noises, all in different keys” (140). She proceeds to describe the sound of each person’s stomach rumbling. Her imagery reveals more than her creative outlook; it expresses her spot-on awareness. She can feel, see, and hear the pain that shrouds those in hiding. Anne of The Diary of Anne Frank pours her heart out to her diary, in which she reveals her insightfulness, despite her young age.

Vanity

2012-01-13T14:48:00.000-08:00

"Vanity"

Narcissism at its finest: you entwined with yourself.
your inordinate fascination with all things you.
deification derived from, yes, talent.
but talent-turned-stardom
floods the tippity top of the physical you,
elevating the egotistical psyche of humanity
into worthy range of untouchable you.
flash that vainglorious grin
as the world revolves around it,
you immodest piece of shit.

oblivious to the passions of any other.
arrogance reeks.
your radiance could be better than gall - it once was.
for you have what others can only dream.
but you abuse that with which you have been blessed.
and so, yes, you seem talentless unless cockiness counts best.

Novation

2012-01-13T14:40:00.000-08:00

"Novation" (the introduction of something new)

who knew I'd need a flashlight
in the dark to decipher
those cryptic messages etched in pretense,
veiled behind bronze eyes and
electric smile,
disguised by your esoteric ego.

this'll be the end of you and I.
perceived only one side,
blind to your clandestine psyche
of faux integrity. indiscernible in
the light, mystical by moon.
I now ask, who are you?

fell too deeply too quickly.
and your locked in beast went undetected
under star-crossed stares and fingers tangled in hair.
shrouded, but now escaping its lair.
the unexposed now exposed
hideous in its exposure.
out of shadow into view,
this is ulterior you:
privy to fidelity,
enigmatic by nature.
and this duality is a puzzle piece
that does not fit
me.

Duality

2012-01-13T14:32:00.000-08:00

"Duality"

interrogating myself, my insides, outsides
look deep, deeply, deeper
dichotomize.

outward: strong, independent, self-reliant.
impregnable.
inward: scared, weak, insecure.
fragile.

and where's the cure?
shall I reveal the double-sided me
to the world at large?
shall I sever one and
wholly embody the other?

but which to choose to ensure
I do not lose?
no matter. I've already lost
when I crossed off all help
years ago.
"dependent," though I never let it go,
I added the "in" - bolded
those two letters
and held them dear.
a symbol for all I fear
and love.

Catharsis or Foreshadowing

2011-12-30T08:32:00.000-08:00

Below is a poem that utilizes literary terms and elements.

All these anecdotes full of ambiguity and abstract allusions
Any analogies are anachronistic and anticlimactic, marking me
as the antagonist juxtaposed to your future self.
I read through your pronouns -
she, her: I am the antecedent.
All your initial intentions have altered, now antithetical.
And you think these new-found ideals
are as good an aphorism,
and you're enveloped in apotheosis -
while I'm the archetypal bitch.
You once sung me an aubade,
but now deliver asides.
Well, I can hear them clearly,
cacophonous as they are.
These words are my catharsis,
then I'll follow carpe diem
and tell everyone, colloquially, that
you're a piece of shit.
We could all use a little comic relief.
Let's face it -
you're as conventional of a character as they come.
Pray my diction be didactic.

---

Below, I have copied the poem, and rendered all literary words in bold.

All these anecdotes full of ambiguity and abstract allusions
Any analogies are anachronistic and anticlimactic, marking me
as the antagonist juxtaposed to your future self.
I read through your pronouns -
she, her: I am the antecedent.
All your initial intentions have altered, now antithetical.
And you think these new-found ideals
are as good an aphorism,
and you're enveloped in apotheosis -
while I'm the archetypal bitch.
You once sung me an aubade,
but now deliver asides.
Well, I can hear them clearly,
cacophonous as they are.
These words are my catharsis,
then I'll follow carpe diem
and tell everyone, colloquially, that
you're a piece of shit.
We could all use a little comic relief.
Let's face it -
you're as conventional of a character as they come.
Pray my diction be didactic.

Correction

2011-11-25T06:46:00.000-08:00

people are dynamic, not static;
therefore, change is inevitable.
you are naïve if you think otherwise.
so it goes,
when remodeling of one's psyche occurs, search for the light and embrace it;
become engulfed in everything unfamiliar.
new can blend with old.
find ways to adjust yourself to the adjustment of others.
make it flow and flow with it, like a transition is meant to.
accept transformation with open arms rather than a closed mind.
remember: metamorphosis can be a beautiful thing,
if you know where to look.

Convalescence

2011-11-08T17:16:00.000-08:00

you ripped open my rib cage,
ignored the cries of rage,
and plucked out my still beating heart,
pocketing it with a macabre grin.
with my bleeding soul you created abstract art,
un-sellable but hung on display for all the world to see
just how weak this girl can be.

I couldn't love you so you made sure
I couldn't love anyone.
and I thought you had won.
you were so close to claiming my loneliness,
depriving me of such warmth.
but then he entered my world and helped me convalesce:

reviving my lifeless limbs with just one touch,
that first rush;
correcting the cracked ribs with light kisses;
mending my journey down a dead-end.

because when he looks at me his smile meets his eyes,
I have been ameliorated,
alleviated from a fragile thing,
upgraded.
healthy and whole with my heart regrown.

and I hope you know
just how much I love him.

Deprivation

2011-11-08T16:47:00.000-08:00

When someone with whom
you are so congruous illuminates the darkness
in an otherwise vacuous existence,
you inevitably search between the sheets
and cramped crevices
to uncover something that will break apart that congruity
because you cannot accept something so wholly beautiful,
so fully brilliant,
to be so harmoniously connected with you.

Naked

2011-11-08T16:44:00.000-08:00

it's strange...
how someone's appearance shifts so seamlessly...
one moment an individual is breathtakingly beautiful.
and the next, that same person fades into a shade of hideous...
one's loveliness relies on what's inside more than the exterior.
the shell is just protection;
once that is broken, the core is revealed and that, that is how one looks,
unfeigned.

Palpability

2011-11-08T16:42:00.000-08:00

And I will not succumb to such fantasy
there must exist a crack in this congruity
delicately tangible
doomed and thus beautiful

a dream, I must be asleep to be
surrounded by that smile

what will dismantle this
pretty painting we so quickly created
with smooth, even brushstrokes
and just a touch of the abstract
all colors collide and shine

what will it be, the demolition of
this song we so sweetly sing
with a range of pitches and
the slightest, misty whistle
a harmony of heart and soul
combining tones of melodious hope

though I've given in
to this floating feeling
being carried away by clouds
I'm not waiting to wake up
for I am wide awake
and you're still at my side
smiling just as in fantasy's time

Solidarity (from an instability)

2011-10-03T19:01:00.000-07:00

"Solidarity (from an instability)"

Strength frayed since meeting you
weakened since your first smile my way
more open and vulnerable with each beautiful thing you do
but sacrifice my independence as it quickly fades

Before your love became known I could stand alone
but now I falter without the feel of your skin, bone
the sight of your spirit behind your eyes
the sensation of your breath on my neck
and the sound of my name said with your voice

All turns into tingling that touches my toes
and only we're privy, we solely know
the trembling from top of spine to inner thighs
craving that chill, that heat
a mixture both unbearable and fulfilling

But in its absence is a vacuous vault
it cannot be unlocked without the combination of
your hand in mine
and I am at fault for letting you this deep inside

While apart, what fills the void?
whatever control over self-happiness is destroyed
and how do I repair such a rarity after the rarity that is your touch grows cold?

Hardly able to stand a minute without your presence
how will I survive several endless ticks, make it through
after inevitably losing you?

Enigma

2011-09-30T17:39:00.000-07:00

"Enigma"

vacant and vacuous when your smile is not
warming this otherwise black heart
of mine.
a hole better left unknown.
so stay for as long as eternity will allow.

yours is the sole face in the crowd.
yours is the one voice I hear singing out loud.
yours are the only hands that I want holding me down.

alive and full when you're heating my side, my insides.
a fire that ignites and dies
only after you kiss me goodbye.
flames that lick my skin, my within.
so kiss me a litter longer, harder, for as long as
our breath can hold it all in.

yours is the sole body I want to press against.
yours is the one name that makes me both melt and grow tense.
yours are the only fingers that can comfortably cage me, fenced.

clever and beautiful, the extortion you've committed
when you stole my breath, my heart:
an unfathomable yet fantastically ideal feat
when you puzzled me with your wildly perfect love.
and I succumbed and I still succumb.

Tempestuous

2011-09-30T17:34:00.000-07:00

"Tempestuous"

And that so-called love -
clandestine,
and only the two are privy -
it doesn't have to be.
its inner violence
and commotion so loud
from hearts breaking,
fists shaking,
lack of love making
(just fucking and fucking).
forget that hoax.
let it sooner surrender.
let it rot as it smokes
from the collision, the bender,
because there is no need for
that feigned beauty when
the real thing can come alive,
can light up your insides.
those meetings past midnight,
kisses and caresses in the dark
that hide in morning light and
die with sun's rise,
no, there's something else here.
so let go the turbulence
for velvet is not violence.

Patterns

2011-09-30T17:30:00.000-07:00

"Patterns"

Your voice falls like rain,
cleansing my regrets,
washing away my prolonged pain,
rejuvenating a broken soul
from too dry of days.

It falls all around, rolls over skin
and both chills and warms bone.

It pulls me under and simultaneously releases me;
so, for a moment, I cannot breathe, but then
an exhale-inhale so deep that I
lift off my feet.

Your voice falls like flakes of snow;
pure and fresh, it gives me hope.
covers up the blemishes.
and the white finishes this process
of renewal.
sands down and eliminates the dull.

Roughness extirpated and
velvet celebrated.

A coldness so refreshing warmed by
your presence.
and it all balances out
idyllically.
symbiotically
we are brought together and make
our own weather.

Euphoria

2011-09-29T19:32:00.000-07:00

Pierce me with those October eyes,
fallen leaves tumbling thanks to the wind. slowly, delicately.
entangle me in that chocolate stout hair,
falling all around me so all I can see is that pair, golden honey so sweet.
shiny new penny bronze; third place but truly first.

and I suck it down, eat it up. I can't get enough.
not of your taste, your touch, your hands cupping my face
in this space that only we occupy,
and only our bodies entwined defy gravity floating so high, elegantly.
then that smile ignites, illuminated even in darkness - it's a rush.
and as your fingertips brush the strands from my cheeks
my knees buckle, so weak.
who knew weakness could be beautiful.

out and in we breathe together -
washing away the day's decay and grays.
cleanse it all in our subtle slips of laughter
forever after or just in the now -
here is where I want to be, being discovered
by those autumn eyes and dressed in
that hair of melted chocolate,
flowing smoothly in its own river
and pulling me along for the ride.

let it take me out of this world into sunrise
of a life of you and I.

Contingence (of opposites)

2011-09-19T07:49:00.000-07:00

"Contingence (off opposites)"
(n): the state of touching or being in contact

it's strange...
how happiness goes in hand in hand with fear...
bliss is thin as ice: it's a waiting game, now.
wondering when it will crack
twists and twines with those beautiful butterflies
and that incandescent smile.
a spider busy at work; prey struggling between
accepting the end and craving breath.
felicity generates such aliveness,
while that foreboding of
all-good-things-must-fade
strips spirit away.
effervescence will not turn gray
but black
with the final snap,
when the bone-chilling liquid invades
heaven on earth.
a definitive tremble
and all brilliance sinks into disquietude,
swallowed and suffocated
for being a remarkable type of brave:
to love so much something that is
bound to be taken away.

Guide to the Language:
disquietude (n): the state of uneasiness
effervescence (n): high-spirited; vivacious
felicity (n): the state of being extremely happy
foreboding (n): a strong inner feeling of a future misfortune
incandescent (adj): aglow with ardor or purpose

Rapacious

2011-09-18T13:44:00.000-07:00

"Rapacious"
adjective
1. given to seizing for plunder or the satisfaction of greed.
2. inordinately greedy; predatory; extortionate: a rapacious disposition.

Miles from zealous,
and eternity is closer than envy.
Wholly, fully jealous,
makes me fickle and there spawns a fear
of being jilted.
Transformed into a rose so wilted,
and there's where this jaundice
became justified.
Conflagrant with rapaciousness,
when it comes to you.
Kindled with emulous emotions,
the jury within continually in motion.
Overwrought from this overbearing
jewel called Jealousy.
But it's your very being that causes me
to joust and jostle on this jaunt (into your heart)
to smooth away the jagged pieces
and flatten out the creases.
How contradictory.
To keep you as mine I've turned contentious
and blind to this ugly gluttony.
Encroaching loneliness, this combustible soul
will be the reason you go,
but I swear it's no fault but your own:
rapacious in all things you.
Sweltering suffocates; Jealousy engulfs me in flames.
Ablaze, alight, but I fight for the coolness
of your mouth on mine.
In time she will die,
but not tonight.

Equilibrioception (in delirium)

2011-09-17T08:11:00.000-07:00

"Equilibrioception (in delirium)"

Now in deliria:
an effect so strong makes the abstract become tangible.
impaired vision; only seeing your honey-colored eyes.
impaired hearing; only your song resounds.
facing delirium, now.
all else is whisked away,
lost and buried below concrete ground.
could this have been perceived?
could I then have conceived
a way to avoid this?
impaired sense of smell; only your breath falls on my neck.
impaired sense of taste; only your kiss is consumed.
call me a wreck:
anything acute is weakened.
from this unknown regression so new.
but, no, I don't seek the end:
an envisioned place with a vacuous sky
so gray,
and once crimson roses that have dried.
I'd rather keep this impaired sense of touch;
and feel your hands alight on my exterior - stirring up the interior -
forever.

Impair

2011-09-17T06:22:00.000-07:00

"Impair"

back straight, head held high;
chin up, just the slightest.
might as well prance down these streets
as you crush innocent dreams,
as you ascend into sunlight, into sky,
wearing that crown of yours, fastened so tight.
you no longer need fuel to feed
the sea of innocent dreams,
for you're already corrupted,
sipping on too much gasoline.
choke, sputter - but, no,
not a golden ray like you.
you outshine and tower over,
taking all for yourself,
allowing all others to burn in the hell
of inopportune dreams,
where winds never delicately twist ribbons,
and trophies never exude a polished glare
and radiance is just one of those
innocent aspirations.
with your back pin-straight,
your chin kissing the sky,
you feast and feast
on beautiful dreams
for yourself until
vacuous becomes the hearts and hope
of those
innocent minds.

Consummation

2011-09-17T06:18:00.000-07:00

"Consummation"

Consumed in this completeness
constant instant gratification
leaving no time for smile to rest
head down on your chest
rise, fall - in sync
into not two but one
steadily unsteady rhythm
blame it on the butterflies
but with their fluttering wings
and the four corners keeping us close
and the stillness of twilight
plus a melting honey to your eyes
we're buried together deep inside
a wholeness so full it might burst
no need for another search
I've found it - you've found it
we've discovered (perhaps created)
the end of hunger without extirpating
the dizzying craving
the flames rise even higher
taking us with, up up up
where we'll stay and soak
ourselves in a parade of
fulfilling craze
and, here, we'll never decay

Dissimulation (the hiding of one's true feelings)

2011-09-17T06:14:00.000-07:00

Dissimulation
(noun: the hiding of one's true feelings)

Finally disintegrating the dissimulation
letting the brick walls just crumble, fall
exposing entire self, soul to World at large
and, yes, I am ready to recharge
and embrace the meaning of rebirth
Replenish and welcome
all the sunshine - it tastes so sweet
what a nice change
For so long I lived life behind
a periscope without any hope
of touching what I had spied
beyond shielded eyes and
guarded cries derived from
hideous lies.
But now it's time to rise and say
goodbye to "why?"s at midnight.
good morning, this is me -
and you're still here to see
Now peeling off the mask
without having to ask
whether this is the road best
to travel
for you're not leading me but
walking by hand in hand
and I finally understand
what it feels like to be open and guiding
rather than shut out and hiding

Colorlessness

2011-08-26T20:35:00.000-07:00

Colorlessness

Of the lips I used to always -
used to love -
to kiss.
gone dry over time
along with blue eyes gone gray.
the seams of still beating hearts fray.
and delay progress in the beautiful category.
of feeling just so... beautiful.
where did that go?
disappeared with fear of perpetual monotony.
but shouldn't that be of high desire?
one set of eyes for you.
of twenty fingers, no more and no less.
two hands caress, and that's it.
don't let another pair take care.
anything else surfaces judging glares.
of contradicting stares.
why not share?
will not more loving be the solution
to feeling so... unbeautiful.
of clever retribution left in the dust,
for just lust survives.
so those lips I used to love to kiss,
become erubescent again and then
refill the liquid droplets so blue.
reseal the shredding seams
and hear those hearts beat.
of a symphony so sweet.
but is this what I need?
when will butterflies lift me into towering trees?
when will my chest tighten at the sight of another's smile?
of feeling so... beautiful
at the hands of another.
just one other and no other.
of feeling colorless alone.
of feeling colorless without one. or with only one.

Dénouement

2011-08-26T20:33:00.000-07:00

Dénouement

And can't you feel it?
That building up,
that lighting, that trigger.
It blows through so slightly,
so lightly,
barely there, but there all the same.
Felt with each intake of breath.
A pounding in the chest so loud,
yet heard by a single soul.
And the fluttering lifts you from the ground.

That building up,
like the roar of the city.
And when will it settle down?
The quiet of solitude.
Wind bending blades of grass,
sweeping sidewalks and brushing pink petals.

Keep building up,
for lights ablaze, outlining skyscrapers kissing the moon.
Sun ascending, painting pink over shimmery glass windows.

That building up,
what are we waiting for?
It could all crash down and
the pleasure of the lighting, the trigger,
the pounding pressure dissipates,
leaving no trace.
And at-ease isn't quite as exciting.

Threshold

2011-08-26T20:31:00.001-07:00

Threshold

If you're going to bury it
bury it deep.
no point in forming a mound
to be found at a later point:
you'll never again embrace innocence.

Heel on metal, push it down.
Deform the earth
as you distort your world.
It'll never look the same
when you pull away and refill the hole you yourself dug,
when the shovel is set aside
and the x-marks-the-spot is lost.
It will be lost.

Forget flowers and eulogies:
This stage is never pretty.
All the effort of digging and searching,
just to get to ugliness.
Because, yes, it looks the opposite
in the moment in the dark in the car in the glare
of moonlight off dashboard and no candlelight.

It takes an eternity to get here,
but quickly it fades.
Take your time.
Crossing that invisible line
isn’t as desirable as it seems.

Unattainable (and some synonyms)

2011-08-21T18:33:00.000-07:00

Unattainable

unreachable
fingertips stretching
penetrating nothing but air
not the wall all around your lair
a labyrinth uncharted
from the brokenhearted
wanting another chance at romance
at caresses and kisses in the dark
idyllically the light
elusive eyes shine and then hide
behind desire and lies
scorching like fire but the flames die
before orange overrides the blackness
unattainable you are
physically not far
but distant enough all the same
faraway in a fantastical realm
a pretty picture stuck in its frame
catching you: I've become overwhelmed
at the hands of this insurmountable task
like mountains against graying skies, aloof
and if I could only un-glue the mask
take you away from this unapproachable field
and extirpate the label of impervious
for I am so, so curious
to what I'd find if I pass this impassable gate
could it be that we create
rather than murder images no photograph portrays

unreachable
as you stand two feet beyond my doorstep
the most remote yet close position
if I could go back and make one revision
after taking in this seemingly unfeasible vision
I'd do it all to break down those walls
and subtract the 'in' and embrace tangible
reachable.

Sunday Night Freewrites

2011-08-14T19:24:00.000-07:00

“Ascension”

Toes tilting, tipping forward into emptiness.
air, so light, surrounds me, pulls me,
and I let myself go.
unraveling, melting,
undone I’ve come.
at least hold my hand,
because you’re the reason for my falling.

---

“Consume”

For such a gentle thing,
your kiss shoots sparks
at the heart, into my core,
heating my very soul.
warming every inch
of my skin.
your fingers tap and trace,
trailing flames reaching, tickling.
ignite an orange light, red rises.
higher, higher.
let the fire engulf me;
no desire to come down.
swirls of smoke roll over thighs
entangled, entwined.
barely breathing yet completely alive.
as the flames bifurcate
you pull me in for another;
cooling me for only a moment.
catch my breath and replenish
from just one kiss.
And then the explosion, eruption,
it begins again.

---

“Pursuit”

Running, my dear, into those arms of yours.

shred the miles between us
into bits and pieces.
damage the distance so that, when I stretch out,
my fingertips reach your cheek.
brush up against you, fiery chills perfectly beautiful.
closer now, I can taste it,
the feeling of your skin beneath my skin.
your eyes on me, met by that smile.
and with that you’ve got me locked
in the palm of your hand.

Running, my dear, into those arms of yours.

kicking dust up as I pass,
and the distance becomes past.
melt miles; watch them fly by.
make the space between us
disappear, my dear.
collapse yards into nothingness.
dissolve feet and eat up inches.
closer now, I can taste it,
the feeling of your lips pressed to mine.
your eyes on me, met by that smile.
and with that you’ve got me falling
forever into you.

---

“Before You”

Forgetting the feel.
ghostly now.
white. sheets left on the line to dry.
snow slipping from sky to soil.
clandestine shine.
once omnipotent, presently vaporous.
lightly ethereal, floating away. gone.
a feather on the wind.
unable to recall the weight of
the lightest touch on the strongest force.
the feel of the two juxtaposed, idyllically.

Forgetting the sound,
drowned out by the quiet.
whispers now.
brief and secret. elusive.
slipping through my fingertips
like the sands of an hourglass.
the stillness of the silence
seeps in, all around, suffocating.
a furtive word here and there,
but the symphony settled,
the beats beaten down.
calmness erupts.

Forgetting the taste,
swallowed by bitterness.
turned sordid and acrid.
saccharine soured by saline.
curdled and damaged, once delectable.

sweetness expired by time.
melody hushed by weeks and weeks.
the feeling of beautiful lost a little more each night.

The Moon's Juxtaposition

2011-08-05T19:44:00.000-07:00

A Used Juxtaposition: Blame it on the Moon

Love, it shouldn't be like this:
Caged in by four solid walls,
blinds down, lights out,
a dozen beautiful secrets hide behind the door locked, shut tight:

One, you and I entwined is paradise at midnight.
Two, my hair tumbles down and falls around us,
secluding us further yet making me feel so free;
your fingers comb through the mess
as you try to un-bury my face, my eyes.
Three, the erubescent tint to my cheeks visible in dark
as your palms cup them, pull them closer
to your heart.
Four, my lips stealing the warmth radiating from your chest,
parting slightly with every caress,
until yours meet mine, and the slow waltz begins,
growing faster faster with every breath.
Five, your breathing against my ear, my neck,
so steadily unsteady, reminding me this
is real but fake, doomed either way -
inhale, exhale.
Six, our hearts racing not against or together but toward one another
until they collide and melt skin and bones and the space
between us disappears as our heartbeats
make one symphony.
Seven, the music we play in our little world -
and only we know the dance;
so we dance that dance hand in hand
or hands against the wall.
Eight, your arms snake, undulate
and wrap around, never letting me go
(at least until morning light)
and our legs lost in tangles.
Nine, no thorns tonight
for nothing hurts yet it all hurts so badly
but still your skin
feels like lace.
Ten, the softness of your stare
finds me in the blackness;
and those eyes could pull me into you on their own.
Eleven, how greedy is so sexy -
we can't get enough of each other's touch.
Twelve, your tap-tap on my shoulder:
I know you've got to go.

Caterpillar (attempt at a villanelle)

2011-08-03T16:18:00.000-07:00

"Caterpillar"
(my feeble attempt at writing a villanelle for the first time in a long time; I didn't play around with content or language too much, as I concentrated mostly on getting the form right - so it's a weak one. therefore I will try again soon.)

Clinging to the barbed branch, wondrous wings encase
A perfectly patterned creature so unearthly
And the beauty you feigned will end with barely a trace

Etched though is the memory of fine limbs of you and I entwined like lace
A delicate flutter brushes and raises little waves in our gentle sea
Clinging to the barbed branch, wondrous wings encase

A monarch masterpiece more than commendable to grace
Strewn are the diaphanous shredded layers of your cocoon sanctuary
And the beauty you feigned will end with barely a trace

Instead watching a butterfly change back with haste
And yet this uncommon exigency is common for me
Clinging to the barbed branch, wondrous wings encase

Out from within pours you deformed in bulbous waste
Like the ruined wings, a macabre exterior matches interior idyllically
And the beauty you feigned will end with barely a trace

Deception in its finest form transforms to reveal its face
Clever creature when too free runs away with insincerity
Clinging to the barbed branch, wondrous wings encase
And the beauty you feigned will end with barely a trace

Glorification: Do We Venerate an Illusion?

