Data Sheet on the Beach

Over Winter break, my family decided to go to an island in Florida called North Captiva Island. Aside from being a 30 minute boat ride away from any other islands, having only 3 restaurants and not even that many houses, its got beautiful beaches and a tropical jungle atmosphere. During a few of the days, the temperature of the ocean dropped so that it was not swimmable, for me at least, giving me alot of time to lay on the beach, and work on my data sheet. While sunning with my book and notebook in hand, I saw a large, white boat, laden with 10+ passengers and 4 fishing poles off the back, heading out to sea. All four of my family members took it as a different scenario for the passengers. The Bush family, (as in the 2 presidents) is staying on the island Boca Grande, which is very close to us, so my mom claimed that the boat was, "secret service scoping out the other islands". My younger brother then took the opposite idea, and announced that the boat was, "full of Bosnian spies who had nuclear misslies in the big coolers aboard the boat and were trying to assainate Bush. I imagined that it was the mental patients boat, but that only engineered confused looks from my family, and a "uh ok katie" from my brother. My Dad then spoiled the fun by saying, "Well, I saw that family we thought looked like they were on Jersey Shore get on the boat after we played tennis today. So, I'll bet that's them." Even thousands of miles away, on a beach on an island, I still CANNOT escape AP English.

Snow Day Email v Getting into College

One of the topics discussed in class last week was the lovely notification email that Ms. Serensky sends us on snow days. In my email account, I receive only emails from colleges, and Ms. Serensky. I feel the importance is unusually even. College acceptances and notification emails are right up there in importance and intimidation with our reading assignments for the week. Why is this? Is it the tone of the email? No way. Glee references and funny blog entries about back pain make the email very light and non threatening. But yet the thought of the email makes me quite nervous. Seeing an email that tells me whether or not I got into Northeastern, and an email regarding the reading assignments and schedule for the week are relatively of the same importance. I have trouble deciding which one to open first. I feel like English class right now is just more important than finding out about colleges. Maybe its the importance of reading assignments, which leads to the importance of discussion points, which leads to my final english grade, which in effect, leads to me getting into college. Reading Ms. Serensky's emails or opening the emails from colleges first is a constant dilemma for me. What to do?!

Old School Mental Therapy

Throughout One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest, we are shown the grotesque practices preformed on mental patients. Over one of the snow days I watched the movie The Wolfman. Now given, the mental patient in the movie was actully a werewolf, and not just a regular crazy person, and the wolf dude was in England as opposed to America, but there were some similarities in treatment. Both the werewolf man and Bromden went through shock therapy. How could two relatively well established countries think that was possibly a good idea? Seriously, what were they thinking? Maybe that since electricity turns on lightbulbs, and lightbulbs are often a symbol of someone having a good idea, they think that the electricity will zap the patient into having some good ideas? It was interesting reading about Bromden's mental facility and shock therapy experience, and seeing it actully happening in the Wolfman. I don't understand how that could ever seem like a smart thing to do. Were mad scientists at the heads of these mental facilities? And what did they expect if it didn't work? The wolfman eventaully brutally murdered his main doctor who initiated his treatment, but I cant see Bromden doing that. These scientists were so dumb. I feel like I could even realize that shocking someone was not a good idea.

McMurphy v Chuck Norris

Alright. While reading for tomorrow, I had an interesting thought about McMurphy. Could he possibly be an estranged, more reddish 1960's version of Chuck Norris?! I think its quite a possibility. Now, I shall list the similarities that caused me to arrive at this epic comparison. McMurphy- big, Chuck Norris- big. McMurphy- good with the ladies, Chuck Norris- ditto. McMurphy- red haired, Chuck Norris- red haired, with a tinge of brown from the exploding hair color factory that Norris escaped from while his hands were bound and blindfolded (not really). McMurphy- loud, obnoxious, Chuck Norris- loud, and obnoxious in reality, but no one will ever admit it to his face, because, he is, Chuck Norris. They both have battle wounds, McMurphy's wounds are from the work farm and the scar across his face, and Chuck Norris has the occasional scratch of bruise from series of ninja assassians that he must fight from time to time. Also, they both are incredibly manipulative and smart in regards to getting their way. Although it remains hard to compare anyone to the greatness that is Chuck Norris, I feel like the comparison with McMurphy is a good one. Good lookingness, loudness and strength all link these two great ginger men, and I feel like in some way, they could be brothers, only torn apart by decades, TV show, beards, and mental stability. Now, when Im reading, I picture McMurphy as.... Chuck Norris. Try it. Its wonderful.

