The end of the semester is kicking my proverbial ass, so many papers to write, so little time. The feeling of stress has been ripping through my mind lately, creating a feeling of angst as I move through the last part of the semester.
But in effort to not sound like a cry-baby, I'll just end with this. I don't have much time right now, so check out my final blog on reflections as posted below . . .
p.s. I wish everyone the best of luck on all their finals, and a Merry early Christmas too.
Thursday, December 6, 2007
The Final Blog: Reflections
This class has been the most challenging course I have ever taken for writing. Coming from a journalism studies program, I have been forced to conform to a certain style of writing that has started to become like second nature. When thinking of sports writing, I see a very journalist, direct and to-the-point style of writing, far from the style that was taught in class.
At first I did not agree with the methodology of the class, most of the chalkboard days seemed utterly pointless other than to provide us with busy work. As the semester went on and clarity struck, I realized it was an effective tool to break down the works of these other great authors.
In most writing class, the professors find my writing to be instantly impressive—but in this class that was not the case. My first assignment came off flat and un-inspired, far from the level of work I am used to producing. I started to become frustrated, blaming the class structure itself, instead of looking within at my own flaws.
I was published from the very tender age of 16, giving me a certain sense of confidence and accomplishment that most writers have to wait years to obtain. I was given a monthly column in my local, hometown newspaper to express my views through the eyes of high school student. The instant popularity my column generated shifted my confidence into overdrive, giving me a slight ego that makes it hard for me to understand the imperfections in my writing. Professor Emerson’s plan to make our writing better through editing and revision were two areas that were vastly unfamiliar to me and often became frustrating throughout the course.
I have often had trouble condensing my writing without becoming wordy or saying too much in a single sentence. Grammar has always been my biggest flaw, especially with comma splicing, which has always been my most prevalent weakness. This course has given me the opportunity to work on those issues, sharpening my writing, and giving me a firmer grasp on the grammatical aspects of the English language.
Overall, it was a pretty good class, I feel like I learned a great deal about the importance of revising my writing. The other students were a good bunch to be around, lots of different personalities that blended together for some entertaining moments. I appreciate everything I’ve learned and I only hope to improve my writing as I gain experience and maturity.
At first I did not agree with the methodology of the class, most of the chalkboard days seemed utterly pointless other than to provide us with busy work. As the semester went on and clarity struck, I realized it was an effective tool to break down the works of these other great authors.
In most writing class, the professors find my writing to be instantly impressive—but in this class that was not the case. My first assignment came off flat and un-inspired, far from the level of work I am used to producing. I started to become frustrated, blaming the class structure itself, instead of looking within at my own flaws.
I was published from the very tender age of 16, giving me a certain sense of confidence and accomplishment that most writers have to wait years to obtain. I was given a monthly column in my local, hometown newspaper to express my views through the eyes of high school student. The instant popularity my column generated shifted my confidence into overdrive, giving me a slight ego that makes it hard for me to understand the imperfections in my writing. Professor Emerson’s plan to make our writing better through editing and revision were two areas that were vastly unfamiliar to me and often became frustrating throughout the course.
I have often had trouble condensing my writing without becoming wordy or saying too much in a single sentence. Grammar has always been my biggest flaw, especially with comma splicing, which has always been my most prevalent weakness. This course has given me the opportunity to work on those issues, sharpening my writing, and giving me a firmer grasp on the grammatical aspects of the English language.
Overall, it was a pretty good class, I feel like I learned a great deal about the importance of revising my writing. The other students were a good bunch to be around, lots of different personalities that blended together for some entertaining moments. I appreciate everything I’ve learned and I only hope to improve my writing as I gain experience and maturity.
Saturday, December 1, 2007
Matters of the Heart
I've always felt like it was kind of like my mission to educate people on just how important heart is, I sometimes felt like I was speaking to the deaf. On January10th of last year I had the privilege of going from Owego to Wayne, NJ, and on that night, I, along with four of my buddies, got to see a very emotional retirement speech from Vince Russo (former WWE television writer). In his speech Vince talked about heart and how important having lots of heart is. Sound familiar? Vince stated that people do good deeds because of the heart they have, and that the reason people do bad things is because of their lack of heart.