2011-08-02T06:24:00.000-07:00

Glorification

And we can do it so easily
transcend limitations
ascend above the deemed impossible
and into an abyss of absolute possibility
how beautiful
where a single kiss doesn't mean hearts dying and eyes lying
where inevitable flaws do not result in loneliness
because they simply don't subsist
we won't recognize fallible
for all will be equal
comfortable
controlled in this Brave New World
happiness from stability
so to get there, you see, is easy:

sacrifice individual talents and beauty
hell, destroy individuality
equality can't be true as long as suffering survives
so forget compassion
such a fragility
and then wipe out passion
because heartache is generated by such wildfire
in this Brave New World
where everyone belongs to everyone
there can be no jealousy
not even envy exists
and without jealousy there will be less cruelty
and none at all if sameness sustains
if differences die
and if individuality ignites in flames and is swallowed in security
no need to believe or dream
because here we'll have it all
so aspirations will never again be shattered
triumph will not be necessary because tragedy will cease
heroes will be fables for injustice becomes myth
in this Brave New World we will float on
unaware of the effects:

of overwhelming love felt deep to the core
of fiery passion fueling the soul
of recognizing beauty in another's eyes if only for a night
of hearing the beating of heart's over another's being
of hearing the beating of those same hearts over another's affliction
of the impregnable inspiration that is compassion
of finding reality in flaws like too many freckles and not enough cleavage
of the excitement and adventure of impulsive volatility
of the immensity and splendor of an array of talented essences
of the perseverance that derives from failure
of the poignant power that is triumph
of the respect shown to our personal heroes
of the imagination that is born from dreams and hope
of the unity that is found in differences
of how easy it is to end unequal grounds:

just stop painting the masterpiece that is who you are
and instead blend in with the same tones and hues and brushstrokes
in this Brave New World we'll never know identity
but we will know equality
now, doesn't that sound like freedom

Flotsam

2011-08-02T06:14:00.000-07:00

Flotsam

Roaming around in reverie
an ever thickening fog
combined with encroaching darkness
stillness and silence
swirling shapes flit and flicker
in and out of view
fingers shredded to the bone
ragged and ruined
creep and crawl closer
grotesque grimaces and
flashing of macabre glares
tangled tentacles fall from above
settling like dust
clinging to and covering any surface
and that's when it begins
invisible walls closing in
as the fog thickens threateningly
into solidity
a pressure so immense all breath
is slowly sucked dry
gasping, cracking, choking
rib cages in jeopardy of being crushed
the pressure, the fog lights onto skin
and seeps into every crevice
and every crack
blinding, obliterating any chance
of going back to real time
before the wreckage of dreams grown too big
has been strewn along the shorelines of
you-can-be-anything-you-want-to-be

Erubescent

2011-07-25T15:53:00.000-07:00

Would it be silky?
the scarlet that paints my cheeks,
deriving from the beauty
that you've discovered in me, hidden so deep.
Could it be caressed?
the crimson that colors my cheeks,
or is this all a cruel jest?
half fantasy, half reality -
whatever definition
every second is erubescent
under a moon so white
submerged in a room so black.
what a contradiction -
you and I entwined
by eyes and lips, limbs and beats
of hearts red inside
and outside, lipstick stains:
a washable mark of our smiles
synchronized,
choreographed movements forgotten by morning.
with dawn comes new brushstrokes of blush -
pink, orange, baby blue -
and the red made by us fades
with the drawing of the shades
and silent faux smiles, real goodbyes.

I bet it feels smooth,
touchable from every angle.

Rain

2011-07-19T16:15:00.000-07:00

Revolve 'Round Me

: alliteration with R

It’s a reasonably unreasonable runaway.

let’s ride out into the rising of the round sun
reconnoiter a region so remote, so removed
roam into a terrain by rippling river
where we can revolve solely 'round each other
where only our laughter reverberates and ricochets
off the rocks, cascading in rolling ringlets so rapturous
realize our smiles will radiate and reveal
our reciprocated rapaciousness to
reach deep for a ravishing reconnaissance
of my skin roving over your skin
limbs recklessly but gracefully interlocking
a rapid rush so resolute
our hands slowly revolving
fingers rotating, taking turns to touch
every freckle, plotted out like a riddle
covering, wrapping up every inch
lips reminiscing and retelling the very first encounter
reencountering now, reengaging forever
and then resuscitate after a rigorous race
of hearts rashly beating
repair one another
read into my eyes and recognize the relish
I reside with to the right getaway, to run away
into a region so remote
alone with each other's responsive reaction

In retrospect I let you rob me of all reason
but forget regret
I'd rather re-taste your kiss like rain.

Fender, Gibson, Alvarez (as long as it's you)

2011-07-19T12:23:00.000-07:00

Fender, Gibson, Alvarez (as long as it's you)

I want to strum your body like a guitar string.
Anything acoustic to make you sing.

Listen as our heartstrings amplify
The harmony of our handwritten chords.
Let the rhythm ride out its life:
A passing tune.

From the surface area of sounding boards
A sound emanates, originates, radiates -
Hauntingly beautiful, your voice reverberates and vibrates,
Sending chills down the side of your body, the ribs -
My body -
Aching with delight.

A single strum sets into motion a vibration so valiant,
It travels outside you and I entwined freely, wildly.
Another dexterous pluck with the plectrum,
And soon we'll go faster, faster on the frets.
Electric.

A smooth slide for the glissando effect.
Call in the capotasto before your silvery solo.
We can do anything when you sing,
Brilliant Blues, a baile to Flamenco.
Give me that rolling deep Jazz and we'll swing.

Slow it down with acoustic anything.
Let me strum your body like a guitar string.

Dissolution

2011-07-12T11:02:00.000-07:00

dissolution (in danger of dissolving):

the undoing or breaking of a bond, tie, union, partnership, etc.

building a castle close to the edge -
where sea and sand meet,
creating a thin line between the two: Separate yet inseparable -
dexterously working your hands; fingers curling, palms gliding,
dripping drenched sand to shape towers and turrets,
smoothing out paths and fabricating doors out of seashells,
not even considering what you already know: This is in danger of dissolving.

the tides, they turn;
the waves, they whip, sending up white crescent tips,
craving to crumble, a hunger that will not be satiated
until all it eats away at is dissipated;
and just like that, it's gone: Dissolved into shapelessness.

now assay the damage -
of what you long knew was inevitable, though perhaps once venerable -
assuage, do not lament over the dwindling of an already perishing piece of work;
it was far from a masterpiece anyway: Dissolving before being discovered,
declining before ever rising, descending so low there would be no ascension.

wasting away from the water, the waves, the white crescent tips
and the wails of gulls washed at bay; the sunshine and swirling sand in windy sky,
child's screams and shimmering beams, slice through the air like a guillotine;
all the sounds pound down, pressure building, pushing all your hard work deeper into the ground - all our hard work to build and maintain a home,
safe from the word decompose.

Education is Everything

2011-07-09T06:55:00.000-07:00

Education is everything – the past, present and future. Through education students become life-long learners who are critical and active thinkers in an incessantly changing society. As part of such an environment students must be understanding individuals; education generates open-mindedness and thus transcends “tolerance” to “acceptance.”

As an aspiring teacher these views of education stem from Experimentalism and Existentialism. As an Experimentalist I recognize that the world in which we live is constantly changing, shifting and transforming. Therefore, reality is what we as individuals experience and undergo. Students will thus bridge better connections with the literature that they encounter in schools if they are introduced to its reality, to the actuality behind fiction, to the here-and-now of seemingly dated literature. In my future classroom I aim to show my students how they can connect to and look at the world through literature. Romeo & Juliet explores young love (or lust) and rebellion, standing up for what you feel strongly for and persevering. The play comments on societal expectations of marriage and parentage; students can examine how the image of traditional marriage has adjusted over time. Harry Potter studies power and greed, slavery and racism, socio-economic status; Rowling’s modern-day series surveys adolescents as they grow and adapt, as they experience loss and love.

As an Existentialist I place great significance on one’s personal interpretation of the world. Each individual is free to define their own reality, their own viewpoints and ideas of good and evil. To be sure all students have such opportunities, as a teacher I will do my best to provide students with all sides of the story, as many pieces to the puzzle, and then let students decide for themselves after having the chance to argue and discuss, debate and listen. Through the use of Socratic Seminars and class discussions, a student-centered environment can be obtained and then maintained, allowing for students to form their own opinions of the world around them.

All the while I plan to embed 21st century skills into lessons to prepare students to be active, avid learners in today's ceaselessly shifting society. To do so I will incorporate creativity, critical thinking, communication and collaboration into my lessons. Students will learn to effectively argue their points, as well as respectfully listen to and disagree with their peers. Students will discover the world in the classroom through becoming aware of and then challenging universal truths.

Through my education in English and communications, I reflect content knowledge and a variety of writing skills, including journalistic, persuasive, analytical and creative. Through my education in Women’s Studies and my experience as a resident adviser and student-teacher, I illustrate open-mindedness and the craving to challenge universal truths so that all individuals can rise above expectations and soar beyond their perceived fullest potential. My personality showcases passion for working with students toward improvement, which can be accomplished once those pupils believe in themselves. As a teacher, I desire to inspire that confidence. Both teacher and student should be in pursuit of high standards and hold themselves and each other to great expectations.

Being the teacher I will create awareness; I will believe in my students so that they believe in themselves; I will showcase enthusiasm and my passion for the English Language Arts will emanate. Overall I aspire to construct a welcoming atmosphere to support all types of learners.

Deciduous

2011-07-02T18:26:00.000-07:00

freewrite of the night, straight out of my handwritten journal entries.

Deciduous

This love was never bound to be ceaseless,
maybe careless, a little dauntless;
and inevitably such a fallible thing
will become a monumental mess.
why you continue to caress something
so jagged, so broken,
remains to be a mystery.
but what do I care? I'm done with
this, nothing but part of my own history.
washed away, faded, decayed:
This love never looked permanent,
never felt anything but from the start spent.
a constant shedding of layers of lies,
an endless shredding of beauty and
therefore a demise too steep to
ever again climb.
when the last leaf hit the ground
it didn't even make a sound,
for I had already braced myself
for my heart to change with the seasons. So it fell,
and you still won't admit
it's a relief after five years of
burning together in this hell
we called our own:
This love we were never meant to know.

Mermaid

2011-03-19T15:14:00.000-07:00

Mermaid

like ribbons of seaweed,
her hair, long and twisted, is buoyant,
moving airily and gracefully,
wrapping all around her.
the tangles hide her face, but,
through slight separation of strands,
comes a ghostly pale, both brooding and bright.

she hovers there,
under the reflection of reverend beams,
sunlight so serene,
penetrates the sea's surface and,
like ribbons of seaweed,
wraps all around her.
she is ensnared in the glare
from above, while she wafts
in the wavering water.

can anyone hear her words?
does she even have a voice?
if she does, imagine it sounds
cherubic, a calm in midst
of chaos. dangling there
in drops of hope
left to float with fish
and, like ribbons of seaweed,
a string of her words whirls
and whips in the waves,
wrapping all around her,
never reaching the rest of earth.

her vibrant green tail,
like ribbons of seaweed,
twirls and twines,
wrapping around her.
it reaches her chest and
conceals the beating or
breaking of her very core.
her heart.

and it is still a wonder
what her hair hides,
like ribbons of seaweed,
gliding and glistening -
an under-the-sea labyrinth -
a glower, a grimace?
a grin that meets her eyes?

but she's going under,
just as much as she is stuck,
floating and drowning
at the same time,
like ribbons of seaweed,
rolling and rolling until
trapped in slow motion.
floating and drowning
at the same time.

Great Expectations? Maybe next year

2011-03-18T16:11:00.000-07:00

When it once seemed possible to reach and fulfill - and then go beyond - your great expectations... when your heart would fill to the point of bursting with passion from excitement and nervousness bundled into one... when your readiness to begin living a dream wanted to break free so much so that your skin would crawl and itch... when you could feel it in your bones that this was what you were meant to do...

Currently I teach two freshmen English classes, standard college prep level. More than anything, before beginning, with big blue eyes I looked forward to changing their outlook on literature, on writing, on the words of the world. I desired to share my passion for and love and appreciation of literature with them, opening their hearts, minds and eyes to something they already for so long have pushed away. I wanted to read with them and discuss and analyze as a whole. All I hoped was to have rich conversations about stories and plots, characters and multiple viewpoints, perspectives and ambiguities, identity and individualism, change and growth, love and loss... the way all five senses are evoked while reading... the way you can connect to literature and you can learn about the world around you from literature...

Well, those bright, great expectations are crumbling before my now gray eyes. And do you know what that feels like? When a light goes out inside of you? When your heart breaks not down the middle but into a million tiny fragments, no way to amend the damage? Do you know that feeling, when your bones grind themselves into ash, disenabling your blood to smoothly flow?

After being with my afternoon freshmen class - 16 boys and 4 girls - for 90 minutes today, all of those emotions shrouded me, shoving me down into the ground, below the soil, grasping for light, suffocating.

That class today drained the bright blue, the great expectations, spilling onto the floor for all to see - and they did see.

I love this group of kids. They are energetic and always eager to participate. They love to be loud and outgoing in a balanced setting of student/teacher learning; they fit my teaching style quite well. I am full of vitality, and I want to move around and talk with the students rather than at them - I want them to talk with me and with each other. The key is that I want it to be on track, on topic. Although I love to learn about who they are outside of the classroom, it is crucial to engage in the classroom by sticking to content and academic discipline.

I'll put it in present tense for you: I stand before them, quiet, waiting for them to cease side conversations - more like whole class conversations - waiting for them to be ready to embrace the reading. Minutes tick away. The hand on the clock moves and we are losing time. Finally, they give me their attention. I tell them, "I aspire to teach English at this level because I want to share my passion for literature with you; I want you to appreciate reading and writing more than you did before. There are ways for you to connect with and analyze literature even when you do not particularly enjoy the story. You know I love literature and I hope we can at least like it together in this classroom. Clearly, that is not happening. We won't even have time to actually discuss this scene today because of your behavior. I am truly heartbroken and disappointed." And then, I can tell from their faces that they can tell from my face that I am being wholeheartedly genuine. Now, our class can begin. We only have forty five minutes left.

This is just one class. How many more will be like this? Or is it my fault? What am I doing to discourage them?

The Guillotine

2011-01-29T16:40:00.000-08:00

freewrite while at work... enjoy.

The Guillotine

Silver, sharp, somehow seductive.
dangling above my tears,
ready to strike, spear, make me disappear.
on display in disarray.
make it a clean cut; do not fray.
its shine now appears gray
as its shadow shrouds me,
pushing me deeper into earth.
soil, surround me, swallow, hide me.

The weight of your worth
suspended high directly over my neck,
the throat that once screamed your name
(in pleasure)
will scream it once more, final time
(in pain).

Are you ready
to let go, sever the ties,
separate heart from mind.
decapitate, impossible to resuscitate.
trapped. this infallible, impregnable
piece of work. you are

Silver, sharp, somehow seductive.

The Deathly Hallows shows its dark marks beautifully

2010-11-22T10:00:00.000-08:00

On Friday, November 19 (and at midnight on Thursday in most areas), Harry Potter fans, decked in maroon and gold, snaked around the halls and corners of movie theaters everywhere, counting down the final moments until they could see the "final battle" projected on the silver screen.

Harry Potter and The Deathly Hallows Part I had the biggest opening of all the films thus far, earning $125 million in just the opening weekend. David Yates has proven his worth by directing a film full of outstanding special effects, incredible acting, and both light and dark: touching us and making us cringe at all the right moments. Unfortunately, if you are not an avid reader of the books or haven't seen all the other movies up to date, this is not the movie to start with. Without prior knowledge, watching this film would be everything less than satisfying - you'd be left dazed and confused. For those of us who have read the books and watched all the previous films, Part I is just what we need.

In Part I, Harry, Hermione and Ron set out on a dangerous quest to find and destroy the remaining Horcuxes - the only way to damage Voldemort's immortality and, thus, beat him once and for all. The trio, on their own, must rely on one another more than ever, along with the curious objects Dumbledore has left behind for them in his will. Every step could be their last as their are dark forces hunting them - Harry for being "the boy who lived," and Hermione for being a mudblood. At large, Voldemort's minions have infiltrated the Ministry of Magic, working to bring down anyone who might oppose them - or anyone who simply is not pure enough. Of course, Harry must be brought back alive so that Voldemort himself can kill The Chosen One.

As Harry and pals pathetically search for the Horcruxes, Voldemort seeks a wand of impregnable power from a long lost tale - The Deathly Hallows. If the tale is true, Voldemort could become invincible with the ultimate power that he seeks. Closer and closer comes the day that Harry has been preparing for since he first entered Hogwarts: the final battle with Voldemort.

The special effects in Part I, thanks to the passing of time and advancement in technology, have greatly improved since The Sorcerer's Stone. The Deathly Hallows is a visual feast with the colored lights of spells shooting from wands, explosions and crashes, and Nagini slithering along the table before taking a big bite that'll make your skin crawl. The lighting is right on key - intense brightness and deep darkness (mostly darkness) where necessary, adding to the film's themes, and advancing the mood of a sliver of hope in a world covered and engulfed by grim shadow.

As for the acting, we've watched Radcliffe, Watson and Grint grow and improve over the years. This film marks their best acting yet as individuals and as a whole. Watson and Grint provide so much emotion - flexing like a muscle, up and down, a roller-coaster ride. The emotional turmoil is evident and clearly felt. When they argue, it feels natural and is wholly convincing. When the two lock eyes, you cannot look past their chemistry - the chemistry of two souls who've been there for one another for years, through thick and thin. Although the slight and brief nakedness may make some uncomfortable, they are, after all, seventeen-year-olds (as characters), so they think of love and sex - it's realistic.

Helena Bonham Carter and Ralph Fiennes also put on spectacular performances. Carter brings Bellatrix Lestrange's character to life in all her evilness, on-the-brink-of insanity, her dark and overbearing persona, and her wild appearance (both inside and out). Fiennes plays Voldemort idyllically - creepy and cunning, sly and mysterious, a powerful evil that cannot be stepped up to, let alone stopped.

Another great actor - or would this fall under visual effects? - is Dobbie. His speech is done so well - completely touching, it will grab your heart and hold on tight. You will not forget the speech of the free elf for some time.

Some complain the film is too dark and violent - well, one, that is how the book is. Two, if the film were light and airy, it wouldn't be convincing. How can there be all smiles and laughter, bliss and peace, in a world that is resting in the palms of a wicked power, about to close the grip forever? Evil is brewing and the darkness represents that evil. And in the light are our heroes, faltering but never fading.

Of course, the film is not perfect, especially for Harry Potter readers. The Bathilda Bagshot scene could have been done much better - while Bathilda's character was incredibly creepy and mysterious, the battle with Nagini was much too short. And it looked as if Hermione's spell actually killed the snake, which, if you know the works of literature, would damage the seventh book's plot. Also, it is a wonder why Voldemort did not show up in the movie at this scene like he does in the book. Fiennes is a brilliant actor and it would have been great to have seen more of him.

Another critique that hurt the film's believability is the lack of polyjuice potion. At the wedding, in the book, Harry is disguised by polyjuice potion. In the film, he just walks around la-dee-da in the open as himself. This is not convincing considering the state of the wizarding world and the fact that Harry is being hunted by more wizards and witches than one can count. Harry and Hermione, in the film, also walked around out in the open as themselves in Godrick's Hollow. In the book, they drank polyjuice potion before entering the potentially and probably dangerous town. Very unlikely. Hermione knew it'd be dangerous because of course Harry would want to visit the place of his birth; so of course Voldemort and the Death Eaters considered this.

But, then again, the film has even more strong points. Overall, the themes of Harry Potter relate to real life. Those who believe themselves to be superior pushing down those inferior to them. One race battling thee Other and the Other's followers. Slavery. And, on a lighter side, friendship and trust; loyalty and perseverance; family and love.

I absolutely recommend you see The Deathly Hallows Part I, but only if you've read the books or have seen the previous six films. Unless you read into it, you will be lost when it comes to the Horcruxes and many other details that are so crucial to this film.

And now, the countdown to Part II begins... which also means the countdown to the final battle, the end. The End of Harry Potter. When thought of that way, I am not sure how much I look forward to the last installment. The books have been over, and now all we have left is the last film.

Come on this musical ride with me: Hanson in Northampton

2010-11-16T19:21:00.000-08:00

We had been waiting for this... November 15 came and went too fast, but the date will stay with me forever.

Nina is smart (and classy) - she gets us a room in the hotel right across the street from the Calvin Theatre - the venue at which Hanson would perform that night and where The Walk would begin and end. (If you do not know what The Walk is, I advise you to Google it. In sum, we walk a mile barefoot to donate to and create awareness of the poverty in South Africa.) And, customer's choice, we got a room with a view - a view of the Theatre itself. We could see the main entrance of the venue, as well as the Roadie bus parked on the left side of the brick building. Perfect for people-watching. Plus, the hotel was beautiful in all its historical-ness.

After a delicious and fun lunch with Grammy and Mom, Nina and I prep for The Walk. We think we're going to be at the end of the line (again) so we work our way toward where we perceive the mile walk will start. Well, we were wrong and we ended up in the back.

This time around, the ground is cold as opposed to hot (we did The Walk this past July), and after a few minutes my feet are numb. But we don't complain and we keep our shoes off - that's the whole point, after all - unlike many others who take The Walk. I can't believe how many people keep their shoes on - mostly big, comfy, insulated boots - and pretty much just have their cameras at the ready. This is not a publicity event for the band, people. They're serious about taking action. So, if you're walking along, you should be, too! Come on, give a little!

One step at a time, Nina and I proudly walked barefoot, wanting to get a chance to talk to one of the band members (Me-Zac), but not pushing our way toward them like one of the Crazies (who are usually also one of the Rounds). So we just walk, having fun together while completely aware of what we're taking action for and raising awareness of - conquering the great divide.

And then there's Zac in front of us, surrounded by a sea of Crazies/Rounds. I want nothing more than to talk to him - I actually have questions related to South Africa and fighting poverty to lay on the table. But I'm too afraid to act like a Crazy and push my way toward him, so I just keep walking along, never even realizing we pass him by far, since Nina and I walk much faster than most present at The Walk. Probably, I'd freeze up talking to him anyway. I don't think I'm a shy person, but there's just something about him.

Somehow, Nina and I have pretty much made it to the front of the line. And we are almost back at the venue, which is also the end of the mile. So we jog up to the benches where Taylor is standing, waiting for the others so that he can talk with all of us as a whole. We get so close to the benches that only one thin line of two or three people were separating us from Taylor. Just a couple feet away. So we can see his absolutely gorgeous face up close under natural lighting. And then just to our left, standing on the bench, is Zac (!) and Isaac in between him and Taylor.

As Nina and I reach the benches/end point, Taylor announces, "Here come two barefooters!" or something along those lines, gesturing to Nina and I as the "two barefooters." Not only did this make us feel good because he directly talked about us and noticed us, but because we are actually following the idea of The Walk, keeping with what Hanson expects and hopes for. With so many people still in their shoes, never having even taken them off, Nina and I stand out with our exposed toes.

I, being the little sarcastic person I am, just have to throw in sublte comments here and there. The best comes when Zac says that The Walk felt too short. And I respond, "yeah it did!" Then he looks directly at me - and in this moment I am not sure whether or not sure he is addressing me and I freeze up - and Zac Hanson says to me, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," accompanied by the cutest facial expression. Instead of responding back with something sly, or asking him to make it up to me at the next Walk we'd be at (Saturday), I just stand there and stare. Is he really talking to me? What did he just say? Eyes locked on each other, and I couldn't get a word or even a goddamn smile out. I was speechless. What... a loser.

And then everyone disperses - well, most people. Some people stand around the main entrance three hours before the show. Why? Who knows. It's not general admission - there are seats. But this gives Nina and I a scene to watch from our hotel room window as we get ready for the show. I slip into my little black skirt and we sip on (disgusting) premade margaritas. We had re-walked half of The Walk later to go to the liquor store at which I had asked if they had Skinny Girl Margarita. The clerk and another customer laughed in my face. And had told me, paraphrasing in my own words, that they are too fat to care about drinking anything that could help them lose weight, but I "fit the bill." So, Nina and I had settled for Magartiaville premix - pretty much ash sprinkled in Crystal Lite Margarita flavor (I made that flavor up). It seems everywhere we go people think we're weird.

