Mourning For Leo

*Ding. Ding. Ding.* I practically sprint to seventh period AP English in anticipation for today’s activity: a pre-screening of “The Great Gatsby” movie in class. Despite the fact that this movie does not debut in theaters for another two weeks and despite every movie-pirating law made ever, Ms. Serensky illegally downloads the film for her class’s enjoyment. My excitement makes me blind to even the biggest curse of all: a snowstorm brewing outside on what should be a delightful May afternoon. No matter, though, because I remember that for the next 50 straight minutes, Leonardo DiCaprio, starring as the protagonist of the movie, Jay Gatsby, will entertain me. Ms. Serensky dims the lights, pulls the curtains, and signals for her creative writing students to enter. They begin serving us, top-of-the-food-chain AP English students, refreshments consisting of popcorn with movie theater butter and our beverage of choice.  Now we are ready to begin. Leo nails the role of Gatsby effortlessly, leaving the entire class drooling (Ms. Serensky included) until the final scene. He somehow manages to reflect the always-dapper Gatsby while talking, walking, party-hosting, flirting, and even dying. The class remains quiet as the credits roll, remembering how Ms. Serensky did not allow us to see the last scene of the Netflix-famous version of “The Great Gatsby,” we watched earlier in the year. Our eyes were no longer uncorrupted by the sight of Jay Gatsby dying. We all cringe as we recall his stoic facial features bracing for the impact of the bullet that would end his extremely handsome life. What a crying shame. Literally. We all look up in shock as Ms. Serensky hysterically cries over the death of her beloved “Leo.” Instead of respecting her time of mourning, however, we all watch on as she continues to wail and whimper, “But he was my beautiful little fool!” The final bell disrupts her grieving session, indicating our time to leave. We all look at each other, relieved to be escaping our usually overly-intimidating teacher in such a vulnerable place. As we gathered our belongings and headed towards the door in the typical herd-like fashion, much to our dismay, she was able to squeak out a few final words through her sobs: “Write an essay comparing and contrasting the book and movie,” and suddenly, it felt like a normal day in AP English.  

Katie's Declassified: AP English Survival Guide

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One can interpret success in AP English in many ways including: earning above a seven on the AP rubric scale, scoring bonus points for your master data sheet contribution, obtaining the prestige of “Student of the Month,” or starring on the blog show. For me, success is achieved simply by surviving the class without breaking into a cold sweat. So, without further a do, let me share some “dos and do nots” to help you endure the daunting class of AP English.

DO NOT even think about raising your hand to pose the classic get-out-of-class, “May I use the bathroom?” question. Seriously, not only is this question a waste of your breath, but also, you can kiss those participation points goodbye if you plan on using your precious segway into the discussion to ask such a juvenile question.

DO set eight alarms reminding you to turn in your paper to turnitin.com. You don’t want to be that guilty member of the group submitting your project into the extremely judgmental “late” folder. Ouch.

DO NOT underestimate Ms. Serensky’s “Five more minutes,” reminder during an in-class essay. Wrap your mind around the fact that five more minutes translates to a mere 300 seconds. Wikipedia says the average human being writes 31 words per minute, but I seriously doubt that this particular unknown contributor has ever written an entire five-paragraph essay in 35 minutes. I estimate that after the five minute warning, you will have roughly eight sentences left in your system. Choose them wisely. (*Cough* Audience and purpose. *Cough*)

DO be the first person to say, “Bless you,” when Ms. Serensky sneezes. She appreciates it… I think?

DO NOT start your discussion comment by saying “Yeah, I totally agree with her statement,” then proceed to go off on a completely arbitrary tangent. Yes, you proabably have a legitimate point to make, but no, do not interrupt the flow of the discussion to insert your random point.

DO remain mindful of what you share about your life outside of the AP English tundra. If you slip, you may just regret it when the quote sheet for the quarter rolls around.

FOR SURE DO NOT question Ms. Serensky. Ever. Regardless of your angsty, teenage emotions that might fall victim to her forthright tendencies, she will help you if you let her. So let her.

One Big Cliche

I currently remain futureless, waiting for some kind of epiphany to magically determine my future. Yes, while my classmates confirm their enrollments to Harvard and Cornell, I sit idly, just waiting for a sign. The thought of choosing between two colleges persists as daunting, especially as I picture my life reaching a two-way street and thinking about how different each street could be. Due to my current dilemma, I thought this prompt would trouble me. However, I faced a different kind of epiphany upon brainstorming for this blog: Regardless of where I end up, I will hold the same values, interests and traits that I’ve always had. So cliché, I know. I worry every day about leaving behind my friends who accept and embrace my quirky personality. But further, I worry that fear of judgment from others will prohibit me from completely letting go. So, my goal, similar to my fellow sheepish peers, remains to jump, with both feet, into an entirely new life.  I hope that my future peers will view me as a person with serious ambitions. I hope that my future peers will welcome my bizarre sense of humor. I hope that my future peers will tolerate my sometimes-introverted tendencies of laying under the covers devouring the latest on Netflix. But most importantly, I hope that my future peers will help me leave behind my hesitant qualities in order to reach my full potential. College will serve as a fresh start, a place where I will definitely not shove my clothes into a drawer to give my room a clean façade anymore. A place where I will absolutely have to learn how to fold my own laundry. And on a serious note, it will become a place where I have to leave all doubt in myself behind. To me, college translates to the first step in adulthood. Thus, I hope to leave all high school notions regarding boundaries with certain people and the idea of cliques behind. Whichever road I decide to take, I hope my peers view me with genuine understanding and respect.