I personally don't really know much about living the "college life." I have no idea what it is like to get drunk everyday, nor do I want to know. I just don't understand why people continue to harm themselves in this manner. There is no way that this "college life" of partying, drinking, and having mindless sex could make them happy, so why does it take place? Why do I not partake in these activities? Is it because I have common sense - or is it that I am too intelligent to be that stupid with my body?
Another part of having heart is caring for fellow members of society and having compassion for others. I will admit that I preach my values and morals a lot of the time but it is not without reason. You see, I know a lot of people that follow my path in life, they carry themselves with the same respect and morals that I do, they have heart. . It would be easy for me to quit, stop fighting, and become one of them - the heartless establishment - but if I did that, I would hate myself even more than all those heartless people already do
I personally don't really know much about living the "college life." I have no idea what it is like to get drunk everyday, nor do I want to know. I just don't understand why people continue to harm themselves in this manner. There is no way that this "college life" of partying, drinking, and having mindless sex could make them happy, so why does it take place? Why do I not partake in these activities? Is it because I have common sense - or is it that I am too intelligent to be that stupid with my body?
Another part of having heart is caring for fellow members of society and having compassion for others. I will admit that I preach my values and morals a lot of the time but it is not without reason. You see, I know a lot of people that follow my path in life, they carry themselves with the same respect and morals that I do, they have heart. . It would be easy for me to quit, stop fighting, and become one of them - the heartless establishment - but if I did that, I would hate myself even more than all those heartless people already do
Thursday, November 29, 2007
A Look Back at My Angry Teen-age Years
The great poem I, Too, Sing America by Langston Hughes was read to me as a part of Owego Free Academy's English 12 curriculum. In studying this poem my English 12 teacher, Mr. Evans, had our class write our own I, too, sing America poem about a time in which we felt disenfranchised from society, as how Langston Hughes felt during the writing of his poem.
I thought this was a great idea as I could write whatever I felt disconnected me from society, and anyone who is a teenager knows that we always feel in some way disconnected from this society that we are trying to find our identity in. I wrote the following poem in response:
I, too, sing America
I am just a young adult, so they say.
Outcasted by the people "wiser" than I.
Everything I say is looked at with a critical eye. Stereotyped in my prime, forgotten in the days beyond.
We are the future, not just mindless adolescents. If I am not given the respect, I will take it. I will show you one milestone at a time. No matter what you say I can't be stopped. My confidence is like steel, unbreakable.
I am determined to win the battle and show you all that . . .
. . . I, too, sing America.
I wrote this poem for all the adults that will not give young people the opportunities some of us have earned. Nothing makes me feel more disenfranchised from society than when an adult tells me that just because I am younger that I cannot handle responsibility. I use this monthly column to make my voice heard, to speak out, and connect with an audience. I encourage all of you teenagers to do something like me, not just with writing - but anything that makes your voice heard; show the older, "wiser," adults that we should be respected and if we are not we will take that respect no matter what they say or do to stop us.
This is something I did for a 12th grade English assignment. Looking back on it now, it is amazing how much I've changed and how angry I sounded at this time. It's funny how people changed with age and maturity.
I thought this was a great idea as I could write whatever I felt disconnected me from society, and anyone who is a teenager knows that we always feel in some way disconnected from this society that we are trying to find our identity in. I wrote the following poem in response:
I, too, sing America
I am just a young adult, so they say.
Outcasted by the people "wiser" than I.
Everything I say is looked at with a critical eye. Stereotyped in my prime, forgotten in the days beyond.
We are the future, not just mindless adolescents. If I am not given the respect, I will take it. I will show you one milestone at a time. No matter what you say I can't be stopped. My confidence is like steel, unbreakable.
I am determined to win the battle and show you all that . . .
. . . I, too, sing America.
I wrote this poem for all the adults that will not give young people the opportunities some of us have earned. Nothing makes me feel more disenfranchised from society than when an adult tells me that just because I am younger that I cannot handle responsibility. I use this monthly column to make my voice heard, to speak out, and connect with an audience. I encourage all of you teenagers to do something like me, not just with writing - but anything that makes your voice heard; show the older, "wiser," adults that we should be respected and if we are not we will take that respect no matter what they say or do to stop us.
This is something I did for a 12th grade English assignment. Looking back on it now, it is amazing how much I've changed and how angry I sounded at this time. It's funny how people changed with age and maturity.
Sunday, November 25, 2007
Is This Destiny?