Jordan and Judi meet us in the hotel motel holiday inn before heading to the show. What a great idea, us four together. After spending $6.50 on one beer in a plastic cup - I foresaw this - we settle in to watch the opening act. Jarred Gorbel and Dre - and they are amazing, particularly the female Dre. Her vocals combined with her violin playing - so soothing and mellow, so emotional without being overbearing. Very calming yet beautiful. I am quite pleased with this opening act. Not energetic like Hanson, but that is what made it work - we got to experience two extremes, both undeniably talented.

One more beer and I waited. Hanson comes on the stage, and it's all perfect from there. After a song or two, although we were sitting in the fourth (technically second on that side) row and had a great view, we work our way to the front. The only thing separating us from the stage is a line of (mostly) Rounds leaning right up against the stage, just standing there, bobbing their heads a bit. That gives the four of us plenty of room to dance and let our bodies lose control.

Hanson brings so much energy and vitality to the stage that it seems impossible to not shout it out and dance, singing along. The passion and emotion they put forth combined with that energy, their incredible vocals and music... what can I say about that? Quite simply unreal yet totally real. They are the most talented band around, but also wholly genuine and they love what they do.

The set list is awesome - a little bit from each album. And for my first time I hear Zac sing Use Me Up live. Just him and the piano. I could get lost in that song forever. If just for a moment, every other sound in the theatre fades and all I hear is him. The piano and his vocals vehemently belting out those hauntingly beautiful lyrics. Chills down my spine, the good kind.

Jordan is kind of enough and offers to switch spots with me so that for most of the entire show I am standing parallel to Zac, whether he is on drums or piano or sitting on that box playing harmonica.

Enough of that. I could go on forever. The four of us have so much fun dancing and singing. What a good time we are having. And we get noticed for dancing and for having a kid with us - probably the only one in the audience. Taylor ends up coming right up to Jordan and shaking her hand - no one else.

At the end of the encore, I'm sad it's over but I am so glad to have lived through it. I could see a hundred Hanson shows and it'd never grow dull. As we lean against the stage, letting the people pile out of theatre, not wanting to get stampeded, I ask a Roadie as he is clearing up if I could have the drumstick that Zac left behind - right there on the stage, just laying there all alone. In a sarcastically rude and bitter tone, the Roadie responds, not directly to me but subtly, "Oh, a drumstick!" and puts it back in its place with the others. Jerk. But it wouldn't have been personally given to me by Zac anyways.

After the show, Nina and I walk around town and end up meeting one of the band members (not one of the main three) in a bar and we get a picture with him. He is very nice and smiles a lot when we tell him that the show was incredibly awesome.

And it was. The show was the best so far - and this is my fourth. I just have the best time with Nina. She is the perfect person to go to a concert with. Let's see what Saturday brings us... it'll be my fifth show and third Walk. Maybe I'll finally get to really share some words with Zac.

Erase this Face for I'm Failing in the Physical

2010-10-13T18:18:00.000-07:00

Two freewrites, very similar, unsure which lines I like best and how to put it all together as one.
note: I often use the same or similar line in several freewrites because, well, I love it, and I am exploring its best fit.

Erase this Face

Exposure of whole (bodily self)
Only to be dismissed.
Little lies leaving your lips
Dancing on hips into heart
Deceit drenched in charm
Just wrap me in your arms
Push pull thrust
Who will show me love?
Of myself
Hating this physical shell
Hiding any beauty I might contain
One night of shame
In search of feeling beautiful
But all is get is revolting cold

Physical Dissent

You're invited to chart what I read as
the trappings of my own body
not the in but the exterior of this
disheveled shell, physical hell
point the way, guide me to
where beauty is buried in this self
if it's there at all

explore as I expose the whole outer me
and tell me if you see
some form of pretty, pretty please
but don't tell me my blue eyes
for they are only stained sapphire by ceaseless cries
and don't say my smile's like a sunrise
because my opposite is a dark
as if the sun were to die

flailing falling failing in the physical
navigate your way to the loveliness
of my outsides, my flesh
make a map, leave a trail
(perhaps so small it's easily lost)
then it can be found again
if ever worth digging up

Women as canvases ready to be molded

2010-10-08T19:33:00.001-07:00

Women as Canvases Ready to be Molded

Dickens constantly represents women as individuals meant to be submissive and docile, inferior to men. Does he perpetuate this patriarchal stereotype because he agrees with it, or because he wants to show how crude it is, or simply to give perspective on the characters in his novels who treat women as such? In David Copperfield, the narrator’s mother is subjugated by her new husband – male dominating female. Mr. Murdstone only married Clara because she is a blank canvas that he can paint upon, turning her into his own masterpiece. He tells her that he got satisfaction out of marrying her, for she is “an inexperienced and artless person” (61); a character he could form and instill some of the “firmness” that he so highly values. Ultimately, Clara is seen as an object that can be molded by the experienced and artful hands of others. Mr. Murdstone sees himself as the embodiment of perfection, giving him the ability to perfect others. And, according to him and his “firm” mother, Clara needs to be perfected. It is clear that Clara struggles with the idea of being changed when her son is being punished. She wants to comfort him, but her husband tells her to be “firm” and her mother-in-law warns and reproaches her. She is “persuaded” by the Murdstones to see her son as “a wicked fellow” (72). This idea of women as people who can be persuaded, changed, shaped, and men as those able to transform those who are weaker is quite intriguing. Dickens explores women as blank canvases; however, although Miss Murdstone is a woman who partakes in putting new paint on Clara, Mr. Murdstone still dominates his sister.

But we cannot ignore the beauty applied to and angelic words given to little Em’ly from the narrator. Then again, she is still young and is being described through the eyes of the narrator, so far a magnanimous soul. So, women are seen in both lights. It’s just that the light more noticeably illuminates the women who are devalued and stereotyped.

Unrequited: only united by Darkness

2010-10-07T19:44:00.000-07:00

second freewrite of Thursday night. by me, from my journal.

Only embrace behind closed shades
shadows dancing colorless; black and grays
wait until even moonlight fades
no stars to light the way to my heart
yet you do not delay charting
on top of horizontal carapace,
then coming upon the core
forget about shame until sun wakes.
conquer dark
through to the final quake.
ebony enfolds us both, arms
and legs tangled in disarray,
but it all makes sense -
doesn't it? this way you don't have
to see my smile reach my eyes,
just mistake the upward curving of my lips as me
taking in deep breaths.
purely pleasure. no promises
caress considerations of love away
you're not here to stay; just
the prey remains.
you're heartless when it comes
to this game.
I long for night during day.

Spider

2010-10-07T19:38:00.001-07:00

Thursday night freewrite.

Spider

I cannot see it -
blinded by desire, or darkness, or both -
so I dive right in, unaware
of the impenetrable doorway into your lair,
into your very core.
thin lines of palest white
barely brushing my flesh, but
stuck to my skin.
thrashing, thrashing - stop.
I see you crawling close - still.
I wait for you to free me.
hurry, the strands are wrapping 'round,
vulnerable and tangled.
twining tighter, tighter until fully
enclosed in thickening rope.
Trickery of the worst kind,
premeditated trapping
of an over-trusting, needy soul.
I'm caught in your web,
funny how it feels like my bed.

Dangerous Craving

2010-10-04T19:48:00.000-07:00

freewrite. totally unedited, from my handwritten journal.

deceit drenched in charm
wrap me in your arms
pretend I'm the only one
lies wrapped in lust
push, pull, thrust
pretend I'm your girl
duplicity shrouded in sensuality
float me away from reality
pretend I'm your world

trickery interlaced with our fingers
deceit dripping in our sweat
pretense pulsing between our legs
hunger hunting one another via veins
however you finish, just use me up.
make me feel. bring me to here and now.
guilt drowned out by the sound
of little lies leaving your lips
dancing along hips into heart.

deceit dying with sunrise
lies hiding behind sunlight

who will use me up tonight?

Jaws in Dickens

2010-10-04T19:45:00.001-07:00

Jaws in Dickens

Dickens creatively uses motifs and symbols in his novel Dombey and Son. Some of the motifs are interwoven well throughout, being neither too subtle nor too obvious. One of those images that Dickens paints for us is Carker’s teeth. We read descriptions and references to his shark-like teeth during the second half of the novel. Carker’s teeth, his smile, build up his manipulative, crafty character, as well as foreshadow his final attack, his big shark bite. The illustration of shark teeth is drawn with the description, “and with his teeth persuasively arrayed, in a self-deprecating smile, she felt as if she could have struck him dead” (Dickens 554). The idea of Carker’s teeth being “persuasively arrayed” makes me imagine a cartoon shark’s smile, the teeth are displayed in just such a way, both winningly and convincingly. The teeth are both neatly and transparently arranged. Right before this piece, Carker moves in closer to Edith, pushing his teeth slowly forward, like a shark drifting in the water toward its prey with its teeth ready to attack. Another great image of Carker as a shark comes later in the novel with, “as he crept along in the shadows of the massive buildings, he set his teeth…and looked from side to side, as if in search of her” (Dickens 810). We can imagine Carker gliding through murky water with his teeth set, swaying his head from side to side, very much like a shark does as it looks for prey; in that case, Carker is searching for Edith, and his teeth are set, so they are ready for the attack.

Carker’s teeth continue to be a center piece, described as “white” (Dickens 554). Later, he is remembered as “the man with the white teeth” (Dickens 919). Another character is “amazed at the beauty of his teeth, and at his brilliant smile” (Dickens 558). Also, his mouth is refered to as “glistening” (Dickens 660). Always his teeth and smile are noticed by the characters. The idea that his teeth are so white and remarkable shows that there’s something more to his smile, something that runs deeper. This is shown best when Dickens writes, “but she saw the means of mischief vaunted in every tooth it contained” (Dickens 556). His mischief is reflected via teeth.

Venus Flytrap

2010-10-04T19:44:00.000-07:00

Freewrite. Unedited, straight from my handwritten journal.

Your kiss is ambrosial. your love is acrid.
and I see it now, your sordid smile -
when did your saccharin scent begin to smell?
when did your sugary skin curdle and sour?
your taste is no longer the sweet center of a flower,
but the thorny prick of a rotting rose,
keeling over, starving for light, liquid -
yet when I try to replenish you,
you repel me. or crush me into
you - depending on how you feel -
you are unreadable,
that's all I can decipher from your
code. a patch of clovers,
a labyrinth of fallen petals.
ugliness covered by beauty.
deceit drenched in charm.
do you realize the harm?
you've caught me - trapped - lost in
your grey garden. and it
took no more than a day.
you leave me wondering -
how can I taste your
colors again?
how can I feel the sweet
slowness of your tongue
tasting the sorbet of me?

Dickens either unsure or knows what he's doing

2010-09-22T19:10:00.000-07:00

“Florence lived alone in the great dreary house, and day succeeded day, and still she lived alone; and the blank walls looked down upon her with a vacant stare, as if they had a Gorgon-like mind to state her youth and beauty into stone” (Dickens 337).

Dickens’s novel Dombey and Son is a ruthless yet touching story between father and daughter, rather than father and son. It is easy to write about the devaluing of the female sex, male superiority, social and economic capital, and hierarchy that are thoroughly illustrated throughout the novel. So, instead, let’s look at Dickens’s use of repetition in chapter XXIII, as it stands out quite nicely. The wording, varying just a bit in each of the three times it is used, ensnares you, making it hard to forget these lines. But what is Dickens’s purpose of repetition? Why use the literary technique that is so often found in poetry?

“For Florence lived alone in the deserted house, and day succeeded day, and still she lived alone, and the cold walls looked down upon her with a vacant stare, as if they had a Gorgon-like mind to state her youth and beauty into stone” (Dickens 338).

Each time the repeated lines are used, a few words change, replaced really with synonyms. Or is there something more? It’s hard to tell. In such a long, daunting – but inspiring – novel, there seems no effective purpose of using such repetition. Simply, more reading is to be done with the reiteration. The lines, when first read on page 337, are beautifully haunting and that’s enough without the following echoes. Maybe Dickens was unsure which sentence to use, so he threw all three in the novel.

“Thus Florence lived alone in the deserted house, and day succeeded day, and still she lived alone, and the monotonous walls looked down upon her with a stare, as if they had a Gorgon-like intent to state her youth and beauty into stone” (Dickens 342).

Teaching to the Skills Rather than to the Test

2010-09-21T19:48:00.000-07:00

Imagine being a sophomore student of a high school English course. You are thoroughly engaged in the class, which is assessed through individual and group projects, interactive class discussions, and papers that deviate from the five-tier standard essay. Your favorite project was acting out a scene from Hamlet in a group; an A was given to the group as a grade. Through a project like this, you were able to better relate to the characters of Shakespeare’s play, grasp the writing style and language of the author, and understand the underscored themes. Unfortunately, such dynamic projects do not directly teach to high-stakes standardized tests. As a result of enjoying class, your testing scores or ability could suffer, and thus your diploma is in jeopardy. Furthermore, your passionate teacher could, ultimately, face retention. On top of that, if a majority of students score low on the standardized test, but perform well in class and even enjoy learning, the school itself fails to meet its AYP. The school’s reputation is damaged, and funding is at risk. Doesn’t this seem like too much pressure to apply as a way of assessment? Do standardized tests provide an accurate and valid account of a student’s intelligence, a teacher’s abilities, and a school’s overall quality? More importantly, standardized testing is a reality in the realm of education, whether we like it or not. We can challenge tests like MCAS and SATs until our energy is extirpated. Or we can simply prove that teaching good reading and writing skills can prepare students for standardized tests without necessarily teaching to the test.

To understand the soundness of standardized testing, the process itself must be understood. Accountability systems, like the MCAS of Massachusetts, have been around for many years, and vary between states and even districts. But a dramatic movement toward relying on such systems was sparked by the No Child Left Behind Act of 2001 (NCLB). NCLB requires every state “to develop a set of learning standards and a statewide test to assess whether or not students meet the standards” (Marchant 3). Also, this system obliges each school to show adequate yearly process (AYP) in order to demonstrate improvements in scores each academic year. One could also ask if accountability systems are accurate assessments of a state’s standards.

Standardized tests do not show validity due to many reasons, one being ambiguous assumptions. States’ standardized achievement tests have become “universal indicator[s] of success in education…the defining measure for winners and losers for individual students, for schools and districts, and even for states” (Marchant 2). Therefore, these tests assume that they provide a legitimate assessment worthy of such crucial evaluations. One, this testing deems itself the universal tool for accountability. Two, it presumes that the tests themselves reflect important standards being taught in schools. Three, it assumes students who do not meet qualifying scores are inadequate. Thus, it believes teachers of these students are inadequate in their teaching abilities, and cannot generate valid judgments of their own students (Marchant 3).

Another reason accountability tests do not display validness is the complete lack of variety, which leads to unfairness. The variety of high-stakes tests lack variety because they are based on one type of learning style, mostly concrete knowledge (Marchant 3). Therefore, standardized tests are unfair in terms of multiple learning styles. Does a standardized test accommodate visual learners? Auditory learners? How about Kinesthetic learners? Also, variety is lacking as these tests typically use one type of format: paper and pencil (Marchant 3). This specific format does not accommodate students who are great at demonstrating knowledge orally, or through technology. This links to the fact that accountability systems test students under one condition: timed (Marchant 3). Some students may need more time to illustrate their abilities; some students prefer to develop an essay over a couple days, which is not permitted under such testing conditions.

This unfairness closely relates to the overall atmosphere of pressure during high-stakes test preparation and testing. When considering the amount of pressure on teachers, students, and schools alike, it is difficult to define accountability systems as valid. Decisions about promotion and retention are attached to student success or failure (Higgins 310), applying immense pressure on teachers. Students do not receive a diploma in some states if they do not pass the standardized test (Higgins 310), creating more friction and pressure. One survey done in North Carolina found that teachers perceived their students as having more anxiety and less confidence due to testing (Osburn 77), indicating that the stress may be too high for the students to showcase their greatest academic abilities via high-stakes testing. Possible predictors of academic achievement on standardized tests include overall school climate, teacher anxiety, and student pressure (Osburn 76). With such severe consequences of test scores, how could one be anything less but overstressed?

Moreover, the validity of standardized testing becomes jeopardized with aggregation, disaggregation, and selection. In a way, aggregation changes the meaning of test scores. Disaggregation is when averaged scores are reported independently for different demographic groups, as mandated by NCLB. The demographic groups include seven subgroups: students who are African American, Asian/Pacific Islander, Hispanic, White, students with disabilities, limited English language proficiency, and free or reduced lunch. Subgroups are used to establish whether or not academic achievement has increased in each group; but each subgroup must also meet AYP (Marchant 5). However, scores may increase each year not because of increased learning, but because of increased familiarity with the tests, as well as new groups of students each year (Marchant 5). While much can be gained by understanding the determinants of group differences (Bourneman 285), disaggregation based on these subgroups neglect students with multiple disadvantages. So if a student is of minority status, he is thought to likely score low on a standardized test. If that same child is eligible for free lunch, he is expected to score even lower. If that child also has poor English language skills, he is predetermined to then score even lower (Marchant 5). But there does not exist a subgroup for students with multiple disadvantages, making selection and disaggregation lose firm soundness.

Also, high-stakes testing is invalid because it is undemocratic (Ricci 341). Testing shifts the power from a local to a central level. A hierarchical structure with a central authority directs what will be taught and learned in the classroom (Ricci 342), usually considering teaching to the test as most crucial. External control claims these tests are valid, but they are not the ones preparing to take the tests, teaching to the tests, and taking the tests. Standardized testing “is not an investment in equity” (Ricci 345); therefore, it is null and void.

More troubling is the idea that high-stakes testing is invalid because it obliterates student-centered learning, and narrows the curriculum. The student-centered approach has been displaced with focus on test preparation and accountability (Higgins 310). “High-quality, evidenced-based instruction need not be sacrificed in preparing students to succeed” on standardized assessments (Higgins 310); yet that often seems the case. So just how much are the students actually learning when teachers are constrained to teach to the test? Are students engaging in “meaningful learning experiences” (Higgins 310) through test-like activities? Ultimately, opportunities for combining engaging and educational lesson plans are jeopardized by test preparation (Higgins 310). This change from teaching for learning to teaching for the test results in a narrowing of the curriculum (Higgins 310). With a narrower curriculum, students are actually learning far less, and teachers are deskilled (Ricci 343). Standardized tests and their consequences for students, schools, and teachers, though, do not take this concept into account.

With so many reasons indicating standardized tests lack validity, it is a wonder why they exist. It is a wonder that new, effective forms of assessment have not been given trial runs. Students already receive grades each semester or quarter, and yet those hard-worked-for grades are not acceptable assessments in the eyes of NCLB. With unsound and unfair high-stakes testing, and all the outcomes of students’ scores, “can best practices and the demands of mandated testing truly coexist” (Higgins 310)?

Back to reality – we live, learn, and teach in world of such tests. Can we maintain quality education, specifically in terms of language arts, while preparing students for the tests they are bound to take? “High-quality, evidenced-based instruction need not be sacrificed in preparing students to succeed” on standardized writing assessments (Higgins 310); yet these sacrifices occur too often. If teachers are encouraged to instruct with best practices “rather than explicit teaching to the test” (Higgins 310), then students may be able to perform well on standardized writing tests. This instruction should be comprised of writing in a variety of genres, giving students choices of topics to write about that relate to their interests, providing time in and out of class for writing and revising, incorporating writing conventions (Higgins 310), and making use of peer evaluation. Some studies show that students who have effective writing instruction score higher on formalized writing tests than those who receive instruction based solely on skills assessed on the test (Higgins 310). By focusing on certain approaches, effective writing instruction may be implemented: give attention to the social nature of language, recognize the importance of a student-centered pedagogy, and use developmentally appropriate practices (Higgins 311).

An example of instruction that combines all three focuses is the writing workshop, followed by the writing process. First, students select topics to write about, then they engage in prewriting activities. Finally, they begin developing their drafts. Prewriting activities may be topic discussion, setting goals, creating outlines, or mini-lessons. Before a writing workshop begins, the teacher delivers a mini-lesson to center on one specific technique, such as voice (the writer’s tone and style as fit for an assignment) or point of view (first person, third person, omniscient). For most of the workshop, students should write and engage in both teacher and peer conferences. At the end of the workshop, the whole class shares individual writing (Higgins 311). Students can read passages directly from their work, or they can offer a summary of what their work is about and how they went about their writing process.

With such instruction, students are not denied the experience that comes with reading and writing; they can still become caught up in a book, engage in the characters, explore an array of perspectives, challenge universal truths, and develop positions (which could turn into a thesis) that they are passionate about. Teachers do not have to stick to the five-tier essay, although it should be discussed for test purposes; they can have students write memoirs, reviews, short-stories, persuasive essays, and blog posts. There is a wide range of writing styles and techniques, which should not be ignored. A student’s strength and confidence in writing is increased with experience; experience is limited if a student only learns to write formal essays. Writing in a variety of genres does not jeopardized a student from learning conventions (mechanical correctness); students will learn to notice and correct conventional errors more easily if they have experience with a vast assortment of writing styles. But, as the article leaves out, caution must be used here: be sure to let students know that, sadly, not all forms of writing are accepted on standardized assessments.

Another skill of good reading and writing, which could, ultimately, prepare a student for a standardized test, is written retelling. Written retelling supports students’ “natural writing development” (Boydston 108). Retelling is a solid assessment of developmental trends in student comprehension of what is being read. Although a standardized test probably will not ask the student to retell or paraphrase, comprehension of passages and excerpts – often seen on such tests – is crucial. These tests will ask for the best possible answer that relates to a given passage. By practicing retelling, students are able to increase their comprehension skills. Plus, you can do engaging retelling activities, rather than dull test-like activities. Students can retell a scene from Things Fall Apart through a poem or a modern adaptation in skit form; they can retell through art, through technology.

One issue with this article is that, as it points out, it is rare to come across a study that researches this idea. But the studies that have been done show positive results. Retelling outcomes are increased ability in comprehension, language development, and “the inclusion of structural elements in children’s retold story” (Boydston 110). Also, it would have been preferable to find a study that focused on high-school aged students (this article centers around second graders).

On a positive note, effective writing instruction turns students into lifelong learners, providing them with beneficial abilities that will be used throughout time. Expository writing is eternal communication. It seems when students learn just for the test, the information is plainly memorized and then forgotten, never grasped.

Unfortunately, this sounds too good to be true. Simply teaching good reading and writing skills may be easier said than done, and having those skills may not be enough for students to pass high-stakes tests. Yes, writing can be taught and taught through lesson plans and units; but writing is a process that includes prewriting, planning, drafting, writing, and revising. And tests allow only enough time to develop a first draft without “significant planning or revision” (Fowles 139). Therefore, open-response questions on a high-stakes test may not show all the facets of good writing and reading skills. There need to be more examples and studies showing how to teach those skills and how they then relate to the tests.

Some researchers suggest that student performance benefits from disclosure of essay topics prior to examination. This way, students can focus on test-taking substance rather than mechanics (Fowles 141). Then again, students may not be interested by given topics on these tests; so how far can the learning itself really go? Fowles suggests that more preplanning for the test may result in a more legitimate assessment of a student’s writing skills (141); but more of this preplanning just sounds like more test-prep or “teaching to the test” activities.

So just how much are the students actually learning when teachers are constrained to teach to the test? Are students engaging in “meaningful learning experiences” (Higgins 310) through test-like activities? Ultimately, opportunities for combining engaging and educational lesson plans are jeopardized by test preparation (Higgins 310). This change from teaching for learning to teaching for the test results is a narrowing of the curriculum (Higgins 310). With a narrower curriculum, students are actually learning far less, and teachers are deskilled (Ricci 343). Standardized tests and their consequences for students, schools, and teachers, though, do not take this concept into account. So it’s time to take a stand without too much resistance. Balance best practices and testing requirements. Instruct writing and reading freely, encourage creativity, while simultaneously teaching mechanical conventions and the fundamental rules of the English language. “Fluent, independent writers” (Higgins 315) are constructed when effective practices are taught; not when solely test-preparation is executed.