Missing English

This past week, while feeling like I was on my deathbed, I missed one day of English. Normally, when I miss a day of school, I try to come for even just a little bit of class, in an attempt to keep up and not miss any funny inside jokes that I'll hear about the next day. The feeling of missing English class is similar to the feeling you get when you're; the only one not in an inside joke with 14 other people, you haven't seen the really funny youtube video that they have all seen and love, or you haven't seen the movie they've all seen and spontaneously, all the copies of the movie were burnt in some freak accident, and you will never be able to see the movie, and yet they all find it so funny they have to quote it all the time and you have to ask "what's that from again?" after every quote. That's if you miss a normal-ish days. Some days, its not like that. Some days, its just so stressful to miss English. "Oh yeah, today we did a worksheet, had a discussion, and wrote a journal so that'll be fun for you to make up!" friends will say as you begin to panic. They might as well have read War and Peace in there by the time you'll be all caught up. But, even though it is super stressful to miss english, the calendar is your little cheat sheet to missing class. As long as you stay up to date on your reading, you most likely will not have an english-class-stressfulness-inducing death.

Illegal Creativity?

While learning about Ken Kesey, we discovered he liked to... use large quanities of hard drugs in order to party, and empower his creative genius. Following our discussion in class about his drug use, Ms. Serensky said "Sadly, some people feel like they are the most creative [while on drugs]". This made me think. How many books have we read that were written under the influence? Was Harriet Jacobs tripping on acid while she wrote Incidents in the Life of a Slave Girl? Questionable, but probably not. Was Truman Capote snorting cocaine in between writing pages of In Cold Blood? Definite possibility. Or was William Shakespeare smoking a blunt (or it's old school equivalent) while he wrote Othello? Wouldn't put it past him.
     How do we know which works were completed without the help of "illegal creativity"? We will never really know. That brings me to the second point. Are people truly more creative when on drugs, or is it just a figment of their imagination? I imagine that under the influence of alchohol it may be difficult to write, not being able to find a piece of paper, a chair, or spell their own name right, I don't think large quantities of alchohol would be creatively stimulating. Pot, I could see as being helpful. Some of Bob Marley's songs are quite deep, and very creative, and we all know he and his bong were very good friends. Acid, I don't know. All I've heard about acid is that it makes you hallucinate and do crazy things. I feel like this would make you very creative, but make it also very hard to sit down and write, so in a way counter acting itself.
     I don't know if drugs are worth the amounts of creativity they provide, but I guess I'll just have to keep reading, and try and find out if my favorite books were written by people who barely remember writing them.

oh no.

As everyone knows, we are given 2 blog assignments for one week. Normally, the first of the two is completed in the Monday/Tuesday/Wednesday range, in an effort to keep the procrastination level down to a minimum, and then the second is completed at some point over the weekend. So, now it's Sunday. The last day of blog-writing oppurtunity for the week, and as of five minutes ago, I had not even started one of my blogs yet. I've felt many different emotions in regards to my procrastination of blogging this week, and here they are.
1. Paranoia
Before going to bed on school nights where I had not done a blog, I lay awake thinking, "oh no, I have to do my blog!" but then not wanting to get out of bed to go do it. Then, whenever I am on the computer doing something else, I see people like Emily Hellwig's and Jillian Ertel's faces in my head and think, "oh, they are probably already done with their blogs, and I haven't even started one" I then proceed in seeing faces of my classmates and that of Ms. Serensky, all sporting looks of disapproval and shaking heads swirling around me. Then quickly, I run away from the computer in an effort to escape my demon AP English thoughts.
2. Regret
When discussing what we have blogged, and friends ask what I have blogged this week, and I say "nothing yet" I get deep looks of disapproval. I get lots of raised eyebrows and tightened lips, all judging my lack of blogging for laziness or stupidity, when it is really just innocent procrastination.
3. Anxiety
Of course, Sunday, which usually is the longest day of the week, on this particular day goes by ridiculously fast. With sleeping in, chores and other activities, it is already 4 oclock when I begin my first blog entry. I then go into a state of panic when my computer screen refuses to open the internet window. What if I don't have time to write 2? What if I can't think of what to write about? Why did I leave both my blogs until the last minute???!?! Stupid! Stupid! Stupid! Oh no, come on, what?! My computer is not working?! AHHHHH!! (dry heaving/anxiety attack/seizure) Must. Write. Blogs. Oh. No. Followed then by an annoyed brother coming out of his room, "Katie, what are you doing you freak?" Don't distract me John. Must Blog. "Ew, psycho" he walks away.