I thought since I got caught up in the Thanksgiving day celebration I would do two blogs tonight to make up for not doing one on Thursday:
Being able to express my opinions and help people in the process gives me an indescribable rush. One specific event brought me back to where I was supposed to be; it was the kind of defining moment that comes along once in a life time, the moment where one realizes why they were put on this earth. This event was like no other in my life, one that touched my heart, one that I will never forget.
It was a typical night at Mario's Pizza, nothing special, nothing out of the ordinary—I was just working at a solid, steady pace. Out of nowhere I hear my boss calling my name, her voice un-assuming, almost unsure. On the surface I thought maybe I had done something wrong and would now be reprimanded for it. As I make my way over to the counter I am told there is someone who would like to see me. As I make my way over to the register I see an elderly women with tears in her eyes. At this point I was frantic I thought to myself could I have possibly offended this women somehow—I had no idea what I was about to hear would change me, once again. All of a sudden she looks up at me with tears in her eyes and proceeds to tell me that she is the grandmother of Jarid Henry and that the article I wrote about her deceased grandson (he killed himself) was one of the few things that helped carry her through that summer.
Ever since that moment I have been in a daze; I have thought to myself does my writing really make a difference? Can it make a difference? Is this why I was created? This event certainly raised so many un-answered questions within my heart and soul. The thought that I actual helped fill someone's emotional void is unbelievable; a feeling which is undescribable. I thank Jarid's Grandmother from the bottom of my heart for she has helped me re-discover the passion that drives me—that is the best gift one could ever receive.
The moral of this story is if you as a reader have not found your passion, seek and you shall find. Everyone has a passion some just haven't realized it yet. I lost my passion once, when I was younger—but thanks to a lovely grandmother I felt re-born, and ready to serve whoever needs me. After writing this I can honestly say I have my passion, do you?
Being able to express my opinions and help people in the process gives me an indescribable rush. One specific event brought me back to where I was supposed to be; it was the kind of defining moment that comes along once in a life time, the moment where one realizes why they were put on this earth. This event was like no other in my life, one that touched my heart, one that I will never forget.
It was a typical night at Mario's Pizza, nothing special, nothing out of the ordinary—I was just working at a solid, steady pace. Out of nowhere I hear my boss calling my name, her voice un-assuming, almost unsure. On the surface I thought maybe I had done something wrong and would now be reprimanded for it. As I make my way over to the counter I am told there is someone who would like to see me. As I make my way over to the register I see an elderly women with tears in her eyes. At this point I was frantic I thought to myself could I have possibly offended this women somehow—I had no idea what I was about to hear would change me, once again. All of a sudden she looks up at me with tears in her eyes and proceeds to tell me that she is the grandmother of Jarid Henry and that the article I wrote about her deceased grandson (he killed himself) was one of the few things that helped carry her through that summer.
Ever since that moment I have been in a daze; I have thought to myself does my writing really make a difference? Can it make a difference? Is this why I was created? This event certainly raised so many un-answered questions within my heart and soul. The thought that I actual helped fill someone's emotional void is unbelievable; a feeling which is undescribable. I thank Jarid's Grandmother from the bottom of my heart for she has helped me re-discover the passion that drives me—that is the best gift one could ever receive.
The moral of this story is if you as a reader have not found your passion, seek and you shall find. Everyone has a passion some just haven't realized it yet. I lost my passion once, when I was younger—but thanks to a lovely grandmother I felt re-born, and ready to serve whoever needs me. After writing this I can honestly say I have my passion, do you?
Scars
I've found myself doing some heavy soul searching lately and after much thought my mind somehow got on the subject of sign/symbols and how they relate to all aspects of life. I now see that almost everything is a symbol for something else.
The rigid scar behind my left ear is a symbol of when I could have lost everything. Serious ear surgery resulting from a growing cyst on my ear drum that could have cost me everything, including, my hearing, my ability to talk, my facial nerve, and even my life. It is a symbol that I will forever have with me to show that I shouldn't take anything for granted--especially life itself.
The cross I wear around my neck is a symbol that represents the life of my deceased Uncle Mike. It was given to me on the day after he passed away and I will always hold it near to my heart as a reminder of not only his life--but where I received my writing talents from.
The blue diamond ring I wear on my finger is a symbol of love, given to me by my Uncle Mike in his last couple months of earthly life. The ring is meant to symbolize love and the bond between two relatives close in spirit--but distant in miles traveled.