Reading leads to growth

2010-09-19T15:48:00.000-07:00

Though a bright-eyed elementary student, I often kept to myself – I was always in my own little world. Whether I was running through the forest with the Wild Things, splashing in puddles with Kipper, or marching up a mountain with thirteen dwarves, I was learning. I may not have been paying attention in math class – especially on Wednesday, because Wednesday is Spaghetti Day – but I was continuously being educated; thus I was continually growing.

Through my passion for reading, I was learning by being exposed to a vast vocabulary, establishing fluency, gaining cognitive skills, and putting together word with image in my mind and holding it there to reflect on later. More importantly, although I didn’t realize it until middle school, I was discovering other cultures and types of identities. I was becoming aware of the world around me, the languages and landscapes, how people lived and currently live, and the ways individuals often perceive others. I remember first reading Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone in sixth grade and having a moment: these kids are in London, a place entirely different from Massachusetts, yet I have some things in common with them. My learning of other cultures didn’t stop there and hasn’t stopped since. In terms of race, The Bluest Eye taught me a lot.

Books like Morrison’s have influenced an important part of my nature of learning, and pedagogy: becoming aware of and then accommodating diversity. It is challenging in learning to understand the backgrounds and outlooks and lifestyles of other cultures, but it is absolutely important. This is just as true in teaching: how can a teacher meet the needs of all types of students, who come from different classes, races, sexes, cultures, religions? Each student has his or her own story. How do you learn that story and then incorporate it into your instruction so that you are accommodating that individual as best as possible?

Reading books that challenge universal truths and point out inequities has had further impact on my learning and ideas of teaching. I am someone who, in my personal life, promotes social justice. For example, I was an active member of the Feminist Majority Leadership Alliance as an undergrad. In a huge way, I learned to be an activist and became vehement about promoting social justice through the books I have read. Even recently, I read Kathryn Stockett’s debut novel The Help, which I was wholly inspired by; her novel has deepened my learning of inequalities, social classes, and races. When I become a teacher, I aim to take my beliefs and my activism to promote social justice in the classroom. I want to work with my students so that they, too, are unafraid to speak up for their beliefs, speak out toward what they feel is unjust in society.

A significant purpose of education is to make students both critical and accepting, open-minded activists, dedicated to life-long learning. Promoting social justice and accommodating diversity can do all that and more. If education focuses on these themes, students will come together because of their differences rather than destroy each other for them. Education has the power to extirpate discrimination and inequalities, to embrace diversity and individuality. And reading, a form of education, certainly brings these ideas to the forefront. Books confront society, unveil the unknown, and persuade appreciation of all the elements of the world.

Over time, I have read more and more books of a range of genres. Such books have shown me an uncountable number of ideas, situations, types of people and places, themes and perceptions. I believe I have learned a lot through reading, which many of my thoughts of teaching are derived from.

Women as the lesser sex or the most beautiful beings in Twist?

2010-09-19T15:46:00.000-07:00

This is the start of an idea for a ten-page paper.

Although the main character of Dickens’s Oliver Twist is male, women play significant roles throughout the novel. At times, Dickens’s portrays the women, like Nancy, with an eloquent language that expresses admiration. Other times, the language is harsh and belittling, perpetuating long-standing stereotypes of women. In Oliver Twist, are the ways Dickens writes about women employed to devalue the sex or, conversely, to mold perceptions of the males who interact with them? Perhaps the representation of women just simply reflects the time period in which Oliver Twist was written.

In one scene, the thieving Jew and Sikes discuss Nancy’s – and women’s, in general – obstinacy. Sikes expresses that he thought he had tamed her so that the stubbornness would subside, but he hadn’t succeeded, and “she’s as bad as ever” (Dickens 344). By claiming that women need taming, that they are supposed to be submissive, the characters are further seen as lowly and ignorant.

This idea is also seen through Mr. Bumble, who loses respect and liking gradually throughout the novel; once he demeans women by entailing men as the superior sex, all respect is extirpated. When arguing with his wife, he proudly states that “the prerogative of a man is to command” and the perogative of a woman is “to obey” (Dickens 273).

On the other hand, women are spoken of, via narrator, so beautifully, with lines such as, “She was not past seventeen. Cast in so slight ad exquisite a mold; so mild and gentle; so pure and beautiful; that earth seemed not her element, not its rough creatures her fit companions” (Dickens 216), and “such a gush of affection and artless loveliness, that blessed spirits might have smiled to look upon her” (Dickens 217). Lines like these, not said by contemptible characters, demonstrate the splendor and value one relates to a woman.

Both perceptions of women are implemented throughout the novel. The question is: which prevails?

Considering Dickens's other works, like "Dombey and Son" (in which females are constantly belittled but then become the stars of the show), I'd conclude that Dickens respects, appreciates, and even cherishes women. He uses the harsh language to develop other characters, like the theives of Oliver Twist.

Gaga for VMAs 2010

2010-09-12T20:52:00.000-07:00

Some say you never know what to expect at the yearly VMAs; however, you always know. There will be some great performances, some mediocre ones. There will be sexy outfits, as well as utterly unflattering ones. Someone will get upset and cry, someone will smile and cry. At least one person will be shitfaced, and the the viewer's choice award will go to not the most deserved artist but the one who brings about the highest level of sex appeal - no matter how young.

But, this year, the 2010 VMAs - live from LA - went above and beyond by inviting the first female in sixteen years to host. Why Chelsea Handler was chosen, I'd never know. And I love that bitch. I watch her show Monday through Thursday, and what a mess it is, every time. Chelsea is without a doubt hilarious in all her directness - but she is indubitably unorganized. (Perhaps that's why we admire her.) Who would think she could handle such a major role as host of the VMAs?

Well, Chelsea rocked as host - all we could ask is that she was given more time to indulge in her crude, vulgar jokes. She entered the stage to "Bad Romance," and got in a jacuzzi with the cast of "The Jersey Shore." And, of course, she got wet in other ways - mentioning her long-standing crush on rapper T.I.

To balance out the many commercials, the VMAs counted down to upcoming awards and performances. For example, a box and a deep voice told us that Beiber would be performing in four minutes. Kanye would expose his new song in thirty one minutes.

The VMAs moved smoothly into the first performance of the night - Eminem, always a powerful entertainer. But what really got viewers and fans tweeting and talking was the surprise appearance of Rihanna. Although her outfit did not do her beautiful figure justice, her vocals made her shine.

Other performances of the night were just as enticing. If you've never heard of Florence + The Machine, download now. That woman can sing. Fans of Adele and Charlotte Sometimes and Sarah Bareilles will fall in love with Florence.

The collaboration of B.O.B., Bruno Mars, Hayley Williams and Paramore was creative and appealing. Bruno's smooth, melodic vocals were an idyllic match for his perfect piano playing. B.O.B.'s high energy level and Hayley's uniquely intriguing voice were a hit. Finally, the two artists performed their number one song together. Paramore gave a taste of "The Only Exception," heartbreaking and touching simultaneously. But she would have rocked harder if Paramore played "Ignorance" or "Decode."

While Drake's segment came off strong, it was Mary J. Blige who dominated the stage with her grace and unbelievably powerful vocals.

Linkin Park's "Catalyst," performed outdoors, was strikingly moving with the tricky lighting and vividly dark colors of the sky as the backdrop. And, of course, it's forever a treat to hear Chester's sexy voice.

Taylor Swift's performance, while a bit pitchy, would have been enamoring and quite beautiful in all its melancholy if it weren't for the ever-present "big fat black elephant in the room," as Chelsea put it. Why couldn't everyone just let go of Kanye's shockingly rude act of last year's VMAs? We cringed when Kanye interrupted her win last year - so why must that still prevail? There was no need to keep bringing up the past. And by incorporating that incident into Taylor's performance, something was lost. Something big. Her new album "Speak Now" has a lot of potential, and we could even forgive her for being barefoot. But the TV replaying the scene of last year? Really, unnecessary.

Less talented was Justin Beiber's performance. Yes, it looked like a wondrous display of lip-sync. And when he tried to play the drums at the end and he lost one stick within the first five seconds, you couldn't help but laugh at him. Then you felt bad because he's so young and adorable. But then, when he wins the Best New Artist award and is totally confused and unsure where to go, skittering about trying to make his was to the stage, you laugh again. Fortunately, he doesn't dance half bad - after all, Usher has been his mentor.

Usher, we were so excited to see him back on stage. Yeah, he didn't sing much. He just danced. Although his dancing is always strong and sensual, it's not the same as before. He has to work a little harder to climb back to the high rung he once perched upon.

Kanye closed the awards show with his new song. But it was too difficult to focus on the song with that boiled-lobster-looking suit. Seriously? What were you thinking when you picked out that obnoxiously red suit? You looked like the idiot that you are. I am not sure if your song is good, but it started out toasting assholes and jerk-offs and fuck-ups. So, your song was, once again, about yourself.

I must say I am proud of my lover Lady Gaga. I fell in love with her a while back; everyone remembers me playing "Bad Romance" at least three times per party last year - and I both threw and attended a lot of parties. And look where that song has got her? She earned the most competent, highest award of the show - Best Video of the Year. Well deserved you crazy lady with a giant feather atop your scalp. Yeah, her outfits are hard to take seriously - but it's part of the reason why we can't get enough of her. And I for one am so glad she won that last award - among several others - because she gave us a glimpse of her upcoming album, "Born This Way." She had promised to reveal the title if she won Best Vid, so she stuck to her word. She even sang to us, a little from a new song to soon be released. And, damn girl, it's easy to forget how awesomely and beautifully you sing, what with all your out-of-this world get-ups, and disturbingly strange music videos.

I am surprised that "Airplanes" didn't actually win an award, though it was nominated for several. And I am not surprised that "Kings and Queens" by 30 Seconds to Mars won Best Rock Video.

Other highlights, Penn Badgley - oh, yes. Always a pleasure to see his face on the television screen. Miss Perry looked very hot. Ellen's appearance - enough said. Humorous Chelsea poking fun at musical artists, and telling the audience not to cheer for the cast of "The Jersey Shore" because they are the reason music videos are no longer actually played on MTV.

Overall, Lady Gaga and Eminem stole the show, nominated and winning more awards than everyone else combined. Kind of a shame that Eminem had to head out directly after his opening act to put on a concert in New York.

Until next year, let's try to get Beiber's songs out of our heads.

Monotone: A Fresco for Fools

2010-09-11T22:08:00.000-07:00

My freewriting at 1 a.m.

Monotone: A Fresco for Fools

Where did they go?
the colors that once lit up
your voice. our dialogue.
Shrouded in a thick fog,
drenched in blacks and grays.
you now speak to me through
a hideous haze. a delivery
of discord. dissonance is like disease.
When did they fade?
the yellows, purples, and that special jade
that formerly brightened our shared tones.
Veiled in shades of gray,
obfuscated by cacophonous cries -
more like white whispers, barely seen,
barely heard. words of harsh
inflection, muddled by a
thriving disconnection. your
new intonation makes me itch.
When did you put on these new coats?
When did you strip away the vivid tints?
I cringe at this dull chroma,
remembering its erstwhile blue, bold
brilliance. your incandescent
tongue has tarnished into
just another voice in the chorus, a
fresco for fools.

Experimental Enchantment

2010-09-11T16:28:00.000-07:00

All freewrites written by me in my journal, then copied exactly to my blog.
This freewrite done while on pain killers, post wisdom teeth extraction.

Experimental Enchantment

Envelop this enamored me in
everything I envy.
You are an engine of elegance
entering my very existence;
eyes down, end up,
engulfed in my own embers.
Elsewhere I should be, empty,
but you fill me up entirely.
Don't call this eristical:
envision engaging eagerly in
erotic - lascivious and excessive -
remorse.
So esoteric we're now earthbound:
you the endless expanse of sea,
erratic yet enticing;
and me the exacting land,
exigent for eternal cultivation
and prone to exposing eruptions.
Excrete until you ensconce my
embarrassment. You have me
enslaved, but I don't intend
to elude you. I'll save evading
for another evening. Until then
I'll stay entangled in your eyes.
Emerging is effete.

Fall classes begin at Boston College... as a grad student

2010-09-08T15:21:00.000-07:00

I took a big step, more like a leap (and I have short legs), when I decided to apply for Boston College. I had the grades, I had the resume', and I had the confidence I'd get accepted (yes, I did get accepted); however, I did not have the money (I am literally too poor to afford BC and the city lifestyle) Or the friends.

The money, well, I hope that will work itself out one day. Maybe I'll strip at night. Maybe not.

The friends, on the other hand, are already working out. So well.

I met a great group of people - I like to call them the Future Teachers of America - in a grad-level education course I took over the summer. We're all close to the same age, we have similar aims and goals, our hearts and minds are on the right track. Yes, we want to take on one of the hardest - and most underpaid - positions in the universe. Yes, we want to inspire lives, challenge and be challenged, and work with others so they can believe in themselves and their passions. But, we also want to enjoy our young lives - go out, have fun, keep the stress and overworked feelings away. What a life saver.

Where would we be if we didn't take time out from our academic and professional worlds for ourselves? For our social and personal worlds? Or, as we've learned, multiple types of literacies exist, and it is crucial to practice, experience, and embrace all kinds. School literacy is not the king. We can live. Graduate students, future and current teachers, we have lives outside the classroom. And having those moments, cherishing them, that's what keeps us sane, keeps us persevering, and keeps us strong.

Without having met others with thoughts like mine, I'd already be pulling my hair out, OCD-ed to the max, anxiety building until it explodes.

So, I have to read one book - and I'm not talk about novels - of over 300 pages per week for one class. That's okay, because I'll take a break and enjoy living in this beautiful city. Boston is a world of its own. And it has brought us all together.

No worries, I get to ride my bike past the reservoir every day on the way to class, and see the Prudential building towering above all else in the near distance. Then I arrive at campus, beautiful brick structures, tree-lined sidewalks, sleek black lamp posts. What a stunning campus. So much better than UMass Dartmouth.

I'm actually proud to be walking around BC. Proud to be part of such a community.

Maybe the train likes to honk late at night and early in the morning. So the people who live parallel to me smoke so much at night that I swear I get high. Yeah, I spend a lot of money on drinks (and get many drinks free, too) and clothes, that I certainly should be saving.

But all that is so trivial to everything else. To being a graduate student - pursuing my Master's of Education - at Boston College, and having made friends who make me laugh and smile, who I can connect and share with and relate to. Who I can be myself around and just relax, forget about all the bills and loans and, oh, wait, don't I have a 15-page critical essay to write? Yes, all that. Nothing can compare to this new life I am building. I have fallen in love. Too soon? Perhaps.

It may only be the beginning of September, but I am already glad - so thankful - to have chosen Boston - Cleveland Circle; and, more specifically, Boston College.

I took the road less traveled by. I wonder where it'll take me.

Freewrites: Winter '08-Spring '10

2010-09-08T14:35:00.000-07:00

All freewrites written by me.

“The Ocean’s Welcome – The Earth’s Goodbye”

We walk for miles under the sunrise
staring straight until our eyes
go blind from the beautiful lines
of shimmering gold. and only we know
what lies ahead, what stands at the edge
of the place where we tread. it's a ledge.
yes, a ledge and our feet are like
broken brakes, no use in trying to stop.
just breathe in and let the drop
take our stomachs on this downward
plummet. watch the summit melt
into the sky, the clouds surrounding
its peak, so high. below, the waves
crash angrily against the jagged rocks.
they bellow ‘hello’ with a sinister smirk,
excited to taste something besides
the dirt of the abyss. open your eyes,
we cannot miss. soon, our mortal souls
will become immersed in the deep blue.
submerged. the chance to welcome new.

---

“Sense of Direction”

you’re vacuous when it comes to love –
as empty as a starless sky.
even while you haphazardly try
to navigate the veins of my heart,
your focus lies elsewhere –
your sense of direction is unfair
compared to how well I read the map
to your once-hidden treasure chest.
I found it – not even at my best – but you
cannot locate the road to love,
though I have traced the lines clearly.
all you had to do was follow.

a heart can only beat so long. without love.

---

“Disease”

The blinds are shut
Locked is the door
The white cap is undone
Down is the sun
to walk away
Little oval touches my tongue
Then another. Another. One more
Is my heart still beating?
It is slow, my breathing
Darkness folds around me
becoming a blanket of black ice
Cold spreads through my bones, my veins
freezing the last of my beauty

---

“Forced together. Knees in the Dirt”

Tell me, what does someone
with more broken parts than whole
do?
I should have never let you leave.
I should have fought for what I love.
But I did fight. Fight and fight.
I fought until I fell to my knees. Tell me,
please?
I loved you through the moment
that I hit the ground. I looked up at you
and loved every inch, even as you looked at me
with disgrace, shame, disgust, and mistrust.
See,
everything’s not pretty.
I’m not pretty and your heart
is an ugly, black piece of rotting meat.
It clouds your vision. How could I love that?
Me?
I’ll forever wonder how I waited so long,
fought so hard, struggled so much
to keep our ship afloat,
to sustain such a pathetic prose of two puzzle pieces that don’t
fit.
So, from my knees, chin tilted toward the sun,
I’ve asked you not to leave, but you left, you won.
And I’m so thankful to see your back;
there’s nowhere for us to go from
here.

---

“Confusion”
how is it that you can go on as if we never existed. . .
i guess i should ask
how I can go on acting as if we had ever been in love . . .

---

"Invisible Glue"

after so many breaks,
a heart can never be fully mended.
it's not like anyone has invented such a glue.
and the people who break your heart
sure as hell aren't going to become that adhesive.

---

"Aspen" (featured in Temper '09-'10)

Your cold, clammy hands collide with my skin
Pushing deep enough to hit bone
And on the opposite end, the cool, hard wall
Hits and my bones feel it first, everything within
You’re standing there, but I’m alone
Hand still raised like a snake ready to attack again
Each fingernail a fang, dripping with distaste
My heart feels the bite last because its weak
And it refuses to see behind your serpent smirk
You smell my fault, that I’ll never let you go
So you’ll keep feeding on my fragile soul

---

"Empty Sky"

you stole the stars from my sky,
the breeze from the air.
you draped the sun with black dye,
and stole the moon to your lair.
you sliced into my chest,
and ripped out my crying heart.

you've left me with such a silent world,
an empty sea of black above me.
a deep hole of black within me.

--

"How"

How do you pick up the pieces
if you don’t know how things fell apart in the first place?
How do you search for hope
if you no longer believe?
How do you move forward
if all you want to do is go back?

---

"M(f)aking Love"

How can he do that---
Look into her eyes and tell her,
“I love you” and kiss her passionately?
How can he fake it---
That intense chemistry that is felt
By every passerby?
How can he move as so---
Making love without loving her?

How can she do that---
Smile, oblivious to the lies
Hiding behind his warm pretense?
How can she believe it---
When he tells her she’s his only love
And holds her so close, they melt into one?
How can she move as so---
Making love while loving the wrong soul?

---

"How Did I Ever Love This?"

Time to tell the truth. I couldn’t give a shit
if I hurt you. You deserve to hear it.
You’re an unlovable soul, you know,
Unable to hold onto hope. Unable to
Welcome the good without spoiling it.
Your perfect smile is hideous; I cringe
Simply thinking of the evil it emanates.
Your heart is as black as the midnight sky,
Not a single star shines inside. Zero light.
It’s as solid as rock, but as weak as a twig.
Your exterior may be a masterpiece,
But your interior is a disaster, formidably sick.
“Your outlooks are warped.” Remember when
You said that to me? Well now,
I’m saying it to you. Get your priorities
Straight, or you’re going nowhere fast.
Not that you were going anywhere
To begin with. You’re just a waste,
A waste of much needed space.
This place is far too beautiful
for someone as ugly as you.

---

"Where Are We on This Ropes Course?"

Back and forth, you’re tugging my damaged body
By this thick rope. I cannot break free
From what you do to me.
Pull me close,
Please.
Right when I’m at your side, you toss me back
Towards the end of the rope.
I hope for you not to
Let go.
And you never do, no, you don’t. But maybe
It’d be best to cut me loose. Let me be
On my own, without the indecisive,
Inept, inaccurate heartbeats.
But no, pull me in
Close to your
Chest,
So I can feel those heartbeats as they subside,
Then maybe I’ll realize it’s time to go.
These rope burns are smoldering,
A crimson tide.
For what
It’s worth, it wasn’t worth the rough ride.

---

"Strike a Match, Save a Heart"

Baby, let's take these miles between us
And set a match to them.
It'd be the fastest way to your arms
And I'm tired of wasting time.
By sundown, I want to see these black roads
Engulfed in orange flames.
What a pretty sight, vehement enough
To give us the strength to take these forlorn feelings
And obliterate the root of their creation.
No need to ruminate.
Let’s make this laconic.
Baby, I need you here with me.

---

"Your Canvas"

Beautiful blues illuminate the room,
And they shine once you walk in,
Eminating from those sapphire eyes,
And that infectious smile.

Color the graying world with your presence.
Plaster the darkened sky with your energy.
Paint the white clouds with your optimism.
We all could use a little more you.

Vivid pinks sink and seep into the deep of the soil,
And they brighten when you traverse over the earth,
Thriving from the very existence of you,
And that infectious laugh.

We all could use a little more paint off your canvas.

---

"Of Lust and Longing"

Calling for you, can’t you hear me?
I’m on my knees, begging, pleading, please.
A fire thrives inside, pulsing as it rises.
I can feel you, but where are you?
Longing for your touch, something I’ve yet to feel,
But I know of your gentle fingers, tracing the bones
Of my hips, holding my cheekbones, lingering at my
Lips. Yes, I can feel the heat before your kiss,
Emanating from your eyes as you gaze into mine,
And the skin of my thighs grazes yours.
Our lips lock into a slow dance,
With the music lightly playing in my ears,
And your hands exploring a map of who I am.
Our worlds align as our bodies melt into one.
Can you feel it, too?

---

"The Falling of the Bombs"

How many times can the heart die
in one night?
With the falling of the bombs and the
Crushing of the soul, no one knows.

Racing with the speed of light, love and lust
Collide into the sky, intertwined, breaking
Any barriers of trust. Infidelities flood
The streets. Swimming in the seamen
Of mistakes made by causing blood
To emotionally leak from beautiful
Hearts. Sins do not exist in pleasure;
They live in broken hearts, dining
On them at every meal. Spreading
Their wings wide, violently flapping,
They begin to take flight; And now,
Welcome to the world of heartache.

The dust thickens, whirling into the air.
Explosions, bloodcurdling cries at the sight
Of the parade of joy being interrupted by
The bombs of misery. Smoky scents cover
The once freshness of the soil, grass, the earth.
When love could survive without pain,
When pleasure did not bring melancholy,
That was the world of brilliance.
The world we called home.

---

"Leda’s Point of View"

Violent, thundering beats
of some creature’s wings,
lowering itself to the stiff ground,
steadying itself from its vicious speed.
I lay upon that stiff ground, helpless,
drifting away from consciousness,
slowly, watching the stars fade,
their light dimming with every
breath that leaves my closing lungs,
and every cackle that leaves the beast’s.

Pure white is the color of its feathers.
But purity does not exist in this
elongated, thick, shadowy figure.
It lands itself on top of my fragile bones,
my weakened soul, cold, staring at me with its
ghastly eyes. Piercing. If I could,
I’d battle away its heavy panting and
wild, sinister smile. No… grin. But
barely a scream leaves as my lips part.
Its massive, hardened wings clench
my shivering thighs, moving over
my quivering lips and shaking hips.

The beast damages my soul. A twisting
blur of fright and dismay. A confused, tangled
timeline of torture. How can it enjoy this?
A whirlwind of exposure. The grinding of,
the crunching of bone on bone. Horrid,
the pace quickens, the cold becomes heat,
unwanted. One final scream,
but not from me.

His disguise is removed, revealing his identity:
the Greek god who the world praises.
It’ll never leave my memory,
Scarring me deeper than physically.
And if I could, I’d tell the world, but
no one would believe me anyways.
What will come of this?

---

"The Darkness Drops Again"

Exhale. Inhale.
Slower now. Every breath causes the chest
To cave a little further in, until bone and heart meld.
Stale air. Particles floating down from where
the light once hung above our heads.
Chaos. Darkness.
Close them now. Eyes can’t take it in any longer,
The present state of its surroundings. Running ’round,
Fists waving, fires emblazing, signs claiming
Emotions so vehement. When beating each other with
words was bad enough, now we’re slicing too deep,
Leaving visible scars for all to see. Bleeding.
They wrong her, him, them, and us. Ourselves.
When did all the good fade? When did
Beauty die and the hideous creep out from shade?
Commotion. Silence.
Cover them please. Ears would rather be deaf than hear
The bloodcurdling cries, the bombs drop atop innocent souls,
Crushing their hopes, heart, and bone.
Racing, horrid, violent screams, conflicting with
Her idea of right and his of wrong. Ethical and immoral.
Who’s to define what’s true anyways?

