Inception

We sit on the chairlift gliding to the peak of Antarctica's highest man-made precipice, Ozymountdias.  Ms. Serensky to my left and Sally Jupiter to my right, one more aggravated with the unbearable skiing conditions than the other.  Ms. Serensky could not fathom the intensity of an Antarctic snowstorm when compared to that of northeast Ohio's lake effect.  Sally, on the other hand, seemed less concerned with the weather which I could not understand considering her skimpy outfit covered less than half of her body.  Anyways, Sally could not help but attempt to get my attention.  I have a weakness for older women but not that old, this I tried to convey in an inoffensive manner.  "Excuse me Miss Jupiter, but your clinginess for 'warmth' makes a teenage boy like myself rather uncomfortable."  Ms. Serensky muttered some name under her breath that pertained to prostitution, which I found amusing yet inappropriate to acknowledge with Sally so close.

20 minutes of attempted flirtation and adulteress synonyms later and we closed in on the top of the chairlift. However, something did not seem right. Ms. Serensky acknowledged my concern with that of her own as Sally bopped her perm back and forth completely ignorant of her surroundings. A pack of genetically engineered Bubasti (the plural form of Bubastis) circled the chairlift exit deck. "Do the jingle! Do the jingle!" I pleaded. "Like a good neighbor State Farm is there." Immediately Ms. Serensky’s agent’s appeared and we yelled: "BUBASTI!"

            “Do it again!” He advised.

 “Like a good neighbor State Farm is there!”

“In the classroom!”

In the blink of an eye we had relocated into Ms. Serensky’s classroom complete with the AP English 12 eighth period class in mid-discussion.  The students seemed baffled by our grand entrance.  I took my seat between Shannon and Abby as usual, Sally vomited into the nearest trash can (I suppose teleportation sickness runs in the family), and Ms. Serensky pulled up the desk designated for blog show guest but took a seat in it herself.  “You won’t believe the adventure we just had.” 

 

Before Ms. Serensky could break into detail a red background with the State Farm logo and slogan appeared on the projector screen.  “Now that’s an end-of-the-year project presentation.”  Our third group member/instructor said.  Sally and I high-fived in agreement in the back of the classroom, proud of our commercial-parody-in-class-book-fusion masterpiece.

AP 12 or Die

Ms. Serensky preaches keys to writing essays in 40 minutes flat while fully comparing and contrasting two poems about explanations to children without getting hand cramps and writing legibly at the same darn time.  She drills flawless pre-writing strategies into the minds of her students.  Mark up the prompt.  SOAPSTone.  Pre-write the center first.  ATFQ (Answer the...question).  All of these practices ingrained into her pupils' heads make them the best of the best, but what can prepare you for the trials and tribulations the climb to top-notch writer brings?  This can.  Similar to McGraw-Hill's 5 Steps to a 5 series, I present to you 3 Steps to Survival: AP English 12 with Ms. Serensky Edition.  Step 1: Self-Assessment.  You must ask yourself if you have what it takes to survive.  If you cannot spell AP then you probably do not belong in this class.  If you cannot spell honors, well you get what I am saying.  And if you cannot spell college prep you might as well give up.  Anyways, ask yourself if you have a passion for reading and writing; if you have a right brain in working order for witty blog posts; if you want to improve your writing ability.  This last question must receive a "yes" or else you will not experience success.  Step 2: pre-AP 12 English Core Training.  This step requires the willingness to sweat for literary achievement.  Our proven training regimen will improve your 40-word dash time, your writing stamina, overall brainpower, among much more.  Reference our website at www.ap12od.net for detailed day-by-day, exercise routines.  Finally, Step 3: Power Through.  AP English will provide you with some of the most academic adversity in your high school career, meaning your mom may question why you do not have all A's on your report card.  If you get a B, guess what, that means you have room for improvement, AKA the number one goal of the class--improving.  You must have the determination to trudge through the tough times in the class.  Learning from mistakes makes up a significant amount of the learning curve, therefore you must understand that you will make mistakes.  Those that learn from them will achieve the most success and survive.  Charles Darwin called it survival of the fittest for a reason, and the same goes for AP English.  Follow these three steps and you will find yourself atop of the English food chain.