The OFA Class of 2004 ring I wear on my finger is a symbol of accomplishment. When I was a freshman, I was kicked out of OFA and given very little chance to graduate. I stayed determined and I never quit, regardless of failure. The ring is like a trophy from a time that I took on the establishment and won hands down. In the beginning I was given little chance or opportunity, by the end I was respected by not only my peers, but the administration as well. This accomplishment will probably go down as the single most meaningful one of my life and I have the symbol to prove it, now and forever.
What do some of your scars mean?
The rigid scar behind my left ear is a symbol of when I could have lost everything. Serious ear surgery resulting from a growing cyst on my ear drum that could have cost me everything, including, my hearing, my ability to talk, my facial nerve, and even my life. It is a symbol that I will forever have with me to show that I shouldn't take anything for granted--especially life itself.
The cross I wear around my neck is a symbol that represents the life of my deceased Uncle Mike. It was given to me on the day after he passed away and I will always hold it near to my heart as a reminder of not only his life--but where I received my writing talents from.
The blue diamond ring I wear on my finger is a symbol of love, given to me by my Uncle Mike in his last couple months of earthly life. The ring is meant to symbolize love and the bond between two relatives close in spirit--but distant in miles traveled.
The OFA Class of 2004 ring I wear on my finger is a symbol of accomplishment. When I was a freshman, I was kicked out of OFA and given very little chance to graduate. I stayed determined and I never quit, regardless of failure. The ring is like a trophy from a time that I took on the establishment and won hands down. In the beginning I was given little chance or opportunity, by the end I was respected by not only my peers, but the administration as well. This accomplishment will probably go down as the single most meaningful one of my life and I have the symbol to prove it, now and forever.
What do some of your scars mean?
Monday, November 19, 2007
The Nothing Blog
I don't really have much to write about, the up-coming end of the semester has me pretty burnt out and I'm looking forward to getting home for a few days to relax.
The mini-sports blog:
The Mets really haven't signed any free agents yet. The Lakers still haven't traded Kobe (now I don't think they should.) Notre Dame still sucks, but they got a mighty win over Duke last week. Duke is looking good in basketball, but I don't think they can beat North Carolina. And I just found out hockey was still on TV, who knew? HAHA, just kidding to all you NHL fans out there.
The mini-personal blog:
It's hard to believe that after the break the semester will be over in just a little over two weeks . . . it always seems to go by faster and faster; not that I'm complaining or anything.
I hate suffering from burn out, everything just seems to become more stressful, it becomes more annoying as the end of the semester draws near. It always amazes me how college students deal with stress, but in the end, somehow, we all manage (at least the strong ones anyway) to get through it.
Being away at college, it becomes harder to connect with family and friends from back home; I always miss out on so much. At times I feel guilty for not being more readily available, especially for my parents. I guess it is just one of those necessary parts of growing up that comes with trying to achieve the dreams that makes a college education worth it.
I hope everyone has a good break. It is almost crunch time here, but don't take that into the break. Leave time to relax and enjoy the moments spent with family during the Thanksgiving holiday. I wish I had something witty to say to end this blog, but I really don't, not this time, but hopefully after the break I will . . .
The mini-sports blog:
The Mets really haven't signed any free agents yet. The Lakers still haven't traded Kobe (now I don't think they should.) Notre Dame still sucks, but they got a mighty win over Duke last week. Duke is looking good in basketball, but I don't think they can beat North Carolina. And I just found out hockey was still on TV, who knew? HAHA, just kidding to all you NHL fans out there.
The mini-personal blog:
It's hard to believe that after the break the semester will be over in just a little over two weeks . . . it always seems to go by faster and faster; not that I'm complaining or anything.
I hate suffering from burn out, everything just seems to become more stressful, it becomes more annoying as the end of the semester draws near. It always amazes me how college students deal with stress, but in the end, somehow, we all manage (at least the strong ones anyway) to get through it.
Being away at college, it becomes harder to connect with family and friends from back home; I always miss out on so much. At times I feel guilty for not being more readily available, especially for my parents. I guess it is just one of those necessary parts of growing up that comes with trying to achieve the dreams that makes a college education worth it.
I hope everyone has a good break. It is almost crunch time here, but don't take that into the break. Leave time to relax and enjoy the moments spent with family during the Thanksgiving holiday. I wish I had something witty to say to end this blog, but I really don't, not this time, but hopefully after the break I will . . .
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