The only universal truth is that there are no universal truths.

---

"Black"

dark folds.
layer after cold layer.
black ribbon.
stealthily ties.
around and around.
twining tighter, tighter.
a black widow.
capturing her prey.
dark suffocates.
breath after cold breath.

---

"Roma"

History buried deeply in every alleyway,
every strada, every street;
and new memories born with each day.
Traveling everywhere by feet,
with vespas and smart-cars speeding by.
A gelato in each hand while passing
towering piazzas and monuments so high.
The blue sky, the sun through palm trees
and the crumbling openings of the Colosseo;
A courteous breeze and clean air to breathe,
mixed with an array of people from up high and down low;
The scent of fresh bread carried along the fiume
Where dodici angeli watch over the city below.
Roma, Italia. The Eternal City.

---

"Sing It"

In the midst of your song,
your eyes finally find mine.
You’ve been avoiding them for so long.
Too long.
And now I see you as you see me.
Piercing. You know the very emotions
flowing through my veins.
I want you
But you’re unreadable. You are.
You keep singing and playing your guitar,
and I feel more and more connected.
I need you now
And, yet, I fear it’s an unreciprocated bond -
If ever such a disheartening thing is possible,
it is happening to me.
And I still desire your lips singing with mine.
We could create our own song. If you’d let us.
And it’d be as melodic as the surrounding world.
As harmonious as all the land.
I guess I’m dreaming too big of dreams.

---

“Let the Sea Take You”

Birds chirping.
Voices chattering.
Waves crashing.
Gentle breezes rolling over sweltering skin.
The golden sunrays penetrating the velvety sand.

And we’re alive. And I’ve
the sea as my witness.
And we’ll confess. We’ve
never felt so at home
in a land so foreign.

Sea-foam. Seashells.
If ever we believed in sin,
this is it. Perfection.
Our hell. And we feel just right.

We’re alive. And I’ve
the sea as my witness.
And we’ll confess. We’ve
never felt so lost
in a land we desire as home.
Coastal lines and traveling into the unknown.
A watercolor of our visions and minds.
Where we’re going, we won’t plan.
All we know is we’re glowing.
And we’re alive.

---

"Quenched"

Distance sits between you and me.
Taunting us with its ugly face.
Laughing as the veins to our heart
Dry. Gasping for air, for water.
To sprinkle our lungs with a cool liquid.
But you are my air, my water.
I am your cool liquid, refreshing.
Nothing else will suffice.
Distance sucks down a lake,
In slow, daunting gulps,
To widen its mass.
Now you’re farther away.
We’re divided by miles and miles
Of Distance at its best.
I’m running into your arms,
But I’m parched without your kiss.
And every hour another mile is added
Into the calculation between you and me.
Distance has a funny way of being.

---

"Love Defined"

I want it to be like that first time
we met we kissed we made love
you pushed I screamed you held tighter
we came
an explosion worthy of shooting stars
shimmering pieces of residue falling
slowly, then faster faster until it all
stopped
and finally we could breathe…
synchronized inhales, exhales
limbs limp from the collision
shaking from the impact of the reality
of what we had just done
a miracle of pleasure
too good to be anything but love
I want it to be like our first time again
we met we kissed we made love
you whispered “I love you” and I
screamed “deeper” I love you, too

---

Perplexed Reverie

2010-09-07T19:01:00.000-07:00

A freewrite is completely unedited. Most of my freewrites are handwritten in my journal; I then transfer the exact text and structure onto the blog for your viewing.

Perplexed Reverie

You've caught me tight in your first
with your degage style I can't resist.
But I should. I know I should.
Your kisses are hollow, your stares shallow.
Your touch is detached -
so how do you make it in the moment
feel so real?
or maybe you simply set me up
for a dangerous dream
painted in pink lips and blue eyes
textured in soft caresses and shivering sensations.
but this dream, it leaks into life and leaves me loving
the craving so cold so hot deep in my bones for you to
explore all of me
inside.
I can practically feel you slipping in
between
but it's just a dream I see
just a thought I feel
splashed with silvers, greens, teals
like a midnight sky
how do you get me this high without a try?
you're not even here now,
yet I'm grounded in visions of
your song, soul, sound.

-Shara Marie-

Pretty Pretense

2010-09-07T18:52:00.000-07:00

A freewrite is completely unedited. Most of my freewrites are handwritten in my journal; I then transfer the exact text and structure onto the blog for your viewing.

Pretty Pretense

hesitantly, I rest my palms against it,
like dipping your big toe in the ocean,
testing it out before you take the plunge.
Okay, warm and soft.
Now, my fingers extend and the tips explore
a bit more.
It's silky smooth, like velvety sand.
I grasp at it, gathering as much in my hands as I can.
but, an hour glass flipped, it's slipping
right through my fingertips.
and then the feeling is gone.
what was the feeling anyway?
Colors bloom more vividly and I see
your faux exterior crumbling;
a painted mask to hide the scars;
a layer of snow concealing the dirt.
but before the underneath is revealed,
you build your wall of pretense
right back up again.
and you're so lovely.

-Shara Marie-

Volitale Dichotomy

2010-09-07T18:47:00.000-07:00

A freewrite is completely unedited. Most of my freewrites are handwritten in my journal; I then transfer the exact text and structure onto the blog for your viewing.

Volatile Dichotomy

Do you hear it?
That ripping, that tearing?
This macabre shredding?
And, no, I'm not getting zetetic.
over-thinking, too many thoughts.
No need to investigate; I already know;
we're doomed. far from beautiful.
It's flesh being torn from bone;
two souls splitting at the seams,
so it seems. yes, It is. screams
become silent, drowned out by the sound
of where we are now.
It's not drifting, there was no period of delicate fading.
It's not migrating because it's unfamiliar.
feel the air get chillier. the warmth that once
sparked between us has died. Summer straight
to Winter, no transitional Autumn.
untied. undone.
That sound is you and I
unintentionally defining our new
status.
It hurts, this, but there's no adhesive
to mend such a break.
Our road diverges here; I'll take left.

-Shara Marie-

As the seasons change, so do I

2010-08-31T18:55:00.000-07:00

Goodbye, Summer. Hello, Autumn.

It’s that time again, that time to say farewell to idyllic beach weather. The beach isn’t the same without the golden sun turning your blotchy flesh into sun-kissed skin; the gentle breeze rolling over your cheekbones and getting tangled playfully in your hair; the velvety sand filling the spaces between your toes, your fingers; the salty water cooling your bones; the scent of sea and the sound of seagulls; the laughter of a child’s first contact with a crashing wave.

But with the passing of silky blue, sunny skies and hot, black pavement, comes another type of beauty. Soon, you will breathe in that crisp, cool air; the smell of freshness, a time to start anew. A striking array of leaves from red to yellow; orange leaves being the most breathtaking.

You may have to stay goodbye to being barefoot or the feel of flip-flops between your toes; but you will say hello to snuggling closer, wrapping your arms tighter. Pulling a blanket around your body as you relax on the couch.

So long fresh lobster and fruit salad by the poolside. You will be missed. Luckily, you are replaced with… pumpkin. Pumpkin pie, pumpkin latte and coffee, pumpkin muffins, pumpkin nut bread, pumpkin-filled raviolis, and, of course, pumpkin ale. Butternut squash and sweet potato fries.

Summer sings a harmonious mix of melodies – smiles and radiance, glittering goals and proud fulfillments – ringing beautifully ever on. But September sings its own song of settings so familiar, and yet just as surreal. By the close of Summer, you need to be refreshed – like fresh squeezed lemonade sliding down your throat on a hot July afternoon, only now, it’s the coolness and pureness of the air that revitalizes you. Instills a lifting of life within you. Liberation.

Though the curtain falls, Summer hiding behind, memories from those sunny months are not at all extirpated. Some memories you may wish would have been stored away with the big sunglasses; others, you will hold onto for some time, like your tan lines.

*

The ache that Summer brought, perhaps Autumn will be a softer place to land.

Grandpa. Losing you was indubitably the hardest, the most excruciatingly painful part of the summer – the year – and, although we can still smile in remembrance of you, it will never be easy not having your flesh and bones, that very presence in our presence. Your existence was the single greatest thing that happened to this world, for it helped create the most incredible family – the Sarnellis.

Although I was happy Summer extracted two of my wisdom teeth, that was not something I’d like to go through again. (Yet I must, the other two are coming out quite soon.) Being in CVS, waiting for my Vicodin and antibiotics to be filled, blood spilling from my mouth and I’m completely clueless. Eating Freeze Pops and sorbet for a whole month – longer than expected because I had a dry socket. Oh, I haven’t forgotten about you. A pain radiating from my jaw straight to my brain. I thought I had a tumor. Not that I know what having a tumor feels like.

Dad, I love you with all my heart, but it deeply bothers me that you are tearing our family further apart. If you don’t love her anymore, then, yes, you shouldn’t stay together. But what will that do to us? To Erica and me? To Mom and Snickers? I’m torn. I want to keep our family together, but I want Mom to be closer to me.

And then, stupid lady looking down at your GPS to get to Six Flags, rear-ends me just when I’m about to sell me burden of a car. Having my anxiety skyrocket and waking up with whiplash; now I’m out of the gym for another week. Thanks. Another batch of Vicodin.

Despite the obstacles, Summer gave me sugar and smiles; I learned and I loved and I laughed. I lived. Working at an international language school opened my mind up even more, taught me so much that I cannot even sum it up. I met some of the greatest people to ever come into my life at the school. People from the Netherlands and Germany, China and Italy, Venezuela and Switzerland. The students at that school became a shining beacon in my life – the brightest light in my day and night. I know, one hundred percent, that I want to move to Europe and teach English. And learn more languages because those students are so intelligent and dedicated. How can they know five languages fluently and I only know one? They let me into their worlds as I let them into mine – we combined our cultures and languages and ideals. A tossed salad. And the best, at that.

Giving tours of downtown Boston to those international students was a big highlight of my summer. Seeing the enjoyment in their faces, their smiles reaching their eyes, as I took them through the Public Garden and down Newbury Street.

Just being able to visit downtown Boston as much as I did, what an amazing piece of my summer. Laying in Copley Square with the market going on around me, reading a book and eating fresh blueberries. Taking a ride on the swan boat and letting my love for nature flow free, unembarrassed. Eating the most delectable foods Boston has to offer.

Getting Robinson to watch The Crazies, so I could laugh at him cowering under the covers.

Family. The heartache of loss always proves how strong the bonds of family are. And our family is pretty strong. Impregnable. We were there for each other the second we got the phone call. During the wake. After, turning sad tears into pretty, happy tears. Turning snuffling and sniffing into smiling and laughing. I wouldn't be where I am today without my family; I wouldn't have the strength to persevere. When one life left us, another entered - Jamie's baby boy.

Music. Seeing Hanson TWICE – once in the front row – with my cousin Nina, hands down the best part of my summer. I now have Zac’s autograph, and he absolutely noticed Nina and I dancing, fully enjoying ourselves every second of those concerts. Let me tell you, they are the most talented band around. And taking The Walk, feeling what those less privileged feel.

Something Corporate. And seeing Mikayla, of course, along with other loves from Palmer who I haven’t seen in some time. What a fun concert. What an incredible band. Yes, Me and the Moon and Konstantine were performed. And, yes, I lost my voice and drank too much. But I had the time of my life.

Then, being introduced to a band new to me – Envy on the Coast – by an old friend with the most unbelievable blue eyes. Music is ceaseless, and hearing this band brought me back to a time when I used to constantly seek out music and bands, let others know what talent I had found, and go to shows and concerts.

Bar nights.

Reading. I had the time to immerse myself in several pieces of literature this summer; some great (The Botticelli Secret), some mindblowing (The Warrior Heir), some kind of shitty (American Wife). Among others. I also reread The Giver, for class, one of the most incredible books in print. It was an eye-opening experience to reread a book I hadn’t read since eighth grade. I read it with new experiences and new intelligences, and new mindsets.

And Boston College. I am not often proud of myself, but I sure am proud to be part of BC’s Lynch School of Education. I have met some extraordinary professors and students. So driven to bettering our educational system, working with students and loving learning, as deeply as you can imagine.

So, thank you, Summer, for giving me the room and the time to generate lifelong memories. The hurtful ones have made me stronger, just as the positive ones have made me more optimistic. I can’t wait to see what Autumn brings.

A masterful film of mind-bending visuals and concepts: Are you ready for your dreams to become the next crime scene?

2010-07-18T14:07:00.000-07:00

On Friday, July 16, director Christopher Nolan (“The Dark Knight”) brought to the big screen a sci-fi film of mind-blowing visual effects and mind-bending concepts, thrilling sequences and a brilliant cast. “Inception,” with its eye-opening epiphanies, will make you question your own reality. And dreams.

The picture opens with award-winning actor Leonardo DiCaprio face down in the sand, the waves washing over him, appearing to be delirious. Soon, you realize this scene is a flashback, and it illustrates the depth of this film: “Inception” needs your complete focus. Nolan begins with this flashback to let you know that you must closely pay attention to the movie in order to follow the thickly layered synopsis, to descend deeper than ever imagined.

DiCaprio is Dom Cobb, a skilled thief in a dangerously difficult art of extraction, called inception. Inception is the stealing of valuable secrets from deep within the subconscious while one is in the dream state. At this state, the mind is the most vulnerable.

This rare ability has made Cobb a player of high demand in a whole new world of corporate intelligence and surveillance. The pay for such a heist is high, but the profession of extraction has also turned Cobb into an international fugitive, costing him the world he once knew, and the people he loves.

After years and years, Cobb is now being offered a chance to redeem himself, to get his life back; however, the job that must be accomplished is thought to be an inception of impossibility. This time, instead of stealing an idea, Cobb and his team must plant one.

The concepts of “Inception” will bend your mind, take you on twists and turns, flip your world upside down, and challenge everything you thought to be possible. As you watch the film, your mouth will drop, your brain will do spins as you try to wrap it around the utterly unusual and wholly intriguing perceptions. What happens to your mind when you are asleep? Are dreams within dreams possible? How about dreams within dreams within dreams? How many layers deep can your mind wander and what can it construct while at rest?

Director Nolan, teamed up with Warner Bros. and Legendary Pictures, to create this thrilling sci-fi; but the film would not be as captivating without such an impregnable cast. Saito (Ken Watanabe, “The Last Samurai”) looks out for number-one, yet learns to work with others in the end.

Arthur (Joseph Gordon-Levitt, “(500) Days of Summer”) is Cobb’s much-needed sidekick. He is convincing in his role of intelligence, and looks sharper than ever with his hair slicked back, dressed in a suit and tie. An finite chemistry sparks between Arthur and Ariadne (Ellen Page, “Juno”), but Page’s character is much more important than a slight love interest.

Ariadne is an architecture student, studying under the direction of Miles (Michael Caine). She becomes the architecture for the job that Cobb is offered, and the person in which Cobb confides. Page is wonderful in her character of Ariadne. She is confident within her designs, but not confident in Cobb’s – who has a secret of his own.

His secret involves the mysterious Mal, played by academy-award winner Marion Cotillard. Cotillard is a convincing woman who is both beautiful and frightening. She carries herself high when she feels happy and has control over her life; she sinks into herself when the dream world takes hold, slithering around her body, sucking the very soul from her.

Other prime cast members include Tom Hardy (“Star Trek Nemesis”) who plays Eames, a clever mastermind; Cillian Murphy (“Batman Begins”) as Fischer, the son of a dying, but still powerful, business; and Tom Berenger, a man who has appeared in over seventy films and television projects, plays Browning, the confidant of Fischer.

And then there's DiCaprio, who always delivers a stunning, stellar performance with top-notch - brilliant - acting. His acting is a gift to movie lovers everywhere. And, as usual, DiCaprio becomes his character, making Cobb fully believable so that he comes to life as you watch the film.

This incredible cast is plunged into a realm in which realities and dreams become so tightly intertwined that it is hard to dichotomize the two.

This world is created with visual effects of such immense proportions that you must see “Inception” in the movie theater to get the full experience. Words cannot justify the visual effects; you simply must see it to understand, to be blown away.

The visual effects idyllically fit the film’s concepts – they are mind-bending, with twists and turns, pauses and fast-forwards, quick and slow paces in all the right places; they are images that only seem possible in the land of dreams, yet somehow they feel just as tangible as the land of the living.

There’s a scene where Cobb is falling backward on a wooden chair into a filled bathtub. The slow motion of the chair falling gives you butterflies, and the water splashing up and enveloping his body sends shivers down your spine. In another scene a great rush of water circles around a giant room, threatening your very existence – but this is just a dream, isn’t it?

Towering buildings crumble into the ocean where waves collide with the falling debris. Streets change directions so that cars are seemingly driving upside down and vertical. Mirrors that create extended images of one shatter into tiny pieces. People fight without gravity, propelling themselves off walls and ceilings. Landscape and scenery shift in the blink of the eyes, so smoothly that it seems real rather than imagination (dreams mixing with reality).

Nolen has directed the latest masterful film of mind-bending visuals and concepts, with an award-winning cast that convinces you to think about the bigger picture. What’s real and what’s dream? How close are the two connected? How many layers deep do our dreams go, and if we explore and dive through them, how can we ever come back?

Go see “Inception” in theaters – in IMAX if you like that – and let your mind transform into the scene of the crime.

To Grandpa: Forever in Our Hearts

2010-06-16T18:17:00.001-07:00

Nothing in the world can ever prepare you for that moment.

Not all the mental preparation, not if you took a class – and aced it – dedicated to becoming ready for that very second. No, nothing can make you land in a softer place once it happens. Nothing can dissipate the pains tightening your chest, exhausting your limbs, putting pressure on your skull, clawing your throat raw; nothing can drive away the pains ripping apart your once-tough exterior at the seams, forcing your optimism to rapidly drain. No, nothing will make you feel the slightest bit ready for that moment you find out that a loved one has passed away.

To the best storyteller I know. To the best egg-cooker in Massachusetts. To the most generous man to come into my life. To the person with all the jokes and fresh remarks. To the individual who helped make it possible for my dreams to become tangible. To the man who assisted in the making of the most loving, most supportive, wildest and craziest, most fun and vibrant family around: my family, our family. Grandpa, you will continue to be a hero for all of time.

Although we all knew your passing was inevitable, none of us was prepared to hear of, to handle, or to accept your loss; we were not ready to let you go.

Grandpa, you’ve left your imprint on each of our hearts. You have personally inspired and changed us in an array of ways. Never a dull minute with you, never did you fail in generating smiles and laughter, never did you forget us – your family – even when you started to forget the little things.

You took care of us to the end, simultaneously as we were taking care of you, because you know what it’s like to have no one, to look out for yourself. You took care of us. You helped give us an entire support system – the Sarnelli family.

We have countless memories of you, all of them timeless. And these memories still feel so real, so substantial, because that is what they are: real and perpetual.

In the summertime, every Thursday you’d take Erica and I to Costco’s in Connecticut for free-samples day. Just us three, perusing the store, sharing such a simple experience. It was so rewarding because of the tradition – and, of course, the free food. You illustrated the significance of family tradition.

One year, you and Grammy took Erica and I on a vacation to Canada via the CAT cruise ship. One night, you and I were strolling along the ship's deck, embracing the nighttime warmth and the stars speckled brightly in the vast sky overhead, the smell of sea salt and the feel of the wind through our hair – well, my hair. We spotted dolphins in the black water, riding the waves; we were witnessing a rare scene; only a middle-aged couple was out on the deck at that time other than us. You reminded me of this memory just the other week, letting me know it hadn’t faded from your mind after all these years.

When we were younger, you used to throw coins and dollars – the bills sealed in Ziplock bags - into the swimming pool behind your house. We grandchildren would dive fast, collect what we could, come up for air, and repeat until all the money had been snatched up. Jamie was the best swimmer and typically made the most money. Another family tradition that tightened the bonds between us as a whole.

You’ve told so many stories and jokes – all of which will remain with me forever. You’ve given me so much, more than I could ever ask for, more than I deserve. For that, I am indebted to you. You taught me the importance of family and devotion, standing strong and being independent, and following your aspirations regardless of the risks. You showed me how to make the best out of the worst, how to cooked scrambled eggs with spinach and concoct the most delectable meatballs.

Everything I learned and discovered through your existence will not diminish; not now; not ever, for your presence will not fade. You are a Sarnelli, and a Sarnelli is forever.

Despite the magnitude of your ideal-grandfather-nature, there’s one point I must add: I am not happy that I got my strangely weak stomach and poor gag-reflexes from you. Maybe I’ll forgive you someday. Maybe.

This is not a goodbye, just another type of hello. And wherever you are, I hope that your teeth find their way back to you from Maine, so you can finally eat all the sweets and sugary goodies prohibited from you that you’ve been craving.

I am so glad you threw that bucket of water at the nun.

Now, it is time for you to rest, buried upside down so the whole world can kiss your ass, just like you used to say.

Come Along with the Mistress: Reservoir reminiscing

2010-06-05T10:08:00.001-07:00

Today, the weather was said to be rainy with thunderstorms. But, as if to prove it has a mind of its own, the sun was shining above Brighton by 10 a.m. The sky, dotted with just a few fuzzy clouds, was a soft blue, the kind of blue that looks like something you could drink down - and it would slide down your throat so smoothly, providing that liquid relief.

What better to do on a day like this than jog? Jogging is free. And I like free.

I jogged down Lake Street and across Commonwealth Avenue, past Boston College residential buildings, until I reached my destination: the Chestnut Hill Reservoir. This is indubitably my favorite place in the Boston suburbs - so far. There are so many unmovable and changing sights to see that the Reservoir radiates both familiarity and newness.

The Eagle Stadium is impregnable on one side, Cleveland Circle and its City Side bar can be seen in the distance, and a park of luscious green grass is close by.

As I jogged past the various people, I have to smile at the man playing catch with his loyal black lab; the parents and single mothers and single fathers taking their children outdoors; the toddlers with the two-teeth smiles laughing at the quacking ducks; the fast and slow runners with sweat rolling over their sunkissed skin; the man who has to be seventy but still jogging with a proud look on his face; the children jumping up and down and running at random; the Asian man in a giant straw hat gazing out at the water; and the couples walking side by side.

Just as interesting as the people are the animals. Geese, ducks, the one white swan looking quite regal, and an array of birds live simultaneously in the Reservoir, working together and not minding the others one bit. The only downfall is the unending, jagged lines of geese droppings. But such a small inconvenience is not enough to make a Reservoir run any less enjoyable. The ducks bob along the slight ripples of the water, a mallard and a female with a blue-striped feather floating faithfully next to one another. Young geese are learning from the adults, their feathers still soft-looking.

I jogged for five miles around these sights before thirst won me over; and, being new in the area, I am not sure where the - if there is one at all - closest water fountain is. So I trudged along, sweating and panting and feeling amazing at the same time, back to my residence.

What a start to the day.

Put 'The Help' on the curriculum, be wholly moved

2010-06-05T07:44:00.000-07:00

"It shall be unlawful for a white person to marry anyone except a white person. Any marriage in violation of this section shall be void...Books shall not be interchangeable between the white and colored schools, but shall continue to be used by the race first using them." (Jim Crow Laws of the South)

In 2009, Kathryn Stockett released her debut novel, "The Help," which fast became the #1 "New York Times" bestseller. And, indubitable, Stockett's masterpiece should be included in school curricula across the world. "The Help" underscores the inherent racism and discrimination that existed in the ’60s (still heavily present, though not as much, today). Stockett’s novel also highlights standing up for what you believe in – in a way, starting your own movement – and putting your all into something just for the mere chance positive change will arise.

“The Help” is set in 1962 Jackson, Mississippi, and follows the shockingly different lives of several women, focusing closely on three in particular.

Skeeter is a recent graduate of Ole Miss, and has returned home to live with her family; but, because of the time period, a woman with a degree is about as good as a car without fuel. All that matters is that Skeeter gets a ring on her finger, and her mother isn’t shy of saying so. When Skeeter is overwhelmed by her mother’s bickering and her feelings of uselessness, she typically would find comfort in their maid (“help”) Constantine. But when Skeeter first arrives home, Constantine is nowhere around – and no one will tell her where she has gone.

Aibileen is a black maid who is raising her seventeenth white child. Being the help of several homes, Aibileen has seen and learned a great deal, making her personality both reserved and wise. Although she is devoted to the little girl, Mae Mobley, she looks after in 1962, both of their hearts are bound to break; no matter how hard Aibileen tries to teach Mae Mobley that skin color shouldn’t matter, the little girl is bound to learn otherwise from her parents and peers.

Minny is a close friend of Aibileen, another black woman working as the help for a rich, white family. Her sassiness causes her to lose yet another job, but her good cooking – and good friend – has helped her land a job with a new white woman in town who knows little about Minny’s reputation. But Miss Celia also has secrets locked deep inside.

These women will come together, regardless of how different they are, for they are all women who truly desire change and truly believe things can be better. When they begin an underground project, all their lives are threatened and jeopardized because, in their town, the middle- to upper-class white societies combined with the time frame define the lines. Are the predetermined lines worth being crossed? Are the risks worth the possible outcomes?

“The Help” is told in first person perspective from all three characters, through which you learn much about the ’60s, domestic servants, family and love, hope and womanhood, and even yourself. Stockett gives each character her own voice so they sound wholly convincing. The determination and resistance of the characters equally form a novel that will lift your spirits just as much as it will break your heart. How these women and others around town view one another will nuzzle against your chest and remain there for a long time coming; you will not forget the words of these characters, the thoughts of others, and the naïve perspectives carelessly thrown around.

So moving, Stockett’s work is radiating with both humor and melancholy, optimism and letdowns. She gives a poignant take on such crucial – therefore controversial – aspects of existence that it’s near impossible to put this book down out of boredom. Her writing is balanced well with scene and summary, action and explanation.

The most inspiring part of “The Help” is how women had such few possibilities in the setting and time, yet they dreamed big. The lines that were drawn for them to live by will make you angry, will you make you sad, and will make you realize that some of those lines have not been erased even in this day and age.

In a chapter told from Skeeter's viewpoint, she says, "My eyes drift down to HELP WANTED: MALE. There are at least four columns filled with bank managers, accountants, loan officers, cotton collate operators. On this side of the page, Percy & Gray, LP, is offering Jr. Stenographers fifty cents more an hour." Her words speak to how little opportunities of careers were provided for women. Although that's changed slightly today, can you think of areas where this still rings true? Especially in developing countries? Absolutely.

“The Help” is a timeless story that touches universal realities about the way certain people dictate the lines we abide by, like caged creatures, as well as the ones we break through.

Other than the not-so-thought-provoking ending, Stockett’s debut novel is so real that you can’t pass up the opportunity to read it. Rejoice as people triumph, stay strong as they fall.

Historical novel proves to be quite an adventure through Renaissance Italy

2010-05-18T11:37:00.001-07:00

Bestselling author Marina Fiorato (“The Glassblower of Murano”) recently published her second historical novel, “The Botticelli Secret” on March 30. Fiorato’s writing in “The Botticelli Secret” is so vivid that fifteenth-century Italy is reborn, coming to life with all its beauty and brutality. With a masterful blend of history and romance, adventure and despair, Fiorato takes you on a quest through some of the greatest cities of Renaissance Italy.

If you're a fan of Dan Brown-esque novels, such as "The da Vinci Code" and "Angels & Demons," you are guaranteed to immerse yourself into Fiorato's quest.

Luciana Vetra is a sassy, young woman who was born in Venice but has been residing in Florence her whole life. With ringlets of golden hair passing her perfectly round breasts and thin waist, Luciana is beautiful – so beautiful that she is a top whore of Florence.

When one of her best clients lands her a modeling gig and promises her to be the center of the painting, she gladly accepts. After posing all day as the goddess Flora for Sandro Botticelli’s La Primavera, the artist gets cross with her and leaves her without pay. Angry, Luciana steals an unfinished version of the painting – the smaller piece called the cartone.

But when friends and clients are murdered around her, she realizes taking the cartone was a bigger fault than she had thought. For guidance, she confides in the one man who never took advantage of her, or grew hard in the palm of her hand when she grabbed his cock (and grab his cock she once did.) Guido della Torre is a novice at the monastery of Santa Croce in Florence – he is bound to his faith and religion, and has no desire to get pleasure from women.

Together, they flee Florence and set off on an unexpected quest through Italia to decode Botticelli’s famous painting La Primavera.

In 544 pages, Fiorato creates intriguing characters who balance each other out, vivid details of Italy’s finest seafaring cities, and an adventure of faith and love and loyalty. Told in first person through the eyes of Luciana, Fiorato narrows the distance between reader and story; it is hard to feel detached from this novel with the first person approach.

Luciana doesn’t have a proper education, but she is street smart – and sexually smart. She uses colorful language, giving her that “whore”-ish attitude far off from that of a fine lady’s. Her words and actions will make you laugh out loud and cringe – but you can’t help but love her, whether in spite of her flaws or because of them.

On page 70, Luciana conveys, “I am a bitch, it is true, but before you pass judgment upon me, remember that I was saddle sore, mosquito-bit, starving, bone-cold, and soaked to the skin. And I hadn’t had a man for five days. Oh, yes, and I was on the run for my life.” Her character is witty and honest. She even ponders whether she could ever become a “decent” woman.

And then there’s Guido della Torre, seemingly Luciana’s opposite. He is a man of faith, a strict follower of God, and he has never been intimate or involved in anything physically sexual. Luciana and Brother Guido argue and oppose one another just as much as they work together. Brother Guido uses his knowledge of Scripture and verbose statements; Luciana uses her natural instincts and her abilities to see things and set things in a straightforward manner.

An intriguing piece to this novel is the implications and revelations of the nature of infidelity as it relates to love. By doing so, she also exposes the inequalities of love between the two sexes. Luciana asks, “Did the king truly love the queen; could he love her, when he shared his favors so widely? And yet if he did not, why would he care if she took another lover?” The king, among many other men, were allowed to and expected to sleep with multiple women without care; however, the women – the wives – were not allowed or expected to sleep around.

Some may criticize the novel for its plausibility. Without giving too much away, some if it does seem impossible; however, this is still a work of fiction and must be treated as so. While there are historical facts and depictions, “The Botticelli Secret” is not nonfiction and should not be judged as so.

I couldn’t put this novel down, but found myself trying to slow down my reading pace toward the end so that the book wouldn’t come to a close – I did not want to let go of the story, of the rich details, of Luciana and Guido. These characters, and Renaissance Italy as described by Fiorato, will captivate you, pulling you onto the back of the horse with Brother Guido as he flees his haven with the whore-turned-heroine.

Leadership Banquet: In the absence of gratitude, we all feel alone

2010-05-07T18:29:00.001-07:00

All students are leaders, whether they are involved in ten organizations, or just one, or even none at all. All students are leaders for they are expanding their knowledge, opening their minds, chasing their aspirations, turning dreams into realities, embracing their passions, and leading their own lives as individuals. All students are leaders because they lead themselves down windy paths, roads decorated with obstacles, routes that diverge in various directions – they direct themselves. We take charge of our worlds, we, as students, pick which paths we follow and which paths we forge. We are leaders because we don’t let others control us – we craft our own destinies.

Leadership is a significant quality to have. Leadership is indubitable indispensable. And we all carry some sort of leadership within us, whether we actively show it or not, whether we have explored it and embraced it or not. There are those who take this attribute to the next level by guiding others. It is so great when these types of students are recognized, publically or privately, personally or socially. Unfortunately, not all of us are given the gratitude we deserve. The appreciation we warrant. The thanks we desire, even if we don’t admit it.

The 2010 Leadership Banquet of UMass Dartmouth was held on Friday, May 7. Many distinguished awards were given to distinguished students who truly deserved to receive such honors; however, many students were overlooked, underappreciated, and this can be quite disheartening. There were numerous awards given, but it felt like only a handful of student leaders took home an award; this is because some students earned more than one award. Why wasn’t each person limited to one win? Why weren’t more students recognized? After all, everyone at the banquet was a leader. Every student organization was comprised of magnanimous leaders.

While all the students who won deserved their awards, the Leadership Banquet should have been more equal, more fair. Sure, if you have a lot of friends or come from a large organization, you are going to get a lot of nominations. Sure, if you are involved with SAIL or Greek Life you will get multiple nominations. But what if you lead well in a small organization? What if you are part of different organizations besides the aforementioned? Does that mean you, as student leader, deserve less?

You can put all you have, exhibit an immense amount of drive and passion, and still go unnoticed. You can be a strong leader, but never be thanked for your effort and your heart.

The painful truth is that you won’t always be recognized and appreciated by others; you won’t always be thanked by the higher-ups; you won’t always get public recognition. So, in the end, you have to look inside yourself and discover who you are. You have to identify your strengths and leadership abilities and that essential driven passion that pushed you to become a leader in the first place. Because only you can keep the flames of leadership burning. Only you can ignite and reignite the fire within. Only you can decide which road you take, and which side-roads you explore. Although it is challenging, you must learn to be proud of yourself, and be proud by yourself. Otherwise, the fire will die, the road will come to a halt, and your non-disposable quality of leadership will be lost.

The Leadership Banquet should find a way to give gratitude to a wider range of student leaders next year. They should reach out to more individuals, as that is how you will make and maintain more leaders.

Leadership is like the sun – without it, the world would be a ceaselessly cold, dark place.

Get your nose into the pages of Markoe's 2008 novel

2010-05-03T15:38:00.000-07:00

Merrill Markoe, best-selling author of "Walking in Circles Before Lying Down," released another great read in 2008. "Nose Down, Eyes Up" is a heartfelt novel with inspiring voices that will open your eyes to a foreign world - the one belonging to dogs.

Gil is a forty-seven year-old man who often reverts back to his twenty-two year-old ways. He lives with his four dogs, Dink, Fruity, Cheney and the alpha, Jimmy. When Gil finds Jimmy delivering a lecture to a group of neighborhood dogs about manipulative techniques canines use on humans - such as keeping your nose down and your eyes up - he is not at all taken aback. Gil's current girlfriend Sara happens to make a living by teaching others how to talk to their animals as an animal communicator.

Jimmy is like Gil's best friend, and now that he realizes they can openly communicate to one another their friendship blossoms - that is, until Jimmy realizes Gil is not his birth parent. They aren't even of the same species.

As Gil tries to find a steady source of income and place to live, his only constant begins to fade: his companionship with his alpha dog. To try to heal their wounded bond, Gil agrees to help Jimmy reunite with his birth mother, who happens to be owned by Gil's sexy, seductive ex-wife Eden.

In the end, will man learn from dog? And will dog learn from man?

Markoe brilliantly channels the thoughts of dogs through her characters. You believe the communication factor of the story, even though it is far-fetched. Jimmy is smart and witty, able to manipulate others better than any human can. Dink is funny, always getting inside and outside confused, which interferes with her potty training. Each dog conveys its own down-to-the-ground, four-legged viewpoint, from which we learn not only about dogs but about life.

Gil is relatable, confused about existence but certain about some things, complementing the dog characters quite well. You'll feel for him as you follow him and his dogs through a journey of friendship, loyalty, mistakes and sacrifice. Ultimately, you'll grow with Gil.

The novel reads at a quick speed, but not too fast. The climax is built up at all the right spots, and the declining story drifts away nicely.

Other than some typos and unnecessary lines, Markoe's novel is funny and saf, heartwarming and heartbreaking. It is intuitive and telling - a must-read, especially for dog-lovers.

Stand up to Standardized Testing with Effective Reading and Writing Instruction

2010-04-28T18:14:00.001-07:00

Imagine being a sophomore student in a high school English course. You are thoroughly engaged in the class, which is assessed through individual and group projects, interactive class discussions, and papers that deviate from the five-tier standard essay. Your favorite project was acting out a scene from Hamlet in a group. Through a project like this, you are able to better relate to the characters of Shakespeare’s play, grasp the writing style and language of the author, and understand the underscored themes.

Unfortunately, such dynamic projects do not directly teach to high-stakes standardized tests. As a result of enjoying class, your testing scores or ability could suffer, and thus your diploma is in jeopardy. Furthermore, your passionate teacher’s job could be threatened. On top of that, if a majority of students score low on standardized tests, but perform well in class and even enjoy learning, the school itself fails to meet its AYP. The school’s reputation is damaged, and funding is at risk.

Standardized testing is a reality in the realm of education, whether we like it or not. We can challenge tests like MCAS and SATs until our energy is extirpated. Or we can simply prove that teaching good reading and writing skills can prepare students for standardized tests without necessarily teaching to the test.

High-stakes testing tends to obliterate student-centered learning, and narrow the curriculum, as well as take away from the reading and writing experience. The student-centered approach and teacher flexibility have been displaced by focus on test preparation and accountability (Higgins 310). But does this have to be the case? Can we maintain quality education while preparing students for the tests they are bound to take?

“High-quality, evidenced-based instruction need not be sacrificed in preparing students to succeed” on standardized writing assessments (Higgins 310); yet these sacrifices occur too often. If teachers are encouraged to instruct with best practices “rather than explicit teaching to the test” (Higgins 310), then students may be able to perform well on standardized writing tests. This instruction should be comprised of writing in a variety of genres, giving students choices of topics to write about that relate to their interests, providing time in and out of class for writing and revising, incorporating writing conventions (Higgins 310), and making use of peer evaluation.

Some studies show that students who have effective writing instruction score higher on formalized writing tests than those who receive instruction based solely on skills assessed on the test (Higgins 310). Effective writing instruction can be implemented by giving attention to the social nature of language, recognizing the importance of a student-centered pedagogy, and using developmentally appropriate practices (Higgins 311).

An example of instruction that combines all three focuses is the writing workshop, followed by the writing process. First, students select topics to write about, then they engage in prewriting activities. Finally, they begin developing their drafts. Prewriting activities include topic discussion, setting goals, creating outlines, and mini-lessons. Before a writing workshop begins, the teacher delivers a mini-lesson to center on one specific technique, such as voice (the writer’s tone and style as fit for an assignment) or point of view (first person, third person, omniscient). For most of the workshop, students should write and engage in both teacher and peer conferences. At the end of the workshop, the whole class shares individual writing (Higgins 311). Students can read passages directly from their work, or they can offer a summary of what their work is about and how they went about their writing process.

With such instruction, students are not denied the experience that comes with reading and writing; they can still become caught up in a book, engage in the characters, explore an array of perspectives, challenge universal truths, and develop positions (which could turn into a thesis) that they are passionate about. Teachers do not have to stick to the five-tier essay, although it should be discussed for test purposes; they can have students write memoirs, reviews, short stories, persuasive essays, and blog posts. A student’s strength and confidence in writing increases with experience; experience is limited if a student only learns to write formal essays. Students will learn to notice and correct conventional errors more easily if they have experience with a vast assortment of writing styles.

Also, effective writing instruction turns students into lifelong learners, providing them with lasting habits. It seems when students learn just for the test, the information is plainly memorized and then forgotten, never grasped.

The change from teaching for learning to teaching for test results is a narrowing of the curriculum (Higgins 310). With a narrower curriculum, students are actually learning far less, and teachers are deskilled (Ricci 343). So it’s time to take a stand. Balance best practices and testing requirements. Instruct writing and reading freely, encourage creativity, and simultaneously teach mechanical conventions and the necessary rules of the English language. “Fluent, independent writers” (Higgins 315) develop when we teach effective practices, not when we simply ”teach to the test.”

References:
Higgens, Betty, & Miller, Melinda & Wegmann, Susan. (2006). Teaching to the Test…Not! Balancing Best Practices and Testing Requirements in Writing. International Reading Association, 60(4), 310-319.

Ricci, Carlo. (2004). The Case Against Standardized Testing and a Call for a Revitalization of Democracy. The Review of Education, Pedagogy, and Cultural Studies, 339-346

One Moment with the Blogger: Appreciation emerges from a simple jog

2010-04-24T13:19:00.000-07:00

As I jogged down Old Westport Road today, I decided that I genuinely enjoy being alive. It may sound strange, but sometimes I let all my problems blur my vision so much so that I want nothing but to fall into a deep sleep - forever.

Thankfully, spring is here: vivid flowers are in bloom, radiating a melody of scents that you just want to wrap yourself in, like a light blanket fresh from the dryer. Jogging past all the houses on Old Westport and its side streets, I see the colors of the rainbow splashed about - red, orange, yellow, and so on - delicately swaying in the wind. The scent of the tulips and lilies and daisies catches a ride on the breeze, so when the wind rolls over my skin and I breathe it all in, tranquility takes over.

Then there's the sun; its golden rays spreading across the land, enveloping my bare skin with a slight touch of heat. As the sun hangs high above, the cloudless sky becomes a milky blue; I like to call this beauty.

A small bird sways on a thin branch. A squirrel lollops across the green grass chasing another. A father plays catch with three children on their manicured lawn; the little girl in a pink dress falls backwards as she stretches onto her tippy-toes in attempt to grab the big ball.

With my music playing softly in the background via iPod and the gentle padding of my sneakers on the pavement, I am completely in my element.

Sixty minutes pass by ideally: I feel I have achieved a good work-out, while letting go of worries - if just for the moment - and appreciating my surroundings, seeing details I would have otherwise never noticed.

Collins's latest novel gives a taste of a rich 'bitch'

2010-04-23T14:47:00.000-07:00

The “New York Times” bestselling author Jackie Collins (“Drop Dead Beautiful”) published her newest novel earlier this year. The cover’s seductive artwork of “Poor Little Bitch Girl” lets you know what you’re in for when you dive into this novel: a raunchy, sexy, disturbing ride that masterfully displays human qualities, particularly of those born into a family of fortune and fame.

“Poor Little Bitch Girl” will make you crack smiles and let out laughter as much as it’ll make you cringe and recoil – just the combination of reactions Collins aims for. The 472-page novel flies by because you become so into the story and the subtle mysteries. The story is as captivating as it is because of the plot and how it is so cleverly woven together, like several different strands being knit together ; the characters and how you are welcomed into each one’s mind; the writing style and how it both vulgar and sweet, funny and sad, meaningful and materialistic, promiscuous and put-together.

The many different characters of this novel are situated in L.A., New York City and Washington. All of them are interconnected, either through high school or through mutual friends (or mutual lovers.) When Annabelle Maestro’s beautiful movie-star mother Gemma Summer is murdered, the group of twenty-something year-olds are thrown together, forced to meet up through work and social purposes. Serendipity? Perhaps.
Denver Jones is a young attorney working in L.A., who already has quite a hotshot reputation. When the chapter focuses on Denver, her story is told from the first-person point of view. You easily slip inside the sex-starved, young business woman; she comes to life from the moment you meet her.

Let’s get a glimpse of Denver’s world for a moment. On page 102, as she is narrating, she conveys, “I myself am not the marrying kind. I have no desire to be tied down to one man forever. I possess no maternal instinct, although I do love kids – other people’s, that is.”

Through Denver, you learn about sex and how men mess with your head, work and how it is important to organize your priorities, and friendship and how much you’re willing to give up for the sake of another.

Annabelle lives in NYC with her coke-head boyfriend, Frankie; together, they run a shockingly successful business. The arch of Annabelle’s character makes her irresistible, despite her seemingly immoral ways. You will get irritated so much so with Frankie that you’ll want to punch him in the balls – and this is the desired effect Collins meant to generate.

Also living in NYC is Bobby Santangelo Stanislopolus, an attractive son of the famous Lucky Santangelo (the main character in many of Collins’s novels). He comes from a family of millionaires who has their own plane. But he is not at all the schmuck you’d initially expect – after all, he is hanging with a cocaine-addict.
Carolyn Henderson is a personal assistant to a conniving, powerful senator in Washington; and, of course, they are having an affair – the senator cannot get action from his uptight wife, but he sure loves Carolyn’s blowjobs.

Collins gives each character his or her own voice, personality and style. She makes her characters talk the way someone would actually talk in real life. This makes the novel all the more relatable and compelling.

If anything is wrong with this novel, it’s the overdo of odd names. In a way, the names fit because most of them belong to movie-stars and others in the limelight. But it still seems strange for so many unique names to be in one novel. We have Gemma, Zeena, Denver, Lucky, Max (for a female), Felix and Pip, among others.
Also, at times, there are a few statements and paragraphs that are out of place, throwing off the steady flow of the novel. Some might further complain about the offensive, crude language – but that is actually an effective part of Collins’s writing.

To get a taste of the lifestyles of the rich and the famous, reach “Poor Little Bitch Girl.”

The Spill Canvas releases EP to deliver their own song

2010-04-16T17:43:00.000-07:00

I conducted an interview via phone with Joe Beck of The Spill Canvas prior to writing the article below.

On Tuesday, April 13, rock-pop band The Spill Canvas released five-song EP titled “Realities.” This EP, although short, effectively demonstrates how the band has musically and emotionally matured over the years.

Hailing from South Dakota, The Spill Canvas is Nick Thomas (vocals, guitar), Joe Beck (drums), Dan Ludeman (guitar, vocals) and Landon Heil (bass).

Drummer Joe Beck expressed that the songs from their 2004 debut album “Sunsets & Car Crashes” were written when front-man Thomas was in high school. Then, the band members were completely different people from who they are now; therefore, their music has come a long way.

Beck explains that because you only live once, you always strive to push yourself to a further level, which is what the band has been doing where their music over the past eleven years. Pushing themselves has been important to them, Beck conveys.
“Realities” has a lighter tone and mood than past albums and songs, like “Black Dresses” of their first album. Beck explains that this EP is not so dark because it is a reflection of their lives, explaining “we have a lot more things to be happy about now.”

For “Realities,” the band had a goal of integrating different styles of music into the songs. They do so with a range of instruments from strings to flutes. In some songs, Beck explains, they are “digging back into old recording techniques,” and using inspiration from past bands, like Fleetwood Mac.

The Spill Canvas has been working, writing and recording “Realities” for the past year and half. Although it was “quite the project,” as Beck puts it, it was a fun process in which he and the others learned a lot.

The music video for the single, and arguably strongest of the five tracks, “Our Song” featured on MTV on April 14 and is now on the radio. “Our Song” is addicting from the first moment you hear Thomas’s heartfelt vocals. You become hooked to this song when Thomas sings, “when you look at me with your cinematic eyes, I wanna play the part, but I forget the lines.”

The upbeat music and up-tempo make the track fun and catchy. You’ll find yourself humming this song long after it’s over.

The lyrics depict the contrasted clichéd ideas of romance with the realities of love. The catchy chorus describes some clichés, with “We’ll never be strangers kissing in the pouring rain, chasing after your leaving train. But we know that’s not how our song goes. You’re a waitress in a cocktail bar, and I save you ’cause I’m a big rock star. But we both know that’s not how our song goes.”

To counteract those chick-flick images, the song continues with, “It goes like this: you didn’t like my friends and your mom didn’t trust me. I thought I was slick, but my moves were rusty…sorry if I wasn’t straight out of a movie.”

The video cleverly intertwines a couple rendered in grainy gray with the band as they rock out to this infectious song. The scenes of the couple allude to classic films, like “Say Anything,” that appropriately portray romantic clichés.

When asked how being on MTV has affected the band, either negatively or positively, Beck explains how many of their fans from the beginning have become detached; “they feel we’ve sold out.” This used to hurt the band members, but, fortunately, it no longer does.

But Beck makes expresses that they have not sold out at all. Getting their music on MTV is “an avenue to get our music out to as many” people as possible. Beck feels MTV hasn’t changed who the band is or the music that they write.

Although the band has experimented with different sounds since 2004, the changes come with the evolution of the band, not through MTV.

The other four tracks are “Dust Storm,” “Let Go,” “10,000 Midnights” and “Crash Course.” Each comes with its own hooky lines and tongue-twisting lyrics.

Beck and the band members hope listeners embrace “different ways of expression…whether it be love or addictions” through “Realities.” Beck feels the EP can show that “there’s hope, there is a lighter side of life that you have to grasp onto” and moving forward is a significant part of existence.

The band has just begun touring and will be coming to Cambridge on May 18. They are very excited to play in the Boston area with Tyler Hilton, AM Taxi and The New Politics. You can expect to hear a range of songs from every record.

Beck concludes by expressing that “music will always be in our lives…it’s too important to us” to ever fade. In the future, look for a full-length album. And, perhaps in years to come, some of the band members will move to the production side of the realm of music. Wherever the road takes them, The Spill Canvas and music will be a part of each member forever.

Check out the video for “Our Song” now and keep your ears open. You can order “Realities” from the band’s website, www.thespillcanvas.com, purchase it on iTunes or at one of their upcoming shows.

Image below courtesy of Warner Brothers.
https://mail.google.com/mail/?ui=2&ik=e42f736085&view=att&th=12803ad0e5287d2c&attid=0.2&disp=inline&zw

Roommates Gone Wrong are Humorously Right (in the theater, anyway)

2010-04-11T10:03:00.001-07:00

The live theater performance of “The Odd Couple,” by Neil Simon, shows the difficulty of roommates and the importance of acceptance through a blend of humor and frustration. This play will make you laugh out loud, smiling until your jaw tenses; but it will also allow you to relate to the situation, bringing together anyone who is frustrated by a roommate, for you are not alone.

The credible and amusing cast ensemble, directed by Curt Columbus, intertwines their talent with a recognizable story to make the play believable and entertaining. With a simple but fitting set and spot-on costumes, there were few faults and inconsistencies during the show’s recent performance.

The set centers on the living area of an apartment. Other than the occasional tidying up, the set does not change. In the first scene, the stage contains clothes strewn across the apartment, Chinese takeout boxes tossed haphazardly on the floor, crooked shades and a sock on a sconce.

We meet the perpetrator of the clutter as he delivers a random assortment of food, such as a rotten banana, to his friends sitting at the table for their weekly poker game. Oscar (Fred Sullivan, Jr.) is a middle-aged man, dressed in mismatched and wishy-washy attire, fitting his carefree attitude. He refers to himself as “divorced, broke and sorry,” someone with little ambition. Sullivan, Jr. makes a convincing middle-aged slob by embracing his messy home. With Sullivan Jr.’s comical delivery of sexual innuendos and inability to comfort others and clean, he plays a stereotypical guy, which is just who Oscar is meant to be.

His soon-to-be roommate, however, is quite the opposite. He whines and cries, cleans and cooks. Felix (Brian McEleney) is obsessive compulsive, suicidal and overly sensitive. The bland, ironed suit and matching bowtie are appropriate attire for Felix. He is also socially awkward and a bit out there. McEleney fits this role quite well by effectively using rigid body movements and strange ways of going about, like the way he clears his sinuses. When Felix is supposed to have a conversation with a couple of women, McEleney does well at making the interaction strained and uncomfortable.

Conversely, Felix’s character is forty-four years old, but the actor looks well over fifty-five. This is the biggest downfall to Felix’s character as played by McEleney. The other actors look their intended age, but Felix could be their father. Also his weeping over his current divorce is sometimes obviously forced.

The supporting actors add hilarity to the cast, including Vinnie (Joe Wilson, Jr.) who obsesses over the time as he must be home for his wife; Speed (Mauro Hantman) who picks on policeman Murray (Stephen Berenson) for dealing the deck of cards too slowly; and Roy (Stephen Thorne) who is painfully honest about Oscar’s lack of motivation.

All of the friends tease each other with clever sarcasm and cynicism. Even with all the hilarious lines and constant laughing from the audience, the actors remain focused; no one laughs off cue or misses a beat. Because of this, the flow of the performance goes smoothly.

To keep the laughter flowing and the audience’s attention when the set is being rearranged, some of the cast members put on funny, faux commercials, one being for a breast enhancing device.

Find out what happens when the atypical roommates reach their breaking points. Watch and learn the difficulty of living with conflicting personalities and how coping and change occur in such circumstances. A deeper meaning is underscored by the thorough comedy of “The Odd Couple,” which shows that each roommate can teach one another something about acceptance.

“The Odd Couple” opened on Friday, April 9 at the Trinity Repertory in Providence, Rhode Island and will continue through May 9.

Fresh seafood worth the high price and fancy shoes

2010-04-11T10:02:00.000-07:00

Hemenway’s Seafood Grill & Oyster Bar in Providence, Rhode Island is the ideal restaurant for succulent, fresh seafood and a classy ambiance. And for maxing out your credit card while wearing your best dress.

If you plan to eat out on a weekend, be sure to call ahead to make reservations; Hemenway’s is constantly packed to the point where they often do not have any tables available for walk-ins. You may have to call in advance, and you may have to wait to be seated even with a reservation, but the food and experience compensate this minor inconvenience.

There are tables outside of the restaurant, making for a pleasant place to eat lunch during the summer. The refined atmosphere is not at all off-putting, but quite welcoming, so long as you’re dressed in at least business casual attire.

Inside there are continual conversations flitting through the air, clusters of people at the raw oyster bar on the first level, and at the bar for booze elevated on the second level. Women dressed in fancy high-heel shoes and men sporting the finest ties congregate at the waterfall spilling over the lobster tanks. The ceaseless talking, however, can get too loud at times and drown out your own conversation.

A waiter, looking just as sharp as the customers, brings you a basket of warm rolls with fluffy butter. Any restaurant that provides free bread right when you arrive has already earned points.

At a restaurant like this, you expect the menu to be small because each entrée and appetizer is cooked with fresh ingredients and precision. Seafood lovers and wine connoisseurs rejoice: the wine menu expands the entire back of the two-sided menu; and the wait staff can recommend the ultimate pairing of wine and fish to bring out exquisite flavors you never before tasted.

These high standards are what make the food as delectable as it is.

Currently, the menu contains thirteen appetizer options, including beef carpaccio and sesame seared yellow fin tuna. If you want fresh seafood with a lot of flavor, get the clams casino. The stuffing and chopped piece of bacon atop the clam provide a perfect balance of textures and flavors: crunchy and chewy, savory and sweet.

Many of the seafood choices have local flavor, such as the oysters hailing from Poppasquash, Rhode Island, and Welfleet, Massachusetts. You can try one for $2.75 from the oyster bar. The seafood that is not locally delivered flies in daily, so it tastes just as fresh.

Although the menu for entrées is one-sided, there are plenty of choices to satisfy any palate. From intricate salads to simply fish, and from grilled meats to New England traditions, how do you decide what to try? To taste the freshest seafood around, go with something from the simply fish category.

The grilled mahi-mahi is idyllically cooked, capturing the freshness and that distinct fish flavor. The meat falls apart the second it touches your tongue, melting away slowly, so tenderly and delicately, allowing you to savor the aroma. The salmon is just as good, thick and juicy, cooked to the perfect pink tone.

Each of these meals also comes with a salad and a side, which is a comforting thought after seeing the seemingly outrageous prices. The mahi-mahi is a flat $24. But even the sides are absolutely luscious. The red bliss smashed potatoes at Hemenway’s will become your new favorite. The smashed potatoes are so light and creamy, with a hint of infused butter. The soft texture is soundly balanced with the slight crunch of the red potato skins.

If you’re going to Hemenway’s, you have to brush financial worries aside for the evening. The description of the asiago halibut alone makes your mouth water, but the $30 price tag may steer you elsewhere. So, instead of going out to eat a few different times, go out once and go to Hemenway’s.

Located at 121 South Main Street, Hemenway’s Seafood Grill & Oyster Bar is open for lunch and dinner. Call ahead at 401-351-8570. Check out their website for further details nd to find out about private dining: http://www.hemenwaysrestaurant.com/.

Laugh, cry and learn with 'Dragon'

2010-03-28T11:40:00.000-07:00

From DreamWorks and Paramount Pictures comes one of the funniest, smartest, and touching animation adaptations of a children's book. "How To Train Your Dragon," released wide on March 26, took in a whopping $43.3 million on its opening night, soaring past "Alice in Wonderland." With incredibly real and vibrant animations, a moving and humorous storyline, and a brilliant cast ensemble, "How To Train Your Dragon" deserves that money, and a round of applause.

The action/adventure, directed by Dean DeBlois ("Lilo & Stitch") and Chris Sanders ("The Rescuers Down Under" and "The Lion King"), takes place on an island of Vikings, where their biggest pests are fire-breathing, destructive dragons. The main character, Hiccup (Jay Bucharel, "She's Out of My League"), is an atypical young Viking who aspires to hunt dragons to become like all the other people of his village. But Hiccup is scrawny and physically weak, especially in comparison to his behemoth father Stoick (Gerard Butler). The massively strong Stoick rules the village, and is quite ashamed of his hapless son. This is the main reason Hiccup desperately tries to kill the perceived most dangerous dragon: the Night Fury.

When Hiccup actually captures his Night Fury, he finds that he cannot kill the dragon, and ends up becoming its unlikely companion. He learns that everything he knows about dragons is wrong.

You will fall for Hiccup's character, getting emotionally entangled with his story, as well as the strained relationship between father and son. Hiccup's character is quite inspiring, and delivers messages of hope, unity, acceptance and friendship. He also teaches us to challenge universal (or communal) truths, to think outside of the box and to stand up for what you believe in.

Bucharel does an excellent job at giving Hiccup a voice. His voice brought out the weak and wimpy side, but defiant and strong when needed. Butler's brawny, Scottish accent idyllically fit the character of Stoick. Hiccup's tough-chick crush Astrid was suprisingly done well by America Ferrera. Jonah Hill as Snotlout and Christopher Mintz-Plasse (McLovin from "Superbad") added to the brilliance of the cast.

The non-talking dragons were also as intriguing as the talking Vikings. There were a variety of funny-looking, yet possibly ferocious-looking dragons, like the Gronckle. The colors of some dragons were vibrant, others were dark to represent evil. All throughout the picture, the animation was done very well. When Hiccup is riding on a dragon through the sky, the animation brings that flight to life, making you feel as if you are flying that fast and elegant, too (which may be a good or bad thing).

"How To Train Your Dragon" is a must-see for everyone; it's not just for kids.

Laugh out loud with the current comedic compilation 'Chelsea Chelsea Bang Bang'

2010-03-22T13:24:00.000-07:00

The number one “New York Times” bestselling author Chelsea Handler (“Are You There, Vodka? It’s Me, Chelsea”) published her new collection of autobiographical essays on March 9, 2010. Handler is a comedic talk show host (“Chelsea Lately” on E!) and a daring writer. “Chelsea Chelsea Bang Bang” is comprised of revealing, direct and hilarious essays.

Anyone who is a fan of Miss Handler knows that she uses intense sarcasm, often sounding mean, but always amusing, just the same. Her sarcasm radiates in “Chelsea Chelsea Bang Bang” through her narrations and the quotes she’s said while in conversation with others. Her conversations include those with her boyfriend Ted, her father whom she suggests euthanization for, her siblings (Sloane the Mormon, Ray, Greg and Sidney the lawyer), her friends and coworkers and, of course, herself.
Through these dialogues and Handler’s narrations, we get to know not only Chelsea, but those who are a part of her life, like her cheapskate father.

The first chapter is quite bold and shocking, making it all the more funny and, interestingly enough, relatable. “The Feeling” follows eight-year-old Chelsea to a friend’s sleepover, where she finds out what “the feeling” is all about. In other words, she makes amends with her “coslopus” (her word for vagina), which she once feared, through the discovery of masturbation and orgasms. This chapter shows Handler’s courageous writing skills or, simply, her love of making others laugh and feel quite uncomfortable. Whatever her intention, “The Feeling” is a strong start for Handler’s compilation.

In a few other chapters, we are made aware of Handler’s knack for practical jokes and tendency to find herself in either embarrassing or oddly entertaining situations. Handler writes about a trick she played on Ted in the chapter “Dudley.” She also writes about a joke she played on her driver and friend Sylvan, involving a transgender person. As she reveals her jokester side, you will chuckle and smile. It’s almost like you are personally getting to know the mockingly funny talk show host.

The chapters “Water Olympics” and “Black-on-Black Crime” will have you laughing out loud. “Water Olympics” recalls the aftershock and adventure of ingesting mushrooms with her brother Greg, who later went missing. To find him, Chelsea, her sister and sister’s fiancé Mike set out to find the missing Greg, who apparently had swum across the ocean in the dark of the night.

“Black-on-Black Crime” details a vacation Handler took with several of her friends, including Sylvan, who she planned to find someone for him to get some “penetration” from.

As with everything involving Miss Handler, Vodka is a necessity, Chuy is a running joke and her peekachu (another word of hers for vagina) is discussed.
Most of the chapters are complemented by black and white photographs that bring her stories to life even more.

The downsides to her book are the several grammatical errors, and the one or two chapters that are not-so-funny in comparison to the others. Regardless, “Chelsea Chelsea Bang Bang” is a great, easy read and another successful step for thirty-five-year-old Handler. Her fans will be happy, and anyone who reads this book without having currently watched “Chelsea Lately” will be sure to tune in each weeknight at 11 p.m.

Picoult's 'House Rules' is emotionally driven with murder and Asperger's

2010-03-21T15:31:00.001-07:00

Following the house rules may lead to murder.

On March 9, 2010, “New York Times” bestselling author Jodi Picoult (“My Sister’s Keeper”) delivered another moving novel that shows America is not as accepting as we like to believe – we treat those who are different unfairly, both legally and socially. This theme, among others, of “House Rules” is brought to life by well-developed and insightful characters. Picoult’s seventeenth novel is captivating with a controversial topic and plot that will keep you reading straight through until the last page.

“House Rules” centers on a misunderstood family of three: a mother and her two sons, one of whom has Asperger’s syndrome, a high-functioning form of autism. Eighteen-year-old Jacob Hunt has been heavily affected by Asperger’s since he was three. He is unable to read social cues, making him socially awkward. He has trouble expressing himself, as well as understanding the expressions of others. A multitude of quirks and pet peeves interrupt Jacob’s life from running smoothly, such as his irritation with loose hair. And if Jacob’s daily routine is met with change, he becomes overwhelmed to the point of having a mental breakdown. Imagine a six-foot kid throwing a tantrum in the middle of a grocery store. Jacob’s mother, Emma, is one strong woman.

Jacob’s disability impinges on his divorced mother Emma. Emma lives and breathes for Jacob, which often leaves her unintentionally neglecting her younger teenage son Theo. Neither is able to lead a typical life because of the lack of normalcy that comes with Asperger’s. Every Wednesday, for example, each meal must be based on the color yellow. Another symptom of those with Asperger’s is intent focus on one subject: Jacob is completely taken by forensic analysis. Jacob’s fascination is significant to the novel as it has him following local news, even showing up at crime scenes, imposing by offering his thoughts.

Another constant in their home is the house rules: Clean up your own messes; Tell the truth; “Take care of your brother; he’s the only one you’ve got.” These simply stated house rules are cleverly intertwined throughout Picoult’s artfully crafted novel. Jacob, for example, is sure to always tell the truth, just in his own way.

With such strict routines and simultaneously trying to fit in, the family is shook up when Jacob is questioned about a small town murder. Eventually, he becomes a prime suspect and the heartrending question looms: did Jacob, a young adult with Asperger’s syndrome, commit murder?

Picoult has a knack for embracing the controversial, which is why her writing is so addicting, especially with “House Rules.” Controversy goes hand-in-hand with the growing-in-numbers disability of autism, how it may be caused by administered drugs and how both society and the legal system deal with disabled individuals.

This novel, similar to others by Picoult, like "Salem Falls," is told in the first person perspective from a handful of characters. Through this skill, all the characters have their own voices and personalities. By implementing this technique, we are allowed inside the minds of a range of characters, hearing each person’s side of the story and how they individually and emotionally deal with the happenings of the storyline. As each character speaks, we are able to piece together the puzzle that is the story, until the last piece is placed in its spot and the picture of the truth is revealed. This technique is also used by acclaimed novelist Jackie Collins ("Poor Little Bitch Girl").

The mysterious murder, what it means to be different in our society, and how the legal system works for those who are different are seen through the eyes of Emma, Theo, Jacob, lawyer Oliver Bond and detective Rich Matson.

Theo makes for a convincing teenage boy who is itching to break free from a dysfunctional family, in hopes of just fitting in. Emma is a mother torn between her two sons and the opportunity – or lack of – enjoying her own life. The young lawyer Oliver, who is thrown into Jacob’s case without much experience, provides comic relief to a grave, profound story. Rich is a tough detective who tries to reach out to Jacob, only to deceive him later on.

And then there’s Jacob.

Through Picoult’s research of Asperger’s and her ability to make the character of Jacob so real and convincing, Jacob’s character will stick with readers for a long time. You are able to feel Jacob’s desperation for connection that is hindered by his disability. You will physically and mentally feel how the smallest change heightens Jacob’s anxiety, places him in utter disarray and causes him to lose control over his own actions. What Jacob goes through, you will go through.

“House Rules” is emotionally driven from page 1 to page 532. Picoult’s technical mastery is what makes her a literary mastermind and a worthy bestselling author. She combines a hard-to-swallow topic of a disabled person and murder, of a family who come together to knit their frayed seams, and tests all of our judgment on those who are different from us.

Corrine Bailey Rae's "The Sea" is calm with very few waves

2010-03-18T19:48:00.000-07:00

Hailing from England, Corinne Bailey Rae returns to the realm of music two years after her husbands death to deliver an emotional album, full of grief and hope, loss and perseverance. Bailey Rae’s “The Sea” is one of the first albums released in the new year of 2010 (01/02/10), and a strong addition to the neo-soul musician’s discography.

“The Sea” is comprised of eleven soulful tracks, all of which intertwine like a journey in search of hope and beauty after suffering from grief and despair. The lyrics are emotionally driven, idyllically complementing the soothing vocals and tranquil music.

From Capitol Records/Good Groove, the record was co-produced by Bailey Rae with Steve Brown and Steve Chrisanthou, who produced many of the songs on her high-selling debut album, which led to her three Grammy nominations in 2007.

The opening track “Are You Here” is sung softly against a backdrop of delicate music. The easy beat makes you want to simply sit back, close your eyes and unwind. Disarray over lost love is introduced, while the melody resonates with healing powers.

“Closer” is infused with jazzy tones as the track works through the exploration of love with familiar pushing and pulling. Love comes with tension, so it is important for each partner to move in the same direction. The music of the chorus jumps forward, inching closer, closer to what is desired with the words “I wanna, I wanna...get close to you.” The way Bailey Rae holds end notes so gracefully, like the word "you" in this song, makes her music all the more calming.

The music of “I Would Like to Call it Beauty” is serene, paired with soulful vocals and poignant lyrics. It is a hopeful song, recognizing how you are “pushed on by the fingertips of dreams,” even when love and passion are strained. That sheer motivation is what Bailey Rae would like to call beauty.

But after so much serenity and slowness, you might crave something more upbeat, something like Bailey Rae’s past hit “Put Your Records On.” Unfortunately, “The Sea” contains just one upbeat track. “Paris Nights/New York Mornings” is a fun song; it’s a toe-tapper and finger-snapper, but it isn’t quite enough. Had this album been recorded with at least four upbeat tracks, it would be nearly flawless. Although the album is strong and powerful overall, after so much heartache and dawdling melodies, it becomes dull.

Nevertheless, the expressiveness of Bailey Rae’s soulful vocals is implemented throughout the album. The light, airy music and lyrics lift you higher up with each track, until you are floating on clouds, lost in thought. To make the music as pleasing and dreamlike as it is, an array of instruments is used, including electric and acoustic pianos, electric and acoustic guitars, harps, cellos, organs, percussions, tambourines, synths, drums and others.

Sorrow and loss are recurring themes that are trumped by the power of hope, determination and beauty. Bailey Rae reminds us to keep going, to never give up, but to also never forget.

New FX series is 'Justified'

2010-03-16T22:08:00.000-07:00

With the conclusion of the provocative series "Nip/Tuck," FX makes room for something different, revealing multiple perspectives of life through the eyes of those less wealthy and materialstic. At 10 p.m. on Tuesday, March 16, FX's new series "Justified" premiered. With talented acting, a thrilling storyline set somewhere atypical, and clever camera angles, "Justified" is off to a strong start.

The show centers around the story of maverick Deputy US Marshal Raylan Givens (Timothy Olyphant, "Deadwood"), who ran away from his hometown in the country-side of Kentucky at age 19 to pursue the profession. After shooting a gun thug in Miami some years later, stirring up trouble with his superiors, Givens is exiled back to his hometown.

In a lawless town in Kentucky, Givens fights crime in his own way. And because of the town's small size, the deputies do it all: protect witnesses, chase fugitives, transport prisoners, and do their best to keep everyone in line. This can be difficult in a town full of ruthless killers.

The location is key because it offers perspectives through a different way of life. We're use to seeing dramas set in New York, Chicago, LA. Now, we have a setting that allows for believable characters of a different type: rednecks, hillbillies, nazi- and Klu Klux Klan-types. We see issues like racism and poverty in a whole new light. "Justified" takes its viewers to a place unknown, not completely understood, and gives us an array of fascinating characters.

Givens is portrayed as a mysteriously sexy country boy, decked out in cowboy boots and white cowboy hat. With his sidearm always slung to his side, Givens isn't afraid to pull the trigger, but he makes it clear if he shoots, he shoots to kill.

His character was created by crime novelist Elmore Leonard, and is perfected by Olyphant's talented and versatile acting. Olyphant has starred in everything from the show "Sex in the City" to the film "Live Free or Die Hard." He has also held roles in "Scream 2" and the recently released "The Crazies."

On his team, we have Deputy Art Mullen "Nick Searcy, "Cast Away"), Tim Gutterson (Jacob Pitts, "The Pacific") and Rachel Brooks (Erica Tazel, "The Office").

Along with building a bond with his new partners, Givens must face the relationships formed in his past nineteen years. Boyd Crowder (Walton Goggins, "The Shield") does a convincing job as Givens's old friend-turned-bank robber, aside from his brightly white and straight teeth. He is believable as lawless citizen with a knack for blowing up whatever he can to get a bit of cash.

Ava Crowder (Joelle Carter, "CSI: Miami") has had a long-time crush on Givens. Her involvement with Boyd puts her at risk, and her attraction to Givens puts her at even bigger risk.

Being an FX series, the show is developed and complemented by excellent lighting - either dark or light at all the right moments - and captivating camera angles. "Justified" uses a mix of up close and far away shots, some centering around specific items or characters, others focusing on the overall scene.

The action is built up throughout the pilot episode, rising and falling as necessary. Of course, a cliffhanger ending is constructed so that we'll tune in for next week's episode. "Justified" is worth watching. We are bound to learn more about the characters, see the town get into more trouble, and watch as Ava seduces Givens.

As Givens puts it, on his shooting of the gun thug, "it was justified."

‘Fringe’ creatively explores unexplainable phenomena

2010-03-07T16:34:00.000-08:00

"Fringe" begins its third season this April. Below is a review of the pilot episode.

Entering a world of skepticism, the new series “Fringe” on Fox (Thursdays at 9 p.m.) requires you to believe in the seemingly impossible. Blending psychic abilities with science, and utilizing inventive writing and convincing characters, makes for an intriguing series.

“Fringe” gets inspiration from shows like “The X-Files” and “House,” and it comes with the potential to be just as successful.

The series opener lets you now that you will be following a newly established FBI Fringe Division in Boston, Massachusetts as the team examines unexplainable phenomena linked to haunting occurrences.

FBI Special Agent Olivia Dunham (Anna Torv) is called to investigate a flight, which lands at Boston’s Logan Airport, containing no signs of life, other than some rotting skeletons. When Dunham’s partner – and lover – John Scott (Mark Valley) is nearly killed during the investigation, she seeks help; Scott’s situation seems to be linked to that of the plane. Help lies in the shaky hands of a senile genius: Dr. Walter Bishop (John Noble).

Dr. Bishop has been institutionalized for the past seventeen years for meddling with “fringe” science. Fringe science is sometimes called pseudo science, as it studies mind-control, invisibility, teleportation, reanimation and other unorthodox disciplines. Dr. Bishop uses unconventional approaches for solving mystifying cases, like that of the plane.

Unfortunately, for Agent Dunham, Dr. Bishop may only be contacted, and released, by immediate family members. That list barely stretches out to the doctor’s estranged son Peter (Joshua Jackson).

The creators, J.J. Abrams (winner of an Emmy and Golden Globe), Alex Kurtzman (co-writer of the film “The Island”) and Roberto Gaston (screenwriter for “Transformers”), use their imagination to assert how the world of science is changing.

The overall idea of the show is quite creative. “Fringe” will certainly survive several seasons to solve a series of fantastical cases from across the globe, all linked together.

But there’s more to “Fringe” than the imaginative, mind-bending storyline; the cinematography and acting are well done.

The pilot episode begins with a flight caught in chaos; the turbulence and flashing lights capture the fright of the scene. A slight downfall is the use of giant block letters, which take up a large chunk of the screen, to let you know at what location certain scenes occur. This can get annoying and distracting; the show could have gone for the typical small letters at the bottom of the screen.

Noble plays his role as Dr. Bishop quite well, making him believable and intriguing. Jackson and Torv add to the cast ensemble. Jackson’s skills have certainly matured since his days on “Dawson’s Creek,” and his troubled relationship with his father is also convincing and captivating. It seems their relationship will develop throughout the series, hitting many bumps along the way. They defy one another, and Peter’s character also resists the independent woman Agent Dunham.

While the pace is a bit slow at first, it is necessary and the show is complemented by sporadic action and on-key music. Toward the closing of episode one, the action heightens and a cliffhanger is constructed, which is essential for a drama series. “Fringe” hooks you to continue watching.

DiCaprio and Scorsese showcase their talents in "Shutter Island"

2010-02-24T14:22:00.000-08:00

Dennis Lehane's mind-bending novel "Shutter Island" was released as a motion picture on Friday, February 19. A novel with such a mentally twisting, code-breaking plot, developed with foreshadowing and a blend of both dreamlike and pragmatic scenes, is tough to effectively portray as a film.

Not for director Martin Scorsese and actor Leonardo DiCaprio. Lehane ought to be thankful that when he gave up the rights to his novel, the project fell into good hands. The picture, while not perfect, is comprised of brilliant directing and acting, along with a haunting story that challenges the psyche.

Set in 1954, "Shutter Island" follows U.S. Marshal Teddy Daniels (DiCaprio) and his new partner Chuck (Mark Ruffalo) as they take on an eerie case at Ashecliffe Hospital for the Criminally Insane. The hospital is located on Shutter Island, part of the Boston Harbor.

The investigation involves a woman who killed her three children. Rachel Solando has escaped her guarded and locked cell, something quite unexplainable. As Dr. Cawley (Ben Kingsley) states, "It's as if she's evaporated, straight through the walls." As the Marshals interview staff and patients to solve the case, they discover that the truth is hard to find on the island.

Any film set in a mental institution seems predictable; and, yes, a couple parts of "Shutter Island" are predictable, but, overall, the storyline is not what most would expect. As the plot unfolds and the truth unravels, the film has you guessing and concocting a mixture of predictions. The conclusion is clever, and getting there is even more clever.

Lehane knows how to write the noir genre well, and Scorsese (with the help of good screenplay writers) has the skill to create an excellent motion picture.

The directing is near-flawless. The pace of the movie, steady, but quickening and slowing when necessary, keeps you intrigued, and makes it feel like you are there on the island along side Teddy for those few days.

With a solid pace comes a smooth flow. Each scene of the film flows into the next without bumps and sharp turns, which is saying something about Scorsese's directing. Within the film, you see inside Teddy's mind, get a feel for the inner-workings of a war veteran. Every so often, a flash, a scene, interrupts the plot to give insight into what Teddy is thinking; but these interruptions are executed quite well. They do not throw off the flow or the pace, only enhance the film's quality. All glimpses of Teddy's thoughts are crucial to the plot, and, of course, the ending.

More than that, the imaginings of Teddy are painted with beautifully haunting photography. The colors are striking and eye-catching: the soft white of snow falling, the bright yellow of Teddy's late-wife's dress, the crisp crimson of blood dripping from Rachel's neck.

There are other great shots throughout the film. A hurricane hits the island, and rain can make for some powerful imagery. At one point, Teddy and Chuck are standing behind a chain-link fence; the camera focuses on the front of the partners, so you see their upper-bodies pressed against this face, with rain pouring down. You can see it in Teddy's eyes that he is wracking his brain trying to put the pieces of this mysterious island together.

And what good is a film set in the 50s (or any time, for that matter) without DiCaprio? DiCaprio shines once again as a lead actor. DiCaprio ideally becomes his character of Teddy Daniels; fans of the book will be very pleased with this choice of actor, for DiCaprio truly brings the novel's character, as he is meant to be, to life. DiCaprio makes the character of Teddy believable; you believe Teddy's notions of not trusting anyone on the island, of his constant migraines, of how the war affected his mentality, of his longing for his dead wife, played by Michelle Williams ("Dawson's Creek").

Williams also performs well in her role. She has done a few things since her days on the Creek, but nothing major. Probably this film will land her some other key parts in the land of Hollywood film.

With strong acting, powerhouse directing, superb photography, and a bestselling book to extract a screenplay from, "Shutter Island" is a well-rounded motion picture.

All in all, as a fan of the novel, I was happy with the film - and that does not happen often. My one major complaint is that the codes and decoding of the novel are not portrayed well on film. Teddy finds a piece of paper in Rachel's room that states "The Law of 4... Who is 67?" These codes, which are accompanied by a few other lines in the book, are essential to the story. They contribute to the way the book messes with your mind and tests your skill with codes. This is not captured on film; I realize it would be hard to do so, but not impossible, as we have seen in films like "The Number 23."

I recommend seeing this film before it leaves theaters, which won't be for a while.

How will the Island's story be shaped on the silver screen?

2010-02-14T13:36:00.000-08:00

"Shutter Island" is the next "New York Times" bestselling book to make its way to the silver screen. The film is to be released wide February 19 from Paramount Pictures.

The fact that this book is now a major motion picture is nothing new.

Every year, a shelf of America's most popular books are turned into pictures. Authors of these books sell the rights to the filmmakers, and - in my mind - cross their fingers. Maybe they're just doing it for the money, but I like to think otherwise.

These books are adapted for the big screen for entertainment. But the movie is never the same as the book, never quite as good, and often times the movie is just awful in comparison to the hardcover; however, some movies, if you block the book from your mind, are not bad. I enjoy watching "The Lord of the Rings," one of my favorite books. Thanks to director Peter Jackson, those movies respect the book's essence as best as possible in nine and a half hours.

Fans of literature will tell you, movies will cast actors who do not fit their respective characters (ex. Tom Hanks as Robert Langdon); feelings and emotions, the intensity felt when reading the book is not captured on film; and, yes, endings of books get changed (ex. My Sister's Keeper, Dear John, Angels & Demons) - seriously - just to satisfy Hollywood. Those new endings, they never fail in being anti-climatic and far less meaningful. Plus, whatever imagination and creativity you used when reading a book to bring it to life in your own mind, in your own way, is spoiled by a movie that does not fulfill the book's potential. Imagination extirpated.

Will this be the case with national bestselling author Dennis Lehane's 2003 novel "Shutter Island"? Because Martin Scorsese is the director, the essence of the novel has a chance to be delivered well, in a way that won't have Lehane fans storming out of the theater with their arms flailing. Scorsese is brilliant, just look at "The Departed." So, perhaps if the movie fails to portray the book in all its glory, it will still be entertaining. And with Leonardo DiCaprio as the main character, the film is worth seeing regardless.

"Shutter Island" takes place in the 50s, set on an island off the coast of Massachusetts. U.S. Marshal Teddy Daniels (Leonardo DiCaprio) and his new partner Chuck Aule (Mark Ruffalo) come to Shutter Island to investigate and solve a case at Ashecliffe Hospital for the Criminally Insane. The case: a dangerous patient has escaped her guarded cell, an escape that is strikingly unexplainable. Unless someone on the inside helped her out.

Rachel Solando has been locked in the island hospital for murdering her three children. Drowning them and then seating their lifeless bodies at her kitchen table for a meal. Her tale makes you shudder, but you follow Teddy and Chuck every step of the way, hoping to solve the case.

Lehane has a way of developing very believable characters who come right to life while reading. Teddy Daniels is a character who allows you to get inside his mind; the third-person point of view doesn't add any distance between you and Teddy. You explore Teddy's thoughts and emotions, even in his dreams. Lehane is sure to build your sympathy up for Teddy; his wife had died in a fire two years before the trip to the island, and her case was never officially solved.

The pace of this novel has you reading on and on until the ending. And, sure, part way through the book the main aspect of the ending is predictable; but the journey is what counts, and this book absorbs you into the pages so that you are on that island with Teddy, stuck in the same horrific hurricane, trying to solve the same mind-bending case.

Lehane's writing is smart, clever. With all the codes, he has your mind racing and wracking the numbers and letters together to fully figure everything out. You do so because the foreshadowing in this thriller is constructed so well; it is not too obvious, it is not forced. Pay attention to the dreams, pay attention to the hands, crack the codes.

But how will this be displayed on screen? Will audience members be able to feel what readers feel? The thrill and the pace can no doubt be adapted for the screen. And DiCaprio seems a perfect fit for Teddy. But a book with so many codes and tricks of the mind and hidden meanings is difficult to make into a picture. Remember "The Da Vinci Code" and "Angels & Demons"? Terrible movies, brilliant books.

All we can hope is that "Shutter Island" captures the book's essence, or, at least, is worth our ten dollars.

*Other notes about the movie: Michelle Williams of "Dawson's Creek" plays Teddy's wife Dolores. Ben Kingsley plays Dr. Cawley, who works at the hospital.

'Dear John' adaptation blackens the book's beauty

2010-02-07T08:55:00.000-08:00

"Dear John," another adaptation of a bestseller by Nicholas Sparks, became the first film this year to top the numbers of "Avatar" on opening day. It will also be the first to sell for just one dollar at Red Box earlier than expected.

With all the inconsistencies, the film loses the book’s essence of the detriments and benefits that love and family endure, clinging only to the touching, troubled relationship between father and son.

“Dear John” merges two entirely different existences together: worldly John Tyree (Channing Tatum) meets conservative Savannah Curtis (Amanda Seyfried) while he is on a short leave from the army and she is on spring break from college. After John rescues Savannah’s purse from the ocean, she invites him to a seaside barbeque where an unexpected love begins to bloom.

In just two weeks, Savannah and John sculpt a love that some take a lifetime to master. While apart and communicating solely through letters, the lovers learn of distance and patience, and how the heart is powerful enough to transform the soul. John has one year left before permanently leaving the army, when the tragic events of 9/11 test both his dedication to his country and the love of his life.

All the while, Savannah takes an interest in John’s coin-collecting, socially awkward father, who raised his son as a single parent. Mr. Tyree (Richard Jenkins) is a man of routine and little words. John and his father haven’t been close since he was a kid.

In a romantic film, the couple’s love is the most prominent and heartrending tale; yet the relationship between father and son is more uplifting and moving in “Dear John.” The book favors both relationships, but the film only captures one.

Director Lasse Hallström and screenplay writer Jamie Linden team up for “Dear John,” creating inconsistencies and senseless choices. The directing offers precision in some areas and carelessness in others. The screenplay is a mess.

The surfing clips effectively deliver the intended emotions. Each time John reads a letter from Savannah, and when they share their first kiss in the rain, the camera angles and lighting are implemented well.

On the contrary, the sex scene is meant to have moonlit lighting for a romantic, beautiful feel. But the scene is too dark and the camera angles are all over the place.

It is also hard to believe Savannah’s character is in love with John because of Seyfried’s underdeveloped acting. The bond between them should be believable; at times it is because Tatum’s acting idyllically fits his role.

Seyfried cannot show seriousness in a convincing way. When she is supposed to be angry or hurt, her acting is noticeably forced. Once Seyfried is reciting lines in an upset and torn state, her words sound unnatural and poorly written.

Another acting debacle is Tim, played by Henry Thomas. He comes off as creepy and unremarkable, looking like he’s forty but hanging with twenty-one year olds. The book’s version of Tim is a young, humble and genuine individual, who is dedicated to his autistic brother (not son) and to Savannah. Equally, his character and fate are disappointingly altered in the movie, making audiences not believe or care about Tim.

Thankfully, Mr. Tyree plays his role brilliantly. Audiences will find a place in their hearts for this father, who stays true to his character from the novel.

The beautiful story of “Dear John” is incoherent with directing, acting and drastic differences from the book. Even the ending gets changed. Aside from the faults, the film has the potential to touch the hearts of more than girls in love.

The Final Cuts of the so Sexy 'Nip/Tuck'

2010-02-04T19:09:00.000-08:00

"Nip/Tuck" has challenged audiences - and the ratings system - for six incredible seasons, along with its "Final Nine."

The FX hit show reached its pinnacle in the fifth season, and probably should have ended there; but they kept going, they kept writing, and they kept the creativity flowing. The show, without a doubt, lost much of its original flare after the fifth season, but "Nip/Tuck" fans couldn't be more thrilled to have the season return.

Quite simply, the show is a guilty pleasure. Like chocolate cake at midnight. You just cannot stop watching. And I must admit that I was upset to hear the show was ending its run. Four episodes remain, including the series finale, and I am counting down until the day my favorite television show goes off the air. Counting down because, well, what will ever be able to replace this addiction? I can't wait to see how it ends, though I will be rather upset to see it gone.

This season has consisted of ups and downs in all areas, and, with every down, Sean (Dylan Walsh) and Christian's (Julian McMahon) lives get a little messier, a little crazier, a little sexier, and a lot harder.

As the "Final Nine" unravels, Christian's long, drawn-out frustration, which has been building up for a whole decade, toward his best friend and partner Christian begins to explode. He resents Christian for ruining his shot at Harvard. He can't stand Christian for treating others so poorly. A few times, Sean decides to leave the practice and do something more meaningful and humanitarian, by his standards, with his talented surgeon skills. Of course, a sexy woman gets in the way and Sean's plans to travel to Africa to help the needy there fail.

Christian still cannot make up his mind about Kimber, but he knows one thing: "no babies." The two are so wrong for one another that they are absolutely perfect as a newly, and finally, married couple. But, as always, their relationship hits a rough patch, and becomes incredibly detached and strained. Kimber even fakes an orgasm! Yeah, Christian was pretty pissed.

And, what would "Nip/Tuck" be without cheating and lies? Kimber and Sean fall into a sex-driven adulterous relationship. It ends just before Kimber commits suicide by jumping off Mike's ("Saved By the Bell's Mario Lopez) yacht. I must say that I miss Kimber. At times, I couldn't decide whether I hated her or loved her; in the end, I know I have loved her. Her character was so well-rounded, with all her perfections and flaws battling one another. Beautiful on the outside, ruined on the inside. And that's the last we've seen of scrumptious Mario Lopez, always parading with his shirt off, abs rippling. He fit his role well.

Speaking of characters gone astray, where is Wilbur through all of this? And Jenna, who you only see maybe once? The little ones seem to be forgotten. Though they wouldn't add much to the series, they are a part of it, and it is a put-off to see them simply written out of the scripts without so much as a one-line explanation.

Matt has been living life on a clean slate now, something new for him. After his odd mime phase, the writers might have agreed to give him less of a prominent role, for the mime days were too strange, even for Matt.

Julia is too be missed as well. But rumor has it that she will return for the closure to deliver shocking information about Annie and Connor (Sean's other two children).

The cinematography is as great as ever. The lines are clever. The stories of the patients who visit MacNamara/Troy are as both touching and strange as always, with each tale tying into the lives of the main characters in a beautifully haunting way.

A huge downfall is, well, less sex and provocative scenes in "Nip/Tuck". Fans of the show love those down-right dirty scenes. Christian bending a patient over his desk, for example. Although there has been some sexy lines and scenes, the last season and the last few episodes do not live up to the show's reputation. Not even close. Where is that "Nip/Tuck" fire? Where is the passion, or the lack-of (in Christian's case)? Where is Christian snorting cocaine off Kimber's ass? Where is Julia turning lesbian, but not getting off from her female lover? Where is Christian and Kimber going to a swinger's bash and Kimber getting into an all-female threesome to turn on her lover? They all live on DVD, if you can afford it.

If you're a "Nip/Tuck" guru, keep up with the final four episodes. What ending do you predict? It seems Christian has to die, because what the hell will he do after their practice ends? Other than be a 45-year-old trying to get with 21-year-olds?; or, perhaps, Sean, with his huge heart, will die for the man who he both hates and loves. Maybe there won't be any more deaths. Maybe they will all live happily ever after. Doubt it. That is not Nip/Tuck-ish. Something shocking, totally surprising, and completely... weird... must happen.

And I sure cannot wait to find out how my favorite series, a huge FX hit, ends its successful era.

Decode ‘the lost symbol’ with Robert Langdon

2010-02-04T18:39:00.000-08:00

I wrote this a couple days after "The Lost Symbol" hit shelves. If you haven't had the chance to read it, I suggest you put it on your Summer Reading List.

Decode ‘the lost symbol’ with Robert Langdon

“New York Times” bestselling author Dan Brown released his latest masterpiece on Tuesday, September 15. “The Lost Symbol” is the third installment to the Robert Langdon series, following the popular novels “Angels & Demons” and “The Da Vinci Code.”

“The Da Vinci Code” is Brown’s biggest success, winning the title of bestselling hardcover adult novel ever with 81 million copies in print worldwide.

The first two novels of the Robert Langdon series have also been adapted to the big screen. Brown’s other bestsellers include “Deception Point” and “Digital Fortress.”
Last Tuesday, five million copies of “The Lost Symbol” were printed for starters.
It is difficult to tell whether avid readers counted down the release date of “The Lost Symbol” simply because it is a Dan Brown piece, or because their favorite character Robert Langdon is back.

After reading the novel, one would find the writing and well-established character work idyllically.

The intelligent, handsome professor – who is also athletic – combined with Brown’s knack for spinning a web of masterful plots, and thrilling twists and turns equals one amazing novel.

The narrative, similar to the other Langdon tales, takes place in the course of short time span; “The Lost Symbol” occurs over a twelve-hour period.
It begins with a prologue that reveals as little information as possible without making the book anything less than captivating. Brown pulls in the reader through his brilliance in detail, mixed with his ability to keep readers guessing.

Harvard symbologist Robert Langdon is called upon by a longtime friend to give a lecture in the U.S. Capitol Building without prior notice. But, of course, there is more to this trip than a lecture on symbology. Upon arrival, Langdon, in his Harris Tweed jacket, discovers the lecture was never to happen in the first place.

He is deceived by a mysterious, tattooed man, and tossed into a quest to decode a peculiar object, encrusted with five symbols, which is found inside the Capitol Building. And who better to decipher this code than the most well-known symbologist himself? Langdon does not have a choice whether or not to participate – his praised mentor and Masonic philanthropist, Mr. Solomon, may be in grave danger.

Brown’s novel is fast-paced, action-packed, taking readers alongside Langdon on this deadly chase to decipher codes within codes. With short chapters, the quick pace resembles the actual short time span and fast chase of the novel itself. Just when readers think they’ve figured out what is about to happen, Brown reveals a hidden truth – all within our own U.S. capitol.

The truths are unveiled through the eyes and minds of several characters, including Langdon and Mr. Solomon’s daughter Katherine. Katherine is a beautiful, intelligent, older woman who is sure to form a bond with the handsome, equally intelligent, Harvard professor.

Brown’s ability to write from several different perspectives hands the reader scattered puzzle pieces that are mentally fit together. By the last pages, the puzzle is complete. Diving into the thoughts of all parties involved makes the novel as far away from boring as possible.

This page-turner will be sure to have readers entranced, refusing to put the book down for more than a moment.

How will Langdon solve the mysteries that are concealed within Washington DC? What will the disturbing artifact expose? Will Langdon get – and keep – the girl this time?

All the organizations in “The Lost Symbol” exist, and all the rituals, artwork, science and monuments are shockingly real. This makes Brown’s novel come to life unlike any other book to be released this year.

Aside from a few typos, “The Lost Symbol” is another nearly flawless masterpiece by, quite possibly, the greatest thrill writer this world has been graced with.

Do you read every time you eat?

2010-02-03T11:04:00.000-08:00

Have you seen those anti-smoking commercials? One shows a woman mixing a frozen cocktail in her workplace so she can go out for her smoke break. The commercial says something like, you don't drink every time you smoke; but you smoke every time you drink. Then there's the car one with a guy rushing frantically through a parking lot trying to get into any car: you don't drive every time you smoke, but you smoke every time you drive.

Well, imagine searching for a book each time you are about to eat. You don't read every time you eat, but you eat every time you read.

That's my problem. Whenever I read - which, I must admit, is quite a lot - I have to eat. I have to snack. And it's never on carrots and green beans. No, give me Fig Newtons, four-cheese crackers, bunny grahams, Ben & Jerry's. And it's not like I eat one, maybe two portions and then stop, satisfied... enough said. This is a pretty serious problem; you see, I have lost self control when it comes to snacking while I read. This, of course, leads to weight gain, loss of toned and tight muscles. Yes, flab build up.

I read in the morning, in between classes, after classes, and before bed. Anytime I have a break, I read, whether it be for class or for pleasure. So, I eat unhealthy snacks far too often. What do I do? How can I regain self control?

The past two days, I decided to go to the gym with my book when I got the itch to read. That way, I cannot eat while indulging in literature. This has been quite helpful, for that certain time slot of reading. And that's that.

I even tried to buy fewer snacks and more healthy options. Oh, then my roommate made brownies and offered me some, and I couldn't be rude and decline, right? That's my excuse. Of course I did not decline; I love brownies, their texture and chocolaty goodness.

I'll have to search Stop & Shop for a satisfying snack that is not so carb and sugar heavy. But what if I am still not ready to control portion size? Even if I have those pre-packaged packs that are 100 calories, or whatever? Maybe I can find another addiction to combine with reading. There's no way I am giving up reading, so it goes.

It seems quite ridiculous and it is rather embarrassing. But, it's real. I don't read every time I eat, but I eat every time I read.

From the Pages to the Big Screen

2010-02-02T14:31:00.001-08:00

Will bestseller ‘Dear John’ be as beautiful on screen as on the page?

In 2006, the “New York Times” best-selling author Nicholas Sparks published "Dear John" in which he merged the two entirely different existences of two young adult souls: one, a troubled male who turns to the army for guidance, and, the second, a genuine southern-bell gal who doesn’t want to fall in love.

But with a mastermind romantic like Sparks, John Tyree and Savannah Lynn Curtis meet, fall in love, and fall apart in a captivating and, of course, heartbreaking tale.

Sparks has opened up the hearts of millions, giving them the sheer belief in true love. His knack for transcending love of the most unattainable into the completely tangible is outstanding. Luckily, several of his heartrending stories have been brought to life via the big screen.

This Friday, January 5, “Dear John” will become another major motion picture that started as just a vision in the lovesick mind of Sparks.

While “Dear John” resembles “The Notebook” in summary (two young individuals meet in the summer in North Carolina, and are torn apart for inevitable reasons, but stay in touch through written letters), John and Savannah’s story stands as its own.

Unfortunately, this book was written post-Notebook, so it will constantly be compared to the story of Noah and Allie. If Sparks had written "Dear John" first, the book would be worth so much more because it is, ultimately, a far better written novel. The main characters are well-rounded and believable, including John's autistic father and Savannah's humble friend, Tim. The emotions exhibited by the characters are written in a way that makes readers get on the same level with them and feel what they feel. Love, passion, fidelity. Jealousy, melancholy, frustration.

The novel is told in the first-person from the perspective of John. It is written as if he were talking directly to the reader, like a conversation of sorts. He speaks in the present tense in the year 2006, letting readers know that he and Savannah are no more, and it was he who ended it.

To find out their story and why it had to end, one must read on.

The story plunges into Part I of the book, set in North Carolina during the year 2000. John gives background information about his life, especially about his relationship with his coin-collecting father. Then he recaps how he met Savannah in entrancing detail while on his yearly break from the infantry. Where their story begins is unexpected, yet quite charming. Soon, the growing love between the two feels so real that it becomes challenging to put the novel down.

“Dear John” is an easy read with a steady pace that quickens and slows at just the right parts. The pace is controlled with both summaries and scenes, some blooming with detail.

John’s vivid descriptions of Savannah’s characteristics, like the way she laughs and elusively smiles, are touching and relatable. Many can either relate to that otherworldly romance that leaves both partners positively changed. Also many can relate to having a loved one in the army.

After a short two weeks, Savannah and John have sculpted a love that some take a lifetime to master. And then John is sent back to his base in Germany. The lovers learn of distance and patience, of ever-growing affection and how the heart is powerful enough to transform the soul.

Before John leaves, he promises he will come back to wherever Savannah is during his next break from the army. He promises to marry her. She vows to wait for him, and that she does.

But she cannot wait forever.

Become indulged in the story of John and Savannah. Learn to love and let love go through their tale that is heartbreaking, yet utterly uplifting. And if you have already read or seen "The Notebook," put the story of those two lovers behind.

A fan of the book “Dear John” can only wonder how it will stand as a major motion picture. Will the beauty and emotion felt while reading the novel be properly delivered in theaters? Will critics just bash Sparks for seemingly lacking in the creative department? It is sure to be a sappy romance that is perfect for dates. But it will also offer universal-like themes that all can benefit from.

Anyone who gravitates toward novels overflowing with smiles and tears should pick up “Dear John,” as it sure to leave an imprint before reaching the conclusion.