Finally, my computer starts working, and I get to finishing my first blog entry for the week. But what about the second one....

My Dysfuctional Family's Thanksgiving

I know I already wrote once about Thanksgiving, but that was what I thought would happen. Now, I can write about what actully happened.
    First off, my real extended family, and my parents, don't really get along. We're not fans of my mom's side of the family, and my dad's side is just ok, so we've always chosen to spend Thanksgiving with close family friends instead. We invited our friends from Wisconsin, who had moved there from Belgium, to come spend Thanksgiving at our house. Their oldest son, a sophmore swimmer at Rider University flew in on Wednesday night. The next day, his family was due to arrive. The two parents, a senior boy, a freshman boy and a seventh grade girl were driving from Wisoconsin to Cleveland. They thought they would be here at around 2, so none of us ate anything. They didn't get to our house until 5, and we didn't eat until 7, which is highly unusual for my family, who usually likes to eat at 1ish.
     When their family finally got here, the kitchen turned into a loud packed shouting mess. People proceeded to yell in our so dubbed, "Frenchlish", which is a combination of French that the Hensens (our Belgian friends) and us try to speak and the Engish that my family speaks, that no one can make out. Our "Frenchlish" talk was not alone in all its Frenchlish-ness. That was our dinner too. The main dishes and side dishes were all American themed, and obviously we had pie, but the Belgian touches were there. All the alchohol for the parents was European, if it was Proseco, or Belgian Beer or Belgian Wine. Then there was the addition of Belgian Chocolate, which I didn't fight.
     Even though our Thanksgiving was out of the ordinary and dysfuctional, I loved it. Mixing us Belgians and Americans just makes Thanksgiving so much better.

Why Aren't Books Enough?

Everyone has read their fair share of books that have been turned into movies, and seen the movies that were based off of books. But, why is America obsessed with turning perfectly good and interesting books into movies?
     Personally, although I like watching the movies made about books I've read, I don't understand the thought process. Is it just about money? I wonder how the authors about these books feel now that their characters have actual faces, and their stories are brought to life. Obviously, if I was an author, I would be jumping for joy if my book was made into a movie, because that would mean alot of money, but is that the only reason I'd be happy? If you take away the money aspect, why do we make movies based on books? Is it to just create more million-dollar earning oppurtunities for production studios and movie stars? Is the movie worth it?
      I have never met someone who read a book, then saw the movie based on that book, and thought the movie was better. The book ALWAYS wins. So why bother with the movie? The book/movie concept just shows how greedy and money hungry America is. And don't get me wrong, I would be the same way if a production studio came and knocked on my door, but other than the money, I don't get it. Making a movie out of a book takes all the imagination out of it. How is that a good thing?
     I remember when I saw the first Harry Potter movie. I had read the book, and was sooo excited for the movie to come out. But when I saw all the characters, Hogwarts, and everything else, I automatically forgot how I had originally pictured it in my head. Although I loved the movie, I still had a strange sensation that the movie stole something from me. It took away the imagination I had had, and took away my own personal Hogwarts. Now, understandable that in big budget films like the Harry Potter series, the author probably got to decide how everything looked according to her imagination, but what about other movies?
     Are the authors even that involved? For instance, in The Namesake movie, our whole class agreed that Sonia looked nothing like how she was described in the book. Did Jhumpa Lahiri cast that actress? Or did some faceless casting director do it? Was The Namesake movie really what Lahiri imagined in her mind as she wrote the book?

Books that get made into movies are continuously entertaining, and earn hundreds of millions of dollars a year. But my question is just, what happens to the imagination of the readers? I understand how the money of the industry could persuade some, but is there any other reason for our obsession of actully SEEING what we're reading?

Thanksgiving. is. almost. here!!