African Queen Crab

Must resist crinkling water bottle--cracks and pops of a plastic water bottle fill the silent room. Chapped lips again? Good thing I always have my trusty Eos lip balm in the shape of a golf ball to satisfy their desert dryness. "Kyle, do you have any gum?" Why does he never have gum? You know, I should probably participate in this discussion, "Going off of... Sorry, you can go." Aw, thanks Kate for letting me make my comment. "Going off of..." Must move pen while talking--click, click, click. I will hold my pen in a scholarly manner during this comment--wait, no I should leave it on my desk--but how else will I look scholarly? Ah, stupid pen, quit causing me such inner turmoil as I make this darn discussion comment. "What'd you get from this supplement Kyle?" Probably nothing. How does he talk for so long about those abstract ideas? Wow, he just talked for that entire partner discussion interval. I shall display my irritation with my variety of angry faces. Hey Jess, yes, my facial expression does not tell a lie, I am aggravated as a matter of fact. School gives me such a headache, good thing I carry this economy-sized bottle of Advil everywhere I go--pops a handful of ibuprofen. Yes Kyle, I deal anti-inflammatories. What a smart alec. Why does eighth period feel longer than every other one? I just want college to start already. Brock and I will room together--it will feel just like home.  I cannot wait to return to the days of my youth when Brock and I shared closets and subsequently wardrobes.  I will finally embody my inner tomboy that high school has so disappointingly suppressed.  This hair always gets in the way--hair flips but then returns to previous position.  Maybe Brock and I can go to the same barber.  Until then my days seem like forever as I fall deeper and deeper into the clutches of senioritis and my body becomes more accustomed to rising every morning, sleep-walking through school, and babysitting after.  The occasional visit to my long-lost, African, refugee family (yes, in fact I am one-seventeenth African-American) breaks up the monotony--clicks a self-pitiful sentence in ancestors' native San Bushmen language.  Other than seeing those distant relatives every now and again, I live the zombie life, longing to reunite with my brother and my masculine side.  Until then I shall stumble through the motions of the typical sleep-deprived, fourth-quarter senior with chronically chapped lips.  And people wonder about the origin of my nickname.  "Click-clickity-click" (Crabs out).

How Do You Like Them Apples

I get the sense that my college destination this coming August attracts a typically different student than myself.  Bates College in Lewiston, Maine, from what I have observed, plays home to many east coast preppers from affluent private schools.  I, on the other hand, hail from a small, public school in the rust belt and speak with a funny, flat accent.  In order to flip the bill for the $60,000 worth of tuition and fees per year I have a work study requirement as a portion of my significant financial aid as well.  My circumstances may not jump off the page as I assume many of my peers must participate in similar programs at schools in regions of the country where people do not pronounce their O's and A's like us.  Nonetheless, I see the potential for me to achieve a status in college one of my favorite movies of all time has inspired.  In Good Will Hunting, a janitor at MIT exemplifies a natural ability to solve incredibly difficult math problems posed to graduate students which eventually lands him job offers that pay a pretty penny more than what he earned previously.  While I know I do not possess the inhuman math skills of Will Hunting, I do possess the outsider characteristics to Bates as Will does to MIT.  Additionally, I like to think of myself as a math guy and would like to do something involving the subject in my future so of course I would enjoy the comparison to Will from the perspectives of my peers.  I know I cannot live the started-from-the-bottom success story Will does but I would like to experience the feelings of studying something that interests me and achieving success as a result of working in and out of the classroom with the prospect of my future in mind.   Hopefully my classmates view me with the respect Will's peers eventually develop about him after seeing his talent and his work to apply it.  Will also does pretty well with the ladies in the movie and what college male would not want that?  That aspect of the movie appeals to me, otherwise I am not too interested in what else the plot holds for Will which touches on domestic abuse and near imprisonment.  Consequently, Will does not seem like the typical math geek and similarly I would like to achieve success in the field of math without the nerd label but viewing me as a less dramatic version of Will Hunting has more to it.  People understand the adversity Will faces and respect his character that keeps him going--two characteristics of a person I value a lot.  Ultimately, I want people to see me as that person that worked his way to achieve success while also using my story as encouragement to pursue goals they have passions for.

ABC, 1, 2, 3, Ethan Frome and Me

To the Illiterate and Desperate,

While I lack ethos in your area of concern (as I usually do the heartbreaking), I can point you in the right direction of a piece of early 20th Century English literature that will do the trick.  To guarantee success however, your significant other must meet two tidbits of criteria: he must possess low self-confidence and a tendency for easy-manipulation as well as a dull, sub-five-syllable full name.  You must also understand the preservation of your relationship depends on abiding to the following intricate process as closely as possible.  Step one: time travel.  In order for this magic, fiction-inspired process to work one must live in a society absent of social networking or the speed and ease of today's communication system.  Additionally one must teleport back in time to a place of severe isolation with long, dark winters (Starkfield, Massachusetts for example).  This new setting will eliminate your lover's ability to scan the market for single women via Facebook, MySpace, and ChristianMingle.com.  Step two: temptation.  Recruit a young housemaid that appears superior to you in nearly any way imaginable.  Hire her to take care of your house and bribe her under the table to flirt with your boyfriend.  Key point: know that you serve as the puppeteer in this process in order to avoid jealousy at all costs.  Also, find a young woman so perfect to insure your significant other's falling for her.  Step three: the smash-up.  Encourage the pseudo-mistress to express a longing to sled down the town hill regardless of the risk of colliding with a tree.  On the night your boyfriend finally succumbs to his new crush's wish of sledding down the tree-lined hill, have her propose a suicide pact so they can live on forever together a la Romeo and Juliet.  Your boyfriend by this point will agree.  Your hired girl must steer the sled towards a tree with no apparent fear, but immediately prior to impact she must brake with her feet to slow the speed of the sled to a velocity capable of injuring severely--not death.  Conveniently, as your loved one and puppet girl lay unconscious in the snow you will scoop them up and nurse them back to semi-functional health back home.  According to plan, your boyfriend will suffer temporary paralysis leaving him incapable of leaving you and your care, while your housemaid-turned-mistress will experience brain damage among other injuries to make her less appealing than you.  Happily.  Ever.  After.  Easily as that. 

Best of Luck,
Ms. Serensky

PS Read Ethan Frome by Edith Wharton for more insight.

Who Let the Dogs Out? Woof Woof Woof Woof.

After receiving the yellow lab characterization last week I have decided to take it full circle.  Therefore, my movie selection reflects the persona I recently have embraced.  Surprisingly, the list of fitting films proved much longer than anticipated.  I considered many--My Dog Skip, Old Yeller, Must Love Dogs, and Beverly Hills Chihuahua to name a few.  However, one stands far and above the rest, the one I can relate to best: Air Bud.  Jess's proclamation of me as a Labrador retriever brought forth a new Kyle Weber.  In the words of the film's subtitle, "The Dog Is In The House."  Until recently I never made such an intimate connection to the Disney family-comedy.  Thanks for opening my eyes ex-writing-partner, your simile has come to define me.  Okay, maybe Bud hails from a different breed of retriever but I am sure the Labrador and the golden share a close common ancestor.  Beyond the obvious comparison of a dog to my happy-go-lucky, proverbial tail-wagging self, Buddy and I have a lot more in common.  Upon their first encounter Buddy comes off as extremely shy and non-confrontational with his future best friend, Josh.  Similarly, I have the tendency to ease into revealing my complete personality with new people.  Not until this semester have I received the yellow Labrador comparison, AP English 12 must have summoned my true colors I suppose.  In order to gain the trust of Bud, Josh bribes the dog with cups of pudding.  Now, I do not recall ever getting pudding in Ms. Serensky's class but I love to imagine the prospect of it because I have always had a craving for the treat.  From age five to age nine I had at least one SnackPack of various flavors everyday.  Coincidentally, Buddy and I have eerily similar track records on the basketball court as well.  An unorthodox baller, Buddy had his own way of shooting the basketball: with his nose.  Likewise, I have the reputation for having odd form myself.  Although I do not shoot the ball with my face I see the example Buddy sets as one all atypical shooters should respect.  Air Bud taught me to have no shame when playing the game, rather play your hardest and to the best of your abilities regardless of how you get the job done.  Maybe Bud ran into a similar problem as I did involving our not-so-fundamental game which allowed me to make the team but see the floor only on occasion.  Buddy can feel my pain as he served as part of Josh's basketball team but with the primary role of team mascot.  I am no Mortimer, but probably the closest thing to a male cheerleader the basketball team has ever seen.  Hey, if you cannot influence the game directly with your play, do so with your voice (or bark).  I understand and embrace the call out Jess made regarding the way I act.  As long as I am considered with the likes of Buddy, Skip, and Old Yeller I have no complaints (Cujo and Fluffy comparisons on the other hand would anger me).  Consequently, if Disney ever needs a main man for Air Bud "The Scholarly Student-Athlete," I nominate myself for the job.  Wag more and bark less my friends.  Woof.

Comedy Turned Tragedy on Family Movie Night

When Family Bonding Goes Awry

By Kyle Weber

 

"What are you doing? This is the men's bathroom..."
Mom to my right on the couch in the family room,
Dad on the recliner full attention on the TV screen,
How would I know to prepare for such a scene?
Should I make a break for a popcorn refill?
Maybe sweat it out and stay completely still?
I look down, twiddle my thumbs, the room absent of a word,
Not even a black out could cure something so awkward,
They call it a comedy but I seem to have misplaced my joy,
"I love you, stay golden Ponyboy."

 

 

Tweens and teens alike experience some of the most uncomfortable moments of their lives while in the presence of their family members.  Author, Kyle Weber, addresses said tragedy in his poem "When Family Bonding Goes Awry," from the compilation of poems Life and Times of the Social Caterpillar.  Weber, a family man himself, alludes to his favorite comedy of all time, Step Brothers, to begin and conclude his poem.  The absence of most of the scene's dialogue allows for the first person speaker's interjections of his/her decision making process when posed with a threat of extreme awkwardness.  The author utilizes rhetorical questions in order to exhibit the unease of the child.  As many US teenagers can attest, awkward moments with family increase tenfold per adult family member involved, which requires careful escape routes to avoid such uncomfortable situations.  The speaker brainstorms several potential outs prior to settling for torture.  The speaker's first option: "popcorn refill" (a favorite among experienced young adults) exemplifies the willingness of a child to do things otherwise uncommon to them in order to avoid situations they find unappealing (5).  By posing it in question form however, the author implies the lack of experience the speaker has in the area of avoiding awkward family matters.  The speaker settles for "[sweating] it out" which indirectly characterizes the speaker as lazy which ultimately provides a synecdoche for adolescent children everywhere regarding the magnetic attraction between the seat of their pants and a couch (6).  Although this paints the speaker in a negative light to would-be parental audience members it also displays a willingness to tough out the trials and tribulations of going through the teen years at home.  The speaker seems relatively new to the process of uncomfortable retreat which explains his/her surrender.  "How would I know?" provides minimal ethos for the speaker in said department which ultimately supplies a mistake for audience members to learn from (4).  Moral of the story: Middle school children must learn inconspicuous ways to avoid awkward family encounters, especially during films as the speaker experiences.  Additionally, parents and family can take away from Weber's poem what to do and what not to do as a source of family bonding.  Inappropriate films do not fall under the what to do category.  The poem provides an example of failure, however, families must learn from the speaker's mistake and grow closer without watching movies containing uncomfortable content.

Run It!

Dear Kyle,

Take a break from riding your Razor scooter around the driveway imagining the X Games will add it to their set of events.  They won't.  Instead, turn on some music (not your dad's Sting Fields of Gold album either), turn on some real, bumpin' music.  In your future I foresee an awkward kid with disproportionately large feet that wears Teva shoes everyday.  This skinny tween will awkwardly attend dances and social events throughout middle school and awkwardly stand on the outskirts as friends bunny-hop through the masses of pre-puberty middle schoolers.  Not on my watch.  Call me your Guardian Angel, Dance Mom, Randy Jackson, whatever.  I am here to help.  As your dance-training, confidence-boosting, awkwardness-relinquishing Made coach I know a little about your foot skills (or lack there of).  Ahead of you lie days of posting videos on YouTube of your dancing feet filmed at sleepovers.  Until then you suck at dancing.  Your hips, unlike Shakira's, most definitely lie.  You reluctantly shake your money maker, humps, or laffy taffy.  And never have you snapped yo fingers, shoulder leaned, or leaned wit it and rocked wit it with any intentions of those actions looking like dance moves.  Well guess what.  That won't cut it at the fast approaching sixth grade dance.  And guess what.  Your mom won't splurge to pay for dance lessons with Dick Blake.  Now that I have your attention you will need a mirror, a smooth surface (wood floor, linoleum, tile, or flattened cardboard), and Chris Brown's recently released debut album playing on your purple Walkman.  Feel the beat!  Can you feel it?  Like most white males your rhythm is tragically undeveloped, but you have to understand the beat and the bass of the song.  Nod your head, tap your feet, bring sexyback, anything to help you feel the beat.  Practice makes perfect so feel free to walk to a certain rhythm, stir cake batter with a song in mind, or clap at random in a coordinated pattern.  Once your rhythm has developed the journey to dancing phenom proves much more smooth sailing.  Study film, like MTV (I think they still played music videos back in '06), watch Chris Brown, Justin Timberlake, The Pussycat Dolls and perfect their moves.  In no time your peers will encircle you to your awesome moves to Grillz.  Until then, I plead you to dance, dance (word to Fall Out Boy for that one) until you can't dance anymore.  Believe me, avoiding dancing until eighth grade because of its speculated uncoolness provided me with some uncomfortable encounters throughout my middle school years.  Make adolescence a little less awkward and learn to dance.

Sincerely,
Your Future, Talented Self

The Other Guys

On the sidewalk lie two mirror images.  Alike in their size and age and detail, but wrinkled due to the test of the elements and scuffling of feet.  These figures in the pavement chuckle at the soles of feet that walk over them.  “Big toes?  Ha.  Try opposable thumbs.”  The hands that so naturally etched these prints in the cement have quite the egos, but what one does not realize one always seems to live in the shadow of the other.  The Dominant Hand does exactly as its name implies: dominates.  The other one, the Second Hand, receives a weak characterization in comparison.  Dominant gets all of the attention and all of the glamour.  Authors write with Dominant, quarterbacks throw with Dominant, golfers swing with Dominant, and businessmen shake with Dominant.  Second may get lucky and flip the bird on occasion, dig for some gold, or pick up the dog’s doo-doo with its trusty plastic baggie.  See the roots of jealousy?  As Dominant waves at the crowd during parades, Second wipes the behinds of the carnies at the fair.  How can two things so similar receive such extremely different treatments?  Look down readers and notice the sibling rivalry between the two appendages at the end of your arms.  Pardon the Disney reference but Second might as well receive comparison to Cinderella (pre-glass-slippers of course) and Dominant to her evil stepsisters.  In a world wrapped up in equal opportunity and fairness, each and every person (with the exception of the few oddballs with ambidexterity) has one of the greatest examples of discrimination in the palms of their hands.  Second understands the immorality of suicide so more appropriately wishes for amputation.  “Maybe one day I can shine like Dominant,” but the reality of Second and Dominant’s entire lifetime together dampens the prospect of divorce.  In actuality, Second can hope for only two things: either a severe fracture to one of Dominant’s five metacarpals or the crippling effects of arthritis as a result of overuse.  Until then, put your hands together folks because two hands are always better than one.

Heinen's Extreme Foods

The day starts off putting on the Heinen's grocery uniform.  A blue button-down, khakis, and a pair of slip-resistant, laceless shoes.  The extreme kicks in when I have to button my shirt--the extremely large buttons barely fit in the extremely small holes of my dress shirt.  The final touch to the complete Heinen's uniform: the (extreme) name tag.  Such a simple idea, this name tag, that allows customers to interact with me on a first-name basis, yet so extreme.  The extremely long needle nearly pierces my extremely sensitive pectoral flesh.  It gets extreme-er.  The dash from the parking lot to the store entrance provides an extreme challenge as I dodge moms in mini-vans driving extremely over the speed limit, paying extremely little attention to stop signs, and struggling to the extreme with the difficult concept of pedestrians' right of way.  More extreme awaits.  I punch in at the time clock with extremely few seconds remaining before tardiness.  "Cutting it close Weber," declares my manager.  "Extremely," I reply.  No more fooling around, extreme grocery bagging calls for extreme focus.  "Good afternoon Linda, extreme day we're having."  I put on my game face as my partner in crime, cashier Linda, returns the extremely warm hello.  The items begin flying down the conveyor belt at an extreme rate.  Bagging 101 calls for approximately six items per bag, I chuckle at this extremely inefficient standard as I toss upwards of a dozen items in one bag.  An extreme no-no, more like an extreme slice of innovation.  "What kind of bags mam?" I ask extremely politely.  "How about both?"  I raise my eyebrows, my kind of woman.  "Living on the edge, absolutely," I say extremely approvingly.  The workday continues without any sign of becoming less extreme.  Linda and I nearly vaporize our checkout lane with our extreme scanning and bagging pace.  Fortunately for the cash register and conveyor belt, Manager Tim sends me back to grocery to stock shelves with my extremely high eye-hand-can-of-food coordination.  The aisles wince at the thought of my extreme stocking skills.  Target acquired: Aisle 3A--Mexican, Asian, Kosher--prepare for extreme stocking.  Shelves rumble as I pile can after can, tortilla after tortilla, to extreme heights.  After what seems like an extremely long time of jamming shelves, I hear an extremely loud message over the PA system, "Kyle to the courtesy booth please, Kyle to the courtesy booth."  Like Batman to his spotlight, I race extremely fast to answer the call to help.  "You rang?" I ask extremely.  "Go ahead and clock out.  Go home early."  What an extreme ending to an extreme day.  

Hump Day

Tears flow down my cheeks as I write this--the final blog post of my AP English 12 career.  Scratch that.  I just got to part two of Ms. Serensky's final blog assignment and semester exam directions.  No more tears.  January 22nd will come with the beginning of the second semester coupled with more blog posts to entertain my Wednesday nights.  They call Wednesday "Hump Day" (I mean that in the most appropriate way possible), but to me Wednesday holds a special place in my heart.  I assume "Hump Day" originates from the idea that the week symbolizes a mountain one must climb to reach the freedom and excitement of the weekend.  Fortunately for all, I, the original Blog Banter DJ, found a song to help everyone make it through any rough/overwhelming week in the same way blogs help me.  Thank you Miley Cyrus/Hannah Montana for delivering us this one.  The pop star reminds all of us in her song "The Climb" that it "Ain't about how fast I get there, ain't about what's waiting on the other side, it's the climb."  This song improves my morale in a similar way my own blogs improved every week.  "I Ain't Saying She a Gold Digger," my second-most recent blog, combined three techniques I try to achieve in all of my pieces of writing.  I applied analysis and connections to our class book at the time; I added my usual sarcastic remarks to increase the entertainment factor and to spice things up a bit; additionally, I also tried to supply the reader with a lesson in response to the subject of my blog.  By encompassing all of these techniques into a blog regarding gold digging I perceive this as my finest example of writing via Blogger, while also providing a life lesson.  The quality of my blogs climbed seemingly with a direct relation to an increased amount of humor per piece.  Therefore, I nominate my most comedic blog as my most interesting post as well.  "Lend Me Some Sugar, I Am Your Neighbor" stemmed as an idea after watching Bridesmaids, so naturally the movie activated my own sense of humor.  I tried to make this entry as much fun as possible in order to share a hobby I enjoy and to encourage the practice of it to my classmates.  A combination of notable quotes from the movie and Outkast hopefully appealed to others as much as it appealed to me.  The admission about how much I enjoy reading the works of my classmates makes the blog all the more interesting as it encourages more writing.  "Lend Me Some Sugar, I Am Your Neighbor" yielded responses I hoped to gain.  Each of the comments encouraged me to keep writing in the same way I try to encourage other bloggers.  However, to pick a favorite, I think I have to go with Shannon's reply.  She admittedly  LOLed at my blog and that made me feel warm and fuzzy.  Plus, her inclusion of adjectives like "awesome" and "witty" (both of which I gladly embrace), helped separate her highly complimentary comment from others.  Thanks Shan for your approval and "round of applause."  A special thanks to each and every other AP English 12 blogger for the entertaining pieces of writing week after week.  We all deserve the title of Ms. Serensky's Shooting Stars.  Also, remember that the end of the first semester serves as just another marker on our climb to the peak of English language and literature.  Keep climbing classmates and keep blogging too.