Let's Rock, Let's Rock Today

 

Whenever someone asks me a generic, “What’s your favorite?” question, I experience a temporary shutdown of the brain. This brain lock-down happens due to the overwhelming expectation of gauging everything I have ever experienced and consequently, ranking something as my “favorite.”  Admittedly, this seemingly easy task reveals an extreme character flaw within me. Unfortunately for those who inquire about my most beloved “something,” panic prompts me to recall my answers to such questions from when I roamed the halls of CFIS. It was in my 12-year-old body that I first experienced what I would refer to for the next six years as my favorite movie, The School of Rock. This movie follows a burnout rock star-turned-substitute teacher, Dewey Finn, on his mission to transform a middle school class into “Battle of The Bands” material in hopes of beating his old band and earning enough cash to pay his rent. Black’s character impersonates his roommate, Ned Schneebly, in order to fill his shoes as a “temp.” Dewey, or “Mr. Schneebly,” proceeds to throw out the lesson plans and attempts to educate his students about rock music and “sticking it to the man”. Some of the students Schneebly faces include: Lawrence, a reserved classical pianist later referred to as “Mr. Cool,” Billy, the Liza Manelli-loving, self-appointed fashion designer for the band and Summer, the “teacher’s pet,” always striving for a gold star. Despite my outdated answer to “my favorite movie,” I still love the movie for the classic, adolescent humor of Jack Black. This movie showcases some of the world’s greatest comebacks and disses. The next time someone offends you, just use an original School of Rock quote like: “You’re tacky and I hate you,” “You’re a fat loser and you have body odor,” or “Read between the lines.” (The effect of the latter is maximized when the speaker holds up their index, middle and ring fingers). Schneebly encounters some humorous, yet anxiety-inducing obstacles along the way to “creating musical fusion,” with his makeshift band. First, the principle almost compromises the band’s rehearsal after hearing music from the room. Mr. Schneebly dodged her assumptions by improvising an educational song, convincing her of his abstract “teaching methods.” The lyrics include, “Math is a wonderful thing. Math is a really cool thing. So get off your ath, let’s do some math. Math, math, math, math, math.” Not only does Schneebly satisfy the principle’s suspicions, but he also produces an extremely catchy song with ease. Secondly, the class attempts to audition for the Battle of The Bands but arrives late, denying their chances of even competing. Schneebly acts on his toes again, though, and persuades the judges to listen to their audition after revealing the students’ fictional disease, “Stick-it-to-da-man-nosis.” The façade helped the band score a spot in the final competition. The most significant obstacle, however, surfaced in the form of parent-teacher conferences. Dewey’s lie became exposed, which led to his firing, ultimately preventing from the band to continue. So, naturally, the kids escape school on the day of the concert and locate Dewey for their performance… so punk rock. In addition to the one-liners and high quality plot, this movie contains exceedingly entertaining characters and some really catchy music. All of these factors reinforce my sixth grade opinion of the movie. I hope my 12th grade opinion encourages those who have not yet seen School of Rock, to do so. Finally, in the words of Dewy Finn, "Let's rock, let's rock today."

Food intervention

Oh, 11-year-old Katie. 
You have so much to learn about reality. In a society where people incessantly judge others according to appearance, beliefs and behaviors, I feel it necessary to stage an intervention with you regarding your bizarre eating habits. You see, in the real world, Mom cannot oversee the segregation of your peas and grilled chicken to ensure the lack of sharing of foreign juices or flavors. I predict that these eating habits will prove themselves as not only a hindrance to your desperate taste buds, but also to your social acceptance. First let's address the most disturbing Katie vs. food conflict: pizza. As sketchy as the ambiguity of the contents under the cheese may seem, I promise that this problem does not, in fact, justify your habit of scraping off the cheese. I foresee many unforgiving glares at birthday parties and more importantly, a ton of perfectly greased cheese going to waste. On to the next one: your defiance to drinking milk sans chocolate syrup. What do you plan on doing when the mother of your best friend hands you a tall glass of white milk at breakfast after your sleepover? Spoiler alert: Plugging your nose while consuming something you consider unpalatable is only socially acceptable for so long. I suggest that you acquire the taste for white milk to improve this reaction. Also, I can divulge that breakfast eating took a 180 after experiencing cereal with milk for the first time. Another reason to take the plunge into drinking white milk transpires as the fact that in a few short months, you will notice a change in the taste of your favorite chocolate milk beverage. That change serves as Mom's way of forcing vitamins down your throat the only way possible: via Pediasure, the drink that pretends to be chocolate milk. This leads me to my next bone to pick with your abnormal eating habits. The first time you will choke down a pill successfully will not take place until freshman year, so I would start practicing if you wish to nip Mom's Pediasure antics in the bud. Lastly, I think I speak on behalf of the entire nation when I express the offense caused by your lack of patriotism when you request a hamburger in place of a traditional Thanksgiving dinner. Forget that gravy consists of turkey giblets. Forget that the consistency of mashed potatoes reminds you of something I'd rather not put into text. And forget that the turkey must first be stripped of its insides before cooking and eating. If you let your taste buds override your conscience for just this night, I promise that you won't regret it. I prophesize that upon applying these changes to your life, you will acquire a more adventurous appetite, opening your mind to foods outside of your previously miniscule dietary comfort zone. 
Sincerely,
The future food connoisseur, Katie

"Grandma-sitting"

While babysitting for two families, each with three children, last August, I faced an unexpected, yet extreme experience. The six kids and I played a grueling game of Capture the Flag and we concocted an interesting version of mac-n-cheese layered with ketchup. However, neither the dangerous game in the street nor my incompetent cooking skills led to “extreme babysitting,” but my simple act of kindness towards Valerie, the live-in grandmother. She conquered polio at an early age, but remained paralyzed from the waist down, isolating her to her bed where she sat eating the ice cream cone I gave her. I often hear noises of discomfort coming from her room, so her coughing did not alarm me at first. But when I realized how long she had been coughing, I knew I had to leap into uncharted territory. Thankfully, I had called 911 before. But, unthankfully, it had only been to report a stray dog. I had no preceding experience to help guide me through that stark reality that someone’s life was in my hands.  I needed help. I have no recollection of what I said to the 911 operator on the phone, but I do remember the adrenaline and a surprising ability to remain calm that drove my actions. The kids were my next priority- the terrified looks on their faces spurred me to round all six of them up and assure them that everything would turn out okay, just like anyone looking into those 12 hopeful eyes would. Ordering them not to leave the basement, I flew upstairs where Valerie was still choking, and I did everything I could, considering my lack of upper body strength, to prop up her inert body. After an eternity, the ambulance arrived. Within that time, I had experienced an unknown range of emotions from intense fear to effective confidence. This extreme occurrence ejected me from my comfort zone and taught me that such challenges can catch us off guard even in everyday experiences, on the most mundane of days. 

Apologies in advance for my pathetic attempt at bragging

AP English never ceases to bring one horrifying aspect of my personality to the forefront: my self-diagnosed attention anxiety. I find myself at a loss for words during discussions, I grow uncomfortable upon receiving compliments or awards and I loathe the task of bragging about myself. But, to my horror, my responsible peers who did not wait until today to complete their blog set a precedent of boasting proudly about their writing. So, out of hope for earning a satisfying final grade in English, I will proceed with an attempted dignified tone. I deem my most well written blog post as “’Adapting’ or completely changing?” I admit, I could have conjured up a better title. Nonetheless, I believe this blog successfully illustrated a relevant, thought-provoking topic through quality writing. I argued that many film adaptors take too many liberties when transforming a piece of writing into film and rationalized this notion with an experiment. I showed my mother one of our short films, wondering if she could pinpoint the original author’s central message. She could not connect what she perceived as the film’s purpose to the intended theme of the author, reinstating my belief that film adaptors do not effectively reflect the purpose of the authentic story. I believe that I not only provided an arousing topic, but also wrote the piece solidly. I usually struggle to pinpoint the optimal vocabulary word for certain instances. However, as I re-read the blog, I felt satisfied with the flow of my sentences and the fact that it did not sound as if I had gotten out of control with the thesaurus. Next, I consider my blog titled, “Passing the ‘human’ test” as my most interesting blog. Within the blog dubbed, “Out of this world,” by Ms. Serensky’s in the blog show, I discussed my trials with proving myself as a human to Blogger by typing an illegible sequence of jumbled letters and numbers. I then contrasted my experience of authenticating my humanity to the also difficult of determining what qualifies a character as a legitimate human. I decided that the deciding factor transpired as compassion, which most of the characters in The Great Gatsby lacked, thus identifying them as hypothetical “non-humans” in my eyes. I view my comparison between the two distinct “humanity tests” as unique, as I hope my peers did. As I reflect on this particular writing, I realize that I also have Anna Witkin to thank for contributing to the intrigue of this blog. She encouraged me to click the audio button next to Blogger’s “human test,” emphasizing the hilarity of the woman who attempts to speak the phrase while sounding absolutely ridiculous. I consider myself an avid fan of Anna’s writing, so I regard her comment as my favorite. I commented back to Anna expressing my amusement in the woman’s struggle, similar to mine, because, quite frankly, she did nothing in the way of proving herself as a human. Ultimately, I have Anna to thank for scoring me a spot on Ms. Serensky’s blog show, because who doesn’t want to listen to a robot speak jumbled words like an “inebriated zombie” (as described by Anna)?