Thanksgiving is EASILY one of my favorite holidays of the year. Just think about it, and ask yourself: What's not to love? First off, usually, at least in my case, I have to worry about very little of the preperations. I occasionally will make a pumpkin pie in an attempt to help out, but thats easy. So, while the rest of my family cooks, I get to sit lazily and happily on the couch, munching on bits of special muffins or baked goods that had been made by my mom ecspecially for "thanksgiving breakfast", and watch the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade. Then, after about two hours of this, my family plays football. Yes, it is annoying that the tradition of thanksgiving football interrupts my being lazy, but its still fun. The game usually ends up lasting only about twenty minutes. Normally ending because someone has gotten hurt, the uncles start yelling at eachother for cheating, coldness, or my mom yelling at everyone to come back and help cook. When this happens, that is my cousins and my cue to slip away unnoticed to the basement, until we are summoned to set the dining table we use ONLY for this occasion. Placecards are set, candles are lit, our finest china laid out, all in preparation for this massive meal. When you get to eating thanksgiving food, I'm sure, just like me, you go through three stages: excitement, satisfaction, and deep painful regret. The excitement is always fun, seeing all the food as it is set out, scooping mounds and mounds onto your plate, thinking "oh I won't eat all this" but you always do. Then, comes satisfaction. After you've eaten a good amount of food, you are full, satisfied, could easily stop eating and your stomach would be happy. But you legitimatize how you reach for seconds on mashed potatoes and stuffing thinking, "oh it's ok, it's thanksgiving!". Sadly after these short stages of edible bliss, comes the regret. The deep, painful, punishing regret. This regret is the feeling when you've eaten four times as much as you should have, and then pie. And then you spot an apple pie that wasn't on the table before, so you get some of that as well. You feel like you are about to explode into a million little Thanksgiving dinners, but yet, you still eat more. Sit, eat, sit, lay, stretch, eat, is basically your cycle for the remainder of the night. And even though this stage of regret is horrific, the deliciousness and overall era of the holiday make it bearable. I am beyond excited for this delicious and painful occasion.

Poor Goggles

Poor Goggles is the feeling I have towards Gogol in Lahiri's latest chapter. All through his life Gogol has had different intense struggles, and to now have his wife cheat on him is just terrible. First, not having true identity in his opinion, with an Indian heritage, American citizenship and Russian name, then having such an issue with his insecurity about his name, and going through that whole ordeal, and then with the death of his father, I feel so sad for Gogol because at this point, I feel like he deserves to be happy. I got so angry at Moshumi for cheating on Gogol, but I felt more sympathy for Gogol than I did anger at Moshumi. Gogol does exactly what she wants him to do, he goes out with her and her obnoxious friends, buys her nice gifts, and is a very nice and loving husband, and she repays him by cheating on him. I know Moshumi had her own reasons for cheating on Gogol, but Gogol did nothing to deserve that kind of treatment. The fact also that Gogol is so unsespecting and trusting of Moshumi, also evokes sympathy and empathy from me. He loves her so much that he is blind to her subtle differences since she had begun her affair. Over and over again, I think to myself, "Poor Goggles". Whether it is about his name, family, or marriage, the theme of sympathy for our protagonist runs strong throughout the book.

Moshumi

In Chapter 10, I feel like Lahiri made me completely and totally hate Moshumi. The whole book has been about Gogol, and to see our protagonist now be so easily deceived by the woman he loves, is heartbreaking. Although I am now fully judging Moshumi for her decision to be unfaithful and I despise her for that, Lahiri also creates a sense of pathos for her as well. In class we discussed how characterization of Moshumi could be somewhat positive, but I disagree. I do not think I realized any favorable qualities about Moshumi from this chapter. The only thing that I felt for her, that was not frustration, was slight sympathy. I understand that she remains trapped in a very unhappy marriage, but she did knowingly enter into the marriage, inflicting the misery on herself.
     I am the most frustrated with how superficial Moshumi is. When her assistant dies before Moshumi gets to work, Moshumi has no issue with going through her desk to find a stapler, merely hours after the woman had died, collapsed next to that very desk. Also, when Moshumi discusses how she had felt after her split from Graham, she says "She remembers the panic she had felt, all her friends were already married" (249). Moshumi just wanted to marry Gogol to be accepted, and be part of the "in" crowd. How Lahiri characterizes her as so superficial, takes away most of my sympathy for her, making it extremely difficult to like her even in the